#physics part II | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seosracha · 5 months ago

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⸻ SAINT MATTHEW'S ACADEMY II

SYNOPSIS ⸻ heeseung feels helpless as you continue to deny him love, and give it to the one person he can't come to accept- park sunghoon.

PAIRING ⸻ sunghoon x fem!reader x heeseung

GENRE ⸻ rich kids au, smut, fluff, angst

TAGS ⸻ love triangle, cursing, foul language, underage drinking, degrading names, smoking, mentions of doing c0ke, partying, gaslighting, religious themes, obsessive behavior/thoughts, unrequited love, fighting (verbally), mention of physical abuse and blood, desperate sunghoon :D, making out, penetration, unprotected sex,

WORDCOUNT ⸻ 15.2k

PART ONE

MDNI. This is a work is meant for entertainment purposes only. References to products and brands are imaginary and not meant to deprecate their image.

You close your eyes, repeating the words, painting the scene and your back in that room. Those words spoken with so much collapsed indifference by a person that didn’t care to see or talk to you again. There was no point in burdening your memory with the idea of him, the idea of a Lee Heeseung that in this universe, didn’t quite exist.

Yes- he carried his father’s surname, his name Heeseung- meaning bright and successful. Those were the things that would never change, the things he could never replace or hide. He would always and forever be remembered as Lee Heeseung, son of the hotel giants, and brother of Lee Haejun, the family heir.

For all his miserable and lonely life he struggled to create a name for himself. For all the 19 years he managed to wrestle with life, the fate stayed the same. He wanted his parents to think of him in any way, even if it was bad, even if it meant he’d be a failure in their eyes. He craved to be something more, something beyond the body he was born in.

Winter wasn’t his favourite season. He hated wearing a puffer jacket, long socks and heavy boots. He hated the additional weight of all these things with the already pre existing heaviness of his being itself.

You liked winter- he knew that. He knew how happy it made you to catch a snowflake that’d melt away within seconds of meeting your warm hand. Heeseung also knew he probably ruined it for you on that night- 22 of December, the day that welcomed winter.

He hasn’t really spoken to his friends since that night- his phone’s been on silent mode and his house, abandoned by him for now. Usually he’d enjoy this, maybe even have a friend join him, but this winter break, the vacation felt insufferable.

Warm Sydney, Australia, the colour of the inside of his hand almost as light and soft as the skin of his neck and the underside of his forearms, which were rarely exposed to the sun. He remembers how 2 years ago, just a month or two later he was here with Sunghoon, lounging around and sleeping off the scorching heat until one of them finally suggested they should go to the rocks to swim.

Well this year, he couldn’t quite find himself leaving the white sheets. Heeseung had left so many things unsolved back home, and he feared that by the time he’s back- it’d be too late. He’d leave the air conditioner blasting all day and night, his thoughts running off to all the things he did wrong.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you, maybe he shouldn’t have asked his friend for help, maybe he should’ve just left you alone. But how could he- it was stronger than him.

While the summer in Australia left an unquenchable thirst for more, winter in his hometown was as quiet as ever.

The inexplicable animosity hung heavy in the air as you, and everyone else went about their life, trying to forget yesterday, and live with the thought of tomorrow.

You spent most of your days alone. Sometimes, Jake would drop by. Or Jay. It depended on who made an excuse that day.

In the midst of a fiery conflict, you found comfort in them. The same people who encouraged behaviour that led you here. It was all broken anyway, so was there really a point in finding the lesser evil?

Neither of them have spoken to the two boys. Maybe they didn’t want to take sides or maybe, just maybe all of them were waiting for the right moment to end this. This wasn’t friendship, not in the slightest. It was jealousy and competition.

Trying not to think about it came out to be much easier. Only the countless texts reminded you. The unanswered calls, disconnected lines and unspoken words.

No more words, you said no more words after his confession. You stayed silent, and that pain flooded you today. The silence stayed with you. Every night you’d spend on a phone call with him, laughing because no matter how hard you begged him, he wouldn’t hang up first, was now filled with heavy breaths and drowning darkness.

Sunghoon hadn’t gone anywhere this winter. He was supposed to- the first class tickets to Sri Lanka already booked by his mother. When she knocked on his door, 12 hours before they were supposed to leave, he told her he'd fallen ill. Very ill.

Before Heeseung blocked his number, he sent him a short message. Sunghoon sat in a cold corner on the white bathroom tiles, reading the message. It was enough to let him know that it was over. And even though the unyielding pain in his stomach grew stronger, a small smile twitched at the corner of his bloody lips. He tried to reply, but the text went green.

When Heeseung first asked him for that favour, he assumed it was just another sick way for him to assert his dominance over you. Another way to make sure you knew Heeseung created what you are today, and no matter what, you’ll always have a piece of him. Sunghoon never thought the boy would tell you the truth in the end.

Two days before New Years Eve, Jake texted you.

“Is your brother home?”

He also attached a photo, indicating that he was already in the area.

“No”

The simple reply quickly sent through, and without even checking for another response you flip the phone over.

Each sound, each notification, you hoped it was from one of them. Heeseung never turned off his location sharing, so you already knew he wasn't around. Sunghoon, well, you had no idea.

You didn't really know anything about him. How he went about his day, before and after school or on vacation or just on a simple Saturday. You didn't know his favorite color, his favorite food or his favorite song.

It was never easy to talk to him- he didn't share much or make space for new people in his life. You rarely saw him enjoy things or even crack a smile at the jokes his friends made. That’s exactly what made it hard to figure out if he really meant the things he said and did.

Your doorbell rings. You turn your phone and see another message from Jake, indicating he’s here. It didn't take him longer than 5 minutes to get here.

“Hey” you scratch the back of your head, welcoming him in. He’s not awkward in the slightest, kissing your cheek as he enters.

Jake hasn't been the same since. You can’t quite remember if he’s always been like this or did his friendship with the boys actually influence him that badly.

Something you always noticed about Jake is how easily influenced he really was. It took one word, one word and he’d be at Heeseung’s feet just waiting to do whatever the boy wanted. He tried so hard to impress them, he fell through with everything in his life- his grades faltered, his relationship with his parents started to rot, and his self respect declined with every passing day. He ruined himself for them.

Jay wasn’t like that. He never really listened to Heeseung in the first place. And Heeseung realized that pretty quickly. They weren’t particularly close either. Jay had legions of friends outside of school. He didn’t need Heeseung, Sunghoon or Jake but in a way, they needed him. He stuck around because loneliness wasn’t a good look on him, and his peers at school, well, they weren’t quite fond of him.

“I brought wine” he announces and hands you the bottle of red wine that’s gotten quite cold by now.

“You know I don’t drink” you look away from the label, now focusing on the boy who’s fixing his hair in the mirror. He doesn’t seem to register what you said as a piece of his brown hair keeps falling onto his forehead.

He wiggles out of his leather jacket, hanging it on the clothing rack before taking the wine back into his hands “It’s only 12%. You won’t feel it” he ultimately replies.

He wanders off into the kitchen while you sit down on the grey couch. Jake doesn’t really ask, he never does. It doesn’t bother you, not as much as it used to at least. He searches your cabinets looking for wine glasses which after a short moment, can’t be found in any of them. He settles down for something less extravagant.

You wouldn’t even dare inviting any of them just a couple months back. You were embarrassed, their houses the size of your whole street. A lot of things have changed since then.

"Jungwon is hosting for New Years” he started, handing the glass to you. He sat down, his body facing you “Do you want to come?”

Yang Jungwon was in your grade. His father was a software engineer who developed his own app but also helped countless companies start theirs. Jungwon was the one who helped Jay start his long abandoned website. He always watched his father doing big things, he wanted that too. His mother was a divorce attorney, specializing in family law, charging around $500 per hour. She was the go-to of every miserable wife and all the tired husbands. Jungwon was a pretty normal boy- he grew up with two loving parents that got lucky enough in life to spoil him from the moment he was born.

“Who else is coming?” you ask, and he shrugs, gulping down almost half of his glass.

You look down at yours, uninterested. But before he manages to reply, you copy his action. It doesn't taste good.

“Probably the same people as always” he leans his head on his hand looking over at you “But from the people you’ll know, uh, Niki and Wonyoung are going to be there for sure. Sunoo probably has nothing better to do and Jay already told me he’s coming” Jake added after a moment and you nodded understandingly.

“Niki and Wonyoung, huh?” you laugh mockingly, downing the other half of your drink. You wonder how in the world this could be a pleasure to middle aged women “Sunoo told me she went over to Sunghoon’s house two days ago”

“Jealous?” Jake laughs and you raise your eyebrows.

“No” he repeats your action and you can tell that he doesn't really buy it. Neither do you. “I’m not jealous, Jake. They can do whatever they want”

His lips turn into a downwards smile “Sure, sure” he nods, and you playfully kick his leg. He winces at the action in a joking manner, before continuing “Heeseung and Sunghoon might be there too. So if you don't feel comfortable with that, you don't have to go. But me and Jay want you to be there” his tone softens.

How would it end up this time? Which one of them would say something this time? Do something this time? Or would they ignore you, just like they are now.

All you wanted was an answer. Nothing more, nothing less. You could even go by without a ‘sorry’.

“I don’t care. I’d have to face them at school anyways” you answer with a straight smile.

“Didn’t you hear?” he asks, painting your face with confusion at the statement. You shake your head, and he sits up straight “Karina’s parents are close with Heeseung’s, and she’s been saying some about him changing school’s mid February”

You are even more confused now. It didn’t make sense. Where would he go? It’s probably just a rumor.

“But you guys are graduating this year. That can’t be right” he shrugs, just as curious and confused as you.

“Yeah, I doubt it” you nod with a small sigh, looking outside the window.

The sun set so much quicker in winter. You barely got to enjoy the day before darkness settled. It was setting pink today.

“I’ll go with you guys. On New Years. Just, pick me up if you can” you say and he nods with a small smile.

______

On that same day, Heeseung landed back in town. His father asked him to come back in time for the New Years event he was hosting, once again.

“What a fabulous suit, truly!” a middle aged woman comments, amused. She has a wide, bright smile on her face as she eyes Haejun “Let me guess, Canali?” she coos, a smirk creeping at the corner of her lips.

Heeseung’s brother chuckles, the forced elegance lacing his fake smile “Both the suit and overcoat. It’s nothing special though” he smiles, and soothes down the cashmere mantle.

Lee Haejun runs a hand through his dark, silky hair, his posture relaxed in a ‘cool’ way.

Heeseung thinks it’s pretty humorous, the way Haejun is flirting with a 40 year old woman, whose hair is visibly turning gray. Her husband is probably somewhere in this crowd, trying to get closer to his father, just like all the other men who were lucky enough to even be invited.

The lady has been ogling his brother for the past 5 minutes, not even noticing Heeseung who stood right next to him.

He scoffs.

“Oh, Heeseung. I didn’t notice you” she smiles faintly, but her eyes don’t even linger on him for a second longer, already back in conversation with Haejun “Oh and this scarf! Haejun, you have such phenomenal taste!” she celebrates him again, and he just chuckles at her excitement.

Heeseung doesn't feel like standing there, looking like a fucking idiot that’s just waiting to get complimented on his Saint Laurent overcoat that quite frankly, was more expensive than Haejun’s.

He doesn’t feel like being here at all.

He thinks about everything; how these annual New Year’s dinners have ruined the holiday for him all together, how the man at the table in front of him has a giant bald spot on his head, how the hardbody on his right has pretty fuckable tits even though she’s probably in her mid 40s, how his mother is obviously having an affair with the hotels revenue manager, and most importantly, about you.

He hasn’t felt anything since that unlucky Sunday night. It was suffocating, to be so conscious of his own decisions. But just like he’d been a coward that time, he still was too afraid to reach out and apologize.

Maybe soon enough he’d find himself at your front porch, knocking on the door softly, a nice gift in hand, the smile you adore plastered all over his condescending face.

That’s how it usually worked in his life; even the worst of heartbreaks and fights could be resolved with a pretty bag, new sports car or nice jewelry. That’d work on you too, wouldn’t it? He’d ask one of the maids that looked after his home to pick out something she’d like to recieve, and you’d probably be satisfied with that, maybe even suck him off later.

Seeing you with Sunghoon enlightened something deep in his soul, something he’d never admit to himself. Heeseung didn't know if it was Sunghoon he was jealous of or you.

Sunghoon had experienced love in many forms throughout his life. A gentle and mannerly boy cherished by the women in his life. His kind, youthful energy seemed effortless—something completely out of reach for someone as weathered and unsteady as Lee Heeseung.

You loved him, he already knew that much. So why was it so hard for him to give that back to you, show you that he feels the same?

He was such a selfish person-he didn't want to see you surviving on your own, or not needing him just as much as he needs you.

Heeseung understood he could never give you the love you deserved. Yet, the idea of being replaced by Sunghoon was something he refused to accept.

His eyes wander across the dimly lit space, desperately looking for someone who could give him a reason to leave his table. But he couldn’t stand any of them. He hated their fake pleasantries, their overblown gestures, and the emptiness behind their eyes.

They weren’t here to celebrate the passing year, spread joy and excitement for the coming days.

All these lost, desperate people were here, hoping, praying to God that maybe this is the day his father notices them, gives them a chance to become as wealthy and glorious as him.

“I was thinking about Oxford, possibly this upcoming September” he picks up on Haejun’s words and if not for the people and photographers that seemed to be on every possible side, he would’ve punched the shit out of his brother.

Oxford, Harvard, Princeton, who gave a fuck?

He sighs again but this time neither Haejun or the lady in front of him pick up on his mannerisms.

He feels a sudden tap on his shoulder, the feeling making him jump back a bit.He groans under his breath, the sound inaudible for the one behind him, and turns around slowly.

He didn't expect to see Park Sunghoon here.

…

“They don’t have a nice bathroom to do coke in” Heeseung shrugs, nibbling at his bottom lip as Sunghoon breathes out a laugh at his inquiry.

He looks around the tiled, black bathroom, which is surprisingly empty. The light above the sink flickers in a weird way, and Heeseung wonders if it’s supposed to be like that.

“We don’t do that anymore” Sunghoon mutters, leaning against the cold, slippery surface of the wall, his head slightly slumped.

He looks up at Heeseung, his reflection much more familiar in the mirror. They are much closer than he thinks, the same worn out expression all over their faces.

“Yeah… Guess those days are over” he smiles weakly, although the growing pit in his stomach makes him feel uneasy.

He’s avoiding the topic, throwing random words in the air as his heart speeds up. Sunghoon’s avoiding it too. The words linger on their tongues but it feels like they're stuck. He can’t stomach starting a serious topic with his friend who's never been there for him in an emotional way.

“I remember that party so vividly” Heeseung chuckles lightly, watching Sunghoon intently through the mirror. The boy is avoiding eye contact.

“When Jay took a line and we thought we’d lost him, huh? I remember, yeah” he forces a smile although the memory is definitely not a sweet one.

Heeseung chuckles softly, his thoughts drifting to when they were actually good friends to each other. It wasn’t even that long ago, but so much has happened since that Heeseung almost forgot those times.

He felt it with you again. In a way you brought that comfort back to him with your soft spoken voice and tender smile. But with you, he was on the brink of inescapable change. Heeseung knew that everyday he was teetering closer to the end.

He looks back up at Sunghoon, and although his vision is slightly blurred, he notices that the wounds are completely healed now. The only tangible evidence of that night is now gone.

“Did it leave a scar?” he asks, his voice cracking. He clears his throat, turning to face Sunghoon, who touches the corner of his lip softly.

He shakes his head “No”. His tone is stony. He suddenly reminds himself to garbage the white button up in his wardrobe.

“That’s good” Heeseung hums and the silence overcomes them again. It’s uncomfortable and the awkwardness between them bears so much unfamiliarity. It’s such a foreign experience.

The tension grows thicker as Sunghoon speaks up “You know we can’t avoid it, right?”

Heeseung feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he ponders the suggestion. What could he possibly say to make it better, to make it disappear? He nods and meets Sunghoon’s unrelenting expression.

“I don’t really think we could ever be friends again” Sunghoon says, his lip twitching slightly as the words finally roll off his tongue, the admission much more painful than he thought it’d be “Not when we both want the same thing”

“What?” The words sink into his bones, his flesh shivering as he searches for at least an ounce of discomfort on Sunghoon’s face.

“No matter what you told me that night, no matter how much you begged me to tell her because you didn't want to know how she’ll react, I know you feel it too. You said you didn't care, but you do, Heeseung. I care too” he explains, his voice stable. It’s almost as if he’s rehearsed this.

It came to him during that long awaited shower. As the water came over him, so did the realization.

“If you like it or not, I will keep on trying even if it doesn't work out. But either way, I think this is where it ends between us. I don’t want to be stuck on the idea that it could ever be the same” the air felt heavier with the tension that separated them.

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. Heeseung never thought it’d come to this.

“You like her, right? It wasn't something to make her feel better..?” he asked, glossing over the fact that this exact spot set the end of their friendship.

Glossing over the fact that the relationship between you and him complicated his whole life. Yet a part of him still yearned for you.

“I’m not like you, Heeseung. I don’t tell girls I like them to make them feel better” he chuckled lowly as Heeseung's expression darkened, taking offense to his words.

Heeseung scoffed, not quite enjoying the cutting reminder of his bad habits.

“Do as you please, I don’t give a fuck. But I also don’t plan on making it easy for you. I don't give up what’s mine just like that” Heeseung’s words carry a playful edge, but there’s an undercurrent of expectation, a reminder of the shared history and intimacy.

Sunghoon turns his head to the side, a stubby chuckle slipping past his parted lips. His gaze falls onto Heeseung after a moment, the boy leaning against the counter with an indifferent expression.

“What, do you think she forgot? You think a couple racks can erase what you did? Bet you're not the one she calls everyday” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, as he looks at Heeseung’s changing face.

“You think that just because I wasn't here I don’t know what goes on? She couldn't give two fucks about you. You don’t intimidate me, Sunghoon” he retorts, his eyes dark as he pushes himself off the sink and shortens the distance between him and Sunghoon “Couldn’t even get past her underwear, fucking pussy” he whispers.

He nudges Sunghoon’s shoulder during his exit, scoffing angrily as he slams the door shut, leaving his once best-friend alone with the afterthought of his words.

Sunghoon doesn't regret it. He feels good. He feels the weight drop from his heart, his blood flowing calmly as his eyebrows don’t furrow in annoyance anymore.

He watches the door for a moment before turning to the mirror, adjusting his jacket and hair, smiling as he takes in his reflection.

_____

On New Year's Eve a car parks in your driveway. Your brother wasn’t home, and by the looks of it, he wasn't going to be any time soon.

You don’t really remember the last time you sat down for a meal with Eunseok. You couldn't blame him though. Your parents always repeated that saving another human's life will always be more important than spending time with family. Your brother would always stay your brother even if you started to forget the sound of his voice.

Jay enters your house first. You can notice Jake sinking his head into the trunk, looking for something.

The last time Jay was here his hair was still blond. He seems to have gotten a new haircut and dyed it back to black. He looked much softer now.

“Back to black?” you smile and reach out to grab his coat. It feels illegal to hold and hang his black Prada corduroy jacket. It looked so out of place next to your own coats that were all bought at basic chain stores at the mall.

“You like it?” he asks, quickly turning his head to check on Jake. Jay’s gaze falls back onto you, a soft glimmer in his eyes.

He changed. He wasn't the same misogynistic narcissist that you were initially introduced to. He became much kinder- a person you actually found yourself getting along with.

Jay came home extremely drunk on the 22nd of December. Screw walking a straight line when the boy couldn't even walk at all. Just like it had been unlucky for his friends, he too was met with his demise as his father sat in the living room with a girl Jay didn't recognize.

Probably his new girlfriend.

He was furious. He went through Jay’s phone that night- every photo of his son with girls in more or less intimate situations, every message between Jay and his dealers, every single bank transaction at the liquor store. He saw it all that night.

One word too much on Jay’s behalf, and suddenly, there’s a stinging pain on his left cheek. And before he can react, his father slaps him again. And again, harder than the last.

He saw himself in his son for the first time. He realized what he had done to his own, precious child. The look in his eyes, pure fear and disgust. They weren't much different after all.

“Yeah, it’s nice. You look good” you nod with a straight smile, and he looks a bit embarrassed at the compliment.

Jake finally runs into the home, a smile on his face. Without saying a word, you nod your head towards the now closed trunk.

“We thought the bottles shattered” he explained and you looked over at Jay, confused.

“I thought you were done with drinking” you asked, and he grinned sheepishly.

“Today is the last time, I promise. New year, new me, let’s say”

They walked around your home, visiting every room, every bathroom, checking every picture. You couldn't care less, focusing on getting yourself ready.

“You used to be emo?” Jake laughs, walking back to your room. You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly what picture he was talking about.

“Your brother is really hot,” Jay says, leaning his hands against the backrest of your chair. He looks at himself and you through the mirror “You look hot too” he adds with a sly smirk.

Your only reply is a smile, not being the best at receiving compliments. His eyes stay on you for a little longer than they should.

“Jungwon just texted me,” Jake announces, his body turning in your fresh sheets. His dirty shoes have left marks on the white fabric, but he doesn't seem to notice. “Heeseung just arrived. He’s with fuckass Seora” he laughs along with Jay, while you try to process his statement.

It didn’t take him long to find your replacement. You remember the girl, having been paired up with her for a science project at the beginning of the semester. She was so beautiful.

“That fucking nerd? What’s wrong with him” Jay comments, and you realize how you too were once like Seora. Heeseung hasn't changed, not at all.

Jake’s phone rings, his eyes darting to the screen. He excuses himself, the call seemingly important as he leaves the room swiftly.

You are left alone with Jay who mindlessly scrolls through his Instagram homepage, liking and commenting on his friends posts.

“Can you help me?” you ask, and his reaction to your voice is almost immediate. He sets his phone aside, his full attention once again falling onto you. A hint of concern flashes over his eyes as your expression seems troubled.

“Mhm?” he hums, walking over to your figure.

“Can you zip this up for me?” you ask, turning around.

He stays silent for a moment, before brushing his fingers against the bare skin of your back, grasping at the slippery zipper. He carefully brings the fabric together, taking care not to pull too tight or snag the delicate material.

He steps back, looking at you, smiling warmly “There”

Whenever his sister would ask him, he’d flip her off and tell her to leave his room.

Jay’s eyes take in your figure, the way he’s never really gotten to see your nice body under all the baggy clothes you’d wear. It feels wrong to think about you like this, but it’s not like this is the first time either.

He may have changed, even in the slightest, but there was always that one person who was too late.

…

Shot after shot of vodka find themselves appearing in your hand as you down each one with a twisted expression. The people around you seem much more cheerful than you, and you wonder how long it’ll take for this alcohol to finally start doing its thing.

You turn to Jake, who’s been gripping your hand tightly, at least that’s what you thought. Instead of a smiley Jake, it’s Kim Sunoo who has been apparently keeping you safe. That would be all for ‘we want you to be there’.

“Going already?” Sunoo perks up, loosening his grip on you as he sees you trying to squeeze through the crowd.

“I just need some fresh air” you offer him a small smile “I’ll be back”

It’s 10:37. Only an hour and 23 minutes until midnight. By that time, half the guests won’t even be awake to witness it. You wonder what fireworks look like on this side of town.

Jungwon’s house isn’t that hard to navigate. It was big, but you imagined bigger. It’s mid-sized, maybe. You note how his parents have good taste- the mediterranean estate very much to your liking.

You find yourself on one of his acacia armchairs in the backyard terrace. Most people are inside. It wasn’t the warmest day.

There’s no wind today, not even snow. The temperature hasn't dropped below zero celsius this season. You really wanted the snow to fall soon.

You can tell from the corner of your eye that someone has accompanied you on the chair next to yours. You assume it’s someone just as tired as you, someone who's just counting down the minutes until midnight so they can get out of here.

Maybe it’s Jake. But you swore you saw him hitting up some girls on your way out.

“Want one?” you almost don’t recognize the voice. It’s been so long.

The person extends a pack of cigarettes in your direction, and that’s when you decide to face them.

You haven't spoken to Nishimura Riki in a long time. He doesn't even look the same. But it’s only been 4 months?

“I don’t smoke” you reply, and he nods, lighting the stick in his mouth, protecting the flame with the palm of his hand.

He hisses, exhaling the smoke. It blows in your direction, and you scrunch your nose at the smell.

“Where’s your sweet boy, Heeseung?” he asks, his tone mocking. You roll your eyes, exhaling deeply.

He laughs at your silence, but still waits for you to respond, taking another puff.

“We don’t talk anymore” you could lie but honestly, it seemed meaningless now. It didn't matter what you’d say, things wouldn't change.

“Lasted the longest. Can’t say I’m not impressed” he replied with a chuckle. Only God knew how much you wanted to slap the boy next to you right now.

“Fuck off, Niki” you groan, and he puts up his hands, laughing. He’s slightly taken aback by your candidness- he didn't meet this version of you.

Niki remembers you as the sweet, innocent and most certainly lost girl that had no idea what she was getting herself into. Now it seemed as if Heeseung had drained all that life out of you.

“I’m not here to make fun of you” there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he still gauge's your reaction to his jab.

You hum, unamused “Sure”

He sighs, trying to hide the annoyance caused by your stubbornness. Niki throws what's left of his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his shoe. Rick Owens, you note.

“I know you and Wony aren’t on the best terms but she cares about you. I do to” his tone softens “I just want you to live on your own now. Don’t let him take over your life again”

Niki follows all the patterns the stars are forming with his eyes, while you notice the sincerity in his face. Today the moon is barely visible. There was a New Moon yesterday, so tonight, not even 3% of the orb is visible.

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask, and he shrugs.

The air seems to vibrate with unspoken tension. Niki stays silent for a moment, because he doesn't really know if he has an answer.

He shouldn't care. He doesn't know you, and you don't know anything about him either. Jesus, if Wonyoung saw him here, he’d be on probation until February. But he saw this happen countless times and every single one stung just as bad.

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted you to know” he finally answers, a genuine glimmer in his eyes as they fall on yours for just a second.

You can’t muster up a smile. It’d be too forced anyway. You hope that the nod is enough for him to understand that you do in fact appreciate his words.

He doesn't say anything and neither do you. It’s mostly noiseless, apart from the faintest melody that flows through the cracks in the window. The only people out here with you are either smoking themselves or talking to someone on the phone.

You hadn't really told anyone what happened. Of course, you could probably tell Niki, he wouldn't forward it to Wonyoung or anyone else. You could call the boy many names, some better than others, but you knew you couldn't call him untrustworthy. He always kept his word, no matter what.

But you bite back your tongue.

“Nice chat, huh? Can I steal her for a moment?”

Lee Heeseung.

You’d be lying if you said you didn't want to see him tonight. You weren't wondering if you’d see him, rather when and how. He couldn't run away from talking to you, and well, it appears that he didn't want to anyway.

With what feeling would you look back on this moment? With sadness? With shame? Indifference, you hoped.

Would you regret it? Because maybe some things are better left unsolved, right? Sometimes it’s okay to not have an answer. You’ve already learned that firsthand.

It was too late, Niki already letting the older boy replace him on the armchair, his face filled with remorse, maybe even guilt as he walked back into the house. He only hoped that you were smarter this time.

You turned your gaze away, because he was looking at you, and it obviously flustered you. He saw your expression, and even though your face twisted in annoyance, you still wanted him to look at you.

It wasn’t him you hated, but what the two of you did.

The secret was forever meant to stay between the two of you. And as long as that’s true, it's always casting a shadow over everything good in you.

“How was Australia? Did you have fun?” you sounded unimpressed, and he noticed.

Heeseung felt oddly embarrassed to be here with you. He left you with no explanation, and yet you're still asking how his vacation was. Honest or not, he feels like half the man he was before.

“How did you know?” he asks, a glint of playfulness in his voice.

“You still share your location with me” you stated, and he nodded. He knew. You were the only person he shared it with in the first place.

“You check my location?” he chuckles, trying to alleviate the charged atmosphere. His attempts brought no fruit as your expression stayed the same- cold and uninterested.

“No” he can’t figure out what to say next. It used to be so easy to talk to you.

But you were the same when he first met you- stand-offish and unwilling. It won’t take him long to figure the right words out, he’s sure of it.

Heeseung doesn't know why he’s trying this hard. Maybe it’s because now he knows his friend wants it just as much. In what universe did Park Sunghoon have something Heeseung didn’t? Not in this one, and the latter was continuously making sure of it.

“Can we talk about us?” he finally speaks up after the prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence. He doesn't really know what ‘us’ was. Definitely not a relationship. He doesn't do that, never has. He just prays that you actually had something smart to say.

“Us?” you bark back a laugh, and he leans against the beige pillow with a sigh.

Heeseung had been willingly ignoring the messages he saw you sending. He could always disguise that as not wanting to talk about it over text. But in reality, he didn't want to talk about it at all. He just hoped that a ‘sorry’ would be enough.

“You know what I mean. Don’t be stupid” his voice is laced with a twinge of irritation. He didn't expect it to take this long for you to break.

“What the fuck are you even talking about, Heeseung?” you turn to face him fully now.

His hair is no longer dark red. It’s brown, almost black. And he has a completely different haircut. It compliments his tan skin. He’s also dressed differently. You can’t quite recall seeing him like this.

“Seriously, what do you want to talk about? It wasn’t real, not to you at least. So please, tell me what exactly it is that you want to talk about” his expression is a mix of annoyance and anger now. His jaw clenches as his eyes narrow. You surely allowed yourself to say too much, didn’t you?

“Careful, Y/n. Watch your tone” he laughs menacingly, standing up from his seat. His hands grip the sides of your chair, as he stares down at you, his face too close for comfort.

“Downplay what we had, and what’s still between us all you want. But you know it’s real. You might be wiser now, but you haven’t really changed. You still want it just as much” his expression darkens, a defensiveness to his voice.

All he did was see the potential in you, the spark hidden beneath your innocent surface. He fed that fire, helped it grow until it burned through them both. Heeseung taught you to be a woman. He didn't wrong you, he helped you.

Leaning in, he nuzzles your neck, his breath hot on your skin “So how about you quit acting all tough and just let me have you again, yeah?”

He no longer knew how to control himself. No one did.

When he was younger he believed in God. Even when he started at Saint Matthew’s, he considered himself religious. Maybe he liked it because it made his nights just a little less lonely, or maybe because it filled him with a sense of identity. He knew that no matter what, there’s always that one person, an otherworldly figure that will love him endlessly, have control over him.

And when he felt himself drift away from his faith, it became a saga of bad decisions after bad decisions. Not because he stopped believing, but because there was no longer anyone to control him.

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think I’d do that” your lips are parted as he continues to brush his past your neck, jawline and mouth.

“Keep talking to me like that and you’ll regret it” he whispers with a sinful grin, his fingers reaching up to caress your cheek “Let’s just forget about what happened. You know I meant what I said”

“That you love me?” you laugh, and you can notice him bite down on the inside of his cheek. “Just leave me alone, Heeseung. Go find someone else and I’ll do the same” you try to be as calm as possible. He can’t know it’s affecting you.

Someone else? No, that can’t be possible. You are the only one who listens to him, you are the only one that’s there for every one of his requests. He can’t just let you go like that. It wouldn't be that easy to replace you.

“Sunghoon, right? That fucking prick, seriously?” he straightens his figure, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I never brought him up” you mutter, and he scoffs.

Heeseung’s eyes slightly narrow, while his lips press into a thin line.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled only by the quiet chatter of other people that were out here with you.

“Please, Y/n. You can’t do this” his tone becomes softer as a pleading look decorates his features.

You don’t really know what else there is to say.

His words- louder and longer, were given a physical form and longevity as if they had a life of their own now.

It almost made you think you forgive him.

____

During morning prayer you saw him again.

He still had that lifeless look on his face, as if nothing had really changed at all. As if nothing ever happened in the first place. He was two rows in front of you, next to Niki and Sunoo.

You wanted to catch him looking at you, to have his eyes on you.

All the students gathered in the chapel next to the school at 7:30. Punctuality was key. Under no circumstances was tardiness allowed- those who dared to come in a minute late were not allowed to participate and got punished with after-school detention.

Heeseung knelt down next to you. You hoped Sunghoon wouldn't see it.

‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen’

He signs the cross and so do you. “I missed you” Heeseung whispers, his hand softly brushing against your thigh.

“Don’t” you mutter back, swatting his hand away.

One of the students was leading today's Morning Offering.

You tried to focus on Sunghoon. Maybe his hair changed, or maybe his skin got tanner. He got a little skinnier, you note. Sunoo whispers something to him but he doesn't seem to listen.

“Stop,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your skin. You move away from him, watching how amusing this is for him.

“What?” His presence is strong, the pull almost working involuntarily.

‘...Or does so much bad feeling accumulate within us that we learn to mold it into a big lump of emotions, with amnesties and pardons? Or does the presence of the other, who yesterday morning was almost like an intruder to us, become more and more necessary, because it protects us from our own hell?’

You can’t listen, you can’t comprehend. No matter where, there's something pulling your attention.

“Don’t look at him” Heeseung’s voice is firm, his eyes on you. He’s always watching.

After a short reflection is spoken, a brief moment of silence follows. You close your eyes, leaning forward.

"We pray for our community, that we may learn and grow together in love and wisdom," the intention is spoken, and after reciting a prayer together, the students start rising from their spots slowly.

Sunghoon’s gaze doesn't even wander in your direction. He doesn't look at anyone, speeding out of the chapel as soon as the prayer commences. You want to go after him, but Heeseung stops you before you could even fully decide on it.

“Don’t go”

You turn around, watching his eyes that are full of amusement.

Is he enjoying himself this much? Does this entertain him?

“Heeseung, stop it. It’s over between us, remember? Leave me alone, seriously” you don’t sound heated or outraged. Not even resentful. Simply tired.

He doesn't react to your words. He knows you don't mean it.

You knew he wouldn't stop. You knew that as long as he was here, it’d never stop. He was obsessed and giving up wasn't really an option.

There were exceptions though. During study break, or lunch you wouldn't see him much. Maybe because the repugnance towards Jay and Jake was stronger than his willingness to see you. It didn't really matter though.

The part of you that liked the attention made you sick. It was hard to admit, and you most definitely wouldn't tell anyone. After everything, you still couldn't resent him. The hate continued to only bring you closer.

“When is New York?” Jake asked, his fingers tapping away on his laptop.

Jake was failing in most of his classes and he was slowly running out of time. What he had already learned stayed with him, but now, he had to catch up on a whole semester worth of material.

“Next week? I think” you reply and he mutters something under his breath. You don't catch it.

“Such a boring destination” Jay comments and you breathe out a chuckle in response. What an out of touch thing to say.

“We know, Jongseong. You’ve been there, have an apartment in SoHo and plan on going to NYU” he knows it’s a joke, he’s learned to not take offense to such silly things by now. But no one really calls him Jongseong.

Only his mother does. He hates it just as much as he hates her. But this time- he savors the sound, how easily it slips past your lips and how satisfyingly it rings in his ears.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I’ve never been” Jake piques, and you murmur a ‘Me too’ in response. He doesn't lift his eyes from the screen- it’s almost like he’s glued in place. It’s only the occasional loud sound or cramp in his leg that makes him move.

The trip was only for juniors and seniors. It wasn't the cheapest, but Eunseok didn't comment when you asked him for the money. His worn-out figure just scribbled out a check and handed it to you.

The main point was supposed to be St. Patrick’s Cathedral. You didn't really care for the building. Jake didn't either. You two had already planned to sneak out for dinner and shopping while the tour went on.

“I’m rooming with Heeseung” Jake sighed, taking off his glasses to wipe them with his blazer “That fucking dickhead signed us up last week. Didn't even know until Mrs. Kim told me”

Jay laughed. He passed Jake wet wipes, noticing how the boy can’t get his glasses clean.

“I’m rooming with Sunghoon. Haven't really talked to him, though” Jay says, and you both nod.

A small smile creeps onto your lips “I’m alone”

You didn't mind at all. You could do whatever you wished without an annoying bitch telling you to go to sleep because ‘your phone screen is keeping her awake’.

“Can I stay with you? Please” Jake pleads and you shake your head almost instantly. The boy frowns upon seeing your reaction.

______

New York felt oddly familiar.

These faces- they didn't carry that sense of foreignness. Everyone went about their day without interest in what the person next to them is up to. You felt a good kind of loneliness even though you were never truly alone.

Little Italy and Chinatown were fun.

You, Jay and Jake managed to slip out for a second, sharing a meal at a Cantonese restaurant. The food was quite enjoyable and the ambience was great. Jay did complain a bit though.

That same night you went out for drinks. When all the guardians fell asleep, on cue, everyone sneaked out of their rooms. Heeseung, rooming with Jake, found out about the plans that he wasn't included in. Of course he still tagged along.

Jay mentioned that Sunghoon has been so quiet, it almost feels like suicide everytime they are in the room together.

“I ask him if he wants to shower first, right? And you know what this decadent bum does? Nothing. He won’t even reply to me”

He wanted to complain more, but Heeseung’s angered and ostentatious sigh forced him to stop. He only looked over at Jake confused before switching to a different topic.

The next day you saw almost all the museums in Manhattan.

Your feet were in so much pain by the time you reached The Museum of Modern Art. While Jay and Jungwon walked around pretending to care for the artwork, you and Jake sat in a corner talking and recording dumb vlogs.

“Say hello to Jake’s vlog” he laughed, shoving the camera into your face. Jake’s stupid smile could be heard from behind the screen, his amusement making the video much more adorable.

With an annoyed grimace, you shoved the camera away from your face. Jake was unrelenting and it made napping nearly impossible.

“We’re in some shitty museum” he said sadly, the tone complimenting his mock expression of misery “You know what boggles me? That my dear friend Jay is pretending he likes this. No one likes this. It’s all just ugly paintings that have a forced meaning attached to them”

“Boggles me? What are you, fucking 50?” you laugh, looking over to him. “What else am I supposed to say” his lips twist in a downwards smile.

“Just say ‘Hello’ to my vlog” he pleads again.

Rubbing your temples, a sigh escapes your lips again. You looked up at Jake before staring right into his phone camera.

“Hello” your unenthusiastic tone was menacing to Jake.

He gave you a playful shove “Happier” Jake commanded.

You look over at him wide eyed. After a moment of his unchanging stare, you plaster a forced smile on your face that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

“Hi” you even attempt a wave.

Jake laughed, and turned the camera to face him again. “That’s my stripper friend Y/n. Call me to book a lap dance. It’s real” he whispered, the camera too close to his face.

He turned the camera back to you. You shook your head as a lighthearted laugh slipped past your parted lips “Turn this off, Jake. You’re wasting storage, you fucking idiot”

Later that day the two of them offered to go out again since Jay had actually brought the keys to his fathers apartment. You declined.

Maybe you’d try to call your brother, share some photos with him. It surprised you to actually get an answer. It didn't last long though- 5 minutes in he had to hang up because of an emergency surgery.

You think about Heeseung. You think about everything, really. In the evening waiting for him becomes much more annoying. The thought of him becomes unbearable, because you’re not supposed to think about him.

Rejecting him was almost an immediate reaction. The idea of him was much nicer than having him there, so raw and real in front of you.

It was strange to him too- fearing the days where you were away and he had no idea where you’d gone.

Thinking about Sunghoon was much more grounding. Much more humanly and justified. His blank stare and cold demeanor, unchanging. Nothing brought you the answer you needed. You wished he’d look at you long enough to see that same thirst for life he noticed back in December.

A knock at the door sounds through your hotel room. It’s soft, barely audible.

It’s probably Jake, or Jay. You look down at the time and note that it’s a reasonable time for them to be back. They’ve been out for a good 3 hours now.

You open the door, and it doesn't really hit you at first. Sunghoon must've gotten the wrong room.

Your attempts to look calm are futile as your voice cracks “What are you doing here..?” he stands there for a moment, his lips parted. It’s almost like he doesn't really know either.

As you step back to let him enter, he hesitates briefly “You’re alone?” His voice is mellow. The dim light in the room casts a shadow on his face making him appear much more gloomy than usual.

You nod reluctantly. Your gaze is on him, searching, as if asking for permission to speak, continue.

There's a moment of deep silence. It isn't uncomfortable or awkward. He's in your presence and you're in his. That seems to be enough to console the immediate tranquility.

“Do you like it here?” he asks and it seems to strike you as unusual. He never really bothered to converse with others unless they initiated it.

The scene is oddly familiar. He sits next to you on the bed, propping his body up on his hands. Just like you were immensely aware of each other's closeness that night, it's the same today.

This time though it seems like it's Sunghoon's turn to find excuses to avoid the topic. And you let it happen.

“Yeah. It’s fun” you nod, and so does he. Against your will you ask a question that in different circumstances, wouldn't even make it past your throat- “Are you hiding from me?”

Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat as he looks down at your hand. It’s dangerously close to his thigh “No, not from you” his answer is hesitant.

“It feels like it” he bites the inside of his cheek at your words.

His fingers play with the fabric of your white sheets “Maybe in a way I was” his voice softens, his eyes scared to look at you.

“In what way?” you mutter. The air feels ominous, as if you're both threatening the unchangeable.

“You know” he starts, his hand reaching closer “I was afraid to be denied”

Sunghoon saw you call, his finger hovering over the answer button many times as he wondered what he’d even tell you. There were so many things he wanted to say. So he’d just flip the phone over.

Today he was braver. Or at least that’s what he thought. Because being eye to eye with you again, stripped him of it all.

“I thought you knew I wouldn't. I called you. And texted, a lot” you answered, and his lips pressed into a straight line.

His touch is tentative. Eventually, he reaches out towards you, his warm hand takes yours, interlacing your fingers “And I should’ve answered. I’m sorry. For not being more” he looks at you again, the warmth in his eyes genuine “Because I know you wanted me to be more”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes. You laugh “This is so stupid”

You halt the tears from spilling down your cheeks. Sunghoon’s lips form into a small smile “It’s not”

You look down at your fingers intertwined. He’s looking too.

You can hear some girls stumble their way into the room next to yours. Judging by the voice, you think it’s Minjeong. She says something about a 45 year old man coming to see her soon. She also seems to be begging her friend for one more drink ‘Last one, promise! I’m not drunk enough, Ning!’

Sunghoon doesn't say anything until the commotion dies down. Neither do you.

“Sloshed at 11. Crazy work” he chuckles, and so do you. You nod, thinking that Jake is probably somewhere in a corner, throwing up. He was definitely not the drinker everyone made him out to be.

He leans in closer, his eyes just for a moment searching yours for acceptance. His head falls down on your shoulder.

“Hoon?” your voice is just above a whisper.

He hears it again. It’s just as nice as it was back then. The sound is almost natural. He thinks you were made to call out to him. In contrast to last time, he’s much more optimistic.

He hums, ushering you to continue “Did you mean it?” He doesn't need you to explain, because he knows exactly what you're referring to.

A small laugh slips past his lips “I think me being here right now answers that one for you” he rises from the softness of your shoulder slowly, savoring the intimacy. A small smile forms on your lips at his words.

Pulling back, your eyes fall onto him again. Being with Sunghoon was so easy.

He pats his lap gently. His eyes are soft, almost begging “Come here” he whispers. The words are heavy with longing. They mingle in the air for just a second longer.

You nod after a moment of hesitation. As you settle onto him, his arms weave around your waist. He draws you into his warmth with his delicate touch. His face nestles into the hollow of your neck as he breathes softly, melting into the comfort of your presence.

Something seemed to have removed the distance between you and Sunghoon, and for a moment you had the impression that there was absolutely no difference in wealth, age or anything else between you. It was a wonderfully free and unleashing moment where you weren’t really expected to be anything.

“I’m sorry” he sounds shy, almost embarrassed.

Sunghoon was never the type to apologize. He’d rather let the conflict simmer down on its own without any further interference. Yet here he was- being vulnerable and honest.

“You already apologized” you smile, your fingers tangled in his hair.

He chuckles lightly “Once is not enough” he mutters into your skin, the sound muffled. You feel his wet lips move against your neck.

He raises his head, looking down at you again. “Can I kiss you?”

A sense of contentment washes over you. You nod, lips parted, waiting for him.

He gently tilts your chin up, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. A soft breath escapes you before he finally captures your lips in a deep, consuming kiss. It quickly grows messy, his hand sliding to the back of your neck. You grasp the neckline of his shirt as his tongue teases the seam of your mouth—seeking, almost begging for entrance.

Sunghoon pulls back, his breathing heavy, his lovesick eyes locked onto you. His lips glisten, slick with your desire.

He presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your neck, working his way down to your chest. You watch him through heavy lids, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. His hands slide beneath your shirt, fingers caressing your smooth skin. “Undress for me, please.” There’s a hint of desperation in his words as he tugs at the fabric.

You smile, cupping his cheek. Your thumb glides over his lips, gently parting them. “I don’t know…”

He whimpers quietly, grinding his clothed erection against you. “Don’t tease me. I need to see you.” His movements grow more frantic, his hands grasping at you like he’s desperate to feel every inch.

His face flushes with excitement as you hook your fingers under the hem of your shirt. “Want me to take this off?”

“Fuck, yes.” He nods eagerly, eyes devouring your every movement. One hand drifts down, palming himself through his pants as he watches, entranced.

With slow, deliberate motions, you peel the fabric from your body and toss it onto a nearby chair. His eyes widen with each inch of skin revealed.

“You’re desperate,” you tease, replacing his hand with your own. A feathery moan slips from his lips.

He throws his head back. “Is it obvious?” he breathes, and you confirm with a hum.

“I don’t care,” he admits, his eyes slipping shut as he pushes into your palm, eager for more.

Sunghoon thought about this all the time. He felt like such a pervert, but God, it was finally happening—and it was so much better than he ever imagined.

Last time, he was so close. Ten more minutes and a locked door, and he would’ve had you. Heeseung might have been the first to have you, but Sunghoon planned to be the one who had you best. He’d make you come over and over again until you forgot all about Lee Heeseung.

And judging by the way you were looking at him, it was already starting to work.

“I really need to fuck you,” he groans, biting his lower lip. His breathing is uneven. “So bad.” His fingers trail up your thigh, his touch light, pleading.

“Yeah?” You let out a small laugh, climbing off his lap. Your hands find the soft material of his pants.

He lifts his hips immediately, watching intently as your fingers slide the fabric down his legs.

Sunghoon can feel his heartbeat quickening, his whole body trembling with anticipation. You didn’t know he could get like this. You also didn’t know you’d like it so much.

His breath hitches when you toy with the waistband of his boxers, his legs spreading involuntarily. “Take them off, pretty,” he rasps, his voice cracking. “See how hard I am for you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, slipping his underwear down. He groans as the fabric slides along his length, his cock springing free.

You prop yourself up on one hand, the other lingering around his thick, leaking length. “Want me to touch you?”

He exhales sharply, his cock twitching against his lower abdomen. “Mhm.” He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dark with need. “Please.”

You press your palm against his tip, moving in slow, circular motions. His breath turns ragged as he throws his head back, surrendering to the feeling.

As your confidence grows, so does your pace. Your hand strokes him, faster, firmer. He pants lightly, looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. “Ride me.”

You smirk and nod, slipping out of your shorts, fingers teasing the waistband of your underwear. He bites his lip, eyes smoldering with lust as his legs spread wider in invitation.

“Take them off me,” you whisper.

He looks up at you, almost as if seeking permission, before ripping the material away.

He’s so desperate to feel you, to touch you, that he wastes no time pulling you back onto his lap.

Sunghoon is mesmerized. He’s been with other girls before, but this is the first time he’s had to work for it. He usually just got what he wanted, no effort required. But now, with you, it feels like a reward. And he plans to cherish every second.

You’ve waited for this moment, savoring every touch, every lingering glance. Each look from him feels like a compliment and promise of something more.

He grips his throbbing length, aligning himself with your entrance. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you. You can feel his tip pressing against you, and a low moan slips from your lips. He gazes up at you one more time, and you nod.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. A sharp gasp escapes you as you adjust, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Fuck, Hoon…” He keeps his hold firm, guiding you. “Like this? Is this what you wanted?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. His cock throbs inside you, hitting all the right spots with each downward roll of your hips. “Don’t stop.” His voice is raw with need.

He thrusts up to meet you, his whole body trembling as the wet heat of your cunt envelopes him completely. His self-control is slipping fast. If he had known it would feel this good, he never would have let Heeseung have you first. He would have taken you from the beginning.

You start to move faster, rocking your hips, pleasure building between you both. The sounds of your moans mix with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“So perfect,” he mutters through heavy breaths. “You’re so perfect.”

Your head falls back as Sunghoon presses a hand against your stomach, feeling himself inside you. He grits his teeth, trying to hold back, trying to make it last. But he can already feel it—the tightening coil deep in his core.

“I can’t,” you pant, your walls fluttering around him. The need for release is overwhelming.

With those words, he loses it. He pulls you flush against his chest, thrusting up into you at a frantic pace. “Fuck—gonna cum so deep inside you.”

His teeth sink into your shoulder, leaving red marks in their wake.

“So close, Hoon,” you whimper, and it pushes him to the edge.

He buries himself to the hilt, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills inside you, thick and hot, filling you completely. His eyes roll back as he comes, shuddering beneath you.

You’re right behind him, your climax crashing over you in waves. Your body quivers, collapsing onto his sweaty chest. His cum seeps from your still-clenching walls as he slowly slips out, savoring every second of your tight heat around him.

He watches his seed leak from your fucked-out hole, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

With a sigh, he falls onto his back, pulling you down with him.

Sunghoon feels completely content, his fingers lazily tracing patterns along your spine. He can feel your breath against his neck, warm and steady, making him smile.

Today feels like the first day of his life.

….

The rest of the trip was unparalleled. For you and Sunghoon at least. Others could wish to say the same thing.

Everyday he'd attempt to sneak into your room at night. He even created a special sequence of knocks just so you'd be sure it's him. Jay didn't seem to suspect anything.

On Wednesday night while using the bathroom he said he wants to film a Get Ready With Me. Just like the ones he'd seen on social media. You laughed, and agreed. This was so unlike him. In a good way though.

You think about the unrecorded parts- how he stood in between your legs, his face twisted in discomfort as you clear his skin.

“Your lipstick choice is fucking terrible. Coral is not your color, Hoon” you smile widely.

His lips were terribly overlined. The brown pigment reached high beyond his actual mouth. Sunghoon looked so stupid, but to you, it was adorable.

“Do it for me next time” a fond smile spreads across his face. He holds your hand, his thumb tenderly rubbing your soft skin.

You look at him with a raised eyebrow “Next time? Didn’t know my princess liked getting her makeup done” he playfully rolls his eyes at you.

“Too far” he tries to hold back a smile, but his twitching lip gives it away “Keep going” he looks at the cotton pad in your other hand.

You nod, scooting just a little closer to him.

Sunghoon stood there silently, eyes closed. His body twitches involuntarily as your fingers graze against his skin. He feels your soft breathing against his neck. The warmth mixed with the soothing swipe of the cotton pad against his face, sends a shiver down his spine, as his body naturally relaxes against you.

“Gone” you smile and his eyes flush open. His reflection stares back at him in the mirror.

His skin is irritated, he can tell. And usually he’d freak out. But now, he doesn't seem to really care.

The doting look in his eyes searched your expression, his hands sliding up and down your bare thighs.

“You’re so hot,” he says. A small smirk creeps up on his lips as he keeps inching closer.

“Sunghoon” you glare at him, attempting to look serious. His soft laughter breaks the facade pretty quickly.

Without another word he presses his slightly stained lips against yours. He smiles against you, his mouth opening faintly. He reaches up to hold your cheek, chest pressing against yours. A moan escapes your mouth as he deepens the kiss. His tongue swipes your bottom lip before slipping past it.

During field trips he’d find himself drifting closer to you. And when free time came around, he'd run off with you to different parts of the city he once fell in love with.

With his arm around your shoulders, he’d point to cafes, restaurants, street art and even benches. He was truly happy. And even if you weren't paying attention to his stories, the genuine smile on his face was enough.

“No way” you gasp, the amusement evident on your face as you peel away his sleeve slightly “I swear Jake and Jay have the same one”

Sunghoon laughs, watching you analyze the ‘4’ tattoo on his wrist.

“They do,” he smiles weakly. “Heeseung has it too” you never noticed.

You always knew about Jay’s- it was on his right palm. Just recently you saw Jake had it too, hidden on the back of his neck.

“He does?” Sunghoon nods and points to his ankle.

It's almost been a year since they got it, but the ink has already started fading away. In a way, Sunghoon was relieved.

“We were so fucking out of it that night” he starts, and you turn to face him. “It was in Tokyo, I think? This girl we met, she was a tattoo artist” he looks down at it too and his eyes seem to light up “We thought it'd be funny “

You grab onto his wrist as he speaks again “My mom was so mad when she found out. She wanted it removed but I was such a fucking asshole to her back then, so I didn't listen” you don’t let go, moving your fingers upwards to hold onto his hand. He smiles.

“You look badass. Sort of” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“It looks bad and ass. And I swear her ink was from Aliexpress” he pulls you into his chest.

It was getting dark outside, but the city was only becoming livelier. Everyone was in a rush, but their ambition and passion was almost tangible.

“I’m jealous then. Matching tattoos, that's serious dedication” you smile and he laughs at the comment.

His chin rests on the top of your head, his breathing slow and steady. He watches the orange haze that falls onto the landscape.

“I’ll get your name tattooed” you hum and it almost sounds like you're judging him. He chuckles “Swear to God”

“You’re insane”

The next day he’d find a new spot to take you to. He was a better tour guide than your English teacher, you’d tell him.

And Heeseung knew about it all. To say he was angry would be an understatement.

He passed by St. Marks Place with Karina. The girl told him something about her sister being interested in him. He didn't really listen to her though.

So many people passed by him- maybe 40 in the span of 5 seconds. A lot of them looked similar. New York fashion is diverse, but it really just comes down to the same thing, he notes.

Yet he pays attention to them all, especially the two oddly familiar faces that stand in front of him, playing with a passerbys dog.

Until now, Heeseung was pretty sure he had the situation under control. He was giving you the distance he deemed necessary. Still, his eyes never left you. And when they did, once, but for a period longer than ever, you manage to find yourself in the arms of Park Sunghoon again.

Karina notices it too. He told her all about it, the whole story. She knew he was short-tempered so she never really told him that this wasn't healthy. It’d be on the tip of her tongue every time, lingering far too long for comfort. By the time she was ready, he’d change the topic.

“She’s being unreasonable, right? Tell me I’m not insane” he asked. His eyes focused on the last sip of whiskey in his glass.

You are, she thinks.

“You can’t just expect her to move on because you said so” she wants to laugh, but judging by his worn-out expression, he’s not in the mood for humor.

He scoffs. Why not? You never had an issue listening to him.

“I didn’t say so” he replies, and she looks at him with her eyebrow raised “I said sorry, Rina. What the fuck else is there to say?”

“Nothing” Karina’s reply is almost automatic “That’s really the thing, you know? Sometimes sorry isn’t enough” her attempts at ‘comfort’ are fruitless- his head falls on the table after he finishes whatever was left of his drink.

“Does this haircut make my face look weird?”

Karina would laugh it off. She’d just let him go on about his haircut, the shoes he bought today, Jake’s glasses that he accidentally stepped on and the stray cat that almost bit him.

She knew that it was a matter of time until he’d bring you up again. It was a cycle that never ended.

While you deny him love, you give it to the same person he’s been trying to erase. And in a way it’s his fault- he left the cage open and you walked out.

____

“Are you fucking serious right now? Two parents but still can’t slice up a tomato” Jay scolds the younger boy that was forced to help him in the kitchen.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jake retorts, his expression tired as he gives up on the job completely. The massacred tomato lies on the cutting board which Jay swiftly takes over.

“Everything, Jake. Literally everything” he sighs, sending Jake away with his hand.

Dinners, hangouts, parties and suddenly everything fell into place. There no longer was the inexplicable animosity hanging in the air. It felt strange at first- the conversations and acts of kindness turned into something a lot more authentic and domestic. This is what you missed the most, it seems.

“You’re not getting into Harvard, fucking dumbass” Sunghoon laughed, digging his fork into the food prepared by Jay (and as he himself argued, Jake, who waited for the water to boil before dumping in the pasta).

“My grades are better now” Jake asserted “You’ll see, I’ll have the last laugh. Just wait” the threat and seriousness in his expression makes you chuckle.

“I’m gonna stay here” Sunghoon smiles. You look at him confused. You well remember him mentioning Princeton.

“What about Princeton?” Jay brings it up before you manage to do so. Sunghoon shakes his head, setting down his utensils.

“My step-mom is sick,” he reveals. You grab his hand under the table, and he squeezes hard “She’ll be fine, don’t worry. I just want to be with my family for now. Maybe in the future I’ll transfer” he adds with a smile.

Sunghoon has never been particularly close to his mother or his step-mother. It was a choice for him.

Jeongja, his mothers girlfriend, came into his life when he was 5 years old. She took care of him like he was her own. “Blood is not a requirement when it comes to family. I’ll always love you like a son, Sunghoon. Will you remember that?” she told him one day. He always thinks about that time. Sunghoon has always been so loved and he wishes he gave it back sooner, not when he was on the brink of losing her.

Jay feels a pang of guilt in his chest at his words. Maybe one day he could learn to love his mother again. Not today, not tomorrow but one day. He wants that, more than anything.

The day comes to a close soon enough, leaving you and Sunghoon to bask in each other's embrace.

His head is on your stomach, as you play with his hair. It’s grown quite long, especially in the back.

“Two days before New Year's I was at the event hosted by Heeseung’s father” he starts. You don’t say anything, allowing him to continue “I talked to Heeseung then. That was the last time, actually” he chuckles lightly. There’s a hint of sadness in his tone, but he can't quite tell why.

“You know he actually likes you?” it doesn't shock you like he expected it to. He doesn't comment on it though, letting you find the right words in reply.

“I know” you say, and he sits up abruptly, looking at you.

“You do?” He seems puzzled. It has been so long since he’s seen or even talked to Heeseung. He wouldn't know.

Maybe there is a part of him that misses the boy. He was his first friend at Saint Matthew’s Academy. He welcomed him like they’d been friends since forever. Heeseung put up with his initial shyness even when it seemed like everyone else couldn't anymore.

Sunghoon always smiles when he thinks about his first day. Lee Heeseung spotted him in the crowd, and without an introduction, swung his arm around his shoulder, talking to him like an old friend.

He introduced him to Wonyoung, his first actual girlfriend. Even though he wasn't on the best terms with her right now, even though he was with her out of convenience, the memory of their time shared together makes his heart just a little warmer.

Heeseung was the one who gave him a life. And he loved him, which made leaving 10 times harder.

Even so, he doesn't regret the decision. He knew it was pointless to live with the idea of his once best friend that wasn't really accurate anymore. They both deserved better than each other.

“He’s made it pretty clear” your lips form into a downwards smile.

Sunghoon looks away from you for a brief moment as he speaks up “And it doesn't change anything?”

“What do you mean?” you tilt your head in question.

Sunghoon exhales sharply. Even though he knows what answer to expect, there’s still that ounce of fear in him. Fear that stems from being second, being the ‘afterparty’.

“You still choose this? Even if you know it wasn't necessarily fake after all?” he asks even though he knows he shouldn't.

You smile, and pull him back into your chest “I should've chosen this from the beginning” he feels his heart grow bigger, a heat rising to his face “It doesn't matter what it was, not really. Didn’t you know I’d come back to you?” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I’m happy you did” he murmurs, his eyes shutting. Your hand slips under his shirt, caressing the soft skin on his back “You know, if he ever made you feel worse than us, I hope you know it’s not true. You’re a good girl, and I always knew it. You deserve more, and I’ll make sure you get it, okay?”

You smile lightly, and nod.

You look over at the dirty dishes in the sink, messy dinner table, and sigh softly as you think about all the work that’ll have to be conquered soon.

But you let him fall asleep on your chest, and it feels good. Even if there's things left undone.

____

It was Jungwon’s birthday dinner today.

After the school trip you two have grown much closer. He would visit you during breaks or sometimes join you in the study hall. He’d even given up his seat next to Jay (who was surprisingly really good at the subject) in French class to sit with you.

Jungwon would talk a lot about his girlfriend, Binna. She went to a public school not far from here and met Jungwon during a student exchange program to Sweden. She’d always tell him what people at her school thought about the well renowned, enclosed community of St. Matthew’s. It wasn’t entirely positive, and since Binna was dating one of the ‘stuck-up dickheads that probably wipes his ass with $100 bills’, they wouldn’t really include her in the conversations anymore.

But you enjoyed hearing about her. Jungwon would ask for advice regarding gifts, places he should take her and things he could do to make her feel loved. And you’d always give it to him.

He showed you countless pictures of her, always struggling with choosing one “She looks pretty in all of these, I swear!”

Her brown hair covered her face slightly but you could still see her beautiful face. Big, doe eyes, plump lips that were rosewood pink. She had a scar under her right eye. You thought it made her look so stunning. Jungwon did too.

During his birthday dinner, you saw them together for the first time. It was almost like he forgot what he was here for in the first place, his attention on her only.

You sat next to Sunghoon and Jake. Jay sat next to Jake with Niki on his right. Heeseung sat across from you, Karina next to him on the left, Sunoo on his other side. The other people there you didn’t really recognize.

The relationship between you and Jungwon wasn’t the only thing that changed. A lot of things did.

“Let’s go back to my house after this” he leaned in closer to you. He didn’t have to even whisper, the conversations that surrounded you ringing in your ears. The music was loud too. You think Sade is playing, but you're not sure.

Jake, although currently arguing with Jay about baseball clubs, notices. He caught on pretty early. During a walk after school, he brought it up. “Back in the game, huh? How did you even get him to talk?”. He knew you wouldn’t admit to anything, but it was funny to watch you get flustered at his comments.

“Won’t you be tired?” you ask, and he laughs softly. Tired after eating a free dinner, and cracking a few fake smiles? This was like a day job for him. Countless dinners with his biological father, whom he truly despised, or CEO’s of other successful companies, or with Wonyoung and her parents (he hated those one’s the most). He’s used to it by now.

He shakes his head ‘no’ which causes you to smile. His hand lingers next to your thigh. He’s tempted to touch you, but Heeseung’s piercing gaze prevents him. He doesn’t know why. It’ll end soon, surely.

You look over at Jay who's now in conversation with Niki. It’s a little shocking to see them like this.

Niki never liked Jay, and Jay didn’t like him either. Even if he was meant to marry his sister one day (which he saw maybe four times in his life, but truly wasn’t opposed to- she was so beautiful), Niki just couldn’t care less about Park Jongseong. They seem to be laughing at something now and it doesn't look forced, not at all. It’s a rare view and you almost take a photo. You could tease him with it later.

Jake turns to you and Sunghoon, noting how the boy is much more talkative when he’s with you.

“I’ll be back” you say, and Sunghoon nods, watching you stand up. He wants to say ‘I’ll miss you’, but thinks it’s incredibly corny.

The restaurant is crowded tonight. You seem to be the only big group of people there. You smile while passing an older couple that’s celebrating the wife’s birthday, a small cake and a big bouquet in a glass vase on the table.

Warm water slides down your fingers, drips down your wrist as you watch your reflection in the mirror.

January seeped into February while you became better. That's what you want to believe at least. While the hair dye keeps fading away, you think about how Heeseung suggested the color. When you touch what's left of your lip piercing (only a healed scar), you remember how he picked it out for you. It’s not inherently bad to change yourself for someone, but you wish you hadn't become everything you never wanted to be.

The door opens, the creak sounding through the bathroom. You don't look up, instead shaking the wetness off your hands.

“Still scared of the hand-dryer?” he leans against the wall. His tone is almost mocking, and usually you’d laugh with him. But today, just like yesterday and the day before that too, you don't feel like talking to Lee Heeseung.

“Heeseung, I’m not in the mood” Your tone is flat and his expression- unchanging. “I already told you everything I had to say”

“Do I make you feel sick? Do you think about what happened between us and feel sick?” You're taken aback by his sudden question.

There's a moment of painful silence as he gauges your reaction. You look at him with utter confusion, but his expression doesn't seem to falter- he's calm, almost too calm.

For the weeks after New York, Heeseung went back to ignoring you. You wouldn't see him much either, as he spent most of his time with Karina or a group of guys from your grade. Sometimes, he’d look at you for a moment longer than intended. His lips would part, as if he wanted to say something, but he never did.

Heeseung started ignoring you, and for the first time since you met him, it was okay.

“What?” you choke out, and he doesn't repeat. You heard him the first time, didn't you? “N- No. What are you even talking about?”

He scoffs, his eyes on the floor. Your back is pressed against the sink as you wait for him to continue.

“Then why him? We were good together” he doesn't sound sad, or resentful. It's almost like the question comes out automatically, like it's standard procedure.

You want to laugh. He sounds robotic, his ‘apology’ most likely rehearsed. No matter how much time passes, no matter what happens and what doesn't, Heeseung doesn't quite get it. Not at all.

“I want someone who doesn't see me as a game” you speak and he doesn't fire back- instead he nods. “And honestly, I really don't give a fuck what changed in the middle. You should've told me then, not after we had sex” he cringes at the reminder.

Was sorry really not enough? He needs a breakthrough, but nothing seems to work.

The last time he felt like this was when his first real girlfriend broke up with him to be with his brother. They're still together- a stinging reminder of what Heeseung couldn't be.

He remembers begging her to stay, standing in front of her, a desperate look on his face “I’ll be better” . She just laughed in his face. He felt like such an idiot.

And it happens yet again- it's just never enough. He's never enough.

He sighs, his expression changing “Do I have to kill him to get my fucking life back?”

You look at him confused “I- I don't understand” he shakes his head. His body peels off the wall, as he comes closer to you.

“That dickhead has it. He stole my life” his voice is just above a whisper, his eyes darkening. You don’t reply, a look of hesitancy on your features.

His friends, his almost girlfriend, his social status- Sunghoon took it away. He stole his identity, everything he's ever worked for. Heeseung had nothing left.

His hand lands on your shoulder, his touch tentative at first “I’ll be better”

He watches you sigh, a twinge of sadness in your eyes that can't look at him. A flash of hope crosses his face, but Heeseung knows it's pointless- he already lost. A long time ago.

“It doesn't matter anymore, really” you finally speak “And I don't think I’ll ever be over the person you were before, Heeseung”

Heeseung looked like he knew this was coming. Probably because he did.

He could say some cliche shit like “You know I’ll always love you?” or “Can you kiss me for the last time?”, but he doesn't. He nods. Maybe because he knew this far longer than he'd like to admit.

Heeseung recalls the moment he first saw you like it was yesterday. He was being a douche, wasn't he? It always went the same- he showers you with compliments, makes you think he’s emotionally intelligent, and eventually he’d have some fun with you. He never knew it’d go this far, no.

Now, he hates himself for being so fucking stupid, so reckless. But again, he wouldn't be able to keep it a secret long. They knew, they all did. And time already showed him that they wouldn't wait with the truth. They just would, they all would.

He’s glad to be leaving soon. Changing schools was never his plan- but it no longer made sense for him to be here. He’s sure there’s nicer things waiting for him in Kyoto.

He’s sure there’s a better version of him there.

Heeseung wants to tell you that this stupid birthday dinner for silly, little Yang Jungwon is most likely the last time he’ll see you. He wants to tell you that those rumors about him moving are true, but he bites his tongue. You probably knew anyway, and you probably didn't care.

He hugs you, and you let him. You let him hold you, and you pretend not to hear his quiet sniffles. He wouldn't want you to see him like this. Deep down he hopes that maybe eternal return is real, and he’ll get to have you in the exact same way again at one time.

Heeseung moves away from you, his glossy eyes glazing over your figure. He moves for the door handle, opening the door. The world becomes much louder again, as the line of tables spreads out in the distance.

“After you” he smiles weakly, his eyes avoiding you.

You reciprocate the same weak, apologetic smile. Stepping out of the bathroom you don't look back, heading straight for the table you came from.

You could've kept avoiding it, ignoring the growing pain in your chest whenever he crossed you. But you owed it to him.

There's a flash of guilt on your features as you approach everyone. But seeing Sunghoon laughing so effortlessly and purely with Jake and Jay again makes your lips curve into a small, genuine smile again.

“Are you okay?” his wide smile doesn't falter as Sunghoon turns to look at you. There’s a bit of concern in his tone as speaks, though. You nod.

“Where’s Karina?” you ask, noticing the two empty seats.

They think it’s weird- you asking about Karina of all people. But no one bothers to really make a comment about it.

“She left with Heeseung like 10 minutes ago. Didn't you see them leaving?” Jake questions.

“No” your gaze falls onto Sunghoon again. He looks so happy, and free. It didn't use to be like this. “Let’s get out of here” you lean down, your face at level with his.

He nods, moving swiftly as he collects his belongings “Yeah. Let’s go. If you’re not tired” he grins. You roll your eyes playfully, shoving him softly.

He holds your hand, his skin so delicate and smooth against yours. His grip is tight, as if he’s scared something might take you away from him.

“Let’s go be tired together, yeah?” he nods with a smile, looking down at you.

And the bittersweetness of February 9th stains you like the blood of a plump cherry on a summer day. But it was always meant to be this way, you think.

1K notes · View notes

buckyseternaldoll · 21 days ago

Text

Five Seconds, Five Years (Part I)

header from: pinterest

✮⋆˙ Part II | Part III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes proposed just days before the world ended — afraid he might never get another chance. Then he vanished in Wakanda. Five years later, he’s at your door — unchanged, while your whole life has moved on. Some love survives time. But what happens when life doesn’t wait?

Disclaimer: Heavy emotional angst, pre-Blip tension, mentions of impending war, proposal made under fear of death, sudden character disappearance (Blip), ambiguous loss, spiraling grief, trauma resurfacing, no body or closure, emotional collapse, breakdown depicted in detail, survivor’s guilt, mentions of Steve Rogers relaying death news. **This story stretches between several timelines in MCU (only loosely, not to be strictly following the year gaps)

Word Count: 4,543

The morning started with a light shower of rain.

You watched the droplets race each other down the windowpane, your breath fogging the glass as you leaned against the frame. Then—two soft knocks. You didn’t need to look. You already knew.

“Hi, doll,” Bucky said, voice low and warm with something close to reverence.

His hair was slightly damp from the spring rain, curling around his ears in a way that always made your fingers twitch to brush it back. His hoodie was soft and old, the sleeves bunched around his forearms—one solid and familiar, the other sleeve empty, folded and pinned neatly at the elbow. He looked tired—not in the physical sense, but in the bone-deep way someone looks after wading through ghosts every day. But he smiled for you. A small, worn smile that still made something in your chest ache with love.

You stepped aside without a word, letting him in, and he walked in with the quiet of someone who knew exactly where he was going. The apartment hadn’t changed. Same lamp with the crooked shade. Same couch where you both had fallen asleep watching movies at 2AM. Same coffee table with the scratch he’d accidentally left with the blunt corner of his missing arm that first night you kissed.

He dropped his overnight bag beside the door, exhaled slowly, then turned to you.

“Still like chamomile?” he asked softly.

“Still need it to sleep,” you replied.

And just like that, like every visit before this, he melted into the space like he belonged. Because he did.

—

He never stayed long.

A few days at most—just long enough to fold himself back into the quiet corners of your life, like he’d never left. Just long enough to remind you what peace felt like in the shape of his hands.

Wakanda was still healing him—carefully, gently, methodically. Shuri had done the impossible, reworking HYDRA’s programming strand by strand. But even she said: healing isn’t a machine you can fix. It’s something you relearn, every day.

So he came back to New York when the shadows got too loud. When he needed something no vibranium tech could replicate. You.

He told you once, on one of those nights when he curled into your sheets like a man too big for peace, that he didn’t remember what love felt like before you. Only that with you, it was quiet. Safe.

“You don’t pull me out of the dark,” he said. “You just sit with me in it.”

You had no idea how much that would come to mean.

—

The night he proposed, there was fear in the sky.

You tasted it in the wind, felt it in his kiss—like the world was holding its breath, and he was holding you in case it collapsed.

He held you longer that night. Kissed you slower. Touched you like he was tracing every line of a goodbye letter he hadn’t written yet. You were half-asleep on the couch, your leg draped over his, one of his hands resting gently on your thigh while the city pulsed beyond the window. Everything felt like static—like something just out of reach was about to break.

Then he pulled a small velvet box from the pocket of his hoodie.

“I know this isn’t perfect,” he said. “It’s not candlelight or champagne. But I’ve spent so much of my life losing time—and I won’t risk losing this moment.”

He slid down to one knee, right there in the living room, ring in one hand, his other hand cupping your cheek.

“If I go… and I don’t make it back… I need to know I at least asked.”

“Marry me,” he said. “Let me go into whatever’s coming knowing I finally did something for me. For us.”

Your tears soaked his collar as you nodded yes and whispered, “Come back to me. I’ll be here. For you—always.”

—

You stood on the fire escape with your back to his chest, the city humming below.

It felt like a goodbye disguised as a promise. And you let yourself believe there’d be another hello.

He didn’t say much that morning. Just pressed his lips against your shoulder. Just held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him together.

Before he left, he turned to you one last time, eyes impossibly soft.

“After this… if there’s still a world left—let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. “Seoul, maybe. You always said you wanted to see the Han River.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “You remember that?”

He nodded, smiling softly. “You used to watch those Korean dramas in bed. Said you loved the way it looked—couples walking under cherry blossoms by the river, taking the KTX cross-country like it was something sacred. You said the peace there felt… quiet. Not empty.”

Your heart clenched. “I was learning the language. Thought if I really wanted to understand it all—the place, the people—I’d have to go live it. Not just dream it.”

“Then let’s live it,” he whispered. “I want peace. But more than that… I want you in peace.”

You kissed him once more.

You didn’t know it would be the last.

—

You didn’t see him disappear.

You weren’t even awake when it happened. The sun had barely risen over New York when your phone buzzed—once. Then again. Then relentlessly. The group chat with Sam. News alerts. A voicemail from Nat with no words, just labored breathing and distant shouting.

You sat up slowly, still in his hoodie, the ring box on your nightstand untouched from the night before.

Then came the knock.

Three times. Firm, deliberate.

You already knew.

You opened the door and found Steve standing there. Still in his suit. Mud on his boots. A small tear in the shoulder of his uniform. His shield wasn’t with him. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenched so hard it ticked like a clock.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You stepped back.

He moved like someone walking through wet cement—slow, deliberate, as though every step hurt. He looked around your apartment like it was sacred ground, his gaze falling on the framed photo of you and Bucky laughing in Central Park. He swallowed hard and finally sat on the edge of the armchair.

And then he said it.

“He’s gone.”

The words hit you like a blunt object. Not a stab—there was no blood. Just the absence of breath. Like your lungs forgot how to work.

“It was fast. Dust,” Steve said. “Just… dust.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared. Not at him. Not at anything.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “Before the battle… he pulled me aside. Gave me this.”

From his pocket, Steve pulled out a small, worn notebook. You recognized it immediately. Bucky’s.

“He told me… if anything happened to him, if he didn’t come back… I was to find you. He wrote your name on the first page. Your number. Said, ‘She’s the only thing that ever made me feel like a man again. Please tell her I didn’t walk away.’”

Your knees buckled.

Steve caught you, arms strong and shaking all at once, pulling you gently to the floor.

“I’m so sorry.”

You weren’t crying. Not yet. You were too numb. The room spun in tight, slow circles.

“I need to see it,” you whispered.

Steve hesitated—then nodded.

He opened the notebook to the first page.

There, scrawled in Bucky’s neat, all-caps handwriting:

IF I DON’T MAKE IT BACK—CALL HER. TELL HER I WAS THINKING OF HER. TELL HER I DIDN’T RUN. TELL HER I LOVE HER.

Beneath it—your name. Your number. A little drawing. A tiny heart.

That’s when the screaming started.

—

You didn’t remember hitting the floor, but you remembered the sound of your scream.

Not human. Not you. Something primal, something that ripped through your throat and shattered into the walls around you. Your voice cracked. Broke. The notebook hit the floor. The ring box fell from the nightstand and landed with a hollow, damning thud.

You barely heard Steve calling your name. Felt his hands on your shoulders, grounding you, holding you like Bucky once did. You clawed at the couch cushions, the carpet, your own skin.

You begged. Pleaded. Not for God. Not for mercy. Just for one more second.

But there was no body.

No goodbye.

No grave.

Just dust on the wind and the weight of a love that had no ending.

You didn’t dream for weeks after that.

You couldn’t.

Because in every dream, he came back.

And in every one, he left again.

—

The first three days, you didn’t move from the couch.

The world around you buzzed in static—television left on, reports playing on loop. People screaming in airports. Planes crashing. Children disappearing from classrooms mid-laugh. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You watched the news like a zombie. Not for information—you already knew the only part that mattered. But some stubborn part of you hoped someone, somewhere, would say his name. Would tell you they made a mistake. That he wasn’t among the dead.

But the screen stayed silent. And you did too.

—

By the fourth day, the calls started.

Steve again. Sam. Natasha. Even Bruce. You didn’t answer any of them. Not because you were angry—because the thought of speaking felt unbearable. Like it would make it real.

You didn’t want reality.

You wanted Bucky’s half-finished mug on the counter. You wanted the hoodie he left draped on the kitchen chair to still smell like him. You wanted his voice—gruff and low and quiet when he called you doll—to echo in the hallway again.

You slept on the floor.

It was cold there, under the window, but you didn’t care. The bed still had the dent where he last lay. The sheets still smelled like the skin between his neck and collarbone. You couldn’t touch it. You couldn’t bear to lie there and know you’d wake up alone.

You left the lights off. You didn’t eat. You stopped checking the time.

—

Your body broke before your mind did.

On Day Six, you collapsed in the hallway—halfway between the kitchen and the bathroom. Hunger, dehydration, grief. You woke up with the side of your face pressed to the tile and vomit dried in your hair.

You didn’t bother showering.

—

The ring box sat on the coffee table like a tombstone.

You couldn’t look at it.

Sometimes you swore it moved. That the air around it bent a little—like the force of your grief made it magnetic. But maybe that was just the fever setting in.

By Day Ten, the plants in the apartment had all died. You hadn’t watered them. Hadn’t opened the windows. You couldn’t stand the idea of fresh air. What was the point of anything growing if he wasn’t around to see it?

—

The fridge smelled like something rotting. You ignored it.

Instead, you sat on the kitchen floor in the same clothes from the week before. A loose shirt that smelled like Bucky and a pair of sweats with a hole in the knee. You held his dog tags in your fist so tightly, they left deep red grooves in your palm.

You thought about drinking.

The bottle of whiskey in the cabinet had dust on it—he’d been the one to stop you from spiraling back in those first months together. Always said he didn’t want to erase pain anymore. Just learn how to hold it.

You opened the cap. Brought it to your lips.

And stopped.

Not because you had willpower.

Because you knew it wouldn’t work.

There was no numbness strong enough to kill what was eating you.

—

The world outside moved on.

People rioted. Protested. Some fell into religion. Some into madness.

You fell into silence.

Your voice, when you finally spoke again, was raw. Dry. You tested it in the mirror one night like it was a broken instrument.

“Bucky.”

It cracked in half.

—

You didn’t leave the apartment for three weeks.

When you finally did—just to get milk, just to do something normal—you ended up on your knees in the middle of the sidewalk three blocks away. Some man passed you and smiled the way Bucky used to. And that was all it took.

You screamed. Sobbed. Clutched the concrete like it would split open and deliver him back to you.

A woman called 911. You told the paramedic you didn’t need a hospital.

You just needed him.

—

You stopped wearing your engagement ring. But you didn’t take it off either.

Instead, you threaded it through your necklace and wore it under your shirt. It dug into your chest when you lay down. Bruised your skin. But you kept it there.

Because pain, at least, reminded you that you hadn’t died with him.

Not completely.

—

You weren’t even sure how you got there.

One moment, you were standing in your kitchen, clutching a mug you hadn’t touched in days. The next, you were staring at a blank clipboard in a community center basement that smelled like old coffee and damp carpet.

Someone must have signed you up.

Sam, maybe. Steve.

You didn’t ask.

You just sat in a plastic chair at the far end of the circle, your hoodie drawn up, sleeves long enough to hide your shaking hands. The metal folding chair felt cold through your clothes. You hadn’t spoken to anyone in almost a week.

The room was too bright. Too quiet. You hated it.

—

A woman with kind eyes and a voice like a lullaby welcomed the group. She said her name was Jess. She offered tissues before anyone even spoke. As if she already knew.

Around you, strangers began to talk.

A man with graying temples spoke first. He lost his husband. Just vanished while brushing his teeth.

A mother next. Her little boy turned to ash in a park sandbox.

A teenager. His twin sister. Gone mid-laugh.

You couldn’t listen.

Because everything sounded like static.

Because all you could hear—all your brain let you hear—was him.

—

“You chew your pen when you’re anxious.”

Your lips curled slightly. Not in a smile—just recognition. You looked down.

You were chewing your pen. The same way Bucky used to tease you about.

Your hands trembled. You slid the pen across the floor, out of reach.

“Let me do the dishes. You cooked.”

You closed your eyes. Your throat ached.

You could still hear him humming while he cleaned. That stupid 1940s jazz that you pretended to hate.

You remembered standing in the kitchen doorway watching him wash the plates—one-armed, stubborn, slow—until you came up behind him, wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the center of his back.

He always laughed when you did that. Said it tickled.

“I like this one on you,” he murmured once, thumbing the hem of your sweater.

It was the sweater you were wearing now.

You curled your fists into it. Pulled the sleeves over your palms like armor.

—

You hadn’t realized tears were spilling down your cheeks until someone passed you a tissue.

You didn’t look at them. You just nodded, quietly, and held the tissue in your lap like it was glass.

—

You still hadn’t spoken.

And you wouldn’t. Not that day.

But someone sat beside you.

Not close enough to crowd you. Not far enough to feel like pity.

A man. Taller than most in the room. Wide shoulders. He said nothing. He didn’t stare. He didn’t fidget.

He just… sat.

His presence felt like a dim light in a locked room. Not enough to see by. But enough to remind you the dark wouldn’t last forever.

You caught his name once—said soft during introductions, almost like he hated saying it aloud.

You didn’t remember the name.

But you remembered his eyes.

They didn’t flinch when he saw your pain.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

You didn’t plan to come back.

After that first session, you walked out into the gray drizzle of early fall and told yourself, That was it. Enough pretending. Enough people watching me fall apart.

But the next Thursday, you were there again.

Same plastic chair. Same empty hands. Same hollow ache under your ribs.

And so was he.

He never spoke first. Never leaned in. He was just… there.

Somehow, that was enough.

His name, you learned slowly, was Dean. He used to be a museum archivist. Lost his wife in the Snap—said it casually, like someone talking about bad weather. But you noticed the way his voice dipped when he said her name. Like he was still trying to hold onto it without cracking.

He never asked about Bucky. Not even once.

But when the others spoke of their losses, he never looked away from you. Like he knew yours ran deeper than words could reach.

—

Week three, he brought two mugs of chamomile tea into the session.

One slid toward you on the table without a word.

You stared at it for almost five minutes before lifting it with trembling hands.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Your first words in the group.

His only reply was a soft nod, like your voice was a fragile thing he didn’t want to scare away.

—

Your flashbacks to Bucky changed, slowly.

They used to come all at once—bright, vivid, crushing. The way his stubble felt against your neck. The way he’d lean his head against your shoulder without speaking, just breathing you in. The little notes he used to leave on post-its: Got groceries. Love you. Don’t forget your umbrella.

Now, the memories drifted in more quietly.

Softer.

You still heard his voice sometimes. Still caught the scent of his cologne on strangers in passing. Still reached for your phone on bad nights, forgetting—for just a second—that he couldn’t answer anymore.

But it hurt less.

And the guilt of that hurt in a whole new way.

—

One Thursday, weeks later, the group had to shift to a smaller room.

You ended up sitting closer to Dean than usual. Shoulder to shoulder.

You could feel the warmth of his arm through your sleeve. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

That night, walking home, your brain played a memory of Bucky helping you carry groceries—laughing as a bag ripped and apples rolled down the sidewalk.

You smiled, faintly.

Then you realized you hadn’t cried that day.

And you sat on the edge of your bathtub later that night, shaking.

Not because you missed Bucky.

But because you were starting to feel okay again—and that felt like betrayal.

—

A month passed. Then two.

Dean started walking you to the Metro. You didn’t ask him to.

One day, it rained.

You stopped under a shared umbrella, both of you damp and breathless from laughing—the first real laugh you’d had in months.

You looked up and caught Dean watching you, his expression unreadable.

Not romantic.

Not pitying.

Just… present.

Present in a way you hadn’t let yourself be for a very long time.

—

One night, after a particularly raw session, he spoke first.

“You know… when she vanished, I didn’t want to survive it.”

You turned to him, startled by the honesty.

He shrugged. “But then I realized… she’d kill me if I didn’t try.”

Your throat clenched. You looked at your lap.

“He used to say the same thing,” you whispered. “About me.”

Dean didn’t press.

Just walked a little closer that night.

—

By the time winter came, you could walk through your apartment without flinching.

You still had Bucky’s things.

You still wore his ring on a necklace.

But you didn’t collapse every time you looked at the spot where he used to sit.

Sometimes, you even caught yourself humming in the kitchen again.

You found yourself craving chamomile tea.

Not because it reminded you of him—but because it reminded you of you.

—

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no rose petals, no hidden photographers, no gasping onlookers.

It was quiet. Barely even romantic.

It happened on a Sunday.

You were walking back from the flower stall near the corner café—the one that had slowly become “yours.” Dean had picked up your favorite blend from the tiny tea shop on 12th. You had daisies in one hand, his in the other, and the sky had that late-spring haze that made everything feel softer than it really was.

It wasn’t a special day.

But it was a peaceful one.

And that was rare enough to feel sacred.

—

He stopped walking.

You turned when you noticed the gentle tug on your fingers.

Dean’s expression was unreadable—not nervous, not trembling. Just… full. Full of something warm and earnest.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Can I ask you something?”

You blinked. “Of course.”

“Not because I expect anything. Not because I need an answer right now. But just because I’ve been thinking about it.”

Your heart started to flutter. You knew. You knew what this was.

He reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a box—small, worn, simple.

But you didn’t open it.

You stepped back.

Just an inch.

The shift in your eyes told him everything.

“Dean,” you said, voice tight, “there are still memories of him. Bucky. They’re everywhere. In my apartment. In my closet. In my head.”

You looked down, fidgeting with the necklace around your neck. The one with the first ring. His ring.

“Some days I still hear his voice. Some mornings I wake up reaching for him before I remember he’s not there.”

Your throat caught. You didn’t even notice the tears starting to gather.

“I don’t know if I can give you… a clean slate.”

Dean didn’t flinch.

He nodded, slowly, with something like relief in his eyes.

“I know,” he said. “I never expected you to.”

He stepped closer, took your hands again, and gently turned them over in his.

“You’re not letting him go. Just like I haven’t let her go, either.”

You looked up sharply.

Dean gave a soft smile. Not sad. Just real.

“She’s still here sometimes. When I make coffee in the French press. When I take the long way home past the bookstore she loved.”

“Grief doesn’t end,” he said. “It just… softens. Changes shape. We don’t bury them. We carry them. That’s what love does.”

You stood in silence for a long moment.

You thought about Bucky. The first time he’d told you he loved you. The way his laugh shook his shoulders. The promise of Seoul.

You thought about Dean, sitting beside you in silence every Thursday. Making space for your pain. Never trying to fix you. Just being there.

“You’re not a replacement,” you whispered.

“And you’re not broken,” he replied.

Then he held the box up.

“No pressure. No timeline. Just… maybe this could be our next chapter. One that we write slowly. With room for everything that came before.”

You opened the box.

Inside—a ring of pale gold, delicate, nothing flashy.

But there was a tiny engraving inside.

“Still here.”

Your lip trembled.

You nodded.

He didn’t slip the ring on your finger yet. He let you take it.

You slid it on, next to the weight of the one around your neck.

Two loves. Two lives.

And somehow, still, yours.

—

It happened in a blink.

One second, Bucky was in Wakanda—the dirt thick under his boots, the scent of fire and blood hanging in the air. He’d just raised his rifle. Just started to call out to Steve.

And then—the wind shifted.

The trees looked different. Taller. Lusher. Greener. The sky above was brighter, fuller. The battlefield was… gone.

There were birds singing.

Not screams. Not gunfire.

Just birdsong.

He spun around.

The spear Okoye had thrown was rusting in the grass. The ship that hovered above had long since vanished. There was no dust on his fingers. No ash on his coat. He checked his arm—the new vibranium still intact, just like it had been before he vanished.

But the world had changed.

He felt it.

Like walking into a memory too old to trust.

“Steve?” he called, breath shaky. “Sam?”

No one answered.

He didn’t waste time.

He got back to New York the fastest way he could—everything was a blur of panic and fire beneath his ribs. There was no time to understand. Not yet.

He had to find you.

He had to come home.

—

The sun had already begun to set when he reached your building.

That familiar stoop. The cracked step on the left. The faded welcome mat with the crooked “O.” It was all the same.

He climbed the stairs two at a time. His boots felt too loud. His heartbeat louder.

Then he stood at your door.

His hand trembled.

He knocked—twice. Just like always.

—

Inside, you were plating the steak.

The pan still sizzled on the stove. Garlic, rosemary, butter—the smell rich and comforting, spreading through the apartment like a warm blanket. Dean was rinsing the salad in the kitchen sink, humming softly under his breath.

It had been a good day.

You wore his hoodie. Your hair was up in that casual way Bucky used to love—but now Dean did, too. It was domestic. It was safe. It was… yours.

The knock made your head lift.

Two knocks.

You froze.

It couldn’t be. That rhythm—it was etched into your bones.

You stepped toward the door.

Dean looked over, still smiling. “Expecting someone?”

“No,” you said softly. “I… I don’t know.”

You opened the door.

—

And there he stood.

Bucky Barnes.

Same shoulders. Same eyes. Same hair—curling at the ends, messy from the wind.

He was breathing like he’d run the whole way.

Your mouth parted but no words came out. The hallway felt too narrow. Too real.

“Doll,” he whispered, voice rough and broken. “It’s you. It’s really—”

Then he stopped.

Because Dean appeared behind you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissed your shoulder casually, unaware of the hurricane that stood outside.

“Hey, babe—who’s—?”

His voice trailed off as he looked up.

Saw the man in the doorway.

Saw your face.

“Bucky,” you said.

A whisper. A gasp. A prayer.

—

The world tilted.

Bucky’s eyes dropped to Dean’s hands around your waist. To the ring on your finger. To your body, five years older.

He stumbled back a step.

You reached out instinctively—and stopped yourself.

He looked like he’d been gutted.

“You’re… older,” he said quietly. “How long—?”

“Five years,” you said, voice trembling. “It’s been five years.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“It was five seconds for me.”

His voice cracked down the middle.

Dean slowly, gently let go of your waist. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The pain on Bucky’s face said everything.

“I came back for you,” Bucky said. “I came home.”

Then he shook his head.

“But someone already did.”

You couldn’t speak.

Your hands were shaking.

Bucky took another step back.

“I thought… I thought I’d walk in, and you’d be waiting.”

A faint, broken laugh escaped his throat. It wasn’t humor. It was disbelief. It was the kind of laugh you make when the world plays its cruelest card.

“I was just a few seconds too late,” he whispered.

And then he turned.

And walked away.

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