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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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okay i am so sorry i meant to keep reblogging but my phone CRASHED THE APP AFTER EVERYTHING I WROTE anyways

i have to say, the amount of layers the characters have is what keeps me so engrossed in this story. even the side characters have backstories and i love it 😭

i’m doing this on mobile so don’t kill me

i feel like my heart broke a little for oc when she found out that hyunjin had no intention of having any children 😭 he’s so cold yet charismatic with words that bleed with his affection toward her yet keeps her at an arms distance, anyone in her shoes would feel the same way!!

also my biggest weakness is when hyunjin is jealous so i’m gonna claim that as u did it for me but seeing him unraveling more and more bc of oc is ugh CHEFS KISS

if honey is pure, it will burn (pt one of chapter two) | the taste of honey series

pairing: young aristocrat!hyunjin x afab reader | wordcount: 22.8k | genre: 19th century au, arranged marriage, romance, smut | warnings: mutual pining/requited feelings but they're being complicated about it ; angst ; virgin reader ; heavy fantasizing ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only. This work portrays themes & actions that might trigger some, reader discretion is advised.

Perhaps your mother would have loved you more if you had simply been her daughter instead of being Hwang Hyunjin’s betrothed. Unfortunately for both of you, you had never been allowed to be just that. A daughter. A sister. A girl. A beekeeper.

That morning, you woke up as Lady Hwang.

A strange thing, really, to wake up as a new person. But that morning, you heard birds through the window, birds unknown to you with songs you didn’t recognize, you heard unfamiliar voices, you smelled foreign yet pleasant scents.

You woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours, on a plush mattress with freshly changed bed sheets that had been rinsed in rose water and hung to dry by the lilac trees in a garden that also wasn’t yours. You woke up with the other half of the bed empty, unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved about that. You woke up with a secret, too, one that weighed heavy on your shoulders.

Foreign birds. A soft breeze. There was so much that you could hear but none of it made sense. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the study whose door had been left wide open. One glance confirmed that you were indeed alone in the Lord’s bedchamber. Laughter downstairs, and maybe even music somewhere farther. Children playing. Your own breathing, steady, slow. The brushing of your body on the sweet-smelling linen you lay upon.

You turned in the bed, rolling on your side to look at the space where your husband should be. What a foolish girl you had been, thinking that you would fall asleep in Hyunjin’s loving embrace on your wedding night and wake up to his gentle smile, bathing in sunlight the next morning.

You extended your arm to touch the space where Hyunjin wasn’t. The sheets were wrinkled but they were cool, indicating that he had slept there but had been gone for a while. You caressed the linen, letting it fill your soul with sensations to make up for the void within you, the one where you had been hoarding your hope all this time.

He wrote you a letter every year for your birthday, letters full of tenderness, gentleness. Words coated with gloom, desolation, anger. Words coated with expectation, intimacy, respect. You did not know what love was, but you had thought that you loved him. Hyunjin. How naive you had been. To think that he would love you back, even just a little. How stupid you had been every time you saw his letter waiting for you on your desk, year after year, and your heart would feel like it was about to burst out of your chest.

You read all of his letters so often that you could recite them by heart. You read Hyunjin’s letters so often that some of them were damaged, no matter how careful you were with the paper. If some words had been erased by time or friction, it didn’t matter—you knew them. You knew Hyunjin’s words as if he had engraved them in your heart.

But it seemed it wasn’t enough. It seemed that the man tracing letters and words in ink for you had a different heart than the man who had danced with you last night. The man who had unlaced your corset, the man who had cut his skin open instead of fucking you.

You made yourself get out of bed to wash up. As if on cue, there was a faint knock at the door and a young maid asked if she could assist you. You weren’t used to that—back home, there were only a few housekeepers and the maids usually took care of your sisters. You wondered if, maybe, your mother had tried to raise you to be independent.

Still, you let the maid help you—you knew that if she returned immediately, she’d get scolded for not assisting you. You chatted with her, trying to let that dissipate the fog in your chest that made it so hard for you to breathe. You learned that she had moved to Hwang manor a few months ago so that she could be your designated serving maid.

“Lord Hwang chose me himself,” she admitted. “He said I was soft-spoken.”

“You are.” It was true. The girl was young but she seemed like she had some brains to her. Her motions were efficient but delicate, and her voice was kind. Her name was Ahnjong, and you decided you liked her a lot. “You seem like a sweet girl, Anhjong.” You didn’t see the point in asking where Hyunjin had found her—it was either in a brothel some place away or her family had offered her services. “Does he treat you well? My husband?”

How peculiar. To speak these words out loud, here, in his bedroom. Physically he wasn’t here, but the room smelled like him, the room looked like him, and it was hard to ignore. He had grown up within these walls, and it felt as if he never left them.

Ahnjong took her time smoothing out the silk of your gown before helping you get in it. She worked fast—you didn’t think your corset had ever been tied so quickly and so well before. “He does, my lady,” Ahnjong replied. “He pays us well and treats us fairly.”

Then she moved on to brushing your hair and you felt her fingers braiding it. You let her. You were in no hurry to ever leave this room and face the world. “Do you mean that, Ahnjong? I’d like it if we promised to be honest with each other.”

“Yes, ma’am, I meant it.” You looked at the maid in the reflection of the mirror you sat in front of. She was still working on your hair diligently. “Sometimes he is angry but he is never cruel.”

Often, it was as if things stuck to you and melted into your skin until they became a part of you, until they ran through your veins. For some reason, you knew that Ahnjong’s words would have this effect on you, you knew you would carry them with you wherever you went.

You had felt that a few times yesterday. You had felt that when, just after the wedding ceremony, Hyunjin had pretended to kiss you. It was worse than if he hadn’t pretended at all.

The ghost of a kiss. The ghost of the love you had dreamed of. It would stay with you as if the absence of something weighed heavier than its presence would have. The words Hyunjin had spoken to you had become a part of you too, same as the ones he had written in his letters.

I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again.

How could anybody hate you, darling?

My lady, do you ever feel as if you’re trying to outrun a river, too?

You’re safe with me.

Did you bring honey, too? Your honey?

His words played in your mind like an ethereal symphony of chaos, a whirlwind of disappointment. Hyunjin had left you dumbfounded, and you wondered what the rest of your life would be like.

Would you ever get used to it?

You listened to the birdsongs permeating the bedroom through the open window while Ahnjong finished doing your hair—it was a more elaborate style than you ever cared to do for just a regular day, but then you realized that maybe, the day after your wedding wasn’t just a regular day. She attached the braids together at the back of your head with a ribbon of the same cerulean color as your gown. You asked her if she knew the birds. She knew some, but not all of them. She told you about the sparrows and the finches, but she couldn’t name the bird responsible for the delicate, intricate song that you liked most.

She told you that you were expected in the kitchen and dining room area, as some guests were having breakfast, and, so far, neither Lord nor Lady Hwang had made an appearance. “Mr. Changbin asked me to get you,” she revealed.

“Where’s Hyunjin, then?” you inquired, picking up the skirt of your gown as you descended the stairs. You wished you had more time to stop and look at the paintings on the walls or the tapestries, wish you could study the sound your shoes made when you walked on the fine-quality floorboards. But your mind was empty. Your mind was full, spilling out unwanted thoughts all over your heart. “Where did he go?”

Ahnjong’s silence spoke for itself. You didn’t push her and let her return to her station, where she was expected to help with laundry. Still, you thanked her for how beautifully she had styled your hair and how sweet she was. You made a mental note to make sure the girl had everything she needed—you’d see for yourself if she required anything.

Changbin greeted you in the small hallway leading to the dining room. From here, you could hear the guests, voices, laughter, and cutlery on porcelain plates. You couldn’t hear the birds from here, but your heartbeat was louder than any of it anyway.

The head steward dipped his head respectfully and a reassuring smile appeared on his face. He seemed a bit tired with circles under his eyes and a pale face, but you figured it would be the same for any living soul in this manor—after all, the festivities had kept going for a while, and you suspected that a lot of wine, whiskey, and cider had disappeared from the storage crates.

“Good morning my lady.” Changbin glanced behind him, into the dining room. “Breakfast has just begun. I thought it would be… proper. To have one of the hosts be present with our guests.”

“Of course.” You nodded, finding it harder and harder to breathe as if the air didn’t quite make it to your lungs. “Where is he, Changbin?”

Changbin’s gaze lowered for just a second before it could hold yours again, but it had a veil on it. “Lord Hwang left before daybreak,” he explained, “for a short hunting expedition. He should return shortly.”

In your short while at Hwang manor, you had spent a lot more time with Changbin and Ha-ri than you had with Hyunjin, and so you knew that he understood what went on in your mind this morning. That you felt abandoned in this big and empty home. That ornate tapestries and plush carpets did not mean a home was a good one. You wondered how obvious it was. The disappointment. Would others be able to read it on your face?

Could wonder and disenchantment look the same in the eyes of a woman whose hopes had been shattered?

But your mother had taught you how to display a believable smile despite going through pain—whether it was while your skin was being pricked or pinched, or as she was speaking evil things to you. Things that you knew, deep down, had been true. That, as the last born, you may believe you mattered less than your sisters, but that your betrothal to Hyunjin meant you could ravage your whole family’s reputation if you were not good enough.

That she loved you a little less than her other daughters. That you were weak. That your body wasn’t right and that when your husband would fuck you, he would do so in the dark and quickly. That you were wasting your time taking care of bees instead of learning languages. That you shouldn’t think this much, you would be a bad wife.

Your mother said a lot of things. And they all entered you through the pores on your skin, and they all became a part of you.

Your mother also said that a woman’s best weapons were her smile and her cunt. That you had to learn how to use them to your advantage.

So you put on the smile she taught you, the one that was neither too clever nor too dumb-looking, too happy or too forced, too vain or too modest, and followed Changbin into the dining room.

Your parents and brother were there, as well as Lord and Lady Bang and Baron Han and his wife. You couldn’t believe it when they rose from their seats to greet you formally but you made sure to respond appropriately. How sad. How sad that the day after your wedding, you woke up in an empty bed and thought more about manners and etiquette than about the beautiful ring around your finger and the man who had put it there.

Breakfast was opulent—eggs with bacon, potatoes, parsnips, and warm bread served with mushroom and onion soup. You weren’t particularly hungry, but took your seat and ate a little, exchanging with your guests about the quality of the food. Baron Jisung complimented the cuisine at the Hwang’s, saying he never ate a bad meal under this roof. He was a good man, kind, with a lovely wife who was a little shy. You made sure to ask her specific but uncomplicated questions she could answer in just a few words.

Your parents told you they would leave tomorrow—your sisters would want their children’s grandparents to be around, especially your eldest sister who was just about to give birth. Lord Bang and Baron Han would leave right after breakfast, however, as they had quite a lot of business to take care of.

“It never stops,” Lady Bang said, rolling her eyes but turning to you with a smile. “I will visit soon again, we live so close by.”

“You’re welcome here anytime.” You meant that—the woman was lovely and kind.

“You ought to visit us someday,” Lord Christopher added. “I’ll make sure to pester Hyunjin until he takes you. It’s just across the lake, you can see it from this side of it. We have a couple of ewes just about to give birth.” Christopher finished drinking his tea in one go. “You should visit.”

“I’d love to see your home, Lord and Lady Bang.” You smiled the smile that had been forced into you. “I’ve always been fond of lambs.”

“That’s right,” your brother added. He had been especially forward when it came to kissing Lord Christopher’s ass these days—he really wanted his favors, apparently. “She used to cry when the cook went to butcher a chicken and—” But something must have appeared behind you because you watched your brother’s eyes go wide and color drain from his face as he looked at the door.

You heard heavy footsteps, like boots on the floorboard. “Well, I find that a lot saner, a lot more rational, than to watch a living, breathing thing die and feel nothing. So instead of mocking my wife’s good heart, I suggest you keep such mindless discourse to yourself next time. It gives the impression that you are inconsiderate, sir.”

My wife. Hyunjin. You turned on your chair so quickly that you almost fell from it. He stood at the door, still in his hunting clothes and boots, holding his rifle. Your heart jumped at the sight of him, almost as if you had forgotten how handsome he was in the span of a few hours. His full lips from which a smile was painfully absent. His hair cascading around his face, framing it like a veil. It was dirty, a little matted from the time he had spent outside, but it changed nothing about his charms.

His mud-colored trousers and jacket had blood on them, but you did not mind blood. You had seen quite a lot of it in your life and would continue to. The clothes hugged him nicely, displaying his visibly tense shoulders.

He barely acknowledged you, and while the guests stood to greet him, same as they had done with you, he did not return the manners and gestured them to sit back into their chairs while a maid quickly brought him a plate of food. He took the seat next to you, as expected. He smelled like the forest, like smoke, like blood, like gunpowder.

“Please resume,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “Thank you,” he added to the maid who brought him his food. “Bring me some whiskey, will you? For my tea.”

A little early on the whiskey, but you watched in silence as his long fingers wrapped themselves around the spoon he then used to eat his soup, leaving the rest of the food untouched. You wanted to feel him, run your fingers through his matted hair, smell him from close. But instead, you cleared your throat, making eye contact with Lady Bang. You saw something in her eye that you couldn’t quite pinpoint…

Compassion? Curiosity?

Pity?

And then it was your mother, staring at you as if she were trying to burn your soul with her eyes. She gave a little nod towards Hyunjin, signaling to you that you were supposed to talk to him. Which you knew was true. You knew. You may have been foolish but you weren’t completely clueless—you just didn’t know what to say.

“Was the hunt good, my lord?” you managed, immediately stuffing your mouth with buttered bread as if it would help your uneasiness.

Hyunjin didn’t look at you. He poured a generous amount of the whiskey that had been brought into his cup of tea and went back to eating the mushroom soup. “Quite good, my lady. I believe we will be having a nice dinner.”

“Maybe we ought to stay then, don’t you think, Han?” Lord Christopher said with a laugh, making your father laugh too.

“What did you find, my lord?” your brother asked with an entirely too polite tone. It told you what you needed to know—your brother feared Hyunjin. Feared him maybe because he had defended you against your family since your arrival here, not letting their cruel attitude towards you even escape their mouths the most time. Not in his presence. “That’s a nice rifle you got there.”

Hyunjin kept on eating the soup, stopping often to drink his strengthened tea. “We will be having rabbit stew,” Hyunjin explained. “As for the rifle, I’m not particularly attached to it. You could leave with it for all I care, and I’ll just buy another.”

You did not know if Hyunjin was trying to be nice or to flaunt his riches. In any case, he quickly returned to his breakfast, ignoring everything else.

And so the meal went on. After a painful silence, Lord Christopher and Baron Han entertained the table with a tale about a businessman they both knew who, while at sea, claimed to have seen a siren. It turned out to have been a floating piece of wood.

While the table laughed, you stared at Hyunjin. He ate quietly, finishing his tea and his soup but not touching any of the solid food. When he was done, he crossed his fingers politely on his knees and waited until the conversation was over to announce that he should go.

Hyunjin got up and so did all of the other guests around the table to give their formal goodbyes. As you went to follow them, you felt Hyunjin’s warm hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back into your chair, his fingers digging into your skin.

“I hope the breakfast was to your liking,” he told the guests. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence. I will be accompanying you on your way out of the estate later, gentlemen,” he added to Lord Christopher and Baron Han, “and ladies,” to their wives. “To say goodbye.”

The weight of Hyunjin’s hand on your shoulder didn’t weaken—if anything, he wrapped his hand tighter around it. You heard brushing behind you, then felt a tickling in your neck, and hot breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Thank you for hosting our guests so graciously while I was out, my lady,” Hyunjin’s voice whispered into your ear. The shivers became ripples, then tidal waves. “I will see you later.”

Hyunjin disappeared, taking with him his rifle. The guests waited until he had left, but none of them took their seats again. “We should probably go and get ready,” Baron Han’s wife said—you couldn’t remember her name, realizing that she had been introduced to you just after the wedding ceremony. Still, you made yourself smile and pushed yourself out of your chair.

“Absolutely,” you said with a nod. “I will go see if the kitchen can wrap up something for you to eat on your way,” you added. “Take all the time you need.”

You bowed politely as the four noble guests left the dining room, and your brother followed them without a word for you. You knew he was hurt, even humiliated from the way Hyunjin had spoken to him, but you couldn’t repress a smile. Hyunjin had said he would keep you safe, but you hadn’t imagined he meant it that way, too.

It made you feel warm in your chest, and you couldn’t really explain how, or why. It just did. It reminded you of the way you felt when you read a letter he had just sent you. It reminded you of the buzzing of your honeybees. How it felt like a reward for having endured yet another year of your ‘perfect wife’ mandatory training. You would sit and read the letter over and over to bask in Hyunjin’s words, his tenderness. The love you thought he had for you.

“You did well,” your mother told you, and it was maybe the nicest thing she had ever said to you. “But you’ll have to learn how to tame him. Your husband.”

Your father had left along with your brother. It was just you and your mother in the large dining room, and she spoke with a voice so low that you barely heard her. You leaned over, looking her in the eyes. “Tame him?”

“His outbursts. We all know what he did. Firing that doctor—”

You inhaled sharply, frowning. “Mother, Doctor Yun’s behavior was hardly appropriate and—”

Your mother tsked you into silence and you obeyed as if you were still a child. You stood before her, the dining room filled with sunlight, the manor filled with noise and conversation, and you swallowed back your tears.

“What got into you? Did you think it wouldn’t leave that bedroom? What you said?” Your mother spoke at an even lower volume, but you still heard her perfectly, as clearly as if she had been shouting into your ear. “You’ve always been so naive, so unwary. Everybody knows Lord Hwang threatened the man once again. A doctor. Everybody knows what you said about Lord Hwang’s…”

“His cock?” You blurted out the words before even thinking about it, but they spilled past your lips as easily as if you had been singing a lighthearted melody. “Everybody knows I said he has a big cock, mother? Is that it?”

Your mother’s already hardened expression turned sour with a pinch of disgust, although she did try to conceal it. You waited for it to hurt you, waited for it to feel like a blow, but she had been a little too skilled at teaching you how to build defenses around yourself, and you felt nothing of the sort.

Now of course you had no clue about the actual size of Hyunjin’s cock. But no one except you and him needed to know that. In fact, it would be a catastrophe if people did know…

“Disrespectful, ill-mannered, insolent!” This time, your mother struggled with keeping her voice low, but you did not care. “If you think that this ring on your finger gives you the right to speak to me like this—”

“Actually, it does.” For the second time, you interrupted your mother’s sentence halfway through it and instead of retaliating, she closed her mouth and watched you. “It gives me the right to banish you from these grounds, mother. All my life you’ve prepared me for this. For this ring around my finger.” You brought your hand so close to her face that your mother jumped as if you were about to strike her. But all you did was show her your wedding ring. “I am Lady Hwang now. I am the only thing you ever wanted me to be. Are you happy? Are you fucking happy, mother?”

For a minute or an hour or a day, your mother stared at you. Tears were pooling in her eyes. In the light, she appeared so much older than she usually did, or you wondered if you were simply seeing her from a new perspective today. You hated her. You loved her. She had nurtured you, she had pulled your hair until you cried as she braided it into tight braids. She had taught you to smile and laugh and walk. She had told you that men only cared about money and pussy. She hated your apiary yet she had allowed it, for years, she had allowed you to spend a few hours a day with your bees. You loved her. You hated her.

You let your hand fall back to the side of your body with a sigh, wondering why there were tears in your eyes too. You and your fucking empathy.

It was your mother’s turn to raise her hand. She did so slowly and delicately, gently cupping your face in it. Her hand was cold, skin and bones with sharp nails but she did not hurt you with those. A tear rolled on her cheek as she tilted her head, observing you, reading you.

Her thumb brushed your cheek. “I apologize for what I turned you into.” She pulled her hand away, bringing it to her chest to fiddle with the silver necklace that her mother had given her. The one that was destined to your eldest sister, who was supposed to give it to her eldest daughter as well. “Despite my best intentions, maybe I was wrong to make you this way. To make you so… unlike your sisters. I made them soft and weak-minded. But they’re happy like that.” She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you will never be happy, my daughter.”

Before you could muster up a response, your mother left the room and you watched the empty space where she used to be. In the morning light, twirls of dust looked no different than a shiny diamond or fresh snowfall.

Someone behind you cleared their throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. You found Changbin standing at the door. “Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, entering the room to make his way to you.

“Please, drop the titles and manners,” you reminded him. “Did you hear us, Changbin? Mother and I?”

He was a terrible liar. “Only bits here and there.” He sighed, his lips pursing, scrunching his nose. He was obviously annoyed or bothered. “It was admirable not to let her speak to you like that, my lady.”

You did not correct him. Over time, you hoped he would feel comfortable enough around you to be as friendly as he was with Hyunjin, or something close to that. Changbin was a good man with a good heart, and you felt safe with him.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing admirable in letting anger get the best of us, Changbin.”

You glanced out the window, seeing two workers moving what seemed to be the game killed by Hyunjin. You thought about what your mother had told you—that you would have to tame him. How were you supposed to tame a man like that? With a soul broken into so many pieces that he had become an assortment of sharp ends, ready to cut or maim anybody who came too close?

“I understand.” Changbin took a few seconds to think about it. “But what I meant is that it is quite admirable to see the way you and Lord Hwang protect one another.” The head steward hesitated, running his tongue on his lip and looking through the window too as if deciding whether he should go on or not. “Hyunjin never really had that. Someone to keep his reputation safe when he is not around.”

“He had you,” you pointed out. “And Lord Christopher, and many others, I’m sure.” Another bad habit of yours. To make yourself small. Insignificant. Forgotten. A defense mechanism, truly, the best and most efficient you knew. Besides, you had been here for a few days only, and while the head steward had good intentions, you knew he was exaggerating his discourse.

“It’s not the same.” Changbin looked away from the window and straight into your eyes. “It’s not the same, my lady.” After a few instants of silence, he added, “You mentioned the kitchen earlier—would you like to proceed? I am sure the Bangs and Hans will gladly accept a few goodbye gifts from you.”

So you followed Changbin, walking away from the dust, the space where your mother stood moments ago, the dead rabbits in the window.

The kitchen was surprisingly busy but you quickly understood that preparations for lunch were already underway. It would be a light lunch since Lord Hwang himself had provided the game for supper and nobody should ruin their appetite for that.

You spoke with the chef about dinner for a little while. He asked if you preferred thyme or rosemary for the rabbit stew and if you liked carrots sliced or cubed.

“Since Lord Hyunjin is the one who worked so hard to provide us dinner, I believe the stew should cater to his taste,” you replied, forcing a smile on your face. But all you could think about was how Hyunjin had preferred cutting himself open rather than fucking you. How he had preferred venturing out in the forest before dawn rather than staying in the same bed as you.

“My lord explicitly demanded I speak with you about this,” the chef insisted. “He wants to make sure the food we prepare from now on satisfies your preferences as well.”

You’re safe with me. This is what Hyunjin had said, and you hadn’t believed him, not really. “Oh, I see.” You looked at the table where the ingredients were all displayed, ready to be washed, cut, and prepared. “I like my carrots thinly sliced, same as the meat,” you explained. “Mushrooms cut in halves, and I prefer rosemary if used well. For potatoes, I like them roasted, on the side, not in the stew, with a lot of salt on them. Finally, I suggest you add a small amount of honey to the gravy. You’ll see, it changes the whole dish. How does that sound, sir?”

You had been taught this. You had been taught to make your needs known, to voice them, yet, you wanted to tell the chef to go enjoy the sun outside while you made the damn stew yourself.

The chef smiled at you appreciatively. “I think you and I will get along very nicely, Lady Hwang.” He bowed elegantly. “You have a good eye for food. Good taste.”

It took you a few seconds to remember his name but when you did, you lay your hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Sungjae.” You realized you had forgotten to keep smiling so you made yourself do so. “Should you have further hesitation, do not fear trusting your instincts. I’m happy to discover your cuisine.”

Beaming, Sungjae went to bow again although you did not let him. When he mentioned he should go outside to supervise the cleaning of the rabbits, you also did not let him. “I’ll go,” you assured.

“Lord Hwang is already working on it,” Changbin added. “No need to trouble you with such a gruesome task, my lady.”

“I don’t fear the sight of blood.” You turned to Sungjae. “Instead, would you please make sure the guests that are leaving us shortly have something to nibble on for the road? Cheese, bread, maybe some cider and fruit?”

“Will do, my lady.”

You did not wait for anybody’s permission and headed outside by the small side entrance that you and Hyunjin had gone through after you met him in the garden at night, before the wedding. The night when you had made him a mug of honeyed milk and sang to him. He had said such sweet, gentle things to you.

The weather was warm but a soft breeze soothed the effects of the harsh sunlight. You wondered if you ought to visit the lake this afternoon. Maybe some peace and quiet would help clear your mind.

You found Hyunjin on the eastern side of the manor. He was still in his hunting clothes, standing at the work table with knives and tools, preparing the rabbits for the stew. He didn’t hear you approaching so you stood back and watched him instead, pearls of sweat rolling on his face, hair sticking to his skin. He worked fast but carelessly. Still, the same tugging in your chest affected you at the sight of him, as if he was a reminder of the best and worst things in your life. How handsome he was, even like this, each movement dripping with anger.

When Hyunjin spoke, he didn’t even lift his head. Yet, he spoke to you just as if he was looking at you. “What are you doing there? You shouldn’t be here.”

You took a step forward, then another. “You’re doing it wrong, my lord.” Hyunjin froze, standing over the ruined rabbit. “Should I help?”

“I know I’m doing it wrong. Go away, I don’t want you seeing this.”

You decided to cross the distance that separated you from him. In the meantime, he had discarded the wasted rabbit to start working on another, properly using the knife this time. Still, your technique would be cleaner and more efficient, this you could tell already. You had learned it against your will, but you had learned it all the same.

“I’m not that little girl anymore, the one my brother was talking about earlier. The one who cried whenever we ate meat at home.” You put your hand on his shoulder, much like he had done to you just earlier in the dining room. “Let me help, my lord. You must need rest, I don’t think you slept much last night.”

You heard his gulp. “Did you?” he asked, handing you the knife. “Did you sleep?”

“I did.” It was true. As if your brain had preferred to mute the world around you for a few hours, it had allowed you to drift into sleep despite the anguish taking up residency inside of your heart. “Hyunjin… I’m sorry.”

He stayed by your side by the table as you got to work, observing carefully. “Where did you learn to do this? I doubt your mother would approve.” He leaned against the sturdy table, looking around. “What are you sorry about?”

“You feel uneasy around me.” Your voice was trembling and it was not because of the dead animal you were skinning. “I learned to do this because of my mother, actually. She thought I should know what well-prepared game looks like.”

You let silence fill the space between you and Hyunjin. He helped you, discarding the unwanted pieces into a wooden bucket, wiping up some excess blood when necessary. You knew that some of it had gotten onto your gown but you didn’t care.

You enjoyed this. This moment. Just you, and Hyunjin, soft grass beneath your feet, a task that you were skilled at, the breeze, the sunshine. Hyunjin’s breathing, the brushing of his clothing when he moved around you, his appreciative hums when your knife work was particularly precise.

“I don’t feel uneasy around you,” he admitted in the end as you were both washing up your bloodied hands in a basin of fresh water.

“Then how do you feel around me?” You turned to Hyunjin, drying up your hands with a clean linen cloth.

A dark veil passed over Hyunjin’s molasses eyes, but he did not look away from you. If anything, he stared even more intently at you, his gaze trailing from your eyes, your mouth, the stains on your gown. He reminded you of a painting, or a book—you could spend as much time as you wanted staring at him or reading him, but you would never understand him. You would never understand the purpose of the artist’s brush strokes in the colors that made his soul. You would never understand the author’s intent behind the words used to describe him.

You would never be able to translate him, it felt like.

Hyunjin took the cloth you were holding, leaving it on the table. In slow, mindful motions, he took your left hand in his. His skin felt cool after he had soaked them in the water, and they were a little damp. Touching him gave you chills. Your breath hitched up almost imperceptibly. “I feel like I’ve been on a long journey,” Hyunjin described, his voice low, appealing, soft, “and I just returned home, except it’s been so long since I’ve been there that I forgot how home felt.”

You let his words hit you with the breeze and the birdsong. “Home isn’t a feeling, though, is it?”

He squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb and index finger playing gently with your ring. “Yes it is. You are the feeling of a home I can’t quite remember.”

Truth be told, you wanted to cry. For the first time since your arrival at Hwang estate, you were facing the boy who wrote you letters in cursive handwriting. “How can I help you remember, then?” You brushed your thumb on the back of his hand and it reminded you of the silk of your wedding gown. “Tell me, Hyunjin.”

He shook his head, his hair moving with him and with the wind, hiding his eyes. But he looked away anyway. “This is not your burden to carry.”

“But it is.” He was about to let go of your hand, but you held it tighter. “You’re my husband, Hyunjin. You’re my friend.”

He cocked his head just slightly, spinning on his heels until he faced you again. He was closer than before and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. He brought his other hand up, brushing his long, elegant fingers in your hair, before settling his palm against your warm cheek. “My wife, prettier than a rose, more beautiful than a forest. Sharper than a knife. When will you realize that you cannot fix problems that aren’t yours?” He parted his mouth open just slightly, allowing you the smallest peek at his smooth tongue.

Hyunjin seemed to speak poetry when it was about you, like he needed another language to communicate with you.

He almost swept you off your feet when he pulled the hand he was holding up to his face, pressing his warm mouth against your skin. “Come with me, will you?”

You went with him—as if you had any other option. You would follow him anywhere. You hated that about yourself, hated the power he had over you, which was most likely the result of his yearly correspondence or the indoctrination by your mother. You hated it but you loved it. Another would say Hyunjin was the gaoler of this luxurious-looking prison you would be confined in for the rest of your life.

Hyunjin took you around the manor, stopping by the kitchen to inform the staff that the rabbits had been cleaned and were ready to be picked up at the butchering station. And then you kept walking.

“Your mother really wanted you to learn how to prepare meat?” Hyunjin asked as if to make conversation. Maybe he didn’t like silence. Some people were like that. Unable to tolerate the sound of their own thoughts in their heads. “But she disapproved of your apiary?”

You couldn’t help a faint laugh. “I don’t pretend I understand my mother’s intentions, Hyunjin.” You realized you were walking towards the stables and listened for a few instants at the neighing and sounds of livestock. “I think she was afraid to let me be too happy. She knew I would have to leave everything behind. Sometimes I think she wanted to make sure I never missed my home, that she wanted to protect me.”

Hyunjin squeezed your hand, guiding you to the back entrance of the large stable. “If you miss it, we’ll travel there every summer,” he told you. “If you don’t, we’ll travel elsewhere. You are home now.”

You anchored yourself to the ground. Hyunjin had stepped inside but you remained on the outside—you had never been allowed into a stable or a barn before. You thought about his words. You are home now. When he noticed you weren’t following him, he let go of you and spun around with a concerned look on his face. “Everything okay, my lady?”

You frowned, feeling the words piling up in your throat. You tasted them before allowing them to spill from your lips. “You were right. Home is a feeling, not a place.” You looked around, inhaling the pungent smell of livestock and manure, the delicate scent of distant lilac trees, the blood drying on your gown. The whiskey in Hyunjin’s mouth.

Hyunjin smiled. So far, his smile was the most beautiful thing you had seen here. “You’re safe here.”

You nodded slowly. When you looked into his eyes again, you saw light, and all the words he had traced for you on his best stationery with his best ink and quill pen. You saw the ink spills on his long fingers or the sturdy desk in his study. You saw hunger, sorrow. You saw something else behind that, too, but only a glimpse of it through the window that was Hyunjin’s smile.

“What are we doing here?” you asked as he, once again, invited you into the stable. “I’ve never gone horse riding,” you added quickly, fearing it might be what Hyunjin wanted you to do.

“Why not?” It was darker in here, but your eyes got acclimated to the new levels of light and you were soon able to make out the stalls and the horses in them. You liked horses and weren’t afraid of them. “Was this too unladylike to your mother’s taste, too?” Hyunjin’s smile was more muted, but it was still there.

You blushed, thankful for the newfound darkness, hoping it would conceal it a little. You looked around to make sure nobody was close, but all you saw were horses. Beautiful beasts, too—all of them obviously well-fed and taken care of. You leaned closer to Hyunjin, his scent invading your nostrils, making your face warmer. “I wasn’t allowed any vigorous activity. I never climbed a tree or rode a horse. To preserve my… purity. If you know what I mean.”

Hyunjin froze in place, his back turned to you. He took a deep breath and gave you a nod, but his smile had disappeared. Already, you were wondering when you would see it again. You liked it when Hyunjin smiled. “If you wish to be introduced to horse riding, then it will be possible here, my lady,” he said, his voice a little strangled. “You may also climb trees if you want, but I’d rather you stay on the lower branches so as not to hurt yourself if you fall.”

“I’m way past the age of tree climbing, Hyunjin,” you pointed out. “Besides, what would people say if they saw me?”

He turned to you then, facing you with his broad shoulders, dark eyes, his enticing pout, quiet anger all over his face. “I’ll never let anybody discredit or belittle you. Never. It’ll be the last thing they ever say if they ridicule you, or speak badly of you.”

You believed him. The man would seemingly rather die than kiss your lips or spread your legs open to fuck your cunt, but you believed him when he said he would make sure you would be respected.

You knew why. Hyunjin knew dishonor a little too closely. He hadn’t just tasted it, it had been shoved forcefully down his throat until he choked on it, but not enough to kill him. Just enough to block his airways and make him wish it had caused his demise instead of his everlasting torture.

He didn’t let the subject linger and took your hand again to guide you across the stable. It was surprisingly clean in here, and you wanted to stop at every stall to see the horses. But Hyunjin took you through another door which led to what seemed to be a storage room. There was a man there, sitting at a table, sharpening a tool of some sort.

He raised from his seat when he saw who was there, and bowed politely, but not as low as you had seen others do. He had a friendly face and offered both you and Hyunjin a warm smile. “My lord, I was expecting you,” he said. “Everything is ready. Should I go get her?”

Hyunjin gestured towards the man. “This is Mingi, he oversees the care of the stable and the horses,” he explained to you before nodding at the man. “Yes please, sir. Go get her.”

You opened your mouth to remind Hyunjin you had never ridden a fucking horse in your whole entire life, but Hyunjin turned to you with an unreadable expression while Mingi went past you. You heard him speak at a low volume in the main room.

“I’ll be leaving in two days for a business trip,” Hyunjin started. He had not let go of your hand and you liked it. “I often leave, and… I didn’t want… I mean, you’re stuck here, and—”

“It’s alright, I—”

But Mingi was back, holding a small, white fuzzy pillow in his hands, smiling even wider than before. His return interrupted the discussion, but it surprised you even more when he handed you the pillow and it moved.

Then it meowed.

What Mingi was holding was a small, long-haired kitten with bright blue eyes. The small animal meowed again with its high-pitched voice, and it made you warm, as if sunlight was spreading inside of you. You took the kitten from him, pressing it against your cheek delicately under Hyunjin’s observing gaze.

The small bundle of fur was purring in your hands and licked the side of your nose, tickling you and making you giggle.

“Mingi’s stable cat gave birth some time ago, and the kittens have been weaned for a short while now,” Hyunjin said. “I thought you would appreciate the company.”

You held the kitten in your arms as you would a baby while Mingi walked away, stopping at a stall to give the chocolate-colored horse in it a thorough brush. The kitten settled against your chest comfortably, playing with the ribbons on your gown gently with its huge paws.

“It’s a girl,” Hyunjin went on with the softest, most tender voice you had ever heard on him. Quite a contrast from him threatening to destroy anybody bad-mouthing you. “You don’t have to keep her if you don’t want her.”

You couldn’t stop staring at her. Hyunjin scratched her tiny forehead with a small laugh. “I know your home had dogs, and cats, and birds. And… bees too,” he clarified. “We have no such thing here… My hunting dogs are not much fun. I…”

Nobody had ever done something like this for you. You had not been allowed to get attached to any of the animals at your family’s villa. You had never been allowed inside the stable to pet the cats there, or to walk with the dogs. Your whole life you had only been allowed one thing—to watch others enjoy the things you wanted to try while you were being fashioned into a perfect wife. Except for the apiary. For some reason, you had been granted that.

“Don’t cry… no,” Hyunjin whispered, but you hadn’t even noticed you were crying. It was just a few tears.

His finger found the underside of your chin and he pushed your head up slowly. For a second, you thought he was about to kiss you but instead, he wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Don’t cry,” he repeated. “Do you like her?”

“I love her.” Your voice was trembling and your eyes couldn’t look away from his mouth, pink, plush. You had stopped crying but you wanted to cry more so that he would touch you again with his wildfire hands. What would he do if the tears rolled over your mouth? You wondered what it would feel like if he pressed his lips against yours, drinking your tears from them. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

He caressed the kitten’s head again. “Let’s go then. We should take her inside, I’m sure Ha-ri will be rather excited. Although she will want to murder me for allowing you to ruin your gown like this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take all the blame.” You wondered how you managed to keep a steady voice, but you did. Your heart was beating fast in your chest as you followed Hyunjin back inside after thanking and saying goodbye to Mingi. “She’s so soft, isn’t she?”

Hyunjin nodded. “Softer than my best silk. What will you name her?”

You shrugged. Around you, birds were singing, horses were neighing, and the breeze was still blowing. But all that you felt was this light in your chest, and it felt like Hyunjin’s hand in your hair.

Looking around for inspiration, your gaze stopped as you looked up. “Maybe I should name her Cloud,” you said. “Don’t you think that cloud over there looks like her?”

Hyunjin followed your gaze, locating the cloud in question. It was just another white cloud in a bright blue sky. The weather was particularly beautiful today. Or maybe it was just because your heart felt a little less heavy.

“It does.” Hyunjin stared at you as you stopped for an instant to hold onto Cloud tighter, making sure she didn’t escape you until you made it back to the manor. “Cloud, then?” He added to the small cat who gave him a meow in response. “You’ll make sure my wife stays merry while I’m gone, will you?”

You stared at Hyunjin while he looked fondly at the kitten in your arms. How he felt like a dream, how last night he had felt like a nightmare. You thought of his blood staining the silk of his bedsheets, you thought of his lips coated with honey. You had believed you knew him, believed you could have predicted how your life would be once you married him. What a foolish girl you had been.

“I should go,” Hyunjin said promptly as if he had read the thoughts in your mind. “I will wash up and see Lord Christopher and Baron Han out of the estate. I will see you then. Thank you for… the help. With the rabbits. You did an excellent job.”

“No problem at all.” You dipped your head, feeling warmth spreading at the back of your neck. “Thank you. For Cloud.”

“I hope she makes an adequate wedding gift.” He stared towards his manor as his gaze filled with darkness. “I hope she becomes a reason for you to smile.” You wished he smiled again, but the darkness seemed to have overtaken all of his soul, as sudden as a lightning bolt.

“I’m sure she will.” The wind carried Hyunjin’s smell with it, the dirt in his hair, the dried blood, the mud on his boots. Yet you wanted him to hold you in his arms. You wanted to smell his skin. “I will see you later, Hyunjin.”

He walked away and you decided to go around the other way to reach your own bedroom while avoiding Hyunjin. Something told you it was best to stay away from him as of now. Yet you did not fear him and the darkness that inhabited him.

You had never been afraid of the dark.

That evening, you had supper with your husband, your parents and your brother. You had invited Changbin and Ha-ri to join but they had declined, certainly motivated by modesty. Hyunjin drank a lot of wine, his lips soon stained with red, and he seemed to find your brother much more enjoyable company in his drunken state. This, you couldn’t blame him for—you were the same.

You spoke very little, entertaining small talk and responding when asked direct answers. You were glad to remind your parents they ought to get to bed early or else they would feel too weary for their long journey back home beginning tomorrow. While your parents retreated to their bedroom, Hyunjin invited your brother for a walk around the property. “I quite like taking walks after sunset,” Hyunjin affirmed. This, you knew already from the time you had encountered him in the garden at night.

When the dining room had been cleared, you went into the kitchen to thank Sungjae and the rest of the staff for the excellent rabbit stew and service. You insisted they eat the leftovers and helped themselves to the delicious bread rolls too. You, on the other hand, sneaked out of there with two slices of your wedding cake—which you hadn’t even tasted yet—and a few ounces of whiskey.

Ha-ri was waiting in your bedroom, laying casually in her nightgown on your bed. The room was well-lit and you saw that she was fulfilling her promise—she was with Cloud while you weren’t there. You hadn’t been able to resolve yourself to let the tiny kitten alone on her first day under your care.

“How was dinner, my lady?” Ha-ri asked, sitting upright in your bed as you closed the door behind you. “I hear the rabbits were prepared most exquisitely…”

You left the tray of cake and whiskey on the small wooden table by the bed. The room was by no means comparable to Hyunjin’s bedroom, but it was yours. The bed was new—he had bought it just for you some time before the wedding. The room was furnished nicely and equipped with a small but functional bathroom and a good closet space. It had two large windows and a small balcony but to you, the most important part was the view from these windows—from here, you saw the lake and behind it, the hills which became mountains covered by a lush forest. The sight was said to be so breathtaking at sunrise that it moved people to tears.

And you were alone in this hallway. Below this room was the reception hall, rarely occupied. The staff resided in the opposite wing of the manor, and Hyunjin’s bedroom was farther down the hallway, in the main part of the house. The other rooms just around yours were guest bedrooms or used for storage but that did not matter to you—you had this space and you felt safe here. It had hurt your pride that Hyunjin had wanted to give you a room so far away from his, but Ha-ri had insisted that he had simply given you the best room in the whole manor beside his. You couldn’t even disagree with that. The room was spectacular.

The walls were ornately decorated with draperies and art. The frame of the canopy bed was sturdy yet elegant, with floral carvings all over. It had been dressed in lavish fabrics—ivory silk and periwinkle satin and deep blue velvet curtains. The same curtains adorned the large windows, although they had been pulled closed for the night. The rugs were seemingly new, comfortable to walk upon, and the furniture was all made of beautiful walnut with golden drawer pulls.

You undid the ribbon that held your hair together, bringing immediate relief to your sore scalp. Then you began removing a few layers of clothing, jealous of how comfortable Ha-ri seemed to be in her simple linen chemise and nightgown. “Dinner was good.” You sighed as the seamstress got up to help you undo the lace at the back of your gown. “It would have been best if you had been there. And please, Ha-ri, I beg you to drop the manners.”

Cloud was deeply asleep at the exact center of the large bed. You watched her as Ha-ri worked on freeing you of your fabric prison. “It was not my place to be there, my l—... Besides, someone had to keep an eye on that fluffy thing. She’s adorable, such a lovely baby. A thoughtful gift from Lord Hyunjin.”

“Indeed.” You let Ha-ri handle your gown when you pulled yourself out of it, as she had been the one to design and sew it herself. Another gift from Hyunjin—he had made sure your closet was full of the most beautiful attire. Surely to save himself from the shame of having you by his side wearing lesser fashion. Still, you couldn’t wait to try all of the dresses. “He seems like a generous man.”

“That, he is.” Ha-ri left you in peace while you, just like her, put on your sleeping clothes before joining her back again at the table where the cake was waiting for you. But truth be told, you were more interested in the few ounces of whiskey you had brought.

“He’ll almost make me believe he doesn’t despise me if he keeps going at it.”

Ha-ri, who was in the middle of pulling her chair to sit, let out a shocked cry and put her hand over her mouth. “His lordship Hyunjin? Despising you?”

You sat on the other remaining chair and wasted no time taking a few sips of whiskey as Ha-ri finally took place across from you. The whole scene had woken up Cloud who stretched lazily on the bed before ultimately deciding to cross the room to come sit on your lap, where she curled up for more sleep.

You scratched her behind the ears, initiating yet another round of her deep and endearing purring. “Ha-ri, drink this.” You passed the bottle to her.

You had never really been able to trust anybody before in your life… except Jung-Sook. Sookie, as you liked to call her. The maid hired by your mother, for you… But you had known from the moment you had met her that she was someone you could trust and confide with. You had felt the same instant bond with Ha-ri.

And you had a secret that weighed entirely too much on your shoulders for you to carry alone. If you kept it all to yourself, you would become insane.

The cake was good. You figured it must have been even better yesterday, but it was airy and sweet, made with love. You had heard that Felix was still in town with his assistant and would remain there for a few weeks to try the local cuisine and find new inspiration—you would make sure to pay them a visit to thank them personally for this delicious cake.

“The cake is delicious,” you commented. Cloud shifted in her sleep, snuggling more comfortably on your lap. She was warm. “Did you eat some last night, Ha-ri?”

Ha-ri stared at you as she chewed on her bite of cake. “No. No, I didn’t.”

You nodded. “What were you doing while others were having dessert?” You thought you knew the answer, but you needed her to bring it up before you did. There was a strange lump in your throat and your hands were trembling almost imperceptibly. Yet, you felt warm on the inside and cold on the outside. If you hadn’t known better, you would have guessed you were coming down with a bad fever.

“I was…” Ha-ri started, but she put down her fork and lay her hands flat on the table. “I was worrying for you, my lady.”

You forgave the return of the excessive politeness. “Worrying for me? Why so?”

Ha-ri grabbed the bottle again and drank more whiskey. “Did it hurt, my lady? I hear there was quite a lot of blood on the sheets.” Ha-ri blushed, but she did not look away and you loved her for this. “Are you alright?”

You took a deep breath, exhaling a sigh. Ultimately, you pushed away your plate—as delicious as the cake was, you just weren’t hungry. Not anymore. “When I say Hyunjin despises me, Ha-ri, I mean it. I disgust him.”

“But how can you—”

“It was not my blood on the sheets, Ha-ri.” There, finally. The words spilled from your lips, burning you on the way, relieving you on their way out. They lingered in the air like fog, but it was better than keeping them locked in your heart. “It was Hyunjin’s. He gave himself a cut and we painted the sheets with it. He did not take my maidenhood last night.”

Ha-ri sat on her chair, stunned, mouth agape. You had expected her to at least have doubts about it… Considering she was married to Hyunjin’s most trusted counselor and friend. But the news came as a surprise to her. “The marriage hasn’t been consummated?” she said in a strangled whisper. “My lady! Nobody must ever hear this! You should not have told me!”

“Will you tell anyone, Ha-ri?” When the seamstress shook her head from left to right, you shrugged. “See? I trust you for a reason. Now, please tell me why, in your opinion, Hyunjin hates me so much.”

You sat back, crossing your arms over your chest, waiting for a response. Ha-ri’s cheeks had darkened a little and you could only assume it was the same with yours. “Lord Hwang is a complicated man and I don’t understand him. Nobody does. Not even my Bin… Although he is the closest to getting there. However, my lady, I’ll tell you this—some men are rather… nervous, during their wedding night, that they can’t… you know. It doesn’t get up!”

You had been foolish but you weren’t stupid. You were a virgin but you weren’t ignorant, far from that. You had seen Hyunjin’s hard cock straining in his trousers on your wedding night. And the night where you made him honeyed milk.

“It was very much up, Ha-ri.” You finished the whiskey, wishing you had taken more with you. “I saw it in his pants.” You hesitated, but only for a second. “Fully hard.”

Ha-ri shook her head in disbelief, the awkwardness of the conversation suddenly dissipated. “My Bin didn’t tell me a single thing about this. I thought Lord Hyunjin shared everything with him…”

“And Changbin would have told you, right?”

“About this? I think so. He would have wanted me to speak with you.” Ha-ri ate a few small bites of cake, not even taking pleasure in it, it was obviously just to stop fidgeting while she pondered over the information you had shared with her.

“Ha-ri.” You really, really wished you had liquor in this room. Maybe you ought to request that. “Hyunjin. He fucked other women, didn’t he? Before. Everyone knows he did.”

Ha-ri sighed, letting her fork fall from her fingers. When it clinked loudly on her plate, Cloud lifted her head and stood on your thighs to glare at the cutlery responsible for waking her up.

“Yes. He has, my lady. He has been with women before.”

“Is this something Changbin has told you about?” You caressed Cloud’s soft fur distractedly, but the kitten left your lap to go have a few sips of the milk that had been left for her on the other side of the room. “What do you know about Hyunjin’s… experiences?”

Ha-ri’s cheeks turned pink, then red. You pretended you wanted cake and ate a few bites of it to give her some space. “I guess what I’m wondering is how beautiful these women were,” you added, your gaze glued to the half-eaten slice of cake in front of you. “He didn’t even kiss me for real. He… he doesn’t touch me.” For a few seconds, your thoughts wandered to the memories of your morning. Hyunjin taking you for a walk to give you the kitten. How he had pressed your hand against his lips. You shivered at the memory of it, wishing he was here tonight, with you.

“I wouldn’t know of their beauty, my lady,” Ha-ri stated firmly. “But you are stunning and shouldn’t envy them, they—”

“But they had the honor to have my husband’s cock while he avoids me like the plague. Me. His wife.” You cut Ha-ri off, not to disrespect her, but because you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of time. You couldn’t stand it, and each minute that passed made it worse—for the rest of your life, you would remain untouched by Hyunjin, but perhaps it would destroy you.

And there was the matter of his trip. In two days, he would leave—one of the factory’s industrial looms was defective, causing a lot of late orders and issues. Hyunjin needed to get out of town to buy parts for it, accompanied by the factory’s manager and Changbin himself. In fact, Hyunjin had confided in you that he would tell Changbin about him being on his close council from now on during the trip.

Which, you figured, would provoke some celebration night or something. Right?

Ha-ri sighed, looking defeated. She reached for your hand across the table and squeezed it in hers. You squeezed hers back, finding comfort in the touch of your newfound friend.

“You want to know what happens when Lord Hyunjin visits brothels?” the seamstress asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.

“Do you know? Did Changbin tell you? Don’t tell me that he…”

Ha-ri shook her head vehemently. “No, my Bin would never. He, however, has… formed friendships with some of the girls there. And the Madams. Because he… he stays there. While Lord Hyunjin… you know.”

While he fucks a few whores. Yes, you knew.

Ha-ri’s face had turned a shade of red so dark that you were starting to worry for her—you let go of her hand and crossed the room to pour her a glass of water from the pitcher by your bed. Ha-ri accepted it eagerly, taking deep breaths between sips.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you assured. “We don’t need to talk about this, I just…”

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Ha-ri picked up Cloud as the small kitten was trying to jump on her lap. She caressed the kitten’s head and let her lie down to her liking. “In fact, I’m surprised you are so comfortable, my lady. Considering… your lack of… experience, if I may.”

You tapped your fingers on the table nervously. “I may never have been in bed with a man, Ha-ri, but it doesn’t mean I have a complete lack of experience.” You grabbed the water she had left in front of her and emptied the glass, your throat suddenly dry. “My mother hired a maid to… teach me. She told me about what Hyunjin would do to me on our wedding night and the nights after. She… she showed me things, too. She showed me… pleasure.”

“Pleasure.” Ha-ri put a hand on her chest. “So you are knowledgeable, my lady.”

“Quite.” You gulped thickly. “Sookie and I were good friends. She gave me pleasure a few times, and I returned the favor.”

Ha-ri’s hand moved from her chest to her mouth as she watched you. You were expecting her to scold you or something, but her expression turned to something coy and playful. It soothed you, and you smiled in return. “My lady, I did not expect this of you!”

For a few seconds, you forgot the burning shame of Hyunjin’s disgust of you. And maybe, after all, you had had more than enough whiskey. “She was quite skilled with her tongue, Ha-ri. We almost got caught at times… I could not control my voice.”

“MY LADY!” Ha-ri’s voice may have sounded offended, but she giggled and slapped your forearm playfully.

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, punctuated only by Cloud’s purrs and distant noises in the manor. You truly did like this bedroom. It felt like a solace, like a place where you could truly be yourself, even though you weren’t sure who that was exactly.

You stared at the bed for a long time. “Sookie may have given me a lot of pleasure and taught me many things that men like, but she never prepared me for this. She never prepared me to be refused by my own husband.” You faced the seamstress again—she seemed more relaxed now. Ready to talk. Willing to talk, too, as if she felt your pain. “What does Changbin tell you about the girls that Hyunjin sees? I… I know that my Sookie was just like them. I do not hate them. I do not hate him, Ha-ri. I just…”

Ha-ri nodded slowly. “How much do you want to know?”

“As much as you’re willing to tell me. Everything that you know, if possible.”

“His lordship used to visit brothels on his trips, so a few times a year. He did not visit local brothels because he didn’t want to create a bond with the local girls. He also didn’t visit the same girl twice—and the Madams knew this. He would request specific kinds of women, you see.”

“What kind?”

Ha-ri leaned over the table as if she were afraid to be heard even in this deserted part of the manor. “Pregnant women, or women whose pregnancy wasn’t confirmed but weren’t menstruating for a reason or another. You know, these girls, they often take poisonous concoctions to prevent babies from growing inside them. It… It kills the womb, my lady.”

For a moment there, you could swear that your soul left your body.

Unfortunately for you, you had a vivid imagination, and your mind was immediately filled with clear images of the scenes. A beautiful woman laying on soft linen, naked, her long hair spread on the pillows underneath her, her breasts swollen by the milk inside of them. You saw her caress her round belly, her skin flushed with life, just like all the pregnant women you had seen in your life. Hyunjin climbing onto the bed with her, naked, too. Beautiful, too. His sad eyes concealed behind the veil of his dark hair, a hand around his long, hard cock, stroking himself at the sight in front of him.

Did he like to suck on their tits as he fucked them? Did he like to lose himself in these women? Did they make him forget the torment that filled his soul?

“My lady…” Ha-ri reached for your hand again, and you realized you were trembling. You let your friend take you away from the table and sit you more comfortably on your bed. Cloud joined you, laying on your pillow. “Breathe, alright?”

Breathe? How were you supposed to breathe when all you could think about was Hyunjin driving his cock into the swollen cunt of a heavily pregnant whore. Did he like to fill them to the brim, pretending it was his seed that had made them with child? You knew that a pregnant woman’s body was more sensitive, in good and bad ways—perhaps Hyunjin loved the feeling of their tender breasts under his palm, his mouth?

Sookie had taught you a lot, but she hadn’t told you if a pregnant woman’s pussy smelled and tasted better than another’s. Maybe that was what Hyunjin was after, too. And it just kept playing in your mind, his long fingers holding her waist, sometimes trailing on her full belly. The sound of their bodies colliding gently, his cock coated with her juices.

“Hey, come back to me now.” Ha-ri took your face in her small hands, gazing right into your eyes. “I don’t think you understood me right.”

“Hyunjin likes to fuck pregnant women.”

“Liked. He told Bin he would never disrespect you the way his mother had been disrespected. Why do you think he liked them pregnant?”

“Because they’re beautiful and they smell good. You know how they smell good, and their skin is warm, and—”

“My lady.” Ha-ri did not let you look away from her. “Lord Hyunjin would request women who were already pregnant because he did not want them—or anybody—to carry his children.” Her facial expression softened—you’d even say she looked sad, then, as realization slowly hit you, like the waves of an ice-cold sea. “Lord Hyunjin says that his last name is a curse. One that has already been bestowed upon you, outside of your or his control. One he does not wish to bestow upon an heir.”

A curse. You did not believe in curses, no matter how often your mother warned you about them.

Your voice came out as a strangled breath. “He doesn’t want anybody to carry his children?” You felt tears prick in your eyes. “Anybody?”

“I was hoping he… he would have changed his mind, my lady.” Ha-ri let go of you and sat next to you, holding your hands in hers. “Seeing as the young lord is obviously fond of you, we thought… we thought he would reconsider.”

Your whole life. Your whole entire life you had been prepared for one thing and one thing only—to become the wife of one of the wealthiest men in this country and let him fuck a few heirs into you, bonding the Hwangs to your family forever. Your whole entire life you had been fashioned into a good lady wife, one that would become an exemplary lady mother to her Hwang children. Your whole life, wasted.

You’re safe with me, Hyunjin had said. Except it was becoming evident that he did not have the same definition of safe as you did.

A curse. You used not to believe in curses.

Hyunjin finally managed to get rid of your brother after a walk around the manor, pretending to be weary. The other man wished him goodnight and disappeared, finally ridding Hyunjin of the immeasurable burden of having to entertain conversation with this self-centered, arrogant person.

He couldn’t help but wonder how you had survived in that household, with siblings so different from you, with parents so… distant. How could someone as delicate, as sweet as you, be of the same blood as these cold, unyielding souls?

Meeting them, meeting you, Hyunjin understood better the often bittersweet tone of your letters. Why you mentioned regularly the time spent outdoors instead of the time spent with your relatives. You had nothing to do with them, no common ground. You were like a pretty summer afternoon with a soft breeze and the sweet scent of honey in the air. They were a cold, rainy winter day. Unkind. Unforgiving.

Hyunjin took the long way around the manor while he decided whether he was going to head to the garden or go straight inside. With the wedding, he hadn’t had much time to check on the magnolia tree or the roses, and while he trusted his groundskeeper, he liked to keep an eye on things as well. Touching the leaves and feeling the thorns of the roses graze his skin reminded him of good things. Besides, he would leave soon…

The young lord’s gaze trailed upwards—he was by the western side of his home, the one that had been rather empty for the last years. But tonight, light shone behind the curtains of two large windows. The room he had chosen for you. Your bedroom.

He wanted you to have the best view. In the morning, the western mountains were slowly illuminated by the sun rising to the east. Hyunjin himself often liked to go watch the show from the balcony of that room. Hyunjin wanted you to see that splendor first thing in the morning. He wanted your bed to be warmed up by the sunsets since he would not be the one warming it up for you.

The light in your bedroom was dim—no more than a few candles—and he supposed you were resting after a long day spent in your parents’ company. He had also noticed your apparent sorrow at seeing Christopher and his lady wife leave, and Hyunjin had made them promise to return very soon, to which Lady Bang had assured she’d take you with her on her next trip to the city.

Hyunjin stood for a long while, staring at those lines of light, concealed by the ornate curtains he had thought you would like most. For a long while, he let his heart speak to him.

He missed you.

He longed for your company.

Hyunjin could not stop thinking about the few hours of intimacy spent with you since last night, despite the obvious inconvenience caused by his unwillingness to consummate the marriage. Being in your company, hearing your voice instead of reading your words. The feeling of your skin as he unlaced your corset… Hell, even watching you skinning rabbits had meant more to him than he would have ever imagined.

Were you with Cloud, the little kitten? Were you laying in your bed, on the expensive silk he had bought for you, your pretty body creasing the sheets underneath?

What were you doing on that bed, in the candlelight?

Before he even realized it, Hyunjin had made a turn, making his way to the nearest entrance, the one in the empty reception hall. He had too much space and nothing to fill it. He did not want this house and its empty corridors and endless lands. But at least he had given you the room with the best view.

His feet led him upstairs and he quickly reached your room but promptly stopped in his tracks as he heard your voice on the other side of the door. Your voice, and another—Ha-ri’s.

Hushed voices, quiet, muffled. Secrets. “You want to know what happens when Lord Hyunjin visits brothels?” Ha-ri asked, and Hyunjin’s heart dropped from his chest, landing somewhere in his lower stomach, it felt like.

No, no, no. Blood rushed to his ears, rendering him deaf for a few seconds, although the moment seemed like it lasted for an eternity. You and Ha-ri couldn’t possibly be talking about this, about… about what he used to do.

Had you told Ha-ri about last night?

Hyunjin hadn’t even told Changbin. He hadn’t told a soul about what had happened last night—or rather, what hadn’t happened. Sure, Changbin knew him better than anybody else and might have guessed, but…

Why were you asking about this? Why did you want to know?

What did you want to know?

Your voice made Hyunjin’s heart jump not back to its original place, but way past it, stuck somewhere in his throat. He pressed an ear closer to the door, careful not to make a sound. “I may never have been in bed with a man, Ha-ri, but it doesn’t mean I have a complete lack of experience.”

Hyunjin let that sink in. You may never have been in bed with a man, but you… had experience? Experience how? What? How could you have experience?

The response to his question came immediately after.

“Quite. Sookie and I were good friends. She gave me pleasure a few times, and I returned the favor.” But before he could even process that, Hyunjin heard a few quiet giggles, and you delivered a sentence so powerful that he had to hold onto the sturdy frame of the door or else he might have collapsed on the spot. “She was quite skilled with her tongue, Ha-ri. We almost got caught at times… I could not control my voice.”

Hyunjin’s mother used to say that green was the color of jealousy. He hadn’t been a particularly jealous child—as an only son, Hyunjin had been spoiled with everything his heart desired until his father had tainted their name. Sometimes, he did use to wish he had no future responsibilities ahead of him, that he could be a free boy like the ones they came across when they went to the city.

Green, perhaps to evoke the skin tone of a deeply sick person. He should have asked why green specifically.

Tonight, however, he saw red.

You had lied to him. Not that he had asked you directly, but maybe he should have. He did not regret sparing you from Doctor Yun’s invasive examinations but maybe Hyunjin should have asked you if you had ever had a woman’s head between your legs. Maybe he should have asked you how often you liked to have your sweet cunt licked by pretty girls.

He had heard enough. Hyunjin pulled away and made his way to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Red. Anger did not begin to describe how he felt. He felt betrayed. You had never, ever mentioned such a thing in your letters. You hadn’t even mentioned this… this special friend of yours. He was no stranger to women pleasuring other women—or men pleasuring other men, for that matter—but… you? You. His virgin beekeeper, not so virgin after all. Someone, some common whore had tasted your sweet pussy while he was refraining from fucking you senseless since the very day you set foot in this place. Some maid had made you squirm under the twirls of her tongue, had heard your moans. Had she played with your tits, too? Had she licked them, coated them with spit, just like Hyunjin wanted to do? Had you grabbed her hair, pulling her face close to your swollen cunt, chasing your release?

It should have been me, he thought. It should have been him between your legs, your fingers tangled up in his hair, his face coated with your sweet juices. He should have been the one to make you scream, to feel you throb under his tongue, fingers dug deep in your tight hole. He would have fucked you after, though. Hard. Like the slut you apparently were.

Hyunjin groaned as he felt blood rush to his crotch instantly. He kicked the leg of his desk as he went past it to pour himself a whiskey, and the pain it elicited did little to diffuse the growing tension in his cock.

And Hyunjin knew he couldn’t hold it against you. He had fucked women. He wasn’t proud of it, but he knew he would never bed you, so he had sought to calm his desires before facing you. He had thought that it would help him calm the curiosity he had for you. In the later years, the simple act of reading your letters had made him hard, imagining all the things he wouldn’t do to you, imagining you. But now it wasn’t your words he had, it was the real woman who had written them.

And he had to resist you.

The leather of his belt was cool under his touch as Hyunjin carefully unbuckled it. He left it hanging, his pants also unbuttoned, as he poured himself a generous glass of whiskey before sitting in his favorite armchair.

His cock called him, called you. He felt himself become harder by the second but he ignored the ache and tried to ignore the thoughts that had initiated it in the first place, but he couldn’t. Not only had a girl licked you, but you had done the same to her. Oh, he could picture it just well. Laying on your bed—you had mentioned that your bedroom at home was decorated with pink and cream colors. But that’s not what he was thinking about.

He was thinking of the girl’s cream on your pink lips. Your smooth tongue licking her, your soft throat straining as you swallowed her, cheeks flushed. Pretty. Sweet, sweet, sweet. Hyunjin knew you weren’t innocent, but he did not foresee this. Did not ever imagine your hand trailing down between your legs while you were slurping on your friend’s cunt. Well, he was imagining it now, for sure. And his cock twitched from it.

Hyunjin could fuck every whore in the country and it still would not be enough.

Because they were not you.

Hyunjin finished his whiskey and then returned to pour himself another. No. Not tonight. He would put himself into an alcohol-induced coma before he touched his cock at the thought of you bedding another woman. He would not spill his seed at the image of your eyes rolling at the back of your head, drowning in pleasure while a maid drowned in you.

The pants returned around his waist and so did the belt, and Hyunjin drank yet a third whiskey, ignoring the friction of the fabric against his erection. He walked around his bedroom, pacing like a caged animal, doing his best to chase away the thoughts invading his mind. Ugly thoughts. Red thoughts, like vermilion poison. Thoughts of storming into your room to fuck you. To claim you, declare your cunt as his, no one else’s. Hold you down on your stomach while he took you from behind, sinking his cock so deep inside of your cunt that it made you cry out every time he bottomed out. He ought to. He ought to kick your door open and fill you with his warm, fertile seed, claiming your womb at the same time as your pussy.

But of course he wouldn’t. Of course not. He couldn’t.

So instead, Hyunjin pushed himself up and went to grab not a glass of whiskey but the whole bottle and exited his room. He would go check on his garden. He would walk, run around his whole property until his stupid fucking cock would soften. But he would not give in, not tonight. He couldn’t just—

Hyunjin stopped right in his tracks as he passed in front of your bedroom, not because he was hearing conversations again, but because he was hearing cries. Soft, muffled cries, slow, but real. Painful. Punctuated by deep sobs.

Oh. For the second time that night, Hyunjin pressed his ear close to the door, waiting to see if he could hear Ha-ri or someone else’s voice. He waited there, in the dark hallway, listening to your cries. Perhaps that would suffice to rid him of the extra blood coursing through his cock.

It might. And as angry as Hyunjin was, as much as your betrayal hurt him, he simply could not bear this any longer. Why were you crying?

You wanted to know what he did when he was in those brothels. Had Ha-ri told you?

He sighed and tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but just like his pride, it was a little too large to just gulp it down. Still, he raised his fist and knocked on your door.

The cries stopped instantly after you gasped. Hyunjin heard shuffling. “Ha-ri? Didn’t you go back to your quarters?”

So you really were alone in there. How silly. How stupid. Hyunjin, alone, suffering in his room. You, suffering in yours. And yet, bound by marriage.

By friendship. A life-long friendship.

“It’s—m—me,” Hyunjin answered, his voice trembling. He cleared his throat, attempting to steady his breathing. “It’s me, my lady.”

The silence that followed was long enough that Hyunjin started to worry. Were you unwell? Were you so mad at him that you wouldn’t even respond? Were you planning on leaving tomorrow with your parents?

Hyunjin’s heart raced in his chest when he heard the handle of your door before you cracked it open. The room was very dim behind you. Your hair was undone, resting on your shoulders messily. Beautifully. You wore a white nightgown, but your arm pressed underneath your breasts accentuated them and pulled on the fabric, exposing enough of your skin that Hyunjin’s cock twitched in his pants.

Your eyes were wet and your cheeks bright red from you quickly drying them up. “Yes, my lord?” Your voice was shaking even more than his. “What could bring you here at such a late hour?”

You. You were dictating his every thought. What he did, what he didn’t know. How many nights had he spent in his bed relentlessly stroking his cock at the thought of you, the memories of your words, the anticipation of making you his wife?

Hyunjin gulped. “I… I heard cries. Are you alright?”

You stared at him with your big doe eyes, your bottom lip quivering. “I had a nightmare.” You were not a good liar tonight it seemed. Hyunjin could ask you any question and he would be able to tell whether you were telling the truth or not.

It was strange. Last night you did not bat an eye when you told the doctor about the size of Hyunjin’s cock, a cock you’ve never seen. You had no problem lying to these men, so what was different tonight?

You seemed so small and fragile then, yet he knew that you weren’t. Hyunjin took one step closer, forcing his gaze to remain on your face and not any lower. He would play along with your lie, it was easier this way. “Would you like me to… to prepare your honeyed milk? Like you did for me? You said it was good against nightmares.”

Your mouth parted open slightly and you frowned, your eyes focusing on his right hand. You couldn’t possibly see his cock straining against the fabric of his pants as he had made sure to wear his shirt over them, but you did notice the bottle he was holding. “Is that whiskey?” you asked.

He held the bottle up and swirled its contents under your eyes. “Indeed, darling. Would you like some?”

“You must have had some already.” The frown was gone, replaced by an expression that Hyunjin couldn’t read. “You only call me like that when you’re drunk.” Still, you pulled away from the door to let him in.

The room already smelled like you. You smelled sweet, you smelled like fresh flowers. Hyunjin let you guide him towards the table on which there were two half-full plates. “Ha-ri was here,” you commented. “We had some of the wedding cake. Have you had the chance to try it, my lord?” you added as you grabbed the plates to make space for him.

“No, actually, I haven’t.” He had hired the best baker around—one that had baked in the Queen’s kitchen—for a wedding cake he hadn’t had a single bite of. “How was it?”

You cut him a bite with your fork and handed it over to him, your wet eyes on him. Tears were sticking to your eyelashes and Hyunjin wanted to kiss them away. He stared at your trembling hand, reaching for the fork, but wrapping your hand in his. Your skin was smooth, smoother than any silk he had ever worn.

“Is the cake so good it made you cry, darling?” You were right, he was drunk. But the whiskey was nothing compared to the feeling of your skin under his palm and your scent floating in the air. “Or was the nightmare this terrible?”

“Women are weak, my lord. We cry quite often.”

Is that the best you could come up with? Really?

“I dreamt I couldn’t find Cloud anymore,” you explained, again with a terrible lying face, gesturing towards the small fluffy kitten on your bed. “It scared me to tears.”

Hyunjin stayed still, facing you, ignoring your attempts at diffusing the tension. He put the fork to his lips to taste the cake and let the dessert melt on his tongue as you decided to clear the plates from the table. The cake was light, the icing surprisingly flavorful. The baker had sworn he would use the best vanilla and he had held his promise.

When you stretched to set the plates on top of your dresser—probably so that Cloud wouldn’t touch them—Hyunjin witnessed your nightgown hugging your breasts nicely, displaying their round, inviting shape. As he swallowed the sweet vanilla of the cake, all that Hyunjin could think about was you, straddling another girl, rubbing your pussy on hers as she played with your pretty tits. His cock twitched so hard that he let out a soft grunt, and you turned your head sharply towards him.

He licked the icing off the corner of his mouth but all he was thinking about was you, your juices coating his lips. “The cake is excellent,” he said.

You returned by his side, taking the whiskey bottle on the table to drink straight from it. “Best cake I ever had,” you affirmed after swallowing a large amount of liquor.

Hyunjin watched as you went to sit on your bed instead of joining him. He did not sit on one of the chairs—instead, he leaned against the table. “I hope I did well enough today, my lord,” you said under your breath. “With our guests, with your home.”

He kept his gaze on you but you kept yours on your hands, which were resting on your lap. “Our home, and are you not going to call me by my name?” Hyunjin realized the dryness of his tone only after he had spoken. It stung him, but by the look on your face, it stung you even worse.

But he couldn’t help it. He knew he wasn’t being fair to you and he hated himself for it. The whiskey burned his throat, but he joined you to sit on the edge of your bed, handing over the bottle to you. “I’m sorry, my—Hyunjin. Force of habit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wanted to hold your hand, or simply hold you against him and kiss the top of your head. He wanted to rip your nightgown off you and fuck you all night, over and over. “Don’t worry about such things. You don’t have to do anything. I don’t measure your performance at the end of your days. Did I not tell you enough? That you’re safe here?”

You kept your words to yourself if you had any and drank instead, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You were the most beautiful, exquisite thing he had ever seen. “Tell me why you’re really crying, darling,” he said, taking the bottle from you, making sure to brush your fingers in passing. “We’re married. I’d rather we don’t lie to each other, if possible.” He paused, remembering the feeling that he had inside of him whenever your letters arrived. “Aren’t we friends, too?”

“We are,” you assured, finally lifting your face to look at him. Your eyes were full of tears again. “I just…” You sighed. “You’re leaving soon.”

He drank. Then, you drank. “Yes, I’m leaving soon.” You stared at him for a long time. A long, long time. Reading him. He, however, couldn’t read you. “Say it,” he muttered, his head heavy with whiskey and shame. “Say what you have to say.”

You turned to him on the bed, tucking your legs underneath you, sitting prettily with your hands on your lap. “Tell me about the brothels, please.”

He knew to expect it and yet it hit Hyunjin the same as if you had slapped him to the face. “I will not be visiting any brothels,” he replied. He had said the same words a million times to himself before—he had spoken them to Changbin, too. This promise. “I’m your husband and I will be faithful to you.”

You drank more whiskey, leaving your lips glistening with it for a few seconds before you licked them slowly. “I understand why you went to these places, Hyunjin.” You reached for his hand and he let you take it in yours. “I know it… I know it feels good.” You leaned closer to him and tilted your head, gazing right into his eyes. “Let me make you feel good, my lord.”

You set the bottle on the floor, using that free hand to push Hyunjin’s hair away from his face. That simple gesture was enough to make him gasp and jump at your tender touch. “I was taught how to please you,” you went on, your hand trailing down, caressing his neck, his arm, his chest. You lit fires on his skin everywhere you touched him.

He had to resist you. Hyunjin put his hand over yours as you made it to his stomach. You were so close that he felt your body brush against his, that he could smell the whiskey and the vanilla on your breath. “You don’t have to,” he heard himself say, but he just knew he was leaking in his pants from your touches. Your presence. “I won’t be unfaithful—”

You tried to pull your hand free, only he didn’t let you. “Hyunjin, I know that your cock was hard last night.” Was that the whiskey talking? Frustration? He couldn’t bear looking at you, so instead he stared at the candle burning on the table. Melting, just like him. “I’m not a stupid little girl, you know.”

“I know.” Your fingers tickled his stomach and he closed his eyes, his breath hitching.

“So tell me why you didn’t fuck me.” You freed yourself from his gentle hold. “You said you didn’t want any lies between the two of us, then so be it.”

Hyunjin twisted his neck to look at you. He could make out your pink cheeks even in the darkness, your parted lips, your wet eyes. Your neck, pretty, elegant. He wanted his mouth on it. He wanted his hand around it, feeling your pulse as he fucked you.

“I heard your conversation with Ha-ri,” he revealed. “So I know that you know everything, my darling wife. Do you really want to humiliate me by having me say it out loud?”

You looked down in shame, suddenly retreating from him, even removing yourself from the bed. Hyunjin followed you with his gaze, ignoring Cloud’s discontented meows as she rose from the bed to find a quieter corner in the bedroom to finish her sleep.

“You heard?” you asked quietly, finally stopping somewhere to his left, by the window. “What did you hear, Hyunjin?”

“I heard enough.” Hyunjin was rarely comfortable talking with people, but that didn’t seem to be a problem with you. No matter the tone or subject of the conversation, he felt safe, he felt like it was going to be alright—or had he drank a little too much? “I can only assume Ha-ri told you about my… preferences and why I have them. I also know you fucked your maid. So I think we’re even. Don’t you?”

Hyunjin could barely hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat, deafeningly loud in his ears, but he thought he heard you take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.”

“Don’t be.” He hesitated, still refusing to look at you. “I understand.”

“I assure you I’m still a virgin.” You made a few steps, returning closer to him. He caught a glimpse of your bare feet as you stood before him. “If you want to have your next doctor look at me, I will not be opposed—”

“I—don’t—care,” Hyunjin uttered slowly, finally lifting his head to meet your eyes, ��about a little piece of flesh that is or isn’t inside of you. It doesn’t fucking matter—I can’t—we can’t—”

He rose from where he sat but his legs failed him and he almost collapsed. Would have collapsed if you hadn’t come to help him stand, if you weren’t holding him. So close. You were so close to him, your face was right there, your lips calling his name. “I won’t father a child, end of the discussion.”

You looked at him almost like he was a fool, cupping his face in your trembling hand. Your skin was warm. “Why do you take your father’s mistakes as your own? Why do you wear them on your shoulders?” You brushed your thumb on his cheek. Once, twice. A little lower on the third swipe. On the fourth, you gently caressed his lips, causing Hyunjin to sigh a moan—causing his cock to throb, too. “I’m not begging you to fuck an heir into me, Hyunjin. But I can’t stand seeing you like this. Miserable. Broken. You’re not like him. You’re a good man, with a good heart. You don’t want children? Fine. They’ll blame me, my cursed womb. I don’t care. You said I’d be safe with you. I say you’re safe with me, too.”

There were no thoughts in his mind—for a second, the world became dark, quiet. The world ceased to exist. All that was left was you and him. Your arm around his chest, your hand on his cheek, the tip of his tongue on your thumb. The ache between his legs.

There were no thoughts in his mind when he kissed you.

But he kissed you.

A hurried kiss. A kiss that was many years in the making. He took your lips as if they would save his life but it felt like it. It felt like you were an angel descended from the heavens to make him see light where there was none.

Your lips were soft, your tongue was smooth. Your mouth was wet. Your mouth was sweet, sweet, sweet. Sweeter than anything, sweeter than honey.

Hyunjin kissed you with his mouth open like he was in a race with time. You kissed him back, your arms finding their way around his neck and his hands found their on your waist. He grazed your lips with his tongue but quickly went to seek for yours, twirling in the warmth of your mouth. Dizzy. Hyunjin was dizzy. You made him drunker than any whiskey.

You moaned against his mouth, pressing your body against his, never breaking the kiss. Your hands trailed up, getting tangled in his hair, your nails digging into his scalp.

There were too many thoughts in his mind. The alluring sensation of your body flush against his, your breasts pressed on his chest. He could feel your nipples, but he could also feel your thigh brushing his sensitive cock. He inhaled your breath and you inhaled his. He would cum from this, from kissing you—

There were too many thoughts in his mind. He had to resist you. He was supposed to resist you, but less than twenty-four hours after the wedding he was already in your bedroom and his hands were traveling on your chest to find your tits…

Your supple breasts fit perfectly in his palms. You moaned when he cupped them, the thin fabric of your nightgown leaving very little space for his imagination.

“Hyunjin.” He was convinced his name would never sound more beautiful than it did in your mouth. Once, when he was little, he caught a fever—he had been so sick that time that he heard voices, one of them he had been convinced was an angel. She spoke to him softly but he could never make out the words. “Hyunjin,” you breathed again, your lips traveling to his neck. You sounded better, prettier, holier than any angel, real or not. Your voice was sacred. You were heaven. You were hell. You were the only thing he would worship until the day he died, and even after.

He only realized he had pulled you onto the bed when his back hit the mattress. He would never be the same after—he was a changed man now that he knew what your weight on his body felt like. You left his lips to bury your face in his neck, licking and gently biting him there. Stop stop stop stop, a voice was chanting in Hyunjin’s head. He ought to run away from you, but your cunt was pressed against his aching cock and your lips were kissing prayers onto his skin. You smelled like whiskey and like vanilla and like a mistake.

You returned to his mouth, devouring him as if you had been starving for weeks, your hands lost in his tousled locks. Hyunjin didn’t even know who was doing what—if you were grinding on him or if he was pushing his hips onto yours, but for fuck’s sake, he could feel how warm your pussy was as it rubbed on his clothed cock. You sighed sweet moans into his mouth. You liked this. You wanted this. You wanted him.

He throbbed and hissed when your hands left his hair, dancing an intricate waltz on his torso. You felt him with your fingers and he felt you with his palms, applying pressure on your hardening nipples. Your tits were supple and nice—they would bounce nicely when he would fuck you. Because he would fuck you hard—

No. No, no, stop. But he couldn’t stop. He attached his lips to your neck while you struggled to unbutton his pants. Not because you didn’t know how a button functioned, but because your hand kept returning to his stiff cock, stroking it through the fabric. “Can I see it?” you asked, staring at him with big, glossy eyes. “Please?”

He couldn’t talk. He throbbed again, a pathetic whimper escaping his lips as you finally undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He closed his eyes, feeling a familiar pressure growing in his loins. His pants were damp from how much he was leaking. And sweating. God, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Hyunjin was comfortably lying on your bed while you straddled him, and by now the candle was almost out but he could still see you. He saw you, an angel, a demon, towering over him, cute tits poking through the delicate fabric of your nightgown, your face red. His wife. You were his. And he was yours.

No matter how fucked up he was, how broken—you seemed to see past the damage. You seemed to be able to see his soul and you seemed to like what was in it.

You gasped when you freed his cock, and Hyunjin cried out. Too much. Too good. Your smooth hand around his base, tugging gently… His whole body shuddered, suddenly covered in sweat.

“Oh…” You squeezed him a little. “It’s so hard…” You paused, not even moving, but Hyunjin couldn’t open his eyes, not yet. He couldn’t even breathe. “Is it hard because of me?”

His lungs filled with air painfully as he inhaled with sharp jerks, his head pushing onto the mattress—he arched his back, leaning into the contact of your hand around his cock. He was close. He would cum. He would cum from this, from your scent, from how drunk he was. Drunk on you, on whiskey, on the feeling of your skin around his cock.

“It’s so pretty,” you commented, causing his pulse to quicken dangerously fast. He would cum and then he would die—there was a storm between his legs, dark, beautiful, delivering thunder and lightning onto his painful cock. “It’s so big, too.”

Oh fuck. Yes. Your weight on his thighs, your hands exploring his length as if he were an unknown territory. Careful touches, curious gazes, with your mouth parted open and your hair falling on either side of your pretty face. Did you enjoy the feeling of his cock? Could you tell how tender he was, sensitive, ready? Could you smell his musk, could you feel him throb?

He bucked his hips once, then twice, rubbing himself into your palm. His head was spinning and maybe he was about to cry or throw up or grab you and impale you with his cock until you screamed, until he filled you.

You squeezed him again, twisting your wrist a little, effectively jerking him off—and Hyunjin knew then that he was gone. He could feel the fire erupting within him, falling from his stomach into his loins, burning everything on its way. He fucked your hand, guided by your sweet scent, your gentle squeezes and your breathing, ragged, yet, soft. You moaned when he rolled his hips harder but did something he did not expect—you took his hand in yours.

And pressed it between your legs.

There was only one thin layer of cloth between his fingers and your virgin pussy. Just some linen, white, as pure as you. But how pure could you really be if you let him fuck your hand like that?

How pure could you be if he could feel how soaked you were through your nightgown?

He dug his fingers into the fabric, chasing your wetness as his orgasm was threatening to overcome him. You let out a surprised gasp but leaned into it, rubbing yourself on his hand, never letting go of his cock. He would never be the same, not after this, not after your sweet cunt had dampened his fingers. He could feel his soul shifting, like an ocean under the tides. You were the moon dictating his every thought, his every move—he would never, ever just be Hyunjin anymore. He was yours, and you were his.

Your warmth enveloped his hand. He couldn’t see it but he could see you, your face twisted in pleasure, abandon, your mouth open as you let out timid moans and sighs. His pretty wife, soaking wet at the mere touch of his cock. How well would you be able to take him? Very well, he figured. Your sweet virgin cunt would take all of him, hugging him nicely. You’d milk him, drawing every drop of cum you could from him—

Hyunjin came unexpectedly in a series of whimpers and repressed moans. He fucked your hand as hard as he could from below as you watched him pulse into your hands, as he cupped your warm pussy and let it redefine who he was as a person. His cock twitched with each spurt of cum he released, and, by god, he felt every drop of it as if they were miracles, his back arching like the pathetic slave he was, eyes rolling hard at the back of his head. Each wave shocked him deeper and by the end of it, he couldn’t even hold his arm up to touch you—his body stopped spasming with his cock and his limb fell to the side of his body.

You stayed still until he regained consciousness but Hyunjin did not think he would ever recover from that. From the intensity of it—he had never, ever cum as much or as hard as this in his whole entire life. He would never recover from the shame either. You were still holding him, his spent cock slowly relaxing into your hand, but your digits were covered in his cum. It dripped from your fingers onto his lower abdomen. The ache was gone as the knot inside of him had come undone, but his face heated up as you released his cock—it fell lazily on his stomach, only half-hard anymore.

Hyunjin watched as you used your other hand to collect some of his cum—at first, it seemed you only wanted to clean it up, but he was wrong, so wrong. You gathered a rather generous amount of it and brought your shaking fingers to your mouth, licking yourself clean, humming softly. Hyunjin could feel himself getting hard again at the sight of you analyzing the taste of his cum, letting it melt on your tongue, just the way you would with honey. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t let it show and he heard you swallow, he heard you swallow him down. You licked your lips clean, and removed yourself from him, standing with wobbly legs by the bed.

Embarrassed didn’t even cover it. Hyunjin’s cheeks were so hot that it felt like a burn. “I’m sorry—” he started, staring at his shoes. At your feet, too. You wore soft white socks but they were crumpled now. He had failed to resist you. He watched as his cum dripped from your hand onto the floor and your right foot.

You pulled your hand up to prevent the mess, quickly grabbing a silk handkerchief from your nightstand to wipe yourself up. You rummaged in the drawer until you found another, turning to him again. “Don’t be sorry,” you replied, your voice shaking even more than your hands.

You went to clean him up too, his shirt still pushed upwards enough to show the mess on his stomach, but he didn’t let you. He took the silk from you and wiped himself up—something he had done countless times anyway.

He ought to say something, do something, but all that Hyunjin could do was sit on the edge of your bed, the ghost of your hand still haunting his exposed cock. The ghost of your wetness haunting his soul. When he was done, you promptly took the spoiled handkerchief from his fingers and disappeared for a few instants.

What would he do now? What was he supposed to do? That hadn’t been the plan. He hadn’t planned on losing all control of himself like this—that wasn’t the life he wanted for you. He wanted you to thrive, to be happy. To be free. He wanted you to visit the garden as often as you wanted and smell the flowers, emerging from the bushes with amber pollen dusted on your pretty nose. He wanted to hear your laugh echo through the walls of his manor. He wanted you to do everything you hadn’t been allowed to do—ride a horse, swim in a lake, climb a tree. He wanted you to just be you.

But Hyunjin had watched you eat his cum tonight.

You returned with a damp cloth, which you applied on his face carefully, wiping his brow. When you were satisfied with your work, you slowly pulled his pants back up and his shirt down. “You should lie down, Hyunjin.” You pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.

He nodded—you were right. He was drunk and fucked out and the contact of your fingers with his pants over his crotch had caused blood to flow away from his head once again. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Darling, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” You kissed his forehead and helped him lie down comfortably on your bed, then proceeded to take his shoes off. “Don’t be.”

But now he knew what it was like to feel the warmth between your legs. But now he knew what your moans sounded like, what your mouth felt like when he kissed it. He was sorry. He was sorry. He was sorry. “I’m sorry.” His throat felt tight, strained, like he was choking. The pillow under his head was soft and cool.

“Sleep, Hyunjin.” The bed dipped when you joined him on it, laying on the other side. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Hyunjin rolled on the mattress until he faced you. You must have put the candle out because he couldn’t see you, but he could feel you, your warm body, the weight of you. He could smell his cum on your breath. “It’s not what I wanted for you. I wanted you to be happy.”

He jumped when you touched him again, caressing his face with the back of your hand. “And what about you, Hyunjin?” You pulled yourself closer to him, resting against his chest. His darling wife, in his arms. “I want you to be happy, too. Close your eyes, and sleep.”

Was that how caterpillars felt when they fell into their deep slumber, surrounded by their cocoon? Perhaps. That night, Hyunjin fell asleep as a changed man—he wasn’t sure what had changed, but he knew that it had been caused by you.

That morning, you woke up as Lady Hwang.

But that morning, you were not alone in your bed. Hyunjin was sprawled over the mattress, his breathing deep and steady. Cloud was sleeping in the crook of his neck, her small body rising and falling to the rhythm of her inhales and exhales. His skin was pale, sickly—Hyunjin’s hair was a tangled mess and his lips were cut from how hard he had bit them.

But he was beautiful. You propped yourself up on your elbow, staring at him, at the delicate features of his face, his full lips. How badly you wanted to kiss him again, and again, your tongue playing with his, his mouth tasting yours as if you were the ripest of fruit.

How badly you wanted to straddle him again and feel him under you, his cock, his hunger.

You had never been one to be prone to hangovers but your mouth was dry. You pushed yourself up and made your way to the pitcher that contained water. You wiped the corner of your mouth as you turned to look at the man in your bed once more. Your hand smelled like his cock and like the salty, bitter cum he had spurted all over it last night. There had been more liquid than you thought there would be, and it had felt stickier than expected. And yet. You had liked the taste.

Hyunjin groaned in his sleep, rolling over to his side, disturbing Cloud in the process. The kitten rose from her slumber, jumping from her warm spot by Hyunjin to reach the pillow that you had just left to sleep peacefully.

A broken man. Broken beyond repair. A tortured man. You stared at him, his long limbs, his cheekbones. He wasn’t quite the man you thought you knew from those letters, but you were fond of him nonetheless.

You returned to the bed but did not lie down. Instead, you stood nearby, watching Hyunjin in his sleep, thinking about last night. About the fire in his eyes when you had wrapped your hand around his cock. Would you ever forget his voice and the way he had moaned for you? Would you ever be able to move on from that?

You would have to.

You had no choice. The very moment Hyunjin would wake up, shame would overtake him. Badly. You knew this. You understood this. There might have been a point last night when it had occurred to you that it was a mistake to pleasure him, that he would feel guilty, that he’d be mortified. But whatever hesitation you had evaporated when Hyunjin’s tongue slipped past your lips.

You would have to live your life as if last night had not happened—if you didn’t, it might just destroy the few crumbs of friendship you had with Hyunjin, and you deemed them too precious to forfeit them.

You smoothed your hair and silently wrapped yourself in a blue shawl before leaving the bedroom on the tip of your toes, careful to close the door as silently as possible. You craved him. Your cunt was wet again just from the memories of the events—or had you just stayed wet, longing for this man you could never have?

Did it even matter?

You heard Changbin’s voice at the other end of the hallway and swiftly made your way to him, waiting on the top of the staircase where he stood, giving instructions to a young male attendant who nodded and went downstairs.

“Changbin?” you said, your voice a little shaky, prompting you to clear your throat. He turned around to face you and the dark veil passing in his eyes made you wonder just how terrible you must look. “Would you please follow me?”

“Absolutely, my lady.” Two young women were passing in the downstairs hallway, apparently on their way to do some laundry outside. “Actually, I needed to speak with you.”

“Let’s talk on our way.” You didn’t wait after him and took the path to your bedroom again. “Is it urgent?”

“Not really, but it’s important,” Changbin pointed out. “Your parents requested that their horses be prepared before dawn, and they’ve left with your brother, my lady.”

You stopped in your tracks—you just happened to be right by the door to Hyunjin’s room. You faced Changbin, whose facial expression was unreadable. The head steward seemed tired, though. He must have worked excessively hard these past few weeks to prepare the estate for the wedding.

He must have awoken excessively early to see your ungrateful parents away. “They are gone? Already?” Still, you felt an unpleasant prick in your eyes. “My mother did not want to say goodbye to me?”

Changbin let out a sigh and stood closer to you. You flinched—if he stood too close, he might just smell Hyunjin’s sweat, or cum, on you. “Your parents claimed they sensed bad weather coming and wanted to be two towns over by the end of the day,” he explained. “They requested that you should not be disturbed, but your mother did give me this for you.”

Changbin pulled a small, long box from his inside pocket. Only one glance at it and you knew what it contained. Still, you took it in your hand and pushed open the lid, finding your mother’s silver necklace in it. The one that her mother had given her, offered to her mother before that. The one that was supposed to go to your sister, as per tradition, for being the eldest female sibling in the family, the one whose offspring would matter the most to the bloodline. Or some bullshit like that.

This necklace had no reason to be in your hand this morning, but it was. The window behind you was open and you heard it again, that foreign bird you couldn’t recognize.

“It is a beautiful necklace, my lady,” Changbin complimented. “Would you like me to help you put it on?”

You shook your head, quickly closing the box again. There was no time for tears or regret. You knew this necklace was a half-assed apology from your mother but you did not have time for this either. “I will need to bathe first,” you replied. “And so will my husband.”

The steward nodded. “Yes, I was on my way to wake him up,” he admitted. “He likes to sleep in.”

You didn’t let Changbin knock at Hyunjin’s door. “He’s not in there. Please follow me.”

There was no time for tears or regret, or memories. What good could it do to remember the taste of Hyunjin’s mouth? To recall his hot breath on your skin as he relentlessly fucked your hand, sliding his long cock against your palm? What good could come out of thinking about the texture of his cum dissolving on your tongue?

“My husband came to have a chat with me last night, but I’m afraid he went a little heavy on the whiskey,” you told Changbin, “I think he will need you around.”

You didn’t want to turn and look at Changbin’s face, so you kept walking with your head held high. You couldn’t let him see your shame.

I wanted you to be happy, Hyunjin had said. But you weren’t sure you knew what that even meant.

“Fucking hell…” Changbin couldn’t help the exasperated sigh from escaping his lips when you let him into your bedroom. “What the…”

He crossed the room, making his way closer to Hyunjin while you stayed a few steps back. Changbin observed him for a few moments. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low. “What the fuck did he do to you?” You followed the steward’s gaze, which seemed to be resting upon Hyunjin’s unbuttoned pants. You ignored the heat spreading on your face.

“Nothing happened, Changbin. Can you help me or not?”

Silence fell in the room. Well, not silence—you heard many things, but faintly. Voices from downstairs, Hyunjin’s deep breathing, the birds outside, Cloud’s paws as she walked by the windows behind the curtains to have a look at what was going on out there. You took a deep breath.

“Let’s wake him up,” Changbin said. He cleared his throat, and added in a louder voice, “Hyunjin.”

But he barely moved. You climbed back onto the bed and proceeded to button up his pants. His cock wasn't soft and it made you clench around nothing, made you crave him even more. “It’s time to wake up, Hyunjin.” When you were done, you touched him in the face. “Can you hear us?”

“How much did he drink?” Changbin asked, looking around—he found the bottle of whiskey and let out a discontented grunt. “He knows that whiskey does him dirty, though, why did he—” But Changbin didn’t even finish his sentence. He put the bottle back. “What happened last night, my lady?”

You didn’t even look at Changbin, you just kept stroking Hyunjin’s hair. “Nothing,” you repeated. “I just want him to be alright. Is he going to be sick? Should I go outside and get some chamomile to make him tea?”

“There’s a patch of feverfew growing outside the manor, just behind the stable. It would help. You did the right thing to come fetch me—Lord Hwang doesn’t appreciate it when his staff sees him… under a not-so-good light.”

“I figured so. He is a proud man.” Your thumb brushed his plush lips, making you crave them again. “Too proud for his own good.” In the end, you looked into Changbin’s eyes. “I’ll go get the flowers and make the tea myself.” You would add a generous amount of honey, too—the sweet taste should neutralize some of the bitterness caused by overdrinking. “When he does wake up, make sure to tell him how healthy and well I looked.”

Changbin tilted his head with a puzzled expression on his face. Clearly, you looked anything but healthy and well and you figured he did not like to tell lies. “Why would I—”

You used your Lady Hwang voice on him which might have been one of the most unpleasant things you ever had to do. “You tell him that, Changbin. That his wife was well when you saw her, and that she will make tea for him while he washes up.”

Changbin dipped his head respectfully. “Of course, my lady. His lordship likes a light breakfast on… difficult mornings like this. One poached egg with salt on the side, as well as a thinly sliced tomato.”

“I will get this started in the kitchen as well.” You kissed Hyunjin’s forehead. You liked his smell no matter how unpleasant it might have been to another—he smelled like last night, like sweat, like whiskey, his sweet musk, alluring and enticing. Smelling him made you wet a little, but you climbed off the bed. “Thank you, Changbin.”

But you were gone before Changbin could respond. You stopped by Hyunjin’s room to use his bathroom and quickly washed up in the sink, spraying perfume on your skin. When you walked by Ahnjong who was apparently waiting for you in the hallway, you asked the maid for a simple dress to put on. She helped you get into your clothes while you messily braided your hair and attached it with a couple of pins. You made small talk with her and asked her to go down to the kitchen to get Hyunjin’s breakfast started.

My lady. Lady Hwang. Lady y/n. Greetings echoed around you as you made your way through the manor. Dipped heads, respectful bows and waves and smiles. This morning, yet again, you had woken up as Lady Hwang—your parents were gone and Hyunjin was in a whiskey-induced coma and he would leave soon. These people would count on you to keep the place running.

You would miss him. You missed him already and there was only one flight of stairs separating you from him.

“My lady.” It was Ahnjong again—she was just coming out from the kitchen after obliging you. “Is Lord Hwang up?”

You gulped. Your throat was dry, so dry, and you were a little lightheaded—you needed food and water, but you made yourself smile instead. The smile that your mother had taught you, the one that made you look like a well-educated, docile yet strong woman. “My lord husband is washing up and getting ready for his day, is everything alright?”

“There’s an envelope for him,” the maid replied, her cheeks pink. She spoke rapidly as if she were excited. “But your name is on it, too, my lady.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll open it. Who is it from?”

Ahnjong disappeared into the kitchen just for a few seconds before bringing the envelope to you. “A messenger just brought it. I was looking for Mr. Seo, or Lord Hwang, or—”

“Thank you, Ahnjong.” You took the envelope from her. It was good quality paper—on it you could read Lord & Lady Hwang in bold, black letters, elegantly traced. You flipped it over to study the wax seal. “Jeon family?”

Your maid’s eyes opened big and bright as if you had just promised her something wonderful. “Lord Jeon Jungkook and his mother, Lady Young-ae. Her husband passed away last year… and her eldest son took over their affairs. They own farms as well as several workshops where the best furniture one can find is manufactured, my lady.”

You opened the envelope. “You seem well informed on the matter, my Ahnjong,” you pointed out. “Are they good friends of my husband?”

You heard Ahnjong’s gulp. “Neither friends nor foes, my lady… Officially, at least. Lord Hwang and Lord Jeon are both busy men who couldn’t possibly have had time to develop a friendship, but they did go to school together, or so I heard.”

It was a simple invitation.

‘To Lord Hwang and his Lady wife,

what a shame it is that I unfortunately could not make it to your wedding. I would like to host a dinner to celebrate this long-awaited union. My most sincere congratulations on this beautiful occasion. May your marriage be blessed.

Lord Jeon Jungkook.’

“And what else have you heard about this Lord Jungkook?” you questioned the maid, whose ears had turned red. “He is inviting us to his home.”

Ahnjong put a hand over her mouth to conceal a most inappropriate yet endearing gasp and series of giggles. “Forgive me, my lady—” she managed, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “Lord Jungkook is renowned for his good looks, you see. He is quite handsome and elegant.”

You couldn’t care less about the way he looked. “Neither friends nor foes officially?”

Ahnjong shrugged. “When the time came to furnish your bedroom, my lady, Lord Hwang insisted that none of the furniture came from the Jeons’ workshops. But I haven’t been here for a very long time, so I couldn’t really tell. I’ve only seen Lord Jeon once when I went with Mrs. Ha-ri on a shopping trip around town… He treated both me and Mrs. Seo with warmth and respect, but Ha-ri warned me to stay away. From what I’ve heard, Lord Hwang’s father and Lord Jeon’s father had some sort of… rivalry.”

You couldn’t care less that their fathers were rivals. You stared at the invitation in your hand—the handwriting was neat, impressive, beautiful. Of course, more was to be gained by getting closer to an enemy than to a friend, and it just so happened that your mother had taught you everything you ought to know about managing your foes—or, more exactly, your husband’s.

“I will write back to Lord Jeon myself in the afternoon,” you told your maid. “For now, will you please come with me—I have to make herbal tea for Hyunjin.”

The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Ahnjong made pleasant conversation but you did not speak much. You picked some feverfew and some wintergreen—for flavor—and returned to the kitchen where Sungjae was slicing the tomatoes for Hyunjin’s breakfast. You sent Ahnjong to get your bath ready while you seeped the flowers in hot water to which you had added a spoonful of honey. It reminded you of Hyunjin’s cum when you licked the spoon, but sweeter and stickier. You swallowed it.

You insisted on taking the tray upstairs yourself. By the looks of it, Hyunjin was in his bedroom again—you pushed the cracked door open after bracing yourself.

Your husband was finishing buttoning up a white linen shirt—he already had clean trousers and his shoes on. His hair was damp, but he was standing straight, looking healthier than he had seemed in your bed earlier. He jumped when he heard you come in, but quickly softened up when he noticed it was you.

“I brought you breakfast.” You walked past him to set the tray on his table but turned to face him. He had dark circles under his eyes and his lips were damaged and a little swollen, but you wanted to kiss them anyway. “You should eat, Hyunjin.”

He smoothed the fabric of his buttoned shirt. “You could have had one of the maids bring it.”

No darling for you this morning, it seemed like. Disappointment filled you in the exact same way a single drop of black ink would taint a glass of water. Beautifully, but in a way that would alter you forever. “I wanted to see if you were well.”

Hyunjin looked at you for a few seconds, then at the tray behind you. He took a step closer and you smelled him—damp, warm. Clean. You recognized the oils he particularly liked using to smooth his hair, which he had mentioned in a letter before. He had them imported from another country. “Where is your breakfast? Have you eaten?”

His tone took you by surprise, just as his concerned look did. “Oh, no, I’m not—I’m not very hungry.” That wasn’t a lie—while you were aware that your body needed sustenance, you did not have an appetite at all. “I’ll have something later. An apple, maybe.”

Hyunjin took another step, his body brushing yours. You felt the warmth from his bath on you, you smelled his citrusy breath—he liked to rinse his mouth with lemon water in the morning. “Listen, I—” he started, but you quickly stopped him.

“Don’t.” Your cheeks were warm but you held his gaze. His molasses eyes seemed so different this morning in the amber sunlight, and yet he stared at you with the same fascination as before.

He shook his head, releasing a few drops of water from his hair onto his shirt. “No. I—I—” he stammered, looking down. Not at his feet but at your hand. He took it in his, observing it. “Did I hurt you?”

You looked at the way he held your hand, like it was made of the purest crystal. “You didn’t hurt me.” Please do it again, you wanted to say, but you didn’t. He then focused on your face, pressing his large hand on the side of it with a frown on his brow. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, Hyunjin,” you added.

He let his arm fall to the side of his body and you stood in front of each other for a few seconds. Just quietly, just looking at the other. He had small wounds on his lips and it looked as if he had bitten into the thorns of a rose. The sun made his skin glow and it made you love him more than you already did.

You had been a foolish girl to think that he would love you back. He would never love you back—he would sneak into your bedroom late at night and rub his pretty cock on you until he spurted his thick cum and you would eat it because you had enjoyed its organic, salty taste. Maybe, next time, when he fell asleep, you would slide a hand between your legs while his taste was still on your tongue and cum to that. But he would never love you.

You had been so, so foolish. But that morning, Hyunjin pulled you against him and wrapped you in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his face buried in your hair. “I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to be safe. I’m sorry.”

You were certain that Hyunjin must have felt your heart jump in your chest at that moment but you simply held onto him, pressing your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled good. You liked the way his body felt against yours. You would buy him all the whiskey in the world if it meant he would call you darling after a few glasses. Even if it meant he would love you on those nights and those nights only.

Darkness had made a home out of him—it filled him, his body and soul, but you did not fear him. You had never been afraid of the dark.

to be continued.

a/n: Well this took a while! I'm sorry, but I would like to thank my beloved reader's patience & dedication to this story. To see the way some of you have been so invested in Lord & Lady Hwang's story truly warmed my heart and I could not thank you enough. I decided to split this chapter in two halves so that it wouldn't be 40k + & I would be able to post it earlier, so I hope that is okay. We are traveling to Jeon domain next chapter! 🤭 Again just thank you so, so much for all the love, the asks, the feedback, the kind words. I am truly blessed.

permanent/series taglist ♡ @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @streetlight-s @tanyas97 @aimeexx @upallnight-s @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @skzho @suhomylife @abiaswreck @chanlovesme @binstitsweat @yourhwngness @felixcharmerera @findingjieun @yla-aira @moasworld @honey-lemon-goose @catwhisk @neosfw @hyunjinswifeee @arraby2 @iam2out @imwithurmother @cheesytangerine @hyunsungbased @youngbokandme

#if i take a while to do the next chapter it’s bc my phone keeps crashing

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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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Heyy yuzuuu, I was wondering is it just me or can we not read ‘im too bad’ anymore if i click on it it says the page isn’t available don’t know if its still tied to your old tumblr :(

hihi !! you can still read it i just broke the links bc i forgot to update it !! unfortunately you have to change the link url to yuzukult now instead of gyukult… but i think you can still search the chapters on my page!! (i just haven’t had the chance to update it LOL)

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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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this actually aches 😭 reading from oc’s pov of how she’s for him, how she was basically trained and built up to this moment to become his wife only for him to — [i had to hide to avoid a potential spoiler]

— not want to consummate the marriage made me feel so sad 😭 just like. i can imagine the thoughts that go through her head even though i already know,,, if that makes sense (like i can imagine more of the thoughts)

his trauma is so valid but at the same time i could feel what it’s like to be in her shoes and feel not wanted despite him saying the words that he cares for her and wants to protect her 😭😭

i remember reading this the first time and i guess i didn’t blink for so long that a tear fell from the corner of my eye 😭😭😭😭

honeyed milk (part one of the taste of honey)

pairing: young aristocrat!hyunjin x (afab) reader | wordcount: 22k | genre: 19th century au, arranged marriage to lovers, slowest burn, smut, romance | warnings: angst ; tsundere elements ; virgin reader ; feelings are requited but characters are being complicated about it ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only. This work portrays themes & actions that might trigger some, reader discretion is advised. **not written with the intention or desire to be historically accurate.

You were sweet too, too sweet for him—he was bitter, and sweet didn’t cancel out bitter, didn’t make it any more palatable. It just made it worse.

“What does that mean, mom?” Hyunjin motioned at the words on the plaque resting next to his portrait. This past summer, the artist had spent a lot of time depicting the young boy posing on a bench out in the flower garden. The warm months were long gone, now—the days had grown short and cool, but Hyunjin smiled at the bright sun and colorful flowers on the painting.

The portrait had been framed, however, unlike other commissioned portraits in the past, it hadn’t been hung on the walls of the Hwang manor. It rested upright in a wooden crate that had yet to be closed off.

His mother crouched, taking Hyunjin’s small face in her delicate hands. She was beautiful, his mother—everybody in the city said so. Hyunjin knew this about his parents: they were rich and important. His father owned a textile factory and a lot of land, which he liked to visit with his only son once in a while, reminding him of what would be his one day. He was also involved in politics, but Hyunjin wasn’t too interested in that. His mother was somebody’s daughter—somebody even more important than his dad was.

But to Hyunjin, she was just his mom. Her fingers were always cool to the touch and she liked to run them through his thick hair. He was loved and he knew it.

“Do you recognize any of the words, my son?” she asked him, turning his head towards the sign where the words were engraved on wood in gold-plated elegant letters.

The boy put his tiny index finger on the letters that formed his name. “Hwang Hyunjin.” He grinned, proud to be showing off his reading skills. “And that’s dad’s name,” he added, “and that’s yours.” He faced his mother again and she kissed his cheek as softly as she spoke to him.

The smile his mother offered Hyunjin was bittersweet—and more bitter than sweet—however, he was too little to understand that.

“I suppose it’s about time I tell you about our country’s tradition, my son. God knows your father wanted to tell you the very moment you were born…” She sighed, pulling herself back up. “Do you remember two summers ago, when your father left for a long time?”

Hyunjin thought about it. Two years was so long ago—he wasn’t a baby anymore. But he did remember that his dad had been away for most of the summer. He had spent a lot of time in the garden with his mom, surrounded by flowers and bumblebees. “I remember,” he said with a firm nod.

His mother’s hand rested on Hyunjin’s cushiony cheek. Her lips, painted red, quivered for a few instants before she went on.

“People like us, Hyunjin…” She sighed, shaking her head, her long, dark hair moving with her like waves in water. “We can’t choose who we will marry.”

Hyunjin frowned, staring at his mom for a while before glimpsing at his portrait in the crate again. “You don’t love dad?”

That trembling of the lips again. “I do love him, Hyunjin. But I was promised to him when I was born, and him to me. It is how it must be for people like us.”

“People like us,” the boy echoed pensively. People who had gardens with pretty flowers in them? People who went on vacation to the sea sometimes? People who had soft, dark hair? They often said about Hyunjin that he had his mother’s hair and his father’s eyes. “So that means…”

“We are sending out this portrait to the family of the girl you are promised to, my boy.” His mother crouched again, pulling him closer. “That is where your father was two years ago. Her family lives across the country and he went there to supervise her birth.”

Hyunjin stared into his mother’s eyes. Two big pools of night, glistening with tears. She smiled to conceal them, and to Hyunjin, they just looked like happy tears.

“You’ll marry this girl someday, and we are sending her family a portrait of you.” His mother pulled him into a warm embrace. She smelled like the flowers she so often tended to. “You’re a sweet boy, Hyunjin. You don’t have to understand everything I just told you, alright?”

He wrapped his small arms around her and nodded against his mother’s shoulder. “Okay, mom.”

His mother took him to her room and, together, they wrote a note to attach to the painting.

“Maybe I should do that every year, mom. Write to her for her birthday! Do you think she’d like that?” Hyunjin asked, eager to make a new friend.

His mother’s cool fingers found the back of his neck as he signed the note with careful strokes of ink. “I’m sure she would, son. She might even write back on your birthday.”

( 20 years later )

Hyunjin,

Happy birthday to you. I send my warmest wishes, of course, and health. February was harsh on our city and I hope it was easier on yours.

I read your last letter with a smile on my face, and I appreciated the gift you sent along with it. I wear the gloves every day when I go out on my walk. How soft they are, and how they keep me warm… I think of you during my walks now, wondering how you are spending your winter days. Thank you, Hyunjin. In return, I am sending a little something as well. It may not be much, but I hope it will bring some warmth into your heart as you did to me. I worked hard all summer to harvest it.

It’s snowing… Isn’t snow so beautiful? To me, the snowflakes look like small diamonds falling from the sky.

Have you ever noticed how, in the quiet of the night, snow makes noise as it falls? It couldn’t quite describe it… Like the dusting of beautiful crystals onto the world, I suppose. But, to me, it’s better than silence. I like to just stand under it and listen to it. Perhaps I will do that after I write this letter. I shall wear the gloves you’ve sent me, Hyunjin. They will protect me from frostbite.

Did you get a feast for your birthday? I certainly did… Which was expected, since I became of age and it was a special occasion… but I wonder, do you still get big birthday parties with a lot of guests, Hyunjin? I am afraid that our birthdays will no longer matter soon. Isn’t growing up a little scary, yet, thrilling?

I shouldn’t keep you busy for much longer. I know you are a busy man. I hope business has been good.

I will see you in the spring, Hyunjin.

I have been looking forward to this day from the moment I turned two years old.

Happy birthday, stay warm.

Much love, y/n

“Changbin?” Hyunjin sighed, your letter still in his hands. “Was there something time-sensitive in that letter that needed my immediate attention?”

Changbin, busy restocking with wood the stove in the adjacent room—Hyunjin’s bedroom—appeared in the door frame.

“Sir?” Hyunjin sighed again, shaking his head at his steward. He rose from his chair and walked away from his sturdy wooden desk. It was a different one than his father’s—that old one, he had burned to ashes himself a long time ago, hoping it would dull his anger. It had not worked, but at least he never had to see that damn desk again.

“I am busy—do I really need to remind you of the urgent work I have to do? Mr. Kim Seungmin is waiting for my letter. That is urgent.”

As if to prove his point, Hyunjin let go of the delicate sheets of paper that constituted the letter you wrote him and grabbed his unfinished correspondence with the Viscount, showing the blank pages to his faithful steward.

“Hyunjin—” Changbin entered the room with a concerned look on his face. There were no ‘sirs’ or ‘lords’ between them as Changbin had been a part of Hyunjin’s life for the past several years, and was as much his friend as his attendant. More the former than the latter, even. “You’re marrying her in two months.”

Hyunjin groaned audibly and let go of the letters to make his way to the small cabinet where he kept his wine. Changbin joined him, offering to pour his glass, but Hyunjin paid him no mind. As if he was unable to pour himself a glass of—

“DAMMIT!” In his angry state, Hyunjin had spilled a considerable amount of wine on the cabinet as well as on the floorboards.

“Go change, I’ll handle it.” Changbin’s voice left no space for arguing. “Come back when you’re cleaned up, Hyunjin. We’ll have to talk about it at some point.”

Talk about what? Hyunjin wanted to retort. He also wanted to shove Changbin into the wall or give a solid kick into the large window of his study. Instead, the young man crossed the room and entered his bedchamber. He heard Changbin go about in the other room, as well as hushed whispers—no doubt the maids, once again, would have funny stories to tell the others about the owner of the estate, about Hyunjin. The Orphan.

That is what they called him—the people of this city, his own staff. They never said it to his face, of course, they had the decency to remain polite in his presence. Or maybe they were just frightened by him, by the reputation that surrounded him. That he was just like his father, a cruel, heartless man.

That he would end up just like him, too.

When Hyunjin was twelve years old, it was made public that his father had been involved in extramarital relations with several women, most of which were married to various prominent men in the region. It had brought not just a cloud, but a whole storm of dishonor onto the family… And Hyunjin prayed every night for the shame to dissipate. Every night, instead of sleeping, eyes on the high ceiling of his bedroom, he used to beg for his family to be fixed. To be unbroken.

His prayers had been heard—one night, after returning from a business trip, his father had been ambushed by a group of men and killed. Even at that age, Hyunjin had understood quite clearly that it was one of the cuckolded husbands—or even several of them—that had his father killed. That had killed him themselves maybe, even.

Hyunjin never found it within himself to miss him. Not as he was witnessing his mother turning into a ghost, into a wilting flower.

Her fingers had always been cool to the touch, except for when she caught that fever. The women around her, his mother’s caretakers, used to say that it was shame and heartbreak that had allowed her body to become so ill. Hyunjin refused to let them bury her with his father at the family’s mausoleum—instead, he had her buried right here on the estate, under the large magnolia tree right by her garden.

Hyunjin took his face in his hands with a long sigh. They said he was just like his father, and maybe that was true. Maybe he had rage inside of him, other things, too. But he did not fuck the women from around here—he waited until he was away for business to do so, and made sure they weren’t married. At least, for that, he was unlike his father.

It only took a few moments before the mess was cleaned up. “Would you like a bath?” Changbin’s voice asked from the study. “The hot water is ready.”

Hyunjin, in the middle of taking off his wine-stained trousers, only offered a half-hearted mumble as a reply. His mind was elsewhere—he truly needed to give Kim Seungmin a response as soon as possible. He wanted to get out of town and fuck a few women. He wanted Changbin to leave him alone. He wanted to read your letter again.

Changbin entered Hyunjin’s bedchamber without any hesitation or reserve—he had seen him in worse condition and with less clothing, too. He barely spared him a glance before making himself busy in the washroom. When he heard the running water—one of the many luxuries of the estate—Hyunjin felt a little relieved to know he would be warm for a few moments, at least.

The steward reappeared and leaned against the dark wood of the door frame. He had pulled up the sleeves of his white shirt and was smoothing the dark gray fabric of his vest. Changbin was a good man—married, with two beautiful children, and a lovely wife. His family lived here with him. They had become his family, too—with them around, Hyunjin felt a little less like The Orphan, and a bit more like Hyunjin. Changbin’s wife was a remarkable seamstress and she was in charge of the estate’s wardrobes.

“We still need to talk about it,” Changbin told him, crossing his arms over his big chest. “Hyunjin. Look at me.”

Hyunjin kicked his trousers and undergarments off his ankles. If Changbin hadn’t been there he would have left them on the floor, but today he picked them up and put them on the chair in the corner of the room just so his Head Steward wouldn't berate him for that in particular.

“Look at me,” Changbin repeated, his voice a little louder. And Hyunjin knew his voice could get a whole lot louder, so he, reluctantly, turned to his friend.

“There’s nothing to say.” Hyunjin’s voice was low and dark, as dark as the room was—only one oil lamp was shining in the darkness, but it was more than enough to see the criticism on Changbin’s face. “I know. I’m getting married in two months.”

“You don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to.” Hyunjin unbuttoned his white cotton shirt, unbothered by Changbin’s presence as he undressed. “It will happen regardless, so there is nothing to talk about. Can I bathe, now?”

Changbin looked behind him to check on the water levels in the tub. “Not quite.” He sighed, busying himself with adding more lighting with a few candles, as well as the wall lantern in and outside of the washroom.

“Hyunjin, you’ll make the poor girl miserable if you keep sinking into your own dark sentiments.”

“I’ll make her miserable anyway.” Hyunjin went into the washroom and decided the tub was filled enough to his taste. “She’ll be my wife, that’s the beginning of her curse.”

When Changbin came back, he was holding the gift you had sent him for his birthday. There had been no event—Hyunjin cared very little for his own birthday, after all, and hadn’t celebrated it since losing his mother. But despite all that, year after year, you wrote him a letter for his birthday, and he one for yours.

At first glance, the gift was modest—a jar made of clay with a simple but elegant ornate design around it. The handle on the lid was shaped like a bee and painted accurately, too. The true gift, however, was inside the jar. Honey from the south, honey that your bees had made and that you had harvested. Your bees, as in, you were in charge of your home’s apiary, despite your mother’s strict disapproval of it.

‘She says it isn’t very ladylike of me,’ you had written that year in your letter. ‘But I like them, their buzzing soothes me, and the honey is sweet, sweet, sweet.’

You were sweet too, too sweet for him—he was bitter, and sweet didn’t cancel out bitter, didn’t make it any more palatable. It just made it worse.

“You received the gift last week,” Changbin pointed out. “It took you all this time to even read the letter and you only did so because I made you. Have you even tasted it?”

“No.” It was the truth. Hyunjin was many things but he was not a liar. “Leave me, Changbin.”

Changbin left the small sand-colored jar by the sink. “If you keep wallowing in self-pity, you’ll be just like him. Man up. In two months, there’ll be a lady, your lady, in this manor. I swear to god, if you mistreat her…”

“I won’t mistreat her.” In the silence of the room, Hyunjin’s quiet voice was deafening. “I won’t be like him. I’m… I’m not like that because I hate her, or because I don’t want to marry her, Changbin.”

“I know.” Changbin motioned at the jar. “Taste it. It’s delicious. If you don’t eat it, I’ll give it to my family. I bet Hi-ra and the kids will love it.”

Changbin walked away, closing all the doors behind him, and leaving him alone. Hyunjin made his way to the sink where the jar was resting and took it in his long fingers, pulling the lid off. The room was lit up now and he could see the thick, amber liquid in it. The honey you had harvested. You, his beekeeper bride. The one that had been promised to him while she was still in her mother’s womb, based on the fact that his father had money and land. Based on the fact that your father wanted the power it would give him when you would be Lady Hwang.

Hyunjin dipped his finger in the jar. Steam had filled the room, warming him up already. He parted his lips to run his finger on his tongue, closing his lips around it to suck in more of the flavor. Sweet. Sickly sweet. The honey tasted like summer, like flowers, like love. Not that he had any idea what love tasted like, though.

He had often thought about you, at work, with your bees. Or you chatting with your sisters, watching boys, doing some embroidery. One year, you had sent him a beautiful silk handkerchief on which you had embroidered his initials as well as a small magnolia flower.

He still had that. The handkerchief. He kept it in his bedside drawer just to look at it sometimes. Sweet, sweet, sweet. You probably tasted just as sweet as this honey, too.

Hyunjin went for seconds, gathering honey on his finger to eat more of it. The sugary and floral flavor filled his mouth as his eyes fell on the mirror in front of him. He barely recognized himself these days. His black hair almost reached his shoulders but it was often disheveled and dull. He had dark circles under his piercing eyes, being stuck in an endless cycle of fatigue and insomnia.

His thoughts often wandered to you when he couldn’t find sleep, wondering what kind of woman you were and what kind of wife you would be. Hyunjin did not want to get married, did not want the Hwang name to carry on. However, in two months, you would be his wife. And he knew what was expected of him. Of you. Of this union. After all, it was why you had been promised to him—to bring his children into the world.

Hyunjin had decided long ago that he would never fuck you. People told tales of his beautiful bride-to-be from the south, of her voice like a melody, her kind smile, her radiant beauty. But he had decided long ago that he would never fuck you, never even risk putting a child in you.

On his tongue, the honey reminded him of the gentleness of your letters, the thoughtful gifts you sent him year after year.

Your handwriting was delicate, clean, pretty. The honey was sweet, sweet, sweet. Was your mouth as sweet as that? Your cunt?

Hyunjin licked the thick honey off his lips and closed the lid on the jar before returning his gaze to the mirror. His open shirt only revealed his lack of appetite in the past months. He was skinny, sickly looking, pale. His lack of clothes only revealed that his cock was coming alive at the mere thought of you, even though he had never even laid eyes on you.

He released a good amount of honey-laced spit into his palm before taking himself in his hand, tugging gently on his hardening length. He wouldn’t fuck you—he couldn’t risk it. He also wouldn’t fuck anyone else and would stop his visits to courtesans on his business trips—he could not make the same mistakes his father had done. He could not.

His soft-hearted bride. Hyunjin whimpered at the thought of him hitching up your skirts and stuffing your virgin cunt with his cock right by your apiary. Let the bees smell the sweet scent of your wet pussy, let the bees smell your pheromones. Your hair tangled up with flower petals and dirt in it. Your legs wide open for him, taking him in your sweet hole, prettier than a summer day.

Fully hard at that point, he stroked himself a little faster, imagining your flushed cheeks as he pounded into you, claiming you, making you his. His wife. Lady Hwang. How tight must your cunt be, how warm, snug around his cock.

Hyunjin watched the movement of his wrist in the mirror, observing the way it looked when he squeezed himself. He was leaking already, throbbing beneath his palm. He squeezed harder, making himself moan and gasp. Would you clench like this around him? Would you beg him for more?

His pretty bride-to-be. His virgin beekeeper.

Hyunjin could feel the pressure rising in his guts, eyes rolling at the back of his head, imagining the wet sounds it would create if he fucked his own cum deeper inside you. He pumped himself harder, lulled by the hot steam in the room and the sweet taste on his tongue. He imagined his lips were sticky with your juices instead of honey, imagined your pretty breasts bouncing as you writhed your pretty body on his bed, giving in to him, imagined your voice filling the room with pretty moans, imagined your pretty cunt stuffed with his cum.

Hyunjin anchored himself to the large sink with his free hand, chasing his release, feeling it rising in his gut. He fucked his hand harder, overcome by the thought of you. His knees went weak when he came and he spilled himself on the porcelain, making a mess with his thick cum. His orgasm lasted longer than he thought it would, leaving him panting with pearls of sweat rolling down his face.

He cleaned up his shame on the sink, then Hyunjin lowered himself into the large tub of his washroom. But even the hot water and the foam of the soap did not wash the shame off him.

He had nothing to offer. No title, no glory, no honor, only a last name that was more like a stain than an asset. And yet, your father, cruel and greedy, still meant to send you here to marry Hyunjin and he was just supposed to play along as if it was fine, he was still meant to drag you into his curse of a life. And for what? So that you could roam the halls of the manor, wishing it was someone else’s name you had taken? So that your father could harbor the hope that his grandchildren would one day own this land, the factory, this dishonor?

The hot water did not soothe his ache. Hyunjin’s lips were still sweet from your honey.

“Straighten those shoulders and put a smile on that mouth of yours!”

You rolled your eyes and made a face, profoundly annoyed by the fact that your mother saw fit to treat you like a child no matter how old you were.

“We’re not even there yet, mother,” you told her.

“I see the estate!” she retorted, entirely too agitated for the confined space of the carriage. “Your future is waiting for you beyond these gates, young woman.”

There has been very little room for future planning in your life. When you turned two years old, a beautiful portrait had been delivered to your family’s villa—on it was a young boy with soft, dark locks and a playful smile. He was sitting on a bench outside, surrounded by bushes of flowers and lush foliage. In the painting, bees were collecting pollen from the roses and the daisies. They were painted with detail—you could see the specks of golden dust sticking to their bodies and tiny legs. The boy was painted with detail too, with a beauty mark under his eye and full pink lips.

This boy was Hwang Hyunjin, the one you had been promised to when you were born. He was the heir to a large estate, a textile factory, and a lot of land. He wrote you letters every year for your birthday, and you always wrote back for his a few months later. You had always known that once you became of age, you would be sent here to become his wife, to become Lady Hwang.

There had been very little room for hope regarding your future, so you learned to enjoy the present moment. Fascinated by bees since the very moment you had laid eyes on that portrait, you had requested the villa be equipped with an apiary. As a child, you would sneak out and sit by, just watching the beekeeper at work. Later on, you assisted him. You enjoyed hiking in the trails surrounding the villa, swimming in the sea, and singing. They said that your voice was just as sweet as the honey your bees produced.

You looked around, noticing a change in the scenery outside.

“We’re here,” your mother said. It was just the two of you. Your father rode in another carriage at the front with your older brother. Your two eldest sisters didn’t make the trip—one was heavily pregnant and the other had just given birth. “Remember what we talked about?”

Your mother had told you a lot of things. One day, you had heard about what Hyunjin’s father had done… what had happened to his mother afterward. That year, you simply didn’t know what to write in his letter, but you managed to find a few words that you were hoping were comforting.

But the rumors had started from that point on. Apparently, the events had turned him into a vile, cold man, turned spiteful by the shame his father brought on their last name.

But this was not the version of Hyunjin that you knew. How could he be cruel if, every summer, he was in awe of the different shades of green on the trees, the leaves, the spruces and the firs surrounding his manor, if he worried about the well-being of his employees, if he was best friends with the steward of his estate?

How could he be cruel if, year after year, he spoke at great lengths and with emotion of the magnolia tree in his late mother’s garden?

“I remember.” You smoothed the fabric of your skirts while your mother made sure your hair was in order. “Don’t worry, mother.”

Except you were worried—what if Hyunjin didn’t like you? What if he found you repulsive, what if it made him miserable to think about marrying you? After all, you were simply the last born in a family that happened to be very distant relatives to the man sitting on the throne… to you, it was nothing. And to Hyunjin who owned all this land, whose aunt was a duchess… You were nothing, too. Less than that. Just the body behind the letters he received every year for his birthday.

You had been promised to him, but what if he desired something else?

It was not him that welcomed you and your family into his home, but his steward.

“Seo Changbin, at your service, my lady.” He offered you a smile and an exaggerated bow. “Mr. Hwang is quite busy—an unexpected breakage at the factory—but he will be home for dinner.”

“Business before anything else,” your father commented with a nod. “I respect that. I’d like to be shown my bedchamber if that’s alright. We’ve been traveling for days.”

“Of course.” Changbin dipped his head at your father but turned to you immediately. “My lady, I am sure you are in great need of rest too, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait. My wife—the estate’s seamstress—is waiting for you in her sewing room. For your gown.”

You blinked, barely able to process everything you were seeing. You knew Hyunjin was rich—your father had told you all about it since you were a child. How happy he was that his grandchildren would own all that land, all those assets. To him, the rumor regarding the Hwangs mattered very little.

But you had never realized that Hyunjin would be that rich. The manor was huge, the grounds surrounding it so vast you weren’t sure where they stopped. Or if they stopped.

The ceilings were high and decorated with beautiful and intricate patterns. The floors were dark, made of some exotic kind of wood, perfectly waxed. Draperies, paintings, ornate sconces, fireplaces, and stoves… Furniture that surely belonged in a king’s chamber…

By the time you set your eyes on Changbin again, you were feeling lightheaded.

“Should I get some broth sent to you in the sewing room?” He asked you gently, cocking his head to the side, giving you an appraising look. “You are a little pale, my lady.”

“Broth is perfect, thank you,” your mother responded and, for once, you were glad she spoke in your place.

You were staring out at the large window on the opposite side of the hallway—it had a view of the Hwangs’ lush flower garden. Even from here, you saw them, the daisies, the roses. The chrysanthemums, the peonies. The magnolia tree.

This—this place, the garden, your promised future—was too much. Or maybe you just weren’t enough.

Ha-ri was a beautiful, angelic-looking woman—the thing was that she had the personality to match it, too, and eyes that looked like flowers when the sun hit them. She was as pretty as her smile, and you found comfort in the fact that she was closer to your age than you had expected. Every fiber of her being irradiated kindness.

“You’ll be the most dashing, gorgeous bride in the area, I promise you that,” the seamstress told you as she was walking around you, taking measurements and comparing fabric colors. Your bowl of broth was full and turned cold on the table—there was no time for that, according to your mother. “All of the other girls will envy you.”

“I don’t want them to envy me.” You sighed, turning your gaze at the window, unable to look away from the garden for more than a few minutes at a time. Your soul ached to be out there, under the May sun, inhaling all the scents from the flowers, feeling the soft leaves on your fingertips. “I’d rather they want to be my friend instead.”

Loneliness. Something you had never had. Something that had always been within you. You had grown up surrounded by your family, the maids, and your sisters. But friends… true friends… You didn’t think you ever had even one of those. Someone you could show your true colors to and who wouldn’t turn their back on you when you did so. Someone whose presence would be enough to soothe you.

That was why you had picked up beekeeping. Your bees had been like friends to you. And you missed them already—you had given your colony away last summer in preparation for your departure. You couldn’t just… leave them, couldn’t bear that thought. So you had found a nice homestead that already had an apiary and a gentle beekeeper to take care of them. You often wondered how they were holding up.

You heard Ha-ri sigh so you looked down. She had paused her frenetic work, staring at you from below, her expression unreadable. “Actually, that isn’t a bad idea…” She suddenly returned to her fabric samples and put away several of them. To you, they all looked like white squares. “Lord Hwang could certainly use the help… you could put in a good word for him with the wives,” Ha-ri continued, but you could barely keep up with her quick mind. “In any case, I think ivory silk is the way to go, with lace of course.”

Your measurements had been forwarded to the Hwang estate a while ago and some parts of the dress had been made before your arrival—the bodice and the petticoat, it seemed. For the rest, Ha-ri had said, the bride needed to be there.

“What do you mean?” you asked the seamstress who was taking precise measurements of your waist. “That he could use the help? Mr. Hwang?”

You couldn’t not see the concerned glance Ha-ri gave you, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it. “He doesn’t have friends, you see. Except for my sweet husband.”

You thought about it, your gaze returning to the oaks, the pines, the roses, the morning glories, the marigolds. You loved marigolds—they looked like little suns. Your bees used to love them, too.

“I’m sure you’ve heard all about the rumors, my lady?” Ha-ri took a few notes on a piece of paper and returned to her work, fumbling in a crate full of fabric samples. “About sir?”

You gulped, your eyes trailing to the magnolia tree. Just beneath it laid a modest but beautiful tombstone—Hyunjin’s mother, the former Lady Hwang. Soon, that title would be yours. “They say life made him harsh. They say he is resentful, that he likes women a great deal, that he cares too little and too much about business at once, they say he is just like his father.” You paused, noticing at the window two hares making a run for it, crossing the parcel of grass between two sections of the large backyard. “I just think Lord Hwang is wounded, and that he hasn’t let the injury heal because he got accustomed to the pain, the darkness of it. And so it festered.” Your eyes met Ha-ri’s. “Is that why he needs a friendly-looking bride, Ha-ri?”

The seamstress clicked her tongue, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re a clever one, seems like.” She resumed her comparisons of various fabrics and materials while explaining in great detail the politics between the families of the area—the husbands, the businesses, the wives you could potentially befriend. Ha-ri was a lovely woman and you were hoping she would want to be your friend… And, her sewing room was cozy—it felt strangely like home, although the decor had nothing to do with the seaside villa you had grown up in. The view she had—

Ha-ri kept talking, her voice pleasant and friendly, but you weren’t listening anymore. You were vaguely aware that she was now explaining the brotherly relationship between Hyunjin and a certain Lord Christopher but once again, movement in the garden had caught your attention—except, this time, it wasn’t the hares, it was a man. Tall, black hair that reached his shoulders… He wore dark clothes and walked confidently but slowly, letting his hand graze the flowers on his way. You couldn’t make out his face, not from here, but he had broad shoulders and held himself straight.

Your voice spilled out of your lips, sounding a lot weaker than you thought it would. “Is that him?”

For a few seconds, Ha-ri didn’t seem to understand your question—she paused her thorough presentation and stared at you quizzingly before her gaze followed yours. She made her way closer to the window, but you didn’t need to. From up there on the stool, you watched the mysterious man make a left on the rocky path in the garden and disappear behind the bushes.

Your heart picked up a significant pace, so much that you pressed a hand on your chest to calm it down.

“Yes, my lady.” The seamstress turned to you, but you couldn’t read her expression. “That is Lord Hwang.”

“I thought he was busy with work today.” You tried to disguise the trembling of your voice by adding a pinch of annoyance to it, but you didn’t fool Ha-ri.

“And by the shade of your ears, my lady, it was better this way.” Still, Ha-ri smiled at you softly, helping you down the stool and guiding you gently towards the window while you touched your ears—they were as hot as your cheeks, and you could only imagine how flustered you looked. “Our lord is busy, of course,” she told you, “but you said it yourself—he is also wounded.”

Lord Hwang had reappeared in the window’s viewing range—he was sitting on a bench, not far from his dead mother’s resting place. His head was lowered and he was either praying or deep in his thoughts.

“Every day, he sits there for a while,” Ha-ri told you in a whisper. “How lonely he must be.”

You were exhausted by the time you had to meet your future husband and have dinner with him and a few of his important acquaintances. After the fitting for your wedding gown, you had been brought to another wing of the manor to be explained in great length the program for the wedding day, as well as to be given an introduction talk about different prominent guests. However, thanks to Ha-ri, you were already familiar with most of them.

Lord Hwang wasn’t present when you entered the dining room flanked by your parents and preceded by your brother. You never had a good relationship with him, your brother, he liked to make fun of you most of the time and only came here to acquire contacts for his bank. Still, you knew he would make a good impression on the people here. Lord Hwang wasn’t there, but Lord Christopher Bang was, and Changbin quickly gave the introductions when he approached you.

“Aaah, isn’t our Hyunjin so lucky to have such a delightful bride-to-be?” Christopher told his wife, a woman so beautiful you could barely hold her gaze. You knew that Christopher was a little older than Hyunjin and that he had actually taken over the estate momentarily after Hyunjin’s parents had passed—until Lord Hwang had turned sixteen years old. This, you didn’t need Ha-ri or anyone else to tell you. Hyunjin had told you all about it in the letters he sent you.

The couple flashed a warm smile at you and Lady Bang took your gloved hand in hers.

“Your gown is pretty, my lady.” She squeezed your hand with—and you were sure of it—compassion. She knew. She knew that your heart was stuck in your throat, threatening to spill out if you opened your mouth to speak more than a few words at a time. She knew that beneath your turquoise evening gown, your legs were trembling, she knew that the tight braids in your hair pulled on your scalp painfully. She knew why your eyes kept turning to the double doors, in fear, in excitement. “But your smile is prettier.”

You hoped the powder on your face would conceal at least a little of the blush that appeared on your cheeks. “I have read much about you, my lord, my lady,” you said, dipping your head low. Lord Hwang spoke highly of you in our correspondence.”

“Ah, he better! have” Lord Christopher’s voice was full of warmth, and kindness, too. Still, he turned to your brother. “I hear you, sir, are a banker—I was hoping…”

And they both disappeared to have a drink in one of the corners of the large room. The candles and lanterns offered decent lighting and you were able to notice the ornamental moldings, black-and-gold upholstery, fancy paintings on the walls and everything in between. The wooden ceiling had floral patterns engraved in it and, under the shimmering lights of the candles, it almost looked like it was moving under a soft breeze.

Or maybe you were simply lightheaded. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a proper meal or night of sleep.

This was a small dinner—apparently at Hyunjin’s request. Except for Lord Christopher and his wife, only the estate’s doctor, the church’s reverend, and Mr. Changbin would join the group. He may have been Head Steward, but it was a little unusual for Changbin to be present at this dinner. Still, you welcomed his friendly presence. And he was much more interesting to talk to than the doctor, a man who seemed too old to still be at work, and who stared at you as if you had done something terribly wrong.

Lady Bang had put a glass of wine in your hand and was now making sure you were up to date with the district’s gossip—apparently, not everything was going so well at the Baron’s household—when you heard the heavy double doors being opened in your back.

You came so close to dropping your wine that you gasped, hoping nobody had heard that. Lord Christopher’s wife took the glass away from you as quickly as she had given it to you and gave you an encouraging nod. As you turned around to face the doors and the newcomer in the room, you caught sight of your parents coming to join you, standing on either side of you again.

Wounded. You had been right about it. Sorrow was written all over Lord Hyunjin’s face as he was welcomed into the room by his faithful steward. Changbin was speaking to him, and so were the old doctor and Lord Christopher, but Hyunjin wasn’t paying them even an ounce of attention—he was staring right at you.

Black trousers, loose, white shirt, white cloak over his broad shoulders, his dark hair half tied at the back of his head by a white ribbon…

Hyunjin looked like a prince. And, you had seen a real prince once, so you knew what you were talking about. That prince had been average-looking, though. Hyunjin was…

Tall, sullen, handsome, entrancing. You had received a good education but you seemed to be running out of words to describe him. He nodded at something that his steward told him and walked around the large table to come and meet you—it seemed that both your parents were too stunned to move, too.

Changbin began the formal introductions but you weren’t even listening to him. You should be bowing, bow, bow, now, you berated yourself, your heart racing in your chest. But as Hyunjin had come closer, he had only appeared more beautiful and you couldn’t look away. Dark, intelligent eyes, skin the color of goldenrod honey and smoother than your finest silk. His lips. Full, dark pink, a mouth that could corrupt anyone no matter how strong they thought their morals were. He looked like he came from one of the books your mother used to read you when you were little. He looked like the kind of man you had been warned against.

You did bow—just so you didn’t have to gape at him anymore. Staring at Hyunjin reminded you of the time your family went on a vacation and your brother lured you up on a cliff to scare you. Staring at Hyunjin felt exactly the same as if you were staring down a precipice deep enough that one wrong footstep would cause your death.

“Get up.” Hyunjin spoke to you with a voice that was kind and humble but commanding. With a voice that was as silky as his hair, as alluring as the rest of him. “Please, get up.”

So you did. You managed to stand upright again but didn’t manage to look him in the eyes. Hyunjin stood tall before you, and he, too, was avoiding your gaze.

“I welcome you into my home,” You noticed his shoes, how long his feet must be. Or rather you made yourself notice it—it seemed as if the world had come to a halt. It seemed as if it was just him in this room, and you weren't quite ready to look at his face again. “which is also your new home.”

Words. Words, and gifts—for twenty years, Hyunjin, to you, had been words on pieces of paper. There were years where his letters would be several pages long and others only a quick note… It was the same for you—some years you were just more in demand elsewhere than others. You never took offense. You savored each and every word Hyunjin carefully wrote to you, reading his letters over and over again.

His words, no matter what, had always been meaningful and kind. As you faced each other for the first time, you realized that his letters had been true to the colors of his soul.

When your father went to respond, Hyunjin turned to him. “I’m certain that your daughter can answer for herself.”

Many times, in your letters, you had mentioned how your parents did not seem to believe in your ability to exist in this world on your own without them telling you exactly what to do or say. You were hoping it came from a place of love—but deep down, you knew it came from their lack of faith in you. This, all of this, you heard in Hyunjin’s voice when he spoke to your father. He did so respectfully but also in a tone that reminded him that Hyunjin was the master of this household.

“Thank you, my lord.” You dipped your head in respect and wasted no time carrying on with the pleasantries. “Your home is ravishing, the staff inhabiting it… all helpful, wonderful people. You’ve surrounded yourself well.” You tried to smile but you weren’t sure it quite looked like a smile, maybe somewhat more of a grimace. “We brought gifts, of course—some spice, a few horses, sea salt, fabrics from the south—”

Hyunjin interrupted you mid-sentence but it didn’t come off as rude or ill-mannered, not to you at least. To you, it sounded like a friendly plea. “Did you bring honey, too? Your honey?”

Your honey.

Warmth engulfed you—all of a sudden, you became nothing. Or you became everything, you couldn’t tell.

“Y—yes,” you managed, wishing you were outdoors in a cool breeze rather than in this stuffy room. “Yes, my lord, several jars—”

“Please address me casually,” the young man said. “We’ve known each other for twenty years, that accounts for something, don’t you think? Now let’s eat. I hear you haven’t had one bite of food in all of your day.”

You pretended you didn’t see the accusatory stares Hyunjin shot at your parents.

The dinner went fine. The food was delicious. You sat a few seats away from Hyunjin—he sat with the doctor and your brother. He did not speak to you at all, instead, he spoke with the two men he sat by. He did not even look at you. The head steward mentioned he didn’t usually enjoy this type of dinner, but that you were pleasant company. With a smile, he added that Ha-ri was surely working hard on your dress. His and Lady Bang’s efforts to distract you were appreciated but didn’t quite work, and you often found yourself staring at Hyunjin, hoping to at least make eye contact with him. Just once.

But, no. He spoke with the doctor. He spoke with your brother, and Lord Christopher, and Changbin. Later, after dessert, he stood in a corner with your parents and had a long conversation with them, the three of them speaking in low, discreet voices. You were certain they were discussing business—after all, there was a reason why your father had promised you away before you had even been born.

You watched the scene from across the room—at least, this time, Lady Bang didn’t even try to entertain you. She sat with you with an unmistakable look on her face and you knew that she thought the same thing as you.

After the expected formalities, Hyunjin had not even looked at you once. He did not like you.

What were you expecting? Dumb girl. Him and you? He was Lord Hwang and you were just… born into a family that had some money. You were nothing, and you had nothing, you had given away your bee colony—

You felt Lady Bang tense up when the old doctor excused himself from your brother to make his way towards you. He dipped his ugly head politely and you returned the nicety, but observed him, reluctant to even talk to him.

“It’s time, my lady.” He nodded to himself. “I’m afraid I’m getting too old to stay up late, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

You gulped as the heads of everybody present in the room turned in your direction.

“Time for what?” But really, you knew. You had known this could happen, had known this was more than likely to happen. You had been promised to Hyunjin some time before your birth. What had been promised to the Hwangs was a healthy, educated young woman.

A virgin.

And someone—this sketchy doctor, apparently—needed to make sure that the promise had been fulfilled as expected. Your sisters had gone through the same thing and they had assured you it was nothing, that it didn’t hurt. And you knew that. You knew that a few fingers inside you didn’t hurt—you were well aware of that fact. But it was everything else that made you want to melt into a puddle and slide through the cracks of the floor. Every single soul in this room now knew that this old man was about to make you spread your legs for him and that he was about to slide his hand between your legs and push his fingers inside you until he felt your hymen. You knew how it felt because your mother had the same procedure done to you by your family’s doctor right before you left to come here. But at least, nobody had known about it at that time.

“No.” For an instant, you wondered who had spoken. And then Hyunjin crossed the room, putting himself in between you and his doctor. If Hyunjin hadn’t smiled even once this evening, he also hadn’t raised his voice—and he didn’t need to. Whenever he spoke, he demanded to be heard, to be obeyed. “There’s no need for that, doctor.”

“But—”

“I fucking said,” and you could almost feel the warmth emanating from Hyunjin’s body from how close to you he was, from the serene wrath taking over him. You could smell him, too—he smelled like expensive, French cologne and like the cognac he had been drinking. “There’s no need for that. If you think I’m going to let you or anybody else touch her, then you’re a fool and I have no use for you in this home. If you stare at her for too long, I’ll make sure she’s the last thing your ugly, bloodshot eyes ever see before I pour hot wax in them myself. If you touch even one strand of her hair, I promise you fucker that you’ll lose that hand and whichever else body part of yours I see fit. Understood?”

It was at that precise moment that you figured out the split, the dichotomy between Hyunjin and the one they called The Orphan. Hyunjin had written you heartfelt letters for twenty years and the other had just spewed out some of the most violent sentences you had heard in your whole life.

But fuck—you would have been lying to yourself if you said you weren’t happy about Hyunjin preventing the procedure from being done. And you would also have been lying to yourself if you weren’t wondering how often that darker side of him would resurface.

Hyunjin jerked awake so violently that he almost slid down his bed. Had he really fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered was… The dinner. The guests, the cognac. Doctor Yun.

You. Your long lashes, your pretty mouth, your sweet voice and manners. Your laugh and your rosy cheeks. The furtive looks you shot at him, all evening, trying to get his attention. But you didn’t need to do anything to acquire it—all of it was yours already.

His cock had twitched when he had seen you, you, in that colorful gown, your hair framing your perfect fucking face.

‘So, what did you think of her?’ Changbin had asked casually after dinner, walking him back to his bedchamber. Maybe the steward had been right to do so—it had taken every ounce of will in Hyunjin’s body not to sneak into yours.

What did he think of you?

That you were lovely. That you were kind, courteous, that his cock would look sublime in between your pretty lips. That he wanted to sit with you, just you, and talk all night and get to know you. He may have pretended to converse with your brother but he really was only paying attention to you and what you were saying. The way you looked when you bit into the food or when you listened to one of Christopher’s famed stories. What did he think of you? That you were interesting, intelligent, that he wanted to kiss your neck as he pushed himself into you, claiming you for good. That he wanted to grab your hand and drag you out of this awful dinner to take you on a walk around the lake. And you’d tell him all about your bees, and he’d tell you about the factory.

‘I don’t know, Changbin.’ But his head was spinning and his cock was hard—the second the door had closed behind his steward, Hyunjin had pulled it out of his trousers to finally get some relief. He had spilled himself after just a few strokes and squeezes, making a mess on his pants before passing out in his bed.

It was still dark when Hyunjin woke up with a start but it was impossible to tell what time it was exactly. Still, he pushed himself out of bed to relieve his bladder and get out of his cum-stained trousers. A clean-up was in order, and he drank just as much water as he used to wash himself up.

But even after he had returned to his bed, Hyunjin did not sleep.

So he did the same he always did when that happened—which was often—he lit up a small lantern and brought it with him as he made his way outside to the garden. Here, the night bugs sang their songs while the birds took their rest. Here, the air was pure, fresh, clean. Hyunjin inhaled the jasmines as he passed them. The roses, the sweet pea cluster growing by the fountain. Honeysuckle, primrose…

Hyunjin took his usual route to reach the magnolia tree. From there, when he sat on the bench, he could faintly hear the creek farther down the hill, the soft sound of the leaves in the wind… During the day, he liked to listen to the sound of his household running. Changbin’s booming voice as he chased his children in the garden. The kitchen staff preparing the next meal. The horses neighing in the stables, the stable cats, everything… Those sounds filled the silence of his soul when needed. At night, it was quieter, but he still found peace here. Only here.

Because it was quiet, Hyunjin heard the footsteps as clearly as he would have heard the song of a sparrow or a pile of porcelain dishes thrown on the floor. He stopped in his tracks, leaning against the brick wall near the paved path that ran along the garden, listening. He knew the people here, he always came here to listen, to hear, but he didn’t recognize the footsteps. He saw the amber light of a lantern… and you appeared after passing the corner, walking slowly, your hair loose on your shoulders.

You screamed in surprise, clearly not expecting him, while he worked a great deal to suppress his own shock and appear as if he meant to be leaning against the wall, casually, just his regular nighttime routine.

“My lord,” you managed after regaining your senses. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

As you were quickly trying to explain that you couldn’t sleep and thought that walking outdoors would help you, that you had seen Ha-ri in the manor and she had helped you find your way here, that you thought the garden was lovely, that you weren’t really sleepy but why are you here, Lord Hwang?

Hyunjin. You always called him Hyunjin in your letters, so what the fuck had happened? You weren’t looking him in the eyes. Instead, you had adopted a polite posture, holding your small lamp by its handle with one hand while the other was trying to wrap your shawl around your body while you stared at your feet. You were wearing a loose, white cotton nightgown with intricate lace details on the bust area, as well as a pretty yellow ribbon. The cut was low enough that he caught a partial glimpse of your shoulder and a lot—too much—of your exposed skin. Your collarbones…

He only saw it for a second though before you covered yourself with the shawl. He also saw the round curve of your bare tits under the thin fabric and it sent tremors directly into his cock. Hyunjin could feel himself getting hard at the mere thought of your body, naked, under that nightgown. He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood on his tongue, struggling to chase away the scenario that was playing in his mind. What if you pulled your skirt up just so he could smell your pussy? It was probably so pretty, as smooth as silk. What he’d give to see it glisten under the amber light of your lamps, what he’d give to fuck you right here, right now—

“My lord?” You were looking at him now, with a concerned look on your face. You took a step closer, cocking your head to the side, probably trying to figure out what was wrong with him. “Hyunjin? Are you alright?”

Hyunjin. Say it again, he wanted to tell you. His name had never sounded like that in anyone else’s mouth before—maybe because he wasn’t used to hearing it. Or maybe because you were sweet and the words that spilled out of your pink lips were coated with honey.

“I’m alright, miss.” But his cock was throbbing in his trousers. But he couldn’t take his eyes off your mouth. “You shouldn’t be out here, not alone. It’s not safe for you.”

By the look on your face, Hyunjin knew you understood he wasn’t talking about wild animals. Your gaze dropped once more and you dipped your head low. “I apologize, my lord,” you said with a trembling voice. “Ha-ri told me she would keep an eye on me from her window. She’s working on the dress. I—I’m sorry, you are right. I shouldn’t be here, I’ll return to my bedchamber at once.”

You bowed before taking your leave. Hyunjin grunted, annoyed at your excessive manners. He couldn’t help but reach for you and gently push you back up. Under his hand, your shoulder felt so soft, so good—he imagined he was squeezing it while slamming into you, filling your pretty little cunt with his aching cock.

So he did not squeeze it. When you stood upright again, even the dim light was enough to reveal the color on your cheeks.

As pretty as a rose. Prettier, even. On cloudy days, Hyunjin liked watching raindrops roll on rose petals and he wondered if his cum would look similar on your face—or maybe he should cum in your throat, empty himself there and watch your soul leave your body as you choked on his thick cock.

Instead, Hyunjin took a deep breath—mostly to try and appease whatever fire you had started in his abdomen, and gathered his thoughts while looking around. There was indeed light in Ha-ri’s sewing room window, and he suspected she might have been peeking at him before he turned around.

“Or maybe it is safe,” Hyunjin decided to say, facing you again. “I think I scared Doctor Yun enough, and that my message was quite clear to have reached every living soul in this manor, don’t you think?”

You stared at him, puzzled at first, until the corner of your mouth raised into a nervous smile. “Yes, my lord.” You nodded, your hair following the motions of your head. “Thank you. For… for that. For… for your trust.”

“My trust?”

“Yes, for trusting me.” Your cheeks darkened in color. To Hyunjin, it felt as if they would taste like sweet cherries if he licked them. “For not asking the doctor to… to look at me.”

And have Yun touch your sweet cunt when he, Hyunjin, couldn’t even? Hell no. Yun would have enjoyed it a little too much. Hyunjin could imagine him smelling his fingers after pulling them out of you, maybe even daring to lick them…

Hyunjin cleared his throat, trying to chase away from his mind the image which was rapidly transforming into something else—it was him, Hyunjin, parting you open, stretching your virgin cunt with his fingers, watching you arch your back for him.

“Of course I trust you,” he said. “I like to think we are… friends.”

You thought about it, and the smile on your face became wider and more sincere. “Friends it is, Lord Hyunjin. I like the sound of that a lot.”

You offered him your hand to shake, which Hyunjin did. The contact of his skin against yours made him throb again—his erection strained painfully against the wool trousers he had quickly put on before heading out. He squeezed your small hand in his faintly before releasing it.

“I thought I would be terrified of you,” you admit. “I… I am, but it’s much better here than it was in there, with all these people.”

“We’re not supposed to be alone with one another without a chaperone,” Hyunjin reminded you. I could drag you behind this wall and fuck you so hard the whole manor would hear you scream my name. “But you have no reason to be terrified of me, do you?”

The giggle that escaped your lips was so beautiful it reminded Hyunjin of a song he had heard at an event once, violins and harp coming together to create a harmony so delicate it had brought tears to his eyes. Except your giggle had another effect on him—he could feel his cock leaking in his pants and the pressure was distracting enough that he wasn’t sure he would be able to walk back to his bedroom before relieving himself again. It felt as if his balls had doubled his size.

What the hell was wrong with him? You weren’t the first woman he had seen—he had fucked many courtesans before, but you seemed to have made his cock forget how to ever be soft.

Had you been sent to him as a punishment? A succubus disguised as an angel, meant to torture him so he could pay the price of his father’s—and his own—mistakes?

“I guess not, and I suppose you’re right… Mother would kill me if she knew I was here with you.” You shook your head, your laughter dying in a sigh so lovely that almost made Hyunjin tear up. Or cum. For a while, a comfortable silence fell between you two, and you walked side by side in the night. “Why couldn’t you sleep, my l— Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin let the silence go on for a few more moments, unable to give you an answer. He couldn’t give you the truth, so he needed to come up with something. “There’s quite a lot on my plate—and yours—lately, isn’t there? I think, just like you, I needed a breath of fresh air.”

You nodded and adjusted the shawl around you. Hyunjin watched from the corner of his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of your chest again, of the movement of your tits as you walked beside him. “Understandable. I’m sorry if the wedding comes at the wrong moment… I heard there were setbacks at the factory. We can postpone…”

Hyunjin had thought about it. The setbacks were minor, but he had been trying to find a good reason not to marry you.

If it took all of his willpower not to touch you right now when it was strictly forbidden—what would it be like after the ceremony, when it would be expected of you to share his bed?

But why delay the inevitable?

“No, don’t worry at all, it’s quite alright. It’s not a rare occurrence, you know. The fact that I can’t sleep, I mean.”

“I have a miracle cure for sleeplessness.” You turned to him, stopping in the middle of the path. “My aunt used to make it for me when I was little and I had nightmares… would you like to try?”

“Try? A cure?” Hyunjin stared at you puzzled. “Is it medicine? A herbal brew?”

You shrugged—the most adorable and elegant shrug Hyunjin had ever seen. “Sort of. Not really. But it works. Could I use the kitchen?”

“Why, yes.” You resumed your walk towards the manor. “I can have the cook brought in,” Hyunjin added.

“I don’t need help. I can make it myself.”

And so Hyunjin ended up in the kitchen with you. It was forbidden. If anyone saw the two of you together…

But you didn’t seem to mind. You secured the shawl around your body with a knot and got to work. Hyunjin sat at the small table to conceal the visible bulge in his pants.

You were turning your back to him, focused on the crates of goods you and your family had brought as gifts. You barely paid any attention to him as you showcased the items while you were waiting for the fire to heat up the stove. Pickled vegetables, grain, preserves… Marmalade made by your favorite cook back home. Spices and dried herbs, too—bay leaves, cinnamon, salt from the sea, pink peppercorns, clove, nutmeg…

Several jars of honey.

“The last of them,” you sighed. “I gave my colony away before coming here.” Hyunjin watched you take one of the jars and bring it by the stove, as well as one of the glass bottles containing spices. You then grabbed a saucepan and poured milk into it before putting it to warm up.

“There are bees in the garden,” Hyunjin said, but his voice quivered when he shifted his weight on his seat because his sensitive cock rubbed against the fabric of his pants. You were so pretty in the candlelight, you looked like a dream. He wanted nothing more than to sit you down on this very table and watch his cock sink into you, watch how you take him. “Is this your miracle cure?” he asked. “Warm milk?”

If you noticed anything, it didn’t show. You shot him a glance from over your shoulder and returned to stirring the milk on the stove using a large wooden spoon. Your white nightgown looked ethereal in this light, flowing with each of your movements.

“Milk, honey, and a pinch of cinnamon.” You did look at him then, and from that angle, with your arm extended to hold the spoon, Hyunjin saw the bump of your tits and imagined them bouncing while he pounded into you. Could your cunt even take all of him? How long would he have to fuck you to stretch you up enough for his whole cock? He didn’t care. An hour, a week, didn’t matter. “I know there are bees in your garden, lord Hyunjin. Don’t you remember the portrait of you that your family sent to mine? You were just a boy then… Sitting amongst these huge flower bushes—all of them with pretty bees gathering pollen. I think it’s what made me so fascinated with bees, actually…”

He gave you a noncommittal hum as a response. The more you spoke, the closer he was to blowing in his trousers. He wanted to feel your tight cunt all around him, he wanted to drown in you, feel your soft breasts against his chest, he wanted to breathe you in, wanted to make you cum so hard you went limp.

“Maybe I’ll sing to the bees,” you added, still not looking at him.

Hyunjin watched you as you stirred the milk and began singing a melody under your breath, your head moving with the rhythm of the song. You often mentioned your singing lessons in the letters you wrote him—you enjoyed them and enjoyed the act of singing, too.

He remembered the letter from two years ago. A portion of it more specifically.

‘I often sing to my bees… I know that’s rather silly. In fact, Hyunjin, I know it’s downright nonsensical, but I think they enjoy it! While I take care of them or harvest the honey… They are calmer when I sing. Ah, I should probably not tell you this. You’ll think you’re doomed to marry a brainless maiden… I’ll show you, though. You’ll believe me!

In your next letter, you should tell me which songs are your favorite, so that I can learn them for you.’

“What are you singing?” Hyunjin asked, but the sound of your sweet voice had made him cup himself over his pants. Instinctively. Impulsively—because it felt as if he couldn’t not. The ache between his thighs tugged at his insides so hard that it was difficult to keep breathing normally.

“Can’t you tell?” You paused for an instant, glancing at him again just for a few seconds, half of your face covered by your hair.

You cleared your throat and, humbly facing away, you sang to him a song he knew very well. He had told you about it after you asked about the songs he liked.

‘My favorite song, I think, is Down The Valley. I heard it a few years ago and it has haunted me. I found the message in it so poignant that I simply have not stopped thinking about it since. My lady, do you ever feel as if you’re trying to outrun a river, too?’

That night, no matter how forbidden it was, you sang for him in the kitchen.

“There is a river and it runs, runs, runs, faster than I can, but I try to catch up, oh, I try And I run, run, run so fast that my feet barely touch the grass, so fast that I don’t see the collapsed pine I fall, fall, fall down the valley…”

Hyunjin wanted to fuck your cunt, make it sloppy, wanted to fuck you until his cock turned sore. He wanted nothing more than to make you come undone while you sang to him with your pretty voice. Oh, how lovely your moans must be…

You were too shy to look at him, and Hyunjin decided it was now or never. If he didn’t cum, he’d get up from this chair and take you against the wall like some sinful harlot.

But why you?

Was he, Hwang Hyunjin, weak? Could he really not stand the sight of a young, beautiful woman? Or did it drive him crazy because he knew he’d never even get a taste of your cunt, let alone feel it envelop him, lull him into bliss?

Hyunjin rubbed himself over his trousers. He had never been as hard as that in his life—he was sure of it.

You continued singing while adding the honey to the warm milk on the stove. The room was immediately filled with a sweet, dairy scent and he was certain your pussy smelled just like that too. How badly Hyunjin wanted his cock to be coated in your cream…

He rutted into his own hand as discreetly as he could, but your voice filled the room, laced with the pleasant smell of the sleep cure you were making, and he could barely keep his mouth closed. A few drops of sweat fell on the wood of the table he sat at and the chair creaked when he fucked his palm more eagerly.

But you sang softly. If roses had a voice, it would sound like yours.

“... and only when did I stop running, could I see for the very first time the beauty, the grandeur, the glory, of this valley. The little birds sing, sing, sing, the butterflies fly, fly, fly, the fox chases after a rabbit and the sun shines, shines, shines.”

Hyunjin’s cock throbbed so hard he almost let out a whimper. He covered his mouth with his other hand, still rubbing himself with the other, not too hard so as not to be too obvious. You were singing with more confidence now, your voice steady and melodious. Hyunjin halted his movements when you suddenly turned around and approached him holding a small spoon full of honey. You offered it to him without a word, just singing, singing, singing.

Hyunjin locked eyes with you and pulled his hand away from his mouth, parting his lips open to accept the honey from you. He twirled his tongue around the spoon, imagining it wasn’t honey he was gathering with it but you, your juices, your sweet cream.

Carefully, you pulled the spoon out from between his sticky lips, but Hyunjin had seen the way you were staring at his mouth. He had seen the color on your cheeks.

But now his mouth was full of honey that tasted like flowers, like the songs you sang to your bees. He swallowed, almost choking on the thick liquid, and ran his tongue on his lips as you turned away once again. What if his mouth was coated with you instead of honey? What if his mouth tasted like you instead? What if you weren’t singing for him, what if you were moaning and screaming, and pleading?

What if he pulled your hair, what if he slapped your cunt until you cried, what if he fucked your ass? What if Hyunjin coated his cock with honey before fucking your pretty mouth—would you like that? What if he filled you over and over, always fucking his cum further into your sloppy cunt? What if he drizzled honey on your round tits and sucked on them, slurped on them?

His concealed cock throbbed hard—Hyunjin let out a strangled noise when he shot a long, almost painful string of thick cum into his pants. His eyes rolled at the back of his head, hips bucking into his palm—the last thought his brain managed to spew out was how he wished he was flooding your cunt with his seed. He kept cumming, flooding his pants instead, making a mess on himself.

“Me, I rest, rest, rest, for the first time in my life, I do not run, I sit by the river instead of rushing after it, for the first time in my life, I look around me and find everything so pretty I cry, cry, cry.”

Hyunjin’s high faded out after the fourth and last shot of cum, leaving him panting and sweaty. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face and attempted to smooth out his hair while you were pouring the warm milk into two mugs.

He still couldn’t really put two thoughts one after another, but Hyunjin could feel a strange pressure in his chest, resembling the one that had been building up in his balls just minutes ago. When you faced him again, you offered him a beaming smile.

“I hope I got it right,” you said, coming closer to set his mug on the table just in front of him. Hyunjin could feel his cum rolling down his thigh. Shit—he could smell it. “The song, I mean. I didn’t know it, but we found a man in the city who did, and who could teach it to me.”

The pressure in his chest grew again when you sat on the chair across from him. He was slowly descending, regaining the ability to think, and Hyunjin took one sip of the drink, hoping it would finish the job of rendering him functional again. It tasted nice—he had had warm milk before with other ingredients added to it, but never this particular recipe. The honey and cinnamon made it a whole new drink.

“Your voice is lovely,” Hyunjin said, staring at you from over his mug. “Did you really learn that song for me?”

You blushed again and his spent cock twitched just slightly—just enough to remind him that he was being tortured by the most beautiful, wicked angel he had ever seen.

“Of course, Hyunjin.” You drank some milk and put your mug on the table, keeping your small hands around it. “You said it was your favorite, so I learned it.” You lowered your gaze.

Hyunjin wanted to kiss you then, wanted to ask you to sing all the songs that you knew. Instead, he drank more milk. “Thank you.” He couldn’t believe he was about to say it, but he did—either he was still high from his release, or you were indeed some sort of demon. “I couldn’t help but think that if roses could sing, their voice would sound like yours.”

You raised your eyes towards him again, pretty lips parted but no words coming out of them.

“Your cheeks are the same color as roses,” he pointed out. “And just as silky-smooth as their petals.”

Hyunjin heard your gulp. You licked your lips nervously and tried to smile, but you seemed stunned. Hyunjin was shocked himself—he couldn’t believe he had uttered those words out loud. If he hadn’t seen you prepare the warm milk, he would have thought you had put some witch’s brew in it to make him a fool.

“Hyunjin…” But you didn’t finish your sentence. Instead, you extended your fingers over the table and brushed them against his hands, barely—but still, it was enough to make his head spin. “I should return to my bedchamber.”

Yes. And he should as well.

“Thank you for the honeyed milk,” Hyunjin said as you stood, holding your shawl with one hand and the mug with the other. “Thank you for the song, too. Your version is better than the one I had heard before.”

You left the room, not unlike the way a rabbit would run away from a fox and Hyunjin couldn’t blame you. He wanted to run away from himself, too.

But he brought the mug to his lips again, drinking the rest of your sleeplessness cure. Honey and cinnamon. And a song, and flower petals, and… fondness. A voice beautiful enough to belong to a choir, to an angel.

You were as pretty as a rose, thorns included. If Hyunjin ever held you, he was bound to get cut.

All of your life, you knew that this day would come.

When you turned eight years old, your parents held a big celebration Guests from all around came, bringing gifts for you and for your family. Fine silk, spices, books and paper, a piano, even. That had been a good birthday, but what you were looking forward to most was opening the letter on your desk. The one from Hyunjin.

But you were only a child then, and your mother cared very little about your excitement about reading the letter your friend sent, so she made you stick around the party all afternoon and all evening.

After dinner, your mother had taken you along with a group of older relatives who had demanded to see your grandparents’ portraits, who you had never met because they had caught a fever while you were only an infant.

While they were discussing your grandfather’s success—which you didn’t care about at all—you roamed around the parlor, looking at the other paintings, but your gaze kept returning to the one near the window. The young boy, sitting with a wide smile on his handsome face. The boy with a beauty mark under his eye, and a head full of thick black hair. The boy in the flower garden, with the pretty bees all around.

Your great aunt had asked, “Is that him? The Hwang boy?” The question had been directed at your mother, who approached you and the older lady in the corner of the room.

Still, you had answered. “Yes, that’s him,” you had uttered with the confidence only an eight year old child could have. “He’s my friend! I will marry him when I’m old enough.”

“Your friend?” Your great aunt’s face was always unreadable, but it had been especially true at that moment. “He is your betrothed, child, he isn’t your friend. Don’t get the two mixed up.”

“But he is my friend,” you had insisted. “He writes me letters, he sends me gifts.”

“Foolish girl.” Your great aunt had been staring at you, making you want to disappear and hide under your bed. She had turned to your mother. “It’s time you told her how it’s gonna be, woman. Or else she’ll be a terrible wife.”

That year was the year Hyunjin’s father paid the price for his sins. That year was the year Hyunjin’s mother died, too. That year was the year he became The Orphan.

That night after the guests had left, you had finally been allowed to read Hyunjin’s letter. He spared you the details of it all, of course—you were a few years younger than him after all. But in the letter, he told you about the magnolia tree, he told you about the young Lord Christopher who moved in to fulfill the late Lord Hwang’s duties while Hyunjin grew up. ‘I think I’ll have to stop being a child now. That’s what everyone tells me. That I have to be a man.

Your family will surely change their mind. It will no longer be an honor to have my family name, it will only bring shame. I hope we can stay friends. I will write you letters every year for your birthday no matter what your family says. I hope you like your gift. Lord Christopher took me to a special store so we could get it.

I’m sorry my father did what he did. I really wanted to be your husband one day and show you the magnolia tree.

I would never have hurt you, or betrayed you, or made you cry.

Your friend forever,

Hyunjin’

But your father was a man full of greed. There may have been dishonor associated with the Hwang name, but there was a lot of gold, too. Assets. A stable future—the textile industry only grew larger and larger as you got older. He hadn’t even considered ending the betrothal, not that you knew of.

That year, along with his letter, Hyunjin had sent you a book—By the Fireplace, it was called. You still had it. The cover was striking, decorated in rich crimson and gold. In the book, a young princess had become a queen and had lived a good life. The story was, in fact, this fictional queen telling her life story to her children and grandchildren. Stories of large ballrooms and dancing with foreign princes, travels to distant countries, meeting with politicians, holding a lion cub… You hadn’t caught onto that as a child. However, when you had picked up the book much later, you had realized the queen was on her deathbed, recalling her most cherished memories.

You had often wondered if Hyunjin’s mother had enough time to do the same. Had she held her son’s hand, told him the fantastic story of his birth, or about the most beautiful sunset she ever saw? Did she have enough time to tell her son that she loved him?

Is that why Hyunjin sat by the magnolia tree every day? Trying to hear the unspoken things, to feel them in his soul?

All your life, you had known. That you would be Lady Hwang someday, that you would travel the distance between your family’s seaside villa and the Hwang Estate and become Hyunjin’s wife. But after your eighth birthday, you had understood the difference between friend and betrothed—and your mother had started to feel an urgency about the situation.

And your lessons had begun. You were already learning needlework, singing, and basic painting. But that wasn’t enougNaturally, the future Lady Hwang would never have to even consider executing a domestic chore—cleaning, laundry, cooking and everything in between would be entrusted to the maids and housekeepers. Hwang manor was a big home and the family owned a lot of land so they had many people working for them. Still, as the Lady of the house, you had to know exactly how to perform each task to make sure the staff was up to the highest standards. You have to keep the staff happy and content or else, all you’ll reap is a house that’s out of order, your mother had told you. But never let them forget who’s above them. Be grateful, but never lenient.

You were ten years old when she told you that. And then it got worse.

They had you start dancing then. You had to follow a strict diet of meat, vegetables, and fruit. Waltz, menuet, two-step… More than you cared for. And you couldn’t just know the dances like other girls, no—you were to marry into the Hwang family, the empire, one of the most influential families in the country. You had to be the best at them, your posture had to be exceptional. Blisters on your feet did not matter, and neither did fainting from exertion. 'What kind of lady will you be if you can’t stun everyone with dainty moves and elegant extensions?'

You were to grow your hair long, shiny and strong, spending a large amount of time morning and evening applying various oils and ointments to it, just like your skin. You had to learn how to make pretty, elaborate braids in it and had to be forced to bed before anyone else to get beauty sleep. You had to stay in the shade, had to bathe in the sea on rainy days, and had to have ice applied to your face as often as possible. 'You have to be pretty, my daughter, or else the lord will never want to put a baby in you.'

You were fourteen when your mother put the immeasurable burden of beauty and femininity on your shoulders.

And then it got even worse.

You were sheltered in the villa, and no young male guests were welcome in your family’s home. You were rarely alone, were not allowed privacy. When you were eighteen, your mother had the family doctor inspect you from the inside out for the first time. He confirmed that you were still a virgin, but mentioned that no rough physical activity should be performed by you until you got married.

He measured you, your waist, your shoulders, your hips. Your breasts. He told your mother that you had developed well, that your body seemed inclined to childbirth. However, you should keep a record of your monthly bleedings, just to be sure. 'She has a nice body,' he had told your mother. 'Any man will want to bed her rather often, I believe. She will give you many grandchildren.'

When you were nineteen, your mother hired a new housemaid, one just for you. She was a few years older than you. 'She’s a widow,' your mother had revealed. 'You have much to learn from her.' But about the pretty housemaid, your mother never said anything else. The girl's name was Jung-Sook.

That girl had been your first kiss. 'You’ll have to know how to make Lord Hwang happy,' she had told you. She had taught you that, kissing, and what men liked. That you should be submissive, in and outside of the bedroom. That you should make him feel important and strong, that you wouldn’t like it when he put his cock inside of you but you had to pretend.

'Pretend? How am I supposed to pretend?' You hadn’t known, but she had shown you a few tricks, explained to you in detail, and made you practice clenching and moaning and panting.

Jung-Sook had shown you how to make yourself wet and ready for him too—something, she said, that would help him finish deeper inside of you, improving your chances of being with child. If the lord wished to take you several times in a day, you should always let him, even if at the end of the day you felt sore between your legs. She showed you how to use warm and cool compresses, alternating between the two, to soothe your aching core.

And then, on the nights she and you shared a bottle of sweet wine, Jung-Sook told you her stories. After her husband’s death, she developed a craving for sinful activities. 'Ah, but what is sin anyway? If it’s so bad, then why does it feel so fucking good?' But you didn’t know it could be good, sex.

Eventually, Jung-Sook settled down and had been hired by two families before yours to prepare their daughter for marriage.

That night was the first time you had an orgasm, and you had it with that girl’s head between your legs. Life-changing.

'I bet you’ll drive your lord mad, my lady,' the girl had said on her last day at the villa. 'I bet he’ll give you many babies.'

You had known your whole entire life that you would marry Hwang Hyunjin, and over the course of that life, you had been taught for almost every hour of every day how to be a suitable wife to him—not for his pleasure, no, but to make sure he would put a few Hwang babies in you.

Except for beekeeping and honeymaking. Those stolen moments were the only instants you were allowed for yourself, for your own selfish enjoyment. That, and two other moments throughout the year—your birthday and Hyunjin’s birthday, when you read his letter and a few months later when you wrote him one in return.

All your life, you had known that this day would come. And yet, it still hit you in the face when it did.

You married Hyunjin in the prettiest church you had ever seen. The work on the stained glass was so detailed that you stayed after the ceremony just to look at it.

Hyunjin didn’t stay. Your husband. Instead, he left without a word to head back home, to make sure everything was running smoothly there, as he had organized a big meal and afternoon of festivities.

Because you had been conditioned so young to the concept of your wedding day, maybe, you just felt numb today. The ring was elegant, gold with a diamond and pearls. You received blessings and you spoke your vows as rehearsed.

Your dress, to you, was the dress of a queen. Ivory silk with lace, shimmering under the sunlight, strangely comfortable. 'Well, it’s a dress, isn’t it? Not a torture device.' Ha-ri, you were hoping, would be your closest friend in this new life of yours. You would never forget your wedding dress and the way it hugged your body that day. A day where you had been surrounded the whole time but had never felt more alone.

You thought everybody had left the church until you heard footsteps. “Remarkable, isn’t it?” You turned only to see Lord and Lady Bang approach you. Both of them were looking especially dapper today—him in an elegant dark gray wool coat and a black vest, her in an impressive amber-colored gown.

You offered them a polite smile before looking at the stained glass again. The colors were bold, vibrant, and made the light filtering through them come alive. What a beautiful day—from here, you could hear the chatter of people making their way back to the manor, could hear the songbirds, the chirping of bugs. How lively everything was and yet, you couldn’t feel a single thing within you.

All of your life you had known that this day would come. The day had come. And now you stood in an empty church, looking at the way light reacted to stained glass.

What a foolish girl you had been. To think that becoming Lady Hwang would make any difference, to think that marrying Hyunjin would make you happy. What a foolish girl you had been even three days ago when, in the kitchen, you had thought it was affection you saw in his eyes as he licked his honey-coated lips.

He had not spoken to you after that, except for when he repeated his wedding vows to you just moments ago.

Could affection and indifference look the same in the eyes of a man broken beyond repair?

“Pretty,” you told Lord Christopher. You had forgotten to reply to him, too lost in your thoughts. “How was the ceremony? I think I blacked out.”

“Don’t worry, I barely remember my wedding day myself.” Lady Bang took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently, grazing the skirts of your dress with the other. “We have to get you home now, though. They’ll be expecting you.”

They sat you with Hyunjin at a large table in the manor’s backyard. Both Hyunjin, his entourage as well as your family had agreed that an outdoor reception was maybe a little unusual, but that it would allow more guests to take part in the festivities. Those who got tired of sitting outside could always make their way indoors.

The manor could host quite a few guests, and all of the rooms would be occupied. Last minute additions—Baron Han Jisung and his wife had been able to make the trip, in the end—had forced you to share your mother’s bedroom last night so that they could use the room that had been given to you. But naturally, you hadn’t been able to sleep anyway, so nervous you couldn’t even keep your food down at all and had spent the whole night vomiting and crying. Naturally, your mother had reminded you that you would look ugly on your wedding day if you kept crying like that.

Guests came one after the other to congratulate you and offer gifts. Han Jisung, Kim Seungmin, Lord Bang, and even the Earl—Yang Jeongin—had stopped by for a visit. You sat there, ignored by your husband but adored by everybody else, listening to the music and eating a little bit of food.

Today, Hyunjin wore his hair in a half ponytail again, but the ribbon tying it up was of the same burgundy as the velvet waistcoat he wore under his dark frock coat. He looked stunning, more than ever if that was even possible. Many times already, you had wanted to take his hand in yours but stopped yourself at the last second. He would only smile at the guests and, to you, not even speak one word.

You felt relief when, for a while, Hyunjin left the table. He disappeared and Lord Christopher took his seat to chat with you, complaining that the other guests had eaten too much of the food and that all the good stuff was gone.

“Have you had a chance to get a look at your wedding cake, Lady Hwang?” he asked casually, stealing a fresh bread roll and covering it with butter. “Did you know that our Hyunjin hired the best baker in the country to make it?”

Yes. The baker had arrived two days before the wedding. You had expected an arrogant, self-righteous kind of man from the description of his talent, but Felix was quite the opposite. His smile was as warm as the sun, and he was a young but intelligent man who truly took pleasure in sharing his skills with the world. ‘I promise you that your cake will be better and prettier than the queen’s,’ he had told you. He had been an assistant to the baker in charge of the queen’s cake—that, alone, would have given Felix permission to be even just a little cocky. But he wasn’t at all.

“I have, it’s quite impressive, isn’t it?” The icing was so white, so smooth, that you had almost made Ha-ri angry when you refused to leave the kitchen to go get ready for the ceremony. You just wanted to stay there and chat with cheerful Felix.

But here you were. The sunlight was beginning to fade. You couldn’t tell how long Hyunjin had been actively avoiding you, but he was forced to face you yet again after you—and the whole group of women whose help you needed to use the lavatory—came back to the party after excusing yourself for a short while.

Hyunjin stood somewhere near the crowd, discussing with the Baron and Lord Christopher. When you approached them, Lady Bang offered you an encouraging smile and walked toward the group of musicians that were seemingly waiting for instructions. Not too far from there, your mother was dozing off, probably wine-drunk, while your father and brother were both in deep discussion with the Earl. There was no doubt in your mind that they were trying to talk their way into a royal event of some kind.

You felt Hyunjin move closer to you and jumped when he took your hand in his. “We have to dance. Remember?”

Yes, you remembered. The house staff had cleared the paved patio yesterday, to make space for a decently-sized dancefloor. Just so you and your lord husband could move elegantly in front of a crowd who gave more of a shit about what would take place afterward, in the privacy of your bedroom, than out here.

Still—you had to dance, and other couples were getting ready to join as well.

You nodded, and Hyunjin squeezed your hand so gently that you wondered if he had done it at all. You walked with him under the gaze of the crowd. Again, he squeezed your hand before letting go of you.

Thanks to your mother’s strict training, you had done this, exactly this, a hundred or a thousand times. You were not nervous. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was sweating, and you could swear his lips were trembling a little.

“It’ll be fine,” you whispered just for him. “Hyunjin, they’ll all be looking at me, not at you.”

Hyunjin might have had the same facial expression if you had just told him he had been crowned king. He took a deep breath, relieved—maybe, in his nervous state, he had forgotten how much people loved watching girls in their big gowns as they danced a Viennese waltz.

You had done this a million times—just not with Hyunjin specifically.

You bowed to each other, and you made sure that your neck was angled perfectly, that your arms were elegant and reminiscent of a fresh lily. You could barely hear the violin and the cello over the sound of blood pounding in your ears. In the sunset light, Hyunjin was hauntingly beautiful. He had to look you in the eyes this time, and it made your heart skip a few beats. He had eyes unlike any other eyes you had ever seen—the irises themselves were big, of a warm dark brown, almost black color. Hyunjin’s eyes were like looking into pools of ink, like molasses on a slice of pound cake—thick, sweet, overwhelming.

But his gaze—that was even worse. It was as if his soul was spilling out of his irises, the darkness, the light, like tar, like honey. As if his gaze hit you like the wind, like a tidal wave, wrapping you in something as delicate as silk, as intricate as a concerto, as mighty as a storm.

And then you danced. You had dreamed of this moment since you were only a little girl when your eldest sister had gotten married and she had danced a waltz in front of the guests. You had turned to your aunt, the one who, not much later in your life, had shown you her secret honeyed milk recipe, and you had asked, ‘Am I going to dance with Hyunjin like that too?’

‘Yes, child. Someday, he’ll hold you just like that, and everybody will be looking at you, thinking what a beautiful bride you make.’

And today, Hyunjin held you, and everybody was staring at you, at the way your hair moved with you and your gown, your posture, your smile. It wasn’t your true smile, and if your mother were less drunk, she would probably be able to tell the difference. But everyone else here was a stranger, and they didn't care.

You had been a foolish girl.

Thinking that there would be love in Hyunjin’s eyes on your wedding day.

You didn’t even get to taste the cake.

“I promise I’ll keep some for you, my lady,” Felix assured you, overseeing the proper cutting of it by the kitchen staff.

But the lights had been turned on in the lord’s bedchamber, meaning it was time for you to head there. Hyunjin did not take your hand in his as, under the crowd’s probing gaze, you made your way toward the manor. He did not speak, not even once you were inside, or walking up the stairs. He led the way quietly, walking slowly. He was in no rush to make it there and neither were you—and your legs were weak whereas your heart was running and your head spinning.

You had seen his bedroom before. Ha-ri had managed to sneak you in while her beloved husband took Hyunjin for last-minute wedding preparations outside the manor. ‘So that you can get a look at the place, get accustomed to it a little before…’ she had said.

Hyunjin closed the heavy door behind you and immediately went to pull the curtains of the several large windows on the farther side of both his bedroom and his study. You followed to assist him. You made sure not to move your head too much as you did so—you feared the vomiting might resume if you moved too quickly.

The bedroom was spacious, with a beautiful high ceiling and dark, wooden walls, and carpets with elaborate patterns lay in various areas of the floor. There was a lot of furniture—a table and two chairs, two armchairs, a sofa, chests and drawers…

One piece in particular caught your attention—the imposing, jaw-dropping grandfather clock in Hyunjin’s study. It was taller than you were, its wooden base covered in beautiful carvings painted in real gold.

“Is that tulip poplar?” you asked, reaching for the clock without actually touching it. “It’s so pretty, Hyunjin.”

“Poplar and white pine,” Hyunjin corrected, making his way across the study to stand near you. You could tell he was a lot more relaxed than he had been earlier. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? It was a gift from my mother, to me, when I turned ten years old. I moved it here when I took the study and bedroom.”

“Wow… What did I even send you that year?” You couldn’t help a nervous giggle from escaping you. “Whatever it was, it was subpar compared to this… I’ve never seen a clock like that.”

“It’s not from here. She bought it on her travels,” Hyunjin explained. “It’s why it��s so different from others you’ve seen.” You could tell from the corner of your eyes that he was watching you. “That year, you sent me graphite pencils. The art supplies.”

Ah, yes. You remembered now—the year after, Hyunjin had apologized in his letter.

‘I was hoping I could send you a sketch this year, but I’m afraid I can’t. Father doesn’t want me drawing, he says it’s a waste of time and gave my pencils away to the Count’s daughter.’

“I’m sorry, Hyunjin.” You turned to face him.

“You couldn’t have known.” Hyunjin shook his head, strands of hair falling on his face. He only ever spoke to you in private, it seemed, and it was in private that he seemed the most tired, too. Fatigued, weary, like the burden on his shoulders was too heavy for him to carry. “They left wine for us, food too. Would you like some? We have to talk.”

While you had been taught what to expect on your wedding night, you weren’t sure that a thorough discussion was customary—still, you welcomed it. For years, Hyunjin had been in your life, words written in elegant cursive on high-quality paper. Now that you had heard his voice, you realized that he sounded just like elegant cursive, too.

And it messed with your head. It made you want to hear him more and more.

You followed him back into the bedroom and he pulled your chair at the small table by the window. Someone had left an impressive amount of food—cheese, bread, mutton with rice, honey-glazed roasted carrots, and various pastries. You grabbed as much of your gown as you could to sit down, but felt Hyunjin’s hand on your shoulder before you could.

“Hold on, that mustn't be very comfortable. To sit down in this. Would you like to change?” When you looked at him, his expression was more relaxed, but his cheeks had turned pink. You figured your face was most likely a similar shade. You had felt a strange wave in your gut when he touched your shoulder. “I don’t think they brought your things here yet, but I’ll give you something.”

You considered the offer, the heat in your face spreading down your neck. “Most of the lacing for the gown and the skirts are at the back, my l—” You paused, your gaze turning away, choosing to stare at the wall behind him instead.

“I’ll help you.” Hyunjin gulped but he nodded. “I don’t think the bride is supposed to stay in her gown for the wedding night anyway.”

You received these words like a nudge—at first glance, the words were kind and gentle, but they entered your soul like a shockwave. You took a deep breath in an attempt to settle your panic and the warmth that continued to spread through your body, reaching your abdomen now. You had spent days here, and very little time with Hyunjin. Still, every time you did see him, it took your breath away.

You stood by the bed with Hyunjin in your back, as quiet as you were—except that in the thick silence of the room, you could hear his heavy breathing, as if he was meditating on something.

You jumped when his fingers reached your lower back, undoing the bows and knots that held the first layers of your skirts together.

“I think this was Ha-ri’s best work so far,” Hyunjin said.

“I would like to give her something, for her trouble. She worked in record time, after all, and she’s so sweet.” Hyunjin gently pulled a few layers of clothing off you. He was slow and methodical. You could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, like a spark igniting dried grasses. “Do you have any idea for a gift, Hyunjin?”

“I actually do.” Hyunjin paused your undressing, but his hands remained on the clasps of your crinoline. “I am planning on freeing Changbin from his duties as Head Steward.”

What? You may have been here only a few days, but you had spent a considerable amount of this time with Changbin and his wife, and you couldn’t think of a single reason to let him go—he was trustworthy and caring. You turned around, shocked, and Hyunjin looked at you puzzled for a few moments before shaking his head with a faint laugh.

"No, not as in firing him," he replied, and you returned to your original position, facing away from him with a relieved sigh. “There’s a lovely house on the other side of the wooden area, at the Eastern side of here. It’s unoccupied at the moment, and I’d like for him and his family to have it. I want him on my council. He’s sharp, has good ideas—he already assists me that way, but I want him seated at the table, making it official. You know? So maybe you can gift Ha-ri something for her new home.”

“Oh, Hyunjin.” The crinoline skirt was taken off you, but you suppressed a gasp when Hyunjin’s fingers found the strings of your corset.

How hard did he work, every day, at keeping the facade of a cold man when he was quite the opposite? A man who wanted to elevate his friends, who undid the lacing of your corset as if you were made of porcelain, delicately, gently? A man who sat by the magnolia tree in his garden, a man who had shown you kindness when he did not have to?

“You would honor him and his family, for eternity.” Hyunjin was taking his time back there as if he actually regretted his decision to undress you. “You are a kind and considerate man, Lord Hyunjin.”

There was a pause, but it lasted only a few seconds. “Kind? Considerate? Nobody has ever called me that before.” He repeated it under his breath a few times, acting almost like they were words he had only just discovered.

“Yes, you are kind.” Finally, the strings holding your corset together came undone. You held it against you so it didn’t fall, and looked behind you, but barely—just enough to see Hyunjin’s dark hair, his burgundy waistcoat. You found yourself wishing he would touch you again. “You… You kept the promise that your father had made, when nobody expected you to. You didn’t have to. Didn’t have to marry below your station.”

He did touch you again then, as if an angel had heard your plea and decided to grant your wish. Hyunjin’s warm hands found your arms, and he held you. You trembled under his touch, struck with a hunger that you weren’t familiar with. Something deep, something dark.

When he spoke, Hyunjin’s face was so close that you felt his breath on your ear, so close that you could smell the cognac in it. His voice was dry, provoked—he sounded as if you had said something terrible. “Never fucking say this.” He held you tighter, pulling you closer, pressing your back against his chest. “I never want to hear those words out of your mouth again. Understood?”

“S—sorry,” you uttered, dipping your head with shame. “I didn’t think my words, I didn’t mean to insult you, I didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize.” Hyunjin let go of you, his warmth parting away from you but leaving another kind of heat between your legs—that hunger, that unexpected ardency that made your heart run in your chest. “I’ll get you some clothes now.”

Hyunjin gave you privacy, waiting in his study while you changed—you kept your drawers and chemise but wrapped yourself in the large, white blouse he had provided you with and comfortable moccasins for your feet. When he returned, you sat together at the table and Hyunjin proceeded to put some food on a plate for you.

You, however, couldn’t take your eyes off the bed. You knew that this food was meant to be eaten after Hyunjin was done with you. After the marriage had been consummated. He had taken your clothes off you but he had not shown any interest in doing what he had to do. What he was supposed to do.

Part of you was relieved, maybe. But you couldn’t ignore the disappointment, the fear in your chest—maybe, for a while, when you were fifteen years old, you had been stupid enough to believe that Hyunjin would love you. Naturally, you realized that this was impossible. But there was a difference between love and… this.

For fuck’s sake. If you disgusted him so much, he could do what other men did—get drunk, blow all the candles in the room and take you from behind to make sure he didn’t see you.

“Are you not eating?” Hyunjin asked, pouring both of you a glass of sweet wine. You took yours immediately and drank all of it in one go.

“I’m not very hungry.” When you put your glass back on the table, Hyunjin poured more wine into it—he, too, had chugged his in a matter of seconds. Your gaze trailed back towards the bed. It was an imposing piece, with plush pillows and silk covers.

Hyunjin was ignoring the food as well. His eyes followed yours, lingering on his empty bed for a while before they returned to you. “I guess it’s time we talked, then.” He sighed. “I suggest we drink another round.”

The wine was sweet, its taste familiar—it was one of the bottles that your parents had brought along, as a wedding gift to Lord Hwang. The particularly sunny summers made the grapes sweet and flavorful, resulting in a wine that made you drunk quickly and pleasantly.

“I do not plan on consummating the marriage,” Hyunjin revealed. He looked tense. He looked… sad. “So don’t worry about that.”

“Oh.” Worry?

“I won’t touch you. You’re safe with me.”

“But—” There were too many things you wanted to say at once—they got stuck in your throat, and it seemed that drinking more wine did not help dislodge them.

“Don’t worry.” That again.

“I’m not worried, I wasn’t worried, I just—” Out of all the scenarios you had imagined, this was eerily similar to the worst one that crossed your mind. “Do you…” What a difficult question to ask, and yet—you must ask it. It would at least lay some grounds for the marriage, no matter how unhappy it would be. “Do you hate me, my lord?”

“Hate you?” Hyunjin stared blankly at you. “Do I hate you? Are you fucking kidding me?” There it was again—that anger, that quiet fury from earlier when you had mentioned his possible disappointment in marrying you. “This isn’t about you, this has nothing to do with you. Most girls would be glad to be spared of their husbands, you know?”

Ah.

Could affection and indifference look the same in the eyes of a man broken beyond repair?

You looked into his eyes—in the dim lighting provided by the candles on this side of the room, they reminded you of black coffee, mysterious, compelling—just like the rest of him. Hyunjin licked his bottom lip, dragging his smooth tongue slowly across it, cocking his head to the side. He was trying to read you.

And so you tried to conceal your disappointment. You tried to turn it into something else, anything else.

If he had known from the start that he did not want to consummate this marriage, then Hyunjin could never find out that you were still wet between your legs from him touching you earlier, forcefully pulling you against him. He couldn’t know that the other night in the kitchen, you had believed his cock had grown hard because of you. that you had touched yourself to that thought later, imagining him rutting against you. Imagining that it was his cock stretching you open instead of your fingers, remembering the way it had looked when you had fed him that spoonful of honey, his full lips coated with it, his tongue twirling around the spoon. He had eaten it as if his life depended on it.

But maybe it had just been a trick of the light. Maybe you should have been a good girl and learned not to look at his fucking crotch. Maybe you should have kept your honey for yourself and you wouldn’t be haunted by the way his mouth looked as he ate it.

“Drink again.” Hyunjin added more wine into your glass, but you didn’t drink—you were trying to control the pricking in your eyes, trying to control the trembling of your lips. You couldn’t look away from the bed. You had thought a lot about this bed, about Hyunjin kissing you on it, your body sinking into the soft mattress as he pushed himself into you, melting inside you. You had thought about what it must feel like if he shot his cum deep into your cunt. “Don’t cry.”

You took a few sips of the wine, letting it sit in your mouth for a few instants as you tried to process the most urgent information. “They’ll expect something in there,” you finally said, gesturing towards the bed. “On the sheets.”

Then, finally, you turned to Hyunjin again. The enigma. The Orphan. His beauty hit you once more, his teeth sinking into his lip, his concerned eyes, his red cheeks. He hated every moment of this as much as you did. “Does it really bleed every time?”

“Might not,” you admitted. “Then they’ll spread me open, Hyunjin, and fucking look with their own two eyes, or put their fingers inside of me to check.” You looked around, anger rising within you—which was very unlike you. Maybe in trying to conceal your dismay, it had turned into something sour.

You left your seat, locating a few glass bottles near Hyunjin’s bed. You grabbed one of them—it had once contained perfume, according to its label, but it was empty—and showed it to him. “That one has a good enough length, I reckon. Should I fuck myself with this, my lord, until I feel myself break open, just so that your doctor believes it was you who did it?”

Hyunjin wouldn’t have looked any different if you had turned into a goose. He sat there, stunned, staring at you for a long time, before leaving his chair to join you on the other side of the bed. He took the empty bottle from your hand and put it back on the table. Only, he kept your hand in his, then did something unexpected—he put his other hand on the side of your head, brushing his thumb on your cheek.

He was so, so handsome. He was much taller than you and you had to twist your neck to look at him. His boozy breath hit your nostrils and you inhaled it, inhaled him, as his warm hand closed into a fist in your hair. Gently. Lovingly, you dared think, but maybe that was the wine. You couldn’t look away from his mouth, the way it parted open just a little, ready to be kissed.

“I won’t let him touch you. You’re my wife.” Hyunjin’s voice was low, a rough whisper, thick with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever. You’re safe with me.”

Hyunjin’s thumb found your lips and he pressed it faintly on them as if to test them out. His face twisted a little, but you couldn’t tell why. “My wife.”

His delicate touch was enough to make you properly wet, and you found yourself pressing your thighs together when he pushed his thumb past your lips.

The very tip of his thumb touched your tongue for less than a second before he retreated his hand from your head, and himself from your immediate space, but it had been enough. He had started a fire inside of you—one that you weren’t sure could be put out.

Don’t look down. Don’t fucking look down. You made yourself stare at his beautiful face instead—what if the light played tricks on you again, made you believe he wanted you, somehow?

“You’re safe with me,” Hyunjin said again, turning away to look into one of his drawers. He returned with a small knife—its sheath was decorated with pretty pictures of trees on it. “You may want to look away, darling. Pull the bed covers down for me, will you?”

Darling. You took a deep breath, watching Hyunjin pull up one of his sleeves after freeing the blade from his sheath. “Hyunjin, wait—” All of a sudden, you regretted your petty explosion of anger, your little scene with the bottle.

But it was too late. Hyunjin put the blade against the skin of his forearm, not far from the elbow, and cut a small laceration in it. He hissed through his teeth, groaning loudly enough that if anyone had been nosy enough to linger around in the hallway they would have heard him. By the sound of it, they’d believe for sure that he had just blown the biggest load in your virgin cunt.

You, on the other hand, had to work hard on keeping a neutral expression on your face—but you wouldn’t forget that sinful noise anytime soon.

You got to work when the first drops of blood appeared in Hyunjin’s cut. You removed the covers on the bed and made sure the one covering the mattress had ripples in it, making it look like it had been used. You did the same with the pillows and ultimately decided to push one off the bed.

By then, Hyunjin was bleeding a lot more, so you had to act quick. You gathered some blood in your hand and went to spread it on the white sheet in what you hoped would look like what it had to look like. But you had never seen it yourself, so it was hard to tell.

“You’re not afraid of blood?” Hyunjin questioned, surprised. He had grabbed a clean piece of cloth to stop the bleeding on his arm but handed you one so that you could wipe your hands clean.

“Why would I be?” You turned to him. “Because I’m a girl? Girls see a whole lot more blood than men do, Hyunjin.”

Even in that situation, he smiled. A contrite but amused smile, with a nod. “You’re right, I apologize.” He hesitated. “Would you mind wrapping my arm in some cloth? I can’t tie the knot myself with just one hand.”

But you didn’t just do that. You poured some clean water on his wound, dried it off, and cleaned it up again just to make sure. By the time you did wrap it up, Hyunjin had stopped bleeding. The whole time, you made yourself look anywhere but his pants. Anywhere. You couldn’t stand it either way—if he was hard, you’d want nothing but to feel it against you. If he wasn’t, you’d be disappointed.

“I guess I should undress too,” he mumbled, returning to the table for more wine.

So he did. Facing away from you, he left his coat and waistcoat on his chair while you sat on one of the armchairs, away from him. You watched him unbutton his trousers—you couldn’t look away. His hair grazing his broad shoulders, his long legs, how firm his body seemed to be… You wished, so badly, that you could feel him up under your palms.

“I just need a minute, okay?” Hyunjin sat on the chair, taking deep breaths. He drank wine directly from the bottle. “Then I’ll go get them.”

So you saw it. You saw the bulge in his pants, you saw the color on his cheeks. But you pretended you didn’t.

Hyunjin didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to call you his wife, his darling, and wanted to feel your tongue under his thumb, but he didn’t want to fuck you even when his obviously large cock strained against his clothes.

You ignored the pressure between your legs, ignored the wetness sticking to your skin there, too. Hyunjin had been right—most women would be glad for things to turn out this way, but they hadn’t married the boy who had sent them letters for the past twenty years.

They hadn’t married the man who looked like a prince, whose long dark hair framed his handsome face so perfectly that he must have been carved by angels themselves. And maybe these women, unlike you, hadn’t been taught how to feel pleasure, how to seek it, how to reach it.

Eventually, Hyunjin got up again and made his way towards the door. He left the room for a while and you heard voices down the hallway. You stayed there, on the armchair, eyes on the stain of blood you had drawn on the mattress cover. Red on white. That's all it was. It meant nothing.

You felt empty, as empty as the wine bottle. What a foolish girl you had been.

When Hyunjin came back, he was surrounded by Baron Han, as well as Lord Christopher. It was the first time you could sense any sort of discomfort in Lord Bang, as he usually brought a light mood with him wherever he went. Doctor Yun was also present, and you shot him a disgusted stare as he entered the room, scanning you with his ugly eyes.

The three men made their way towards the bed, all of them staring at the blood on it.

“Very well,” the Baron said. He was shorter than the others, but his presence was no less imposing—small, golden glasses rested on his nose and he had a perfect posture. He had a pleasant face, too, round and friendly despite his serious expression. “It has been done.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Lord Christopher chimed in, turning away from the bed, but also avoiding looking at you. “We wish you a pleasant evening, Lord and Lady Hwang.”

“Hold on,” Yun voiced louder than he needed to. The Baron and Lord Christopher were already halfway towards the door, but they stopped and turned to the doctor, who had stayed near the bed. Yun left the bed to come near you. “My lady, that’s quite a lot of blood there.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. You looked past him, on the mattress. You thought this had been about right, just a small stain, you didn’t know what it was supposed to look like.

"Doctor—” Hyunjin started, disgust coating his voice.

“I’m just saying, as a professional health specialist,” Doctor Yun went on, “that my lady is bleeding abnormally, and should be thoroughly checked to make sure she is healthy. Who knows what this blood means? A simple loss of maidenhood would not cause this.”

You locked eyes with Hyunjin and gulped. Right now, the solution of fucking yourself with that glass bottle sounded like a missed opportunity. When you looked away, you caught sight of your hand, where you wore your wedding ring.

It reminded you of who you were now. Today, you were somebody. You were a person who could actually talk back to him.

“Doctor Yun.” You stood up, holding yourself as straight as you could, trying to hide your shaking hands behind your back. “I do not think this is any of your business. Please vacate the room immediately.”

But the doctor didn’t budge. “My lady, your health might be at risk, I—”

“You want to know why there’s so much blood?” You took one step closer to the ugly man, looking at him right in the eyes. “As his doctor, you should know this—Lord Hwang is rather well endowed. And, if you wish to know, he was particularly relentless tonight. Do you require more details, doctor?”

You heard whispers and mumbles coming from Lord Christopher and the Baron.

“That was not necessary, Doctor,” the Baron said. “Please leave the woman alone, or else I’ll have you escorted outside the premises.”

“I live here,” the doctor retorted, but he still retreated away, allowing you to breathe with a little more ease. “And, with all due respect, Baron, I do not answer to you.”

Hyunjin cleared his throat. “Actually, you no longer live here.” He walked around the bed, making his way to the doctor. “You’ll be allowed to sleep here tonight and stay a few more hours tomorrow while you gather your things, but I do not wish to have you in employment anymore. If you make a scene, I will have you thrown out right away, and, if I’m not mistaken, the nights are still quite cold at this time of the year. You decide.”

There was a brief pause, during which Hyunjin looked at you for a few seconds before turning to the doctor again. “You should have known better than to try and sneak your way between my wife’s legs. You’re lucky I don’t feel like touching your hideous face, because you’d have to bandage your own fucking self tonight, Yun. Get the fuck away from here.”

Maybe Yun feared Hyunjin—he did not argue and simply took his leave after a low bow. The Baron excused himself as well, saying he would make sure the doctor didn't cause a fuss around the last of the guests as well as informing your father of the successful consummation of the marriage. This, you tried to ignore as you did not want to be thinking about that at all. Not tonight. You were tired, and sad.

Lord Christopher lingered in the door frame. “My lady, my wife mentioned she was available if you required anything, as we are spending the night here.”

Of course. Ha-ri had also offered you the same thing. ‘Come find me afterwards if you need help or if you just want to talk.’ “Thank you, my lord. I’m quite alright.”

Hyunjin did not speak for a long time after Lord Christopher had left and closed the door behind him. He disappeared in the study and reappeared with whiskey and two glasses while you got up and pulled the bloodied sheet off the bed. It took only a few instants for two maids to come, bringing with them a change of sheets.

“I’ll do it myself,” you told them. “Leave it. Thank you, girls.”

They left, too. You wondered if you ought to get out as well and close that heavy door behind you. Maybe Ha-ri would have some good counsel for you, but you weren’t even sure what to say to her, or to anyone.

Hyunjin helped you make the bed again and poured each of you a generous amount of whiskey as you sat on the bed, the way you used to with your friends.

You were the first one to speak after the long silence. “I’m sorry I said that.” You finished your whiskey, wondering if he’d let you have more. “To Yun.”

“Don’t be sorry, darling.” Hyunjin turned to you, his head cocked to the side. “I should thank you, you made it sound like I am quite the lover.”

He did pour more whiskey into your glass, then into his. By now, his eyes were hooded and he moved slowly. “You haven’t really answered my question earlier, Hyunjin.” The whiskey was delicious. Strong, crisp. “Do you hate me?”

Hyunjin stared at you intently, his eyes trailing on your lips, below them, below your neck, to your lips again. He seemed almost in pain. His hand found your face again and he caressed it with the back of his fingers.

“Pretty, clever. Sweet, sweet, sweet, like honey. How could anybody hate you, darling?”

You slept in his bed that night with your back turned to his. The wine and the whiskey put you into a deep sleep, but when you woke up, the other half of the bed was empty.

What a foolish girl you had been.

To be continued.

As always, your interactions & engagement with my works mean everything. Thank you for reading, thank you for being patient with me & supporting me!

🍯 taglist: @neosracha @streetlight-s @tanyas97 @hyun-bun @hellishmoons @americanokisses @aimeexx @upallnight-s @yla-aira @moasworld @lovhyunj @yourhwngness @staaa96 @honey-lemon-goose @catwhisk @changbinluvr @neosfw @hyunjinswifeee @linaliann @felixcharmerera @aerastus

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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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ok, transparently: this took me a while to reblog and formulating thoughts because this series is so good - i know it’s not completed but i swear it’s a great read 😭

the way you write, like… idk how to explain it other than i literally felt like i was there. from your descriptions of visuals, aromas, feelings, etc — everything seemed so tangible that i quite literally felt like i blurred reality for a moment and let myself fully get absorbed into your writing.

i reread each chapter probably a solid 3x and i wish i could formulate words that aren’t repetitive for each one but it’s basically everything here copy & paste is how i felt about every chapter of this series.

this felt mature - like not in a way like the rating is mature, but it felt like you as a writer is well seasoned, because omg. just like. wow idk how else to describe it bc that honestly was probably one of my top 3 favorite fic series of all time.

the taste of honey | series masterlist

pairing: young aristocrat hyunjin x (afab) reader | genre: non modern-au, arranged marriage to lovers, smut, romance | warnings under the cut. 18+

warnings: angst, sorta tsundere elements, hyunjin's father is a bad person and hj takes after him, loss of parents (mentioned), mentions of murder & revenge (not hj or reader), arranged marriage, explicit sexual content (hyunjin is a horny mf, reader is a virgin), voyeurism & fantasizing (hj). ; each chapter will have its own warnings. 〉 ↬ not written with the intention or desire to be historically accurate. don't ask me exactly when or where this story takes place... I don't know, it's just for fun.

You were promised to Hyunjin before you were even born. Every year, he writes you a letter for your birthday and you write him one in return. Twenty years after the first correspondence, it's time for you to move to the Hwang Estate and meet him for the first time.

— chapter one: honeyed milk — chapter two, part one: if honey is pure, it will burn — chapter two, part two: if honey is pure, it will burn — chapter three: whiskeyed darlings — chapter four: like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk (tbr) — chapter five: title tba (tbr)

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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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☆°. — study me | hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 6k

warnings: inexperienced hyunjin, oral (m receiving), protected sex, fast-ish plot progression, strangers to lovers (only roughly proof read)

author's note: @hyunverse and @astraystayyh made me do it (also inspired heavily by rin's post!!!!!) 😚😚😚

He had always been cute, though he surely wasn't aware of it; when he sat in class, dainty glasses by the curve of his nose, he always seemed focused, taking notes with furrowed brows, full attention granted to the professor up front. When he left the lecture hall it was often in lonesome, and hurried; not shy, per se, but quick, and quiet. When people talked to him he was polite, though his shoulders tensed, and a blush crept up his smiling cheeks; not uncomfortable, as far as you could tell, yet visibly not in his element, either — and it all added to his charm. He was smart and aware of it, though he seldom raised his hand, initiated questions. He never corrected professors on their mistakes, never played the know-it-all even though he could. He simply sat in class, day after day, to your right in front of you, and left to go to his next class as quietly as he had entered your mutual one.

You watched Hyunjin walk into the lecture hall, headphones covering his sense of hearing, bag thrown over his shoulder lazily, a subtle lightness in his step. He fixed his glasses with a long, delicate finger before he sat down to prep his desk; placing his laptop in front of him, reducing the brightness before typing away his password, fishing in his bag for his phone right before the professor walked in. Hyunjin was busy taking off the bony headphones before they disappeared in his bag, and a big hand slid through the dark strands of his hair, only needing one movement to fix them into place; after that there seemed to be a click in his demeanour, in his attention. No music in his ears, no phone in his hands; quick fingers that were copying the headline of today's topic which the professor had projected onto the board, concentrated, glasern eyes void of the initial casual leisureness the had entered the classroom with.

It was a little bit of a ritual, watching him in class; you weren't sure if it was creepy, if it made you some sort of pre-version of a stalker, or an obsessed freak. You weren't sure either, if watching him was the reason you were at risk of failing the class, altogether. You were surprised every day anew that no one else was; that Hyunjin seemed to be nearly invisible for most people on campus, left for the few friends he kept with, or the occasional aquaintance he made for group projects before those relationships faded away, due to the lack of its' benefit. Yet even those people didn't seem to be taken by him the way you were, didn't see him the way you did; a striking beauty, hidden beneath a character so quiet and quirky, helpless, almost, that to others he appeared nothing but ordinary. A studious nerd, introverted and awkward; but you didn't want to go through another day without having talked to him. Couldn't, you thought; you needed to initiate a conversation, wanted so bad to hear the sound of his voice, the look of his eyes when the object he was looking at was you.

The professor had announced a group project for today's class, and had, by the end of explaining all about it and before dismissing the class, ordered you to look for partners until the next lesson, to start with first preparations. In your opinion, it was the perfect opportunity to go up to Hyunjin without appearing a freak, or too pushy, or utterly random; you weren't sure he even knew your name, so simply asking for a coffee seemed too finite to you. As expected, while everyone was still packing their bags and talking of weekend plans and just how boring their next class was going to be, Hyunjin had already put on his headphones and was on his way out of the hall, daring to disappear into the crowd of students before your very eyes. You hurried to collect your things before you stumbled down behind him, falling into a slow run to catch up with him. He was tall, quite a bit taller than you, so his struts were fast without being hurried, and you struggled to keep up with him, fighting your way between people before your hand could finally reach his figure, and a finger of yours tapped on his shoulder.

Your touch made him stop in his tracks in a rather confused manner, and he turned around perplexed before locking eyes with you. When you smiled at him expectantly one hand of his freed his right ear from his headphones, and he returned your smile, though only politely, yet not catching what you have stopped him for. The confusion was written in his eyes, and you hurried to clear it up.

"Hey, I'm y/n, from uh, Statistics... we just had this class together."

You looked at Hyunjin, waiting for a response, despite not having cleared up anything at all. He nodded, fixing his bag on his shoulder. You almost got distracted by the veins which ran through his hand when he did that, but you forced yourself to look him in the eyes instead. Brown and deep. You had never noticed before how captivating they were.

"Yeah, I know who you are...", a smile on his lips and you weren't sure what it meant, but there was a deep blush on his cheeks right after, and it made your chest fill with a warmth so sound you simply kept smiling at him.

"Was there anything you needed?" Pure curiosity in his tone, and you wondered how such a smart person could be so foolish. Though it was cute seeing him perplexed, cute seeing a void of his usual intelligence within his eyes.

You cleared your throat and fixed your bag yourself, before nodding up at him. You had never stood this close to him, had never noticed just how tall he was.

"I wondered if you wanted to be my partner for the group project thing. I'm not really good at statistics, so I wanted to pair up with someone who could... help me. In a way."

Hyunjin blushed deeper at that, and the fist around the strap of his bag tightened. He gulped visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing before his eyes lost yours suddenly, and he nodded, stuttering a little when he spoke.

"Uh, yeah, for sure. I, uh, I'm not really, like, sure if I can help much, I'm not a great teacher, but, uhm-", he looked at you, and you simply reciprocated his gaze; he blushed yet a little harder, fixed his glasses with a clumsy finger, and gave you a shy smile, "but, yeah. I'll be your partner."

☆.☆.☆

It was a Saturday night, and it felt strange not sitting in front of the mirror to apply some make-up, or get a decent outfit ready to wear to a night out with your friends. Instead, your old bag was thrown carelessly over your shoulder and the steps you took on the glistening asphalt were taking you to Hyunjin’s dorm, to study and work on the project with him at seven in the afternoon. Not what you normally busied yourself with, not on a weekend, but you hadn’t been this excited over a Saturday night plan in a good while. The day prior, Hyunjin had been ready to leave right after confirming he would partner up with you; that you needed to exchange phone numbers in order to be able to start the work he had seemingly forgotten, and you had giggled when he’d typed his contact into your phone with a guilty smile and a low-hanging head. He had replied quickly when you had texted him, clarifying his schedule – busier than you had expected, packed to the brim – before confirming to meet up today. And you had been giddy ever since.

When you knocked on his dorm room, Hyunjin opened moments later. He looked comfortable, in a plain black shirt and grey sweatpants, no glasses but his long, raven hair in a lazy bun. He smiled before welcoming you in, stepping aside and closing the door behind you. The room wasn’t big, much like your own, but clean, neat. Not much decoration on the walls but a picture or two, seemingly of family members, or close friends. You spotted multiple game consoles and a spacey monitor on his desk, an expensive looking keyboard, heavy headphones – different ones he took with him to class –, a mic, his school laptop on his bed. Two candles by his nightstand, and one bouquet of dried flowers on his windowsill; if dried on purpose of due to lack of care you were unsure, but they were pretty nonetheless.

Hyunjin stood behind you as you took in his small room, abashed and clearing his throat when you finally looked at him again. You smiled, and disposed your bag next to his bed.

“Nice room.”

He must have not expected the compliment; he looked perplexed, chuckling suddenly and a little too loud before thanking you quietly. He got rid of a couple strands of loose hair with a quick hand, and straightened his back, shaking his head as if to rid himself off thoughts, to find his way back to you. He gave you a quick smile, too; it was so pretty that you almost told him, almost stepped up to be level with him and touch the side of his face, purely to manifest him within you. Him and his face, his shy smile with its’ small, pearly teeth and glistening eyes.

“Alright, I guess we should start. The desk is pretty, uh, full and stuff, you can just sit on the bed, if... you don’t mind.” He sat down on the chair in front of the desk, motioned you to the bed. He tripped over the light carpet on his floor before finding his seat, though acted as though nothing had happened; cute.

“Just get comfortable.”

The sentence didn’t carry any connotation yet Hyunjin reddened after he spoke, and lost your eyes to rummage in his bag and in the drawers of his desk to fish out all the materials he thought he’d need. You smiled to yourself, and did as he told you; got comfortable on his bed, and got out your papers and pencils, spreading them out on his blanketed mattress. It smelt nice, his bed. Clean, almost like neutral linen, but with a hint of a scent you believed to be uniquely his. It was the first time you sensed it; you had never been close enough to him before to notice it, but now that you sat in the essence of it, in the core of his existence, in his very own four walls, it engulfed you. It was deep vanilla and sweetest honey, it was a scent dark and intense, but light. It wasn’t heavy, it didn’t suffocate you. It simply existed in the space around you, and it stuck to him; you doubted you’d ever forget the scent again.

When Hyunjin looked at you again, turning to face you on his chair, he stopped in his tracks, and his eyes seemed to widen, his jaw to tighten. It felt unfamiliar seeing him without his glasses, though very much known to watch the pink flush creep up his neck. He blinked a couple times, simply watching you, and it wasn’t until you shifted in your place, sinking further into his mattress that he moved again, pretending to look for something, or really doing so. He cleared his throat and choked on his own spit, fell into a short coughing fit; you almost giggled, and when Hyunjin caught sight of your repressed grin, the pink on his neck deepened into a red; he was even more helpless than you initially thought. He was still looking around, not frantically but close to it, mumbling something you didn’t catch, until you spotted his glasses on the nightstand. You leaned over to get hold of them, and offered them to him, with eyes big and expectant.

“Are you looking for those?”

The room was so small that the distance between the edge of the bed and the desk was only an arm length, so Hyunjin got hold of the glasses simply by reaching out, thanking you. He was interesting; everything he did around you, from the way he moved to the way he spoke, seemed always to be happening in a state of trance, or incredible awkwardness you hoped stemmed from fluster, not discomfort. The feeling spreading in the pit of your stomach was indescribable, when Hyunjin, with soft, delicate fingers and a familiar move, placed the silvery glasses on the rich curve of his nose, fixing them into the dip of his ears before sliding them up; ready to work, and he looked concentrated momentarily, serious; far more attractive up close than when you watched him in class, and you wondered if you’d handle an entire hour of speaking to him while in his bed, in his room, in the midst of his scent.

Yet the hour flew by too fast for your liking, and before you knew it you were packing your bag and making your way to the door of Hyunjin’s dorm room. The hour had contained of more giggling and casual talking than you had thought, and it had gotten you excited. Maybe it was your fantasy, but Hyunjin had seemed interested; more than just into the project, interested in you, too. He had asked questions, had initiated conversation, had neglected his work. He had been – after half an hour – brave enough to poke fun at your lack of mathematical skill, after you had failed to understand an equation he’d tried to bring closer to you. You had gasped and acted hurt, and the giggle which he had followed up with had made you so speechless that Hyunjin had needed to continue with the explaining, flustered and stuttering, a little rocky; all hope of understanding his explaining had been lost there, but you hadn’t minded it.

Hyunjin stood by the door, held it open for you. There it was again, the fluster in his eyes, the flush on his neck; and you weren’t even doing anything. It’s not like the big doe eyes you caught his gaze with could play any role in his abash, or the purposeful teasing smile you shot him. It also couldn’t be the fact you simply stood in his door, waiting for him to say something, instead of leaving for the night with a simple goodbye, with your bag in hand, and quick fingers in your hair, pretending to fix it.

“Uh, we didn’t really come really far.”, he finally voiced with a chuckle, and you reciprocated. Yet you waited; it seemed there was more he wished to say. Hyunjin stepped from one foot to the other, furrowed his brows quickly before losing your eyes, locking your gaze again and opening his mouth, though without success initially. He closed it again, at a loss for words, and you cocked your head curiously, deliberately waiting, feigning ignorance. He huffed out an awkward chuckle, more air than laugh, and ruffled his hair. It made it look messier than before, but you liked it.

“Sorry, just – do you wanna meet tomorrow? I know it’s a Sunday, but... I don’t know, I thought we could work on the project some more. Only if you want to.”, he added quickly when you didn’t say anything. Only after you nodded with a smile Hyunjin’s shoulders seemed to relax, the tension in his body dissipating into relief.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Same time?”

☆.☆.☆

It had been two weeks of continuous meeting and working on the project with Hyunjin; but it had also been two weeks of continuous laughing and talking, of conversations far more memorable than the frustration over the schoolwork. Hyunjin had opened up to you, though still shy and quiet, far calmer around you now, more comfortable, it seemed. Yet you shied from initiating more; you had touched his thigh in friendly manner a week ago, barely a second, and the man had turned to a statue of stone, had lost sense of every word he’d had dancing on his lips, had lost train, even, of every thought; it had needed him a good five minutes before he had spoke again. Not only that, but he had eyed you the entire time after, hadn’t left his eyes wander from you, unless you’d caught and reciprocated them; only then his gaze had fallen to his fiddling hands in his lap, sneaking a look again only when you weren’t watching anymore.

You were sure he liked you, you doubted to be wrong about that; but ironically, you liked him too much to confront that, in fear of shying him away, of risking the delicate friendship which had developed over the past two weeks. The group project would end next week, and you weren’t sure if you’ve acquainted enough to stay friends beyond that.

You were sitting on Hyunjin’s bed, him on the mattress beside you, two hours into working on a PowerPoint which looked somewhat decent; decent to Hyunjin’s standards, that was, because you didn’t even know half the tricks he used to connect slides and merge texts and pictures; you would have stopped working on it a good while ago, deeming everything neat and sensible, but Hyunjin had looked at you wide-eyed and shocked, claiming it wasn’t near half-way done. You didn’t mind that he continued working on it; you enjoyed spending time with him, and you enjoyed watching him work, seeing him in his element. He had told you that he was into computers and everything regarding them, whether it was gaming or programming, or merely learning about the matter; you’d had the privilege to watch him build together a new keyboard he acquired, and as little interest as you had in the matter yourself, it was fascinating seeing him burn for something. He had grown bashful when he’d notice how much he had talked, and had apologized; when you’d admitted how cute it was, he hadn’t known what to do with himself, and had simply gone back to installing.

The small laptop lay on Hyunjin’s thighs as he typed away, finding new things to add, brows furrowed and the familiar, concentrated look in his eyes you knew so well from class; and, now, from working together with him. You watched him, weren’t left to do much more; and you enjoyed it. Hyunjin wore a nicely fitting polo-shirt over a simple flannel, and loose jeans which hung down his body leisurely. One of his fingers was adorned by a simple silver ring, matching with the silver of his square glasses; he looked unbelievable, and he didn’t even know it. Over the past week – if it was any possible – Hyunjin had somehow become even more beautiful to you. Knowing him closer made his exterior seem brighter, kinder; as though his soul reflected on his body and pulled you in even deeper than previous.

When he noticed you staring from his peripheral he caught your gaze, though not without his usual shyness. He chuckled a little before you smiled at him, and his eyes lost yours again.

“Why’re you looking at me like that.” His voice carried a hint of a whine, and your skin burned at the sound of it. The side of his face was a deep pink, his ears fire as he typed away on the project. You gathered your bravery; today could be the last time you’d meet him like this, with an excuse and void of brave initiations.

“I like looking at you. You’re cute when you’re working.”

He hadn’t expected it, neither have you; you meant the words, but you were surprised just how easily they slipped past your lips. Without friction, smooth; clear. So clear that Hyunjin stuttered around before going back to the laptop, the blue hues illuminating his face so prettily, you wished to remember this sight forever. Even if today didn’t go anywhere. Even if your short friendship would only be a memory a year down the line; you wished to remember the way his eyes glistened with a mix of confusion and curiosity in the dim light of the laptop screen, how his nose curved beneath his reflecting glasses, the way his tongue darted out and his wet lips caught again the hues of the computer.

Hyunjin mumbled a quiet “What are you saying?”, almost to himself because you barely caught it, and you huffed out in amusement.

“I’m serious.” Your tone was, too, and it made Hyunjin look at you, momentarily. His brows were furrowed, in something like question, doubt. It needed him a while to find his words, fishing them from somewhere within him; you could see the work in his mind, processing your words and understanding them, thinking of a response. You saw the whole process, before he finally spoke.

“Why, though?” Too long a time he took for two words only, but they sounded so honest your eyes softened, and your head cocked a bit, questioning. Hyunjin noticed, and followed up.

“I’m, like, boring. Why are you even hanging out with me?”

“Because I like you.”

The words flooded the room. They had felt trapped in your throat though gushed out the moment you allowed them, and they drowned you both in their weight. Hyunjin only sat, and looked at you. You have never seen him so pale, so colourless; you hoped it was a good sign.

“I don’t think you’re boring. You’re the most interesting person I know. And I like you.”

Only then Hyunjin’s face returned to the usual colour he’d acquired around you over the past two weeks; crimson red and his ears flaming, his neck probably hot if you only touched it. The moments of silence he granted you with were torturing, but the look in his eyes as he held your gaze looked promising; and then his cheeks painted pink, and he started blinking excessively.

“I... I like you, too.”

Two highschoolers confessing, but something about it was sweet, and pure, and ignited a fire within you.

“Can I kiss you?”, you heard yourself saying, and before you knew it, you felt his lips on your own. Soft, the very first thing you thought. Like clouds on your lips, or feathers, or sweet cotton candy. And though Hyunjin wasn’t skilled per se, a little helpless with his teeth and his tongue, unsure of what to do, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the slow pace of the kiss, the wet sounds your lips made when they touched. You enjoyed feeling his urge to touch you, to lay a finger on your thigh, before he collected enough courage to do so; and the touch was heavenly, too. Heavy on your body, significant and real. Everything about Hyunjin made you buzz; and then a whine slipped past his lips. It tumbled over into your mouth and you swallowed it, before Hyunjin could retract from you a bit, embarrassment glazing his eyes. You smiled in response, burning with a newly found passion now. He mumbled a quiet “Sorry.”, but you shook your head, softly, inching yet closer to him. You felt his breath on your lips, could see the droplet of sweat on his forehead. You could see your own reflection in his glasses; you took them off slowly before almost connecting back to a kiss, yet not quite.

“Don’t be sorry. I wanna hear that sound again.”

You closed the distance between you, and at your words Hyunjin complied, and let a sigh escape him. You almost reciprocated, almost followed suit; you had never heard anything prettier, anything more desperate and honest. You continued kissing him before you allowed your hands to explore his body, cautious of his reactions and even more eager when he leaned into your every touch. He was chasing you, your lips, your hands, your fingers which started playing with the loop of his leather belt. Hyunjin’s breathing had become staggered by this point, heavy and irregular, chest heaving so intensely you almost chuckled at it.

It was subtle, but when you felt his hips buck up from the mattress in impatient anticipation you moaned into him, and finally undid his belt, opened the button of his jeans. You retracted, gave a quick peck to his searching, reddened lips.

“That’s okay, yeah?”

Hyunjin didn’t seem like he had understood the question. He didn’t seem like he understood anything around him while he was looking at you; seeing him so very dumb founded, in absence of his usual cleverness and brains, was far better than you had anticipated, far more satisfying. It gave you an ego boost you didn’t know you needed, or wanted, for that matter.

You chuckled, and asked again; only then Hyunjin nodded frantically, following up with what felt like a million “Yes, yeah yeah, yes.”’s before you continued with a smug grin.

And it was adorable, seeing Hyunjin pucker his lips in the thought of feeling your lips on his again, only for you to lower your head, and bury your face in his neck instead. You felt his low whine against your lips before you heard it, and he sensed your smile against his skin, followed by a kiss deep and long, while your hands played with the waistband of his jeans. It’s been far too long he’d had anyone like this, embarrassingly long; and even longer since he’d liked someone as much as you. He was in trance as your lips travelled further down his body, not undressing him but catching bare spots of skin to plant kisses atop; his collarbones, the curve from his neck towards his shoulders, his jewellered chest right above the neckline of his shirt.

It wasn’t long before you were levelled with his core. Your position on the bed was awkward, a little uncomfortable, but it was the least of your concerns. You pulled up the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt a bit to kiss at his abdomen, teasing and licking and making a show out of it, and it paid off; the man was flush against the wall of his room, fingers digging into the blanket beneath him, looking at you, blinking so often you wondered if he was able to see anything in between. And you were getting impatient. You could feel the faint weight of his erection beneath his jeans as you brushed his core occasionally, his jerks and jumps when you did so, silently begging you for more. When you asked another “Can I?” he nodded, and you pulled his erection from its’ confines. Hyunjin sucked in a breath at that, bashfulness written in his eyes, brows furrowed; and he suddenly looked for something, tapping across his mattress before he got hold of his glasses, slipping them on. He blushed when you cocked your head at him, fixed them onto his nose with a finger; you loved that habit.

“Just, wanna see everything clearly.”

He was almost ashamed when he said it, but he huffed out in embarrassed amusement when he heard you laugh softly, teasingly. Your hand tightened a bit around the base of his sex, causing him to tense up at the sudden pressure, and your fist moved further up his length. You looked up at him beneath your lashes, intently, dark, almost. You gave a single kitten lick to his tip, gave him a kiss after before smiling up at his dizzied expression; “Watch, then.”

With that, you started softly sucking on his tip, cautiously and void of hurry, taking your time. You were languish with it, letting your tongue dart out and dance across his skin, swirling it when he moaned out or tightened his fist which held captive the fabric of his vanilla scented blanket. You didn’t know that watching him throw his head back would bring you the pleasure it did, but watching Hyunjin’s Adam’s apple beneath the soft, frail skin of his neck made you roll your hips into nothing, the sweat slowly forming on his skin made you flush and sigh against him. You took him deeper, engulfing him in your warm, wet mouth, inch by inch, getting used to his length, the feeling of his heavy veins against your tongue. And he was shy with his hands, placed them everywhere but on you; ran his fingers through his hair with furrowed brows, fisted the fabric of his jeans, or the softness of the blanket, or the pillow laying next to him. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with you, when he caught sight of a loose strand of hair framing against your cheek that he was courageous enough to reach out; Hyunjin moved the hair out of your face softly, delicately almost, held it then, his palm a nice feeling on your skull. And he kept it there. Stroking your hair, tightening around it when you hollowed your cheeks, when you sucked away the salty precum oozing out his angry tip.

You felt him at the back of your throat. He was bigger than you had expected, and his weight lay on your tongue, his tip grazing repeatedly at your uvula, by now sensitive and reddened, though you didn’t stop your antics. Not when the sounds he let roll off his tongue increased not only in volume but in desperation, whines so high pitched you couldn’t help but grin against him. You watched him, every of his movement; the way his glasses slid off his nose before he fixed them with a haste movement, quick and messy, making them sit slightly tilted; enough for you to notice, not enough for him to care. The strands framing his face starting sticking against the sweat forming on his forehead, his lip had developed a bruise from his repeated biting on it; he was a mess, heaving breath and breathless sighs, sweaty palm fisting at your hair in utter helplessness. And he could barely speak a word, could barely form a thought, yet opened his mouth nonetheless, only for words to fail him. He stuttered about, whimpered more than he succeeded to speak. You slowed down your pace, halted a little in the bobbing movement of your head, let your jaw rest to allow him to collect his mind. He looked down at you, urges so deep swimming behind his eyelids, and he breathed out shakily, licked his bruised-up lips.

“I’m so close.”

The words came out his mouth almost apologetically, breathless and quiet. He sat there, back against the wall, an utter mess, too beautiful to be real; lips spit-covered as he spoke, brows formed into one line, eyes glazed with every human emotion this planet granted.

“Do you have condoms?”, you whispered against him, your voice hoarse and weak, your throat sore. He hadn’t expected the words, but nodded after a moment of blushing, motioning to his nightstand with a cock of the head. You eyed him teasingly before shifting to open the drawer of his nightstand; packs of painkillers and coughing drops, looking old and unused. Pencils and other useless stuff before you spotted packs of condoms shoved into the very back, and you fished for one before meeting his eye again. You contemplated teasing him about it; you knew he wasn’t bringing girls over regularly – if at all – to his dorm room, so the small stack of contraceptions was all but adorable – Hyunjin was so very reddened though, and looking so very bashful already that you decided against it, and busied yourself with sliding off your jeans instead, leaving you to sit in front of him in your shirt and panties.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Not much exposed but when you straddled him your thighs were everything his eyes ate alive, shyly placing his hot palms atop them, breathing in shakily when you giggled at him. You tore open the little plastic wrapping, slid on the condom after a confirming nod of his; and when you leaned in to kiss him, he reciprocated it with a depth before not shown, clashing against your mouth clumsily but so passionately that you couldn’t mind it. You shifted in your place, lips never stopping to eat up his own, until you hovered above his erection. He felt your warmth atop him already, bucked his hips up in impatience only for his tip to graze your clothed sex; you both moaned at the embarrassingly short contact, and it was your cue to sink down on him slowly. You weren’t prepped, but you were wet enough for him to slide in easily after pulling your panties to the side, taking him inch by inch, not hurrying, dragging out the scenery. You watched him all the while, and the sight was utterly priceless; blown-out pupils beneath his glasses, a longing so grand behind his lids that you couldn’t help but kiss him again. A deep kiss as you bottomed out on him, felt him endlessly inside you, and he whined into your mouth, loud and raw when you clenched around him.

“I’m not gonna last long.”, he breathed out when you leaned back again; he was too adorable. Looking almost guilty, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs desperately. You chuckled before placing another peck on his swollen lips – even more like clouds now, puffy and soft to touch – and rolled your hips against him. He groaned deeply, throwing his head back with a quiet thump against the wall, hands tightening on your body, as though trying to hold you in place. You felt him twitch inside you, felt him throb against your depth; he wasn’t lying, he wouldn’t last at all.

“I don’t care. Just enjoy yourself.”

With that you started riding him slowly, and softly, giving him an opportunity to collect himself, though it was to little use. He was whining, he was throwing his head back and forth, lulling to the side, he was losing control of everything around him; his glasses slid off his nose repeatedly, sitting so deep they dared to fall off, sounds so loud you wondered if people outside could hear what was happening behind closed doors. His neck was red, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were closed so tight you wondered if it strained the muscles in his face; and you kept rolling your hips against him, chasing the feeling yourself, basking in the way he filled you out entirely. Basking in his sounds, in the sight of him, in the way he felt; this was better than what you had dared to dream of, and you hoped it would be yours for eternities to come.

It wasn’t two minutes, and not before you started bouncing up and down Hyunjin’s length slowly, with thighs strained and hips eager, that the man stuttered in his demeanour, bucking his hips so helplessly into your own, without much success in causing friction, simply to chase you, to chase the feeling, to come closer to you. And it wasn’t long after that when a whine so endearing, so frantic left his throat, and he came into the condom with a string of apologies and curses, and whispers of your name. You allowed him to ride out his high, moving against him in failed search of your own release, kissing at his neck and nibbling at the lobe of his ear, whispering reassurances, feeling his hands on your skin, his arms caging you in. His breathing was heavy, shaky, his eyes closed in exhaustion, or relief, or simple and pure pleasure when you leaned back again. You smiled to yourself, watching calmness take over him now; no nervousness now as you yet sat atop him, no awkwardness, only satisfaction, content.

When he opened his eyes and noticed your staring at him he blushed again, and upon remembering his softened sex inside of you he groaned lowly, twitching in his seat. He was sensitive, he was endearing; and for now he was yours. You smiled at him, and he reciprocated it shyly; you fixed the glasses on his nose, gave him a long, deep kiss. He basked in it, simply let you kiss him, let you run your hands through his hair. It wasn’t until you guided his right hand to your core he sucked in a breath again, upon feeling your warm wetness on his fingertips; and he looked at you with eyes wide open when you leaned back, and whined out again when you whispered; “Gonna show you how you can make me feel good, too.”

taglist: @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads-archived @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

#ngl 😭#i’m secretly obsessed with this trope #i love love love when i read a fic and somehow i just tune out the rest of the world for a little bit 🥹#your writing did that !!!!!

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yuzukult · 1 month ago

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wow. idk how else to describe how well this was written!! i’ve honestly been on a hunt to find fics with this style of writing, how it basically transcends you into another dimension and you can just feel the characters. highly recommend !!

sharp edges | masterlist

this series is for mature (18+) audiences.

hyunjin x reader (f) | genre: romance with smut, slow burn, the love is obviously requited but they are fools (non-derogatory), mutual pining | warnings: mc was in a toxic relationship that ended some time before the beginning of the story which left her with some residual emotional trauma, hyunjin also has a dark but mysterious past, ANGST, mutual pining, fluff, explicit smut, strong language, each chapter has its own individual warnings.

On your left, a flash of orange catches your eye—you twist your neck only to witness the new guy carefully placing a mandarin orange on his side of the wooden table he shares with you. “It’s mandarin season,” he tells you very matter-of-factly, keeping his voice low while the teacher is greeting the class. “By the way, I’m Hyunjin.” After that day mandarins would never taste the same to you.

— part one: jeju mandarins — part two: light pink rose — part three: jade green photo album — part four: letters — part five: call from an australian phone number — part six: jeju mandarins (reprise) — epilogue: cashmere and forevers

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yuzukult · 2 months ago

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this.. this!!! wow. omg. so beautifully written. talk about art—this fic itself is a work of art. i will 100% be revisiting this one multiple times.

Visions of You in Solitude

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: erotic painting, mentions of masturbation, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), breast/nipple play, dry humping, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, use of pet names, drinking

Synopsis: You were hired to paint him- not fall for him. But intentions quickly shift when Hyunjin finds himself infatuated with you and learns the secrets you harbor.

18+. Mdni!

•

There’s something to be said about the loneliness that comes with being an artist. The repetitive cycle of translating tangibility to canvas or paper in whichever chosen medium. Fleeting muses you draw inspiration from, which quickly become burdensome as you’re faced with them every waking second of your day. Obsession with perfecting your craft, the anxieties that come with criticism of your life’s work and sometimes even succumbing to changing it entirely at the hands of someone else’s advice.

It’s very seldom even your craft at a certain point, only existing to satisfy the visual demands of others and turn a profit when displayed at a show. And it’s certainly not for everyone, not when it’s this lonely and rooted in the discomfort of personal solitude.

From this proximity, the blinding white walls that span the perimeter of the waiting room feel like that of a prison’s- coupled with the glossy laminate flooring and glaring white lights, you feel completely entrapped.

“They’re almost ready for you,” your boss says abruptly as he enters the room and occupies the gray folding chair next to you. “You have everything you need?”

Headcount- your black leather briefcase of oil paints, brushes, charcoal, pencils, paint thinner, old rags and your painting palette.

“The canvas is already set up,” your boss chimes in as if he can read your mind. “And there’s a seat for you. Just relax, and don’t push yourself.”

You take a deep breath, doing your best to follow his advice- but a part of you wants to get up and leave, to run away from all of this. Painting is your passion, it’s your forte and it’s been your life’s work for as long as you can remember. But being commissioned like this, for men much richer than money you’ll ever see, it feels suffocating.

They don’t tell you their names these days, nor the name of whatever organization they’re from. Last month it was an elite group of stock investors, the month before, it was a famous violinist from Japan. And today, it’s a male group, eight members with net worths that look like telephone numbers, or so you’ve been told. And it’s not that you’re intimidated, but you do get self-conscious at the prospect of people watching you while you paint. At some point, it’s like you become the model, their eyes boring into your flesh as you paint long strokes across the canvas and order them to hold still.

“Five minutes,” your boss now says, checking the time on his silver watch and adjusting it so that it sits a little higher up on his wrist.

You wish he wouldn’t count the minutes. You wish he’d stay quiet, allow you to sit with your thoughts and ruminate the day ahead of you. And yet he taps his heel in syncopation with the second hand on the clock above you, the echoing click of both driving you up the wall.

“I need a breather,” you state suddenly, sitting up from your chair and smoothing down your smock. “I need to go outside.”

“Three minutes,” he responds sterly, tapping at the glass lens of his watch and motioning to the door.

You shove your way past the double doors, past the white tiled hallway and just in front of the double doors that lead to freedom again. Two minutes.

It’s like your body is giving out on you involuntarily, your knees buckling as you grip the stair railing and steady your breathing. A quick glance around to ensure no one’s caught you heaving so nervously- and you’re too late. A man saunters down the hallway past you, his hands shoved casually in his pockets as he cocks his head to stare at you, his long black hair falling loosely around his shoulders as he does. He’s tall, and slim, with an elongated torso hugged by an expensive denim coat, his slender legs on display in black slacks and complemented by a sharp pair of boots. You don’t catch a very good look at his face, his figure blurring by as you check your watch, to the second now- you’re supposed to be inside.

You waste no more time jogging down the hallway past the figure and back into the waiting room, where your boss is angrily tapping his heel and scanning the room for you.

“There you are,” he says frustratedly. “No more breaks if you can’t manage your time. They’re waiting for us.”

And with a deep breath, he helps you gather your art supplies, motioning in front of you to the brightly lit room. You take one breath, and then two, as you finally begin into the painting room, eight men already seated and ready for you.

The crowd is nothing like the stock investors, or the violinists you’re used to. They’re rowdy, and loud. They very seldom sit still, cracking jokes amongst themselves and shoving each other off the wooden stools every other minute. You do your best to keep your gaze away from them when you don’t need to look at them, trying to memorize their features in intervals so you can focus on just the canvas in front of you as you paint. But it’s nearly impossible, their melodic voices pressing you for answers and insights into your artist career.

“What’s the hardest painting you’ve ever done?” One asks, his baritone voice sounding almost startling in contrast to his bright appearance.

“There’s lots,” you reply quietly. “I’m not sure I can pick one.”

You give him a small smile, trying to memorize the freckles on his face before turning back to the canvas, hoping you won’t have to glance back over at him for the next minute or so.

“Let’s take five,” your boss says as he enters the room again, two iced coffees balanced in his hands. “Thanks, guys.”

And the men scatter to their break room, where neat trays of food are already set out for them to choose from. As the doors swing closed behind them, you watch them select from a variety of pre-cooked noodles, assorted fruits and vegetables, packs of chips and trays upon trays of desserts. They’re fed as though they’re the ones doing all the painting.

“Coffee,” Q says, setting down a plastic cup in front of you, the straw already conveniently placed for you.

“Thanks, Quinton.”

Your boss, Quinton, or Q, is a brutally honest man when he wants to be, quick to comment on your work and keep you in your place. He runs your calendar like the military, never missing an important appointment and opting you in for every profitable painting session possible. He’s another thing you find suffocating at the worst of times, always somewhere breathing commands down your neck and dragging you to every private event under the sun.

“Let me see,” Q states plainly, gesturing to the canvas with his cup of coffee. You shyly angle the canvas toward him, hoping he won’t scrutinize anything about your pacing- you’re trying to get out of here as quickly as possible, and you silently pray the art doesn’t reflect that sentiment.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t, swiping a few stray eraser shavings off the canvas and giving you a nod.

“Looks good. Remember, we just need the skin tones and facial features. The clothes and all that can be filled in later with our reference pictures.”

You nod in response, taking a generous sip of your coffee, realizing this is probably the worst beverage you could’ve picked to calm your nerves. The caffeine pulsates through you, making your heart flutter even more than it already is, and the bitter taste leaves little to salivate over.

“How much longer, do you think?” You inquire, chewing on the tip of your straw nervously.

“No more than an hour, if you keep up this pace,” Q responds. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, have everything ready again for when I get back. Don’t make me wait.”

You watch as he gets up from his own wooden stool, placing his cup of coffee where he sits, and exits the room to the corridor once again.

You’re alone in the painting room, the white sheets that line the floors staring back at you with little eyes in the form of paint splotches. From behind the door, you can still hear the eight men shuffling about, laughing loudly and downing their snacks. And you want to leave again, the feeling instilling another sense of foreignness inside of you. Like you don’t belong here, even though you’re the painter. You feel small, cramped, even useless, as you stare down the painted flesh outlines across from you.

A click of the door closing beside you garners your attention, and you look up expecting Q to return and resume the session. But it’s not Q- it’s the same figure from earlier in the hallway, slowly making his way inside and hoisting himself back up on the wooden stool. He keeps his head down as he gets comfortable again, two hands running through his black hair and slicking it back out of his forehead.

And then he looks at you- or stares, rather, two hands resting on the exposed wood in front of him as his legs balance on the wooden beams below. You can feel his eyes burning into your figure, and you do everything in your power to avert his gaze and keep your eyes locked on the canvas in front of you. But he remains like that, staring, for several minutes, until you nervously tilt your head to catch his gaze.

You feel your heart race as you do, catching a glimpse of his flawless features as he furrows his brows in concentration. His silky black hair isn’t the only striking thing about him- he has piercing brown eyes, which narrow with such intensity as he remains seated there, unmoving and confident in his stance. His plump lips contrast beautifully against his chiseled jawline, and his lanky figure makes him look like the contemporary art statues you’re so acquainted with, like he’s formed from wire and positioned to slouch so artistically in his spot.

You say nothing to the man, opting to give him a little nod, before focusing back on the beverage in your hands. And despite his clear fascination with you, he doesn’t reciprocate, instead pulling a cell phone out of his back pocket and preoccupying himself again.

You can’t quite tell if he’s rude, or strange, or even just unaware that his presence is so uncomfortable when he’s choosing to speak through cold stares instead of words. As you watch him through your peripheral vision, you hear the familiar sound of Q’s boots click through the doorway, gesturing rapidly at you and at the canvas.

“Let’s continue,” he orders, clasping his hands together with such purpose. “Where are they?” Q then questions, his eyes darting over the quiet man’s indifferent posture. And the strange man finally gets up from his stool, making his way through the break room door to usher the others inside once again.

They follow like a row of ducks, back to their respective seats, some of them with drinks in hand as they share whispered laughter amongst themselves and make little effort to sit still. You have no trouble picking up right where you left off, the innate talent to mirror figures in front of you coming in handy as you race the clock to complete their flesh-colored outlines.

Most of them converse lightly amongst each other, holding your gaze with a more serious expression when they catch you looking over at them.

Except for the strange man.

He’s relentless in his ways, continuing to stare so impolitely at you, his eyes piercing daggers right through your soul as he cocks his head to the left, and then the right, studying your face as you study all eight of theirs. What his intentions are exactly, you have no clue, simply opting to avert his gaze when you can and keep busy with your painting.

One hour later, the canvas illustrates all eight outlines of flesh and distinctive features, highlighting the beige freckles on one man’s, the toned biceps of another, and all other features that set them apart from each other. True to Q’s reminder, their clothes are traced in outlines, but color is void of their stencils, as you still have to bring the canvas home to complete the finishing touches. When they’re dismissed for the day, the gentlemen are all led by a sculpted man with a big smile who introduces himself as the leader, orchestrating the bows and applause that are held for you.

And as he ushers them out one by one, the strange man who’s been watching you all day is the last to leave, lingering a little bit too long with his hands shoved in his pockets like he wants to say something. He loiters by the canvas for several minutes, but you make no move to angle the painting at him, usually maintaining a certain extent of confidentiality in your work to keep the surprise.

He seems to take the hint, almost nodding indirectly at you and more toward the wall, as he finally saunters out of the room with his hands still in his pockets, his strides painfully slow as he disappears from your sight.

And when you look back to the painting, you cock your head at his outline, trying to gauge whether your art properly captures the sheer sense of unnerve he instills in you with his features alone.

Painting sessions are burdensome. They require a lot of planning ahead of time, stocking up on supplies, scheduling around the hours-long timeframe and of course, the mental preparation of having to be stared at by rich men for several hours.

But perhaps critique sessions are even worse these days.

Your paintings are typically set in stone after the initial outlines, considering there are usually a few important figures who review your work and give you the go ahead to take it home and finish it.

Yet sometimes, you still have people complaining, pointing out unimportant features like the color of their sneakers which aren’t to their liking. It’s normally Q who fights these battles for you, refusing to allow you to make any changes since the payments are made upfront, too. But sometimes, even he caves, ordering you to pull out your briefcase and mix a darker shade of green or add more volume to the subject’s hair.

It’s the worst with investors, who put their audacity at the same level as their incomes. But with boy groups like this, you’re unsure, having never done a painting for a band prior to this one.

The finished canvas is transported in a nylon zip-up bag, held by yourself and Q as you fit it inside the truck and secure it with metal prongs. While the drive there is just an hour long, it feels much longer than the last time you traveled there, perhaps because you’re much more nervous.

And perhaps also, it’s because of the same strange man as last time, who you already know is going to have a mouthful to say. The way he lingered by your work station a little too long, wouldn’t stop staring and even excused himself from his own break early to resume his insufferable task of making you uncomfortable. You reckon it’ll be a comment about his hair, asking for a longer length or more volume. Maybe something about the stage outfit you were presented with and how it doesn’t make his legs look long enough. Or knowing his douchebag tendencies, maybe he won’t hesitate to ask for a fucking bulge in his pants at this point.

When you arrive, Q calls over the building staff to help transport the collosal work of art, while you wait awkwardly on the side with your hands shoved in your pockets. You take a moment to crane your neck and look up at the building, a tall glass monument with blue-tinted windows and cobalt text that displays the company name. It’s just as intimidating as you remembered it, instilling the same unnerving feeling that a hospital might.

When the building staff are finally making their way inside, you follow reluctantly, making yourself as small as possible behind them while they navigate the long blinding corridors. It’s an unusual feeling to be at the top floor of the building that you were just looking up at from the street below, and as you pass the windows that line the hallways, you can make out the rows of cars and people that now resemble ants from this high up. It’s as though you were never down there to begin with, like the world is different from up here, much more secluded and shut-in.

And seeing the pin boards that line the walls, with photos of successful artists and flyers for company events, it very well might be, this haunting building where dreams either go to flourish or decay.

Into the last door on the right, eight chairs lined up for eight artists who definitely seem to have flourished. The building staff set up the canvas at the front of the room, securing it into its wooden easel, and Q occupies himself setting up a recording camera which points directly at the painting and captures all eight chairs in the frame. It’s common protocol for events like these to be filmed, not always for public consumption, but for the staff to archive important commemorative moments in the artist’s name. Once the camera is rolling, Q gives you a thumbs up, gesturing to the staff to permit their exit as you make your way to the front with him.

“Ready?” He asks, clasping his hands together as he eyes the camera nervously. You say nothing in response, giving him a small nod, before taking your spot on the other side of the canvas and folding your hands behind your back.

For a few moments of complete silence, the two of you keep your gazes fixed on the clock that lives on the wall across you, the hands ticking with the passing seconds as you await the arrival of the band. Q turns to say something, seemingly disregarding it as he turns back to the wall and shifts his eyes to the door every few moments.

You wish he wouldn’t be so… anticipatory. You wish he’d just stand there, like a rock, indicating nothing of importance, so that you could put less weight into this and unveil the painting to them without any reservations.

Here’s the painting, you want to say. It took me forever, so don’t criticize it. You guys are shorter than my usual subjects. Except for the weirdo- and he stares too much.

You smile to yourself at the thought of being so candid with them, before an abrupt push of the door startles you, and you instantly straighten your posture at the sounds of boots clicking along the floor, leading the eight men who live on the canvas behind you.

One by one they take their seats, dressed to the nines this time in black slacks and collared button ups. They even flaunt ties, mirroring the businessmen you’re used to painting, and the fancy attire quickly makes you nervous as they fold their hands in their laps and fail to joke around like they did the last time.

“Welcome,” a booming voice says, as other important looking figures stand around the room and eye the covered canvas. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, and we’re eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

Applause fills the room, inclusive of the members of the band, which you finally allow yourself to look at. They sit properly, hands folded in their laps and serious expressions painted on their chiseled faces.

Except for the strange one, again, whose gaze is locked on yours. He cocks an eyebrow curiously, as though you’re the one doing the staring. And you quickly turn your attention back to Q, hoping that disregarding the men will calm your nerves a little.

“… she’s paid particular attention to detail,” Q continues, and you realize you’ve missed half his speech already.

“And we are so excited to hang her work in this renowned building as a commemorative piece for the members. Without further ado, please let’s unveil the artwork.”

As he finishes, two members of the staff tug on the beige cloth, letting it fall to the tiled floor beneath it and expose the giant portrait.

Their faces light up instantly, little “woah’s” filling the room as they rise from their seats to take a better look. They laugh at their own figures, they point out each other's and most of them even pull out their cellphones to snap photos of your art. It’s always a gratifying feeling, having a crowd admire the fruits of your labor this way, especially when you aren’t immediately met with verbal protest against your creative choices.

You take a few steps back to give some room to them, the staff talking amongst themselves and gesturing to the building where you presume they speak about where the painting will live.

“It’s a hit,” Q says, coming around to tap you lightly on the arm. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Quinton,” you respond. “I’m glad everyone enjoys it.”

And the staff applaud you once more, bowing to you and lining up to shake your hand as they begin to file out of the room again.

The members stick around for a good while, unable to take their eyes off the painting as they point out each other's features and admire their own. And as they begin to leave, several of them thank you personally on the way out, giving you a bow and shaking your hand.

“Thank you, really,” the man you remember being the group leader says to you. “We are so honored to have worked on this with you.”

Another clasps your hand in his, bowing several times before speaking. “Seungmin,” he states his name politely. “Thank you, I think you really did our old group leader justice.”

“Hey!” The leader calls, and you can’t help but laugh a little in response.

The others share similar sentiments, bowing and shaking your hand as they exit, chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they make their way down the hall for their next schedule.

And when you turn to face Q, you’re met with the last member, who folds his arms in front of him coldly and eyes the painting with raised eyebrows.

Like clockwork. He doesn’t like it, he’s going to request a change be made to it and he’s going to berate you in front of your own boss.

“It’s nice,” he chimes in casually from where he’s standing.

“Thanks,” you reply, Q gathering the cover from the floor and zipping it up again.

“Just one thing,” he says now, turning to face you.

“Oh, we normally don’t make changes after-”

“I have a freckle under my eye,” he finishes. “The left eye. You didn’t catch it.”

Your eyes scan the painting, where his chiseled face and long hair stare back at you, a serious expression in his eyes like he wears in person. And then you glance at him standing in front of you again, a small brown mole under his left eye, just like he speaks of.

“Go ahead and add it,” Q says, as he zips up the cover. “That should be on there already.”

And you nod your head at both of them, unzipping your briefcase again to retrieve your paints. He’s watching you like a hawk again, towering over your bent figure as you pull out a thin tube of brown paint and squeeze just a miniscule dollop onto the back of your hand. You retrieve your thinnest paint brush, dipping it into the paint and swiping it across your skin to rid the excess from the fine hairs.

It feels as though you have to paint it with his permission, as you bring the brush to his face and glance over at him for instruction. He gestures to his eye, motioning for you to start, as you bring the brush to his canvas flesh and tap on a tiny, single dot.

He stares at it for a moment, cocking his head as though a brown dot somehow won’t be to his liking. And even Q holds his breath while he waits for a comment from the man. You begin to say something, your lips parting silently, stuck on what to remark as you await his feedback. And then with bated breath, he finally speaks, giving a small nod as he does.

“Good,” he says simply. “It’s me now.”

Q nods at him, nods at you, and then gathers your belongings as you cap the loose tube of paint.

“Do you have a card?” The man asks suddenly, and Q pauses his shuffling about to retrieve one from his coat pocket.

“Here’s her card,” he says, against your silent protests. “She’s available for commission any time. Payments are up front and scheduling is through me only.”

The man nods, thumbing the gold foil cardstock in his slender fingers, and then shoves it into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hyunjin,” he says curtly, reaching his hand out to yours. “I’m the main dancer.”

And you just nod, placing your hand in his reluctantly as you shake once.

“Y/n.”

His hands are cold to the touch, the metal of his rings feeling like blocks of ice in your grasp. He holds it there for a moment, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers into yours, before he finally pulls away and pivots to leave with the rest of the band.

And you can only catch a glimpse of the back of his head when he’s halfway out, before Q turns to speak to you.

“Looks like we may be back very soon,” he remarks, latching your briefcase once more. “I’d hold on to that brown paint if I were you.”

Exactly four days pass before you hear from Hyunjin again. In fact, you’ve all but forgotten about the little run-in, until Q barges into your studio while you add the finishing touches to another client’s piece.

“I have a proposal for you,” Q voices, setting an iced coffee on the table beside you while you dip your paintbrush in a muddy cup of water.

“What is it?”

“Well financially, a massive opportunity. Career-wise, much of the same thing you’re already doing.”

“Businessmen?” You question, working your paintbrush in thin strokes to add hair to the figure on the canvas.

“Band,” he replies simply. “The same band you did last week. Just one member, though.”

And you know instantly who he speaks of, your face contorting into an expression of disgust as you wash your paint in the cup of water once more.

“Hyunjin?” You query.

“That’s him,” he says, snapping his fingers as the name comes back to him. “He’s offering double what we paid last, and just for an individual piece. That’s a massive markup from what we usually charge.”

“I don’t know,” you reply hesitantly. “I’m pretty busy with this, and we-”

“I already said yes,” he states simply.

“You did? What- I thought this was a proposal.”

“Yeah,” he says with a scoff. “A proposal to get your stuff ready. We start tomorrow. And he wants you to bring every color you’ve got.”

“Tomorrow? Don’t we already have a prior commitment?”

“Already moved them out,” Q says, sitting on the chair across from you.

“Look,” he begins, sighing deeply. “I know you’re hesitant about these things. But this is the best move you can do, career-wise. Painting these famous figures is a gold mine for us. One day you could be commissioned to paint royalty, and then we’ll be reaping three times our salary.”

And you sigh, too, knowing very well that he’s right. Being a painter who gets commissioned to commemorate important characters, you know the best thing you can do for yourself is say yes to every opportunity. You’re very seldom able to, which is why you have Q in the first place. But the prospect of spending another day with Hyunjin scares you, and you’re not sure Q would consider it a legitimate concern if you brought it up to him.

“I’ll be there, too,” Q interrupts, almost as though he can read your mind. “It’s just him. One day, max, and then you can pick up your other projects.”

It doesn’t seem like there will be a way out of this one, no matter how much you pray that things will fall through eventually.

“One day,” you echo. “And then I’m tunnel vision on the rest of my projects.”

You can tell Hyunjin’s thought about this very carefully, judging by the way he saunters into the room with purposeful strides and slings a bag off his shoulder.

He’s dressed a little more casually today in a denim jacket and jeans, with layered silver jewelry that contrasts nicely against his jet black hair.

“Like a model headshot, but painted,” he describes his vision to you, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

“I want it to look really serious. And maybe a cool-toned color palette.”

He’s meticulous with his requests, and you wonder briefly if he dabbles in art, himself.

“Sure, we can do that,” Q responds, jotting down a few points in a small notepad.

You say nothing, letting Q do all the talking, but Hyunjin’s eyes glance over at you briefly like he wants you to acknowledge the request. So you just nod graciously, giving him a thin-lipped smile, and begin to undo your briefcase.

Hyunjin assumes his same spot on one of the wooden stools, dragging it closer to you by its leg and propping it within eye-view of your big canvas. And then he sits on it, or rather slouches, adjusting his gaze to look straight at you and maintain a cold, serious expression.

It’s just as unnerving as you’d remembered it, having this model-looking figure pierce daggers through your soul while you mix your paints- cool-toned ones, at his request, and prepare for the hour-long trek of capturing his essence.

At least you won’t have to talk to him- or so you’d assumed from the last session you completed with him.

“What’s your process like?” He asks, his sultry voice perfectly matching his features.

“Oh,” you remark, mixing a set of paints to mirror his even skin tone. “I don’t know, I just paint what I see.”

He nods, satisfied with your less-than-wordy answer, and then he begins to prod you with more questions.

“What are your favorite art supplies?”

You cock an eyebrow at this, well aware that you have a long list you can indulge him in, but not wanting to share your secrets with this complete stranger.

“I dunno,” you reply softly. “Oil paints, and graphite pencils really.”

Hyunjin nods again, and then he glances at Q, who gives him a thin-lipped smile much like yours, trying his hardest to remain polite with Hyunjin. You know Q is likely frustrated with you for not entertaining this conversation in a more lively manner, especially considering what he paid for this session, but you’re not going to indulge him in anything except painting him- and only for this one session, like you promised Q.

And the rest of the session is uneventful, Hyunjin poking you with questions about your personal favorite paintings or inquiring about a time you messed up on an important piece. All questions which are answered with brief “I don’t know’s” or “there are so many, I can’t choose.”

And although you are trying hard to keep Hyunjin at a distance, nothing seems to faze him, his head nods and little hums serving as indicators of his satisfaction with all of your answers. He doesn’t get pushy, like your other clients often do, and he even presses Q for a few answers as he makes sense of your work.

At just past 5, the session draws to a close, as Hyunjin rises from his stool and announces he has to tend to his evening dance practice.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” Hyunjin says as he approaches you, giving a small bow as Q waits off to the side.

“Thank you,” you voice back, glancing at Q for a push to leave.

And Hyunjin extends a single hand, gesturing for you to place yours in his, as he towers over you with a curious expression.

You reluctantly place your palm in his, letting the cool metal of his rings graze your skin as he clasps his thumbs over your fingers and rubs them in gentle back and forth motions. He doesn’t bring it up for a cordial peck, he doesn’t shake it- he simply caresses your artist hands tenderly, before letting go again and turning to give Q a small bow as well.

“Take care,” Hyunjin says, pivoting to exit the room into the corridor.

And as Q pesters you with orders to clean up your workstation, you examine your own hands, rotating your own fingers around, like they might somehow be changed by his touch.

ON HOLD- The notes under your projects on the big calendar in Q’s office read, written in dark red pen and underlined twice across the pages.

You furrow your brows in confusion, setting your bag down as you enter for the day and ready your art supplies.

“What’s going on?” You ask Q, who’s busy sorting through a stack of invoices.

“Have a seat,” he replies plainly, gesturing to one of the leather chairs that accompany his grand wooden desk. And you do, sitting on the very edge of the chair as you await further instruction from him.

“A gift came for you,” Q says, slinging a large box on the desk in front of you.

You stand up once again, peering inside at the myriad of oil paints, sharpened charcoal pencils, new smocks, palettes and even books about artists and their works. You dig through the supplies, heart racing at the expensive choices, feeling undeserving of all the presents the box contains.

“This is all for me?” You question, baffled at the prospect that anybody could care enough about your career to indulge you in such a fine assortment of goods.

“Read the card,” Q then says, his arms folded in front of him as he nods toward the top of the cardboard box, where a simple yellow envelope is taped to the cover, cursive text scribbled on the front. Hyunjin, it reads.

You undo the seal, pulling out the small card inside, which only contains a short, cold sentence, in contrast to the warm gift.

“For the next few”, it says, not so much as a sign off or even a simple “thanks”.

“Next few?” You repeat, meeting Q’s gaze with a confused expression.

Q sighs, sitting across from you, folding his hands out on the wooden surface where you can see them.

“His manager called this morning,” he begins. “And commissioned us for another one. Except this one has a long set of rules. He wants you to use these supplies, he wants to visit your studio instead of occupy the company building. And he specifically asked me not to accompany you.”

“What?” You exclaim, angered at the sheer audacity he has, and knowing very well that you only agreed to one painting.

“That’s completely against our rules,” you continue. “Did you tell him no?”

And Q gives you a sheepish grin, gesturing to the stack of papers he flipped through earlier. “They’re offering quadruple the pay,” he says sternly. “He’s obsessed with your work.”

“So what?” You argue. “I have a ton of other projects to finish. And I’m not throwing all of that away because some guy wants time alone with the artist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting alone time with an artist,” Q emphasizes.

“This is a huge sacrifice, Quinton. I wish you would’ve run this by me earlier.”

Your eyes meet the calendar above his desk again, counting the number of projects with a big ON HOLD scribbled below them. Q sighs, evidently feeling a little guilty for his own actions, and then pinches his wireframe glasses between his fingers, pulling them off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his blazer.

“I’m willing to give you 10% more than what you already make from these.”

Your gaze snaps to his, a bewildered expression on your face as you process his words.

“What- seriously? Quinton, that’s-”

“His company’s loaded” he says with a shrug. “The guy is so much bigger than I thought he was. People love him.”

And your gaze flickers between the calendar and the big red text, Quinton’s hopeful stare and at the box of new art supplies you’ll be required to work with.

Q doesn’t need to press you for verbal confirmation, knowing that the caress of your fingers over Hyunjin’s name on the envelope serves as answer enough.

Your studio is particularly messy on Wednesdays, housing all of the project paraphernalia from the days prior. Today is no exception, canvases that sit on easels lining the walls and cans of paint thinner spread out on the tarps. You make your best attempt at shoving everything against the wall, creating a clear pathway for Hyunjin to stride into the way he always does. And you set up your canvas prior to his arrival, getting all of your necessary supplies in place to avoid the awkward few moments of setting up while he watches you so intently.

He’s a punctual idol if you’ve ever met one, arriving at 5pm on the dot, expensive-looking sunglasses shielding his eyes from the barely visible sunlight outside, and a black beanie pulled over his head. He looks like he could be a security guard of his own, the all-black attire even more unsettling as he makes his way inside.

There’s a reason you never house clients in your own studio- the reason being it’s small. It’s office-sized, large glass windows on one side of the wall that overlook a sea of greenery that’s now overgrown with all the recent rains. The floor is gray concrete, stained just about everywhere with swatches of paint and charcoal pieces. And the two tabled surfaces that are available are covered in art supplies, the color of the furniture now indistinguishable as they house tubes of paint, brushes and cans of thinner.

“You can put your bag on the chair there,” you say as he walks in, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

He does as told, setting a designer crossbody on the folding chair by one of the tables, and then he stands confidently, observing the room as he awaits further instruction.

He takes long strides around the perimeter of the room, leaning closely into the existing canvases to study your techniques. But he says nothing, remaining much quieter than last time, the only sound coming from his heeled boots as he moves elegantly around the studio.

“I’m ready,” you say, and Hyunjin turns around to face you. He cocks his head slightly, and then he brings one hand up to pull the beanie off his head, letting his brown tresses fall loosely around his handsome face, not requiring much adjustment as they seem to fall in disarray so perfectly. He pulls his sunglasses off as well, folding them between his plump lips before tucking them into the pocket of his jeans as he finally stops to look at you.

He looks as handsome as he always does, his unreal features looking as though he was modeled by a painting and not the other way around. You feel small in front of him, and unimportant, as he approaches you and stops just in front of your much smaller figure.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks, cuffing up the sleeves of his black knit sweater.

“It’s up to you,” you reply to him, giving a small shrug as you speak.

“This one’s your call,” Hyunjin retorts. “I want it from the artist’s vision.”

And you can’t help the blush that creeps up on your cheeks, feeling embarrassingly flustered at the idea of someone caring even slightly about your vision. Everything’s from your client’s vision- the outfits, the poses, even the adjustments they request following the painting’s unveiling. It’s very seldom that you’re able to provide any directions to the standard of your vision, and though it’s unexpected, it’s a little endearing.

“My vision?” You echo, tapping your fingers on your chin.

You glance around the room at the supplies you have on hand, nothing special, but definitely materials you can work with.

Without replying to him, you pull forward one of the folding chairs, setting it down in front of your easel and gesturing to it.

“Could you sit on the top part? Like, on the back of the chair?”

Hyunjin nods, climbing up onto the chair and balancing as he takes a seat on the back part. It’s a little unstable looking, but Hyunjin seems to manage just fine, spreading his legs casually and running his hands through his hair.

“Your hands,” you chime in, taking note of the silver watch he flaunts on his left wrist. “Could you rest them on your knees?”

“Like this?” Hyunjin questions, sprawling his palms out over his kneecaps.

“Not quite,” you reply. “A little more like…”

And then without warning, you take both his hands in yours, positioning his elbows to rest atop his kneecaps so that his hands hang loosely in front of him. He cocks his face up to meet your gaze, the same intense expression he always houses, and you take a step back to admire the position.

“Exactly like that,” you say to him. “Tell me if you get uncomfortable and we’ll take a break.”

Hyunjin shoots a small smile, perhaps more of a smirk at you, as he sits still and watches you begin to paint in long strokes along the canvas. Your movements are fluid and impetuous, but every stroke proves itself more robust than the last, painting a clear outline of Hyunjin’s seated figure as he keeps his eyes on you. And maybe it’s because you’ve chosen his pose this time, or because it’s your third time doing this with Hyunjin, but you don’t feel nearly as uncomfortable anymore, keeping your attention on the painting and disregarding any implications that might derive from his cold stare.

“I wasn’t sure which brand of oil paints you preferred,” Hyunjin says suddenly. “So I bought you three kinds.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply softly. “Thank you for the gifts. You really didn’t have to.”

“You have a talent,” Hyunjin voices. “I hung the last one up in my own studio.”

“You have a studio?” You question, remembering Q had previously mentioned something about him being an artist.

“I do,” Hyunjin answers. “It’s nothing like this one, just some canvases in the shared dorm we have. But I paint in all my free time. If I wasn’t here right now, I’d probably be painting.”

“That’s interesting,” you reply. “I’d love to see your work someday.

And Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone out, navigating to his camera roll to show you some of his pieces. He flashes you a painting of a bouquet of roses, placed in a glass case atop a table. Another showcases a city street, scribbled cars and people that line the pavement. And a whole gallery of them depict people- couples, in particular, in all sorts of romantic poses. Kissing, hugging, embracing with such passion and force, almost consuming each other with their visible desperation for one another.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, in awe at the technique of his art. You weren’t expecting him to be so good, for someone who doesn’t paint as a full-time career.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replies, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve learned so much from you.”

“Me?” You retort with a small chuckle. “I highly doubt that, your stuff is very unique. But I’m flattered that you’d say that. Thank you.”

Hyunjin keeps his gaze on yours for a moment, cocking his head to the side as though he’s observing your features. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes narrowing and widening again as he takes in the sight of you dabbing a little more olive paint into his complexion. And then he straightens his back, steadying himself on the chair with two hands gripping the sides.

“When was the last time you left this studio?” He inquires with a smug expression. He sounds a little more serious now, and his tone of voice makes your heartbeat race.

“I don’t live here,” you reply plainly. “I leave every day.”

“When was the last time you escaped?” He then clarifies. “When was the last time you weren’t confined here for the purposes of work?”

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep busy with your task and avert his gaze.

“This is my job,” you say sternly. “I don’t want to escape.”

“I’m a dancer,” Hyunjin states matter-of-factly. “I don’t live in the studio at the building. Sure, the bright lights and the walls of mirrors help with the choreography. But sometimes I dance in my dorm. And sometimes I dance in a big grass field when nobody’s watching.”

You pause your brushstrokes for a moment, finally meeting his gaze as he stares down at you. He raises one eyebrow, waiting for an answer, which you fail to provide him with as he leans forward once again and clasps his hands together.

“You feel trapped here, don’t you?”

And suddenly his words infuriate you, the sheer audacity of him to walk into your studio demanding all these rules from you, like your boundaries can be overlooked if they’re bought. And who is he to pry into your life like this, knowing next to nothing about you except that you’re a painter? It’s blasphemous- offensive, even.

“I’m not trapped,” you say, standing from your stool and backing away from him a little. “I love my job. I can quit whenever I want to, and this is my passion.”

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?” Hyunjin inquires, and your eyebrows contort into a much angrier frown.

“Who are you to imply any of this, anyway? You’re an idol. You’re the one who’s trapped in the confines of a million rules- are you even allowed to be here right now? Who are you when you’re not putting on the mask of a completely different persona?”

You exhale frustratedly as you finish, taking a moment to catch your breath, and trying your best to avoid his gaze. But when you meet his piercing eyes again, he’s smiling, a wicked expression on his face like he’s amused at your lashing.

“I’m glad you asked ,” he says simply.

“What?”

“I’d assumed it was part of your vision, to maybe scratch below the surface of the flesh outlines you paint. I know there’s more than meets the eye to your work. You have this passion about you.”

“Passion?” You reply nervously, now fiddling with the brush still in your grasp.

“Mhm,” Hyunjin responds casually. “Like you want to lash out. Go on, get it off your chest. I won’t mind.”

And you say nothing again, shrinking back into the confines of your wooden stool as you swirl the brush around in the same mug of water and dip it back into a dollop of paint.

“I’m sorry,” you voice to him. “I don’t treat my clients like this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders sag a little, as though he was waiting for you to keep the chaos alive in this little studio. He just nods, and then he assumes the same position as earlier, his knees spread in front of him and his hands resting comfortably on his knee caps as he slouches forward.

You resume the task of shading in his skin tone, adding highlights to the elevated portions of his face and glancing over at him in intervals to confirm where the light hits him.

“I’ve learned so much from you,” Hyunjin says for the second time tonight, and you’re still unsure what he means by it. “I think we could learn a lot about each other.”

And the studio falls silent for the remainder of the session, as he allows his eyes to bore into your soul while you translate his being onto the canvas in front of you. Or at least the parts that are able to be translated.

Your calendar is blocked off for the remainder of the week for other clients, Hyunjin rescheduling his sessions as he prepares for a performance overseas.

Your heart sinks a little when Q announces the schedule change to you, secretly praying you haven’t completely ruined your artist/client relationship with Hyunjin. He’s definitely a little odd, and he can be pushy when he wants to be. But he’s undeniably more intriguing than the investors you’re used to housing at the studio, telling you stories of his dancing and inquiring about all your favorite techniques every chance he gets.

He’s the first client who’s ever uttered the word “vision” when it came to yours, and not his, and you can’t let go of the value it added to your last session with him. You had yelled at him, ordered him to stop projecting his thoughts onto yours and asking personal questions. But it was the first time you felt alive, somewhat visible to a client as you painted them. His eyes pierce through your soul, every tangible inch of it, and not just the empty shell of who you are when you’re not existing so loudly. And Hyunjin seems like the only catalyst that allows you to exist loudly these days, even Q walking all over you like you’re an extension of his tedious ways.

Although your last conversation didn’t go quite as smoothly as you’d hoped it would, Hyunjin’s words continue to circle your mind relentlessly, your heart trying to make sense of them no matter how hard you try.

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?”

It’s a fair question, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a discourteous one, either. Maybe he’s genuinely curious about the woman you are when you’re not following Q’s orders. But where has Hyunjin pulled the implication from that you’re anyone except for the person assigned to produce these portraits? You’ve given him no reason to think anything of you besides the well-mannered, focused painter you are. And to imply anything else would also, by extension, imply he knows something about you.

“I’ve learned so much about you,” he had also said to you, twice in the same session. And can one really learn from two, three sessions of watching an artist paint? Sure, if he was more focused on your technique and your mannerisms rather than staring at you so intensely. But he hadn’t seemed to be interested in much else, simply keeping his gaze on yours and asking base-level questions about your artist career.

If anything, you could learn a lot about Hyunjin, who has the whole world at his disposal and walks around this place like he owns it. He speaks of you like he’s trying to study you. He wants to learn from you, despite being the one wielding much more knowledge and wisdom than you could even begin to fathom. True, you don’t escape this studio- and you don’t utilize it without the intention to work. In fact, your work consumes you most days, your personal life just a microscopic dot in the grand scheme of this arrangement.

But Hyunjin seems to think otherwise, his generous gifts and his fascination with returning seeming to imply something else. Like he wants to learn from you, or like he’s convinced he already has.

In apprehension, like he knows you.

“Where are we going?” You query when Hyunjin arrives next, quickly ordering you to gather your supplies and ushering you to the door.

“We’re not painting here today,” he says plainly.

“What? No, Hyunjin I don’t paint anywhere except for-”

“The studio or a company,” he finishes. “That’s the issue. I want to take you somewhere more lively.”

“I can’t be around people,” you respond. “I don’t… it’ll just mess up the whole process.”

“Do you trust me?” Hyunjin asks suddenly, his hand extending out to yours for the briefcase you grasp.

What a simplified question- absolutely not. You don’t trust him, that’s the issue with leaving the studio. You’re still not sure of his career as a whole, you’re not sure why he’s so adamant about breaking all sorts of rules and you don’t know anything beyond his name.

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think I trust you at all, actually.”

And Hyunjin just smiles, stepping forward to take the briefcase from you.

“Good,” he replies, the same amused smile plastered on his face. “That means there’s still a lot I can teach you.”

He watches you slip on your coat, undeniably confused, but in a trance-like state obeying his commands, like your heart won’t let you hear your brain’s protests.

Hyunjin doesn’t drive. He doesn’t need to, having his own personal chauffeur at his beck and call, able to go just about anywhere in the evening during his allotted hours of free time. Ones he normally spends in the studio, watching you paint.

You sit quietly on one side of the fancy black car, your hands folded neatly in your lap and staring at the passing blur of city lights out the window. Hyunjin occupies the other, one of his slender hands resting atop the briefcase in an attempt to steady it whilst the driver makes sharp turns and brakes a little too harshly.

You watch as the city roads turn to one long paved road, surrounded by tall grass and trees. And this path goes on for a while, maybe 20 or 30 minutes, as you remain in comfortable silence. The driver seems to be acquainted with the road, turning every way he needs to, no form of navigation telling where to go, simply having memorized the route. And Hyunjin doesn’t seem tense in the slightest, humming softly to himself as he taps his fingers along the leather surface of the briefcase.

The fork at the end of the road signals the stopping point for the driver, who hits the brakes, but doesn’t turn the car off. The keys remain in the ignition as he comes around to open your door, guiding you out with one hand and bowing graciously to the both of you.

“One hour,” Hyunjin says to him, sliding him a generously folded bill.

The driver nods, occupying his spot in the driver’s seat, and you watch him make a U-turn before driving off down the path again.

The environment is quiet, much quieter than any spot back in the city. It’s nothing except for trees and tall grass that sway with the gentle evening breeze, the sky swallowing up a now orange sun as nighttime begins to over both of you. If you squint, you can even see the mountains from here, some of them lined with little yellow lights, probably vacant buildings or farm workers. And the birds sing their last songs of the day, mellow tunes that harmonize with the growing chirps of crickets.

“It’s pretty here,” you remark to Hyunjin, who stands looking out at the view with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, his long hair swaying with the breeze. And then he tilts his head in the direction of the briefcase, nodding once.

“Paint what you see,” he orders.

You nod reluctantly, scrambling to open the briefcase and set up your supplies.

“Do you want to stand there? Or… do you prefer something else?”

He smiles, a little amused at your rushed state, and then he shakes his head.

“Not me,” he clarifies. “The view. Paint what you see.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, stopping your movements and pondering the words for a moment. You haven’t painted a view in god knows how long. Your skills are rusty, your techniques are skewed and the whole concept of it makes you shudder.

“The view?” You question back. You take a moment to look at the view again- there are possibilities everywhere. Green grasses that resemble paint strokes themselves, a deepening blue sky with strokes of blues and blacks, stars like paint splatters and trees with sponge-painted bushels. The art is everywhere, the possibilities are vast and endless with a view like this one.

“The view,” Hyunjin echoes. “Don’t take it too seriously. This isn’t some company's order to paint me. I just want to see the world through your eyes.”

And you nod, once, Hyunjin helping you latch your sketch pad to the easel as you mix a myriad of blues and greens together on your wooden palette.

He flips through your sketch pad for a little while before stepping away, nodding at the pages upon pages of art unlike any of your portraits. When you think he’s going to move, he doesn’t, remaining in the same spot and nodding his head at the works. And you feel a little shy, a little confused at why he’s taken so much interest in the work you complete on the side, work completely unrelated to any of your portraits. When he reaches a blank page, he meets your gaze with a small smile, nodding his head once at you as he finally moves out of the way.

And then you finally begin, hesitantly, as Hyunjin finds a spot in an undisturbed part of the grass, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and pulling out a sketch pad from his own bag. He angles it away from you, beginning to make long, generous lines with his charcoal pencil, peering over at the trees every now and then to gauge their shape. And you remain there, a comfortable silence among both of you, as you both capture the view in your respective visions.

The technique comes back to you instantly, like motion memory, quickly sponging leaves into the trees and pulling the dark sky from its draped position over you to plaster it onto the canvas you work on. Blues, greens, glittering whites for the night stars and fantastic shades of chartreuse and viridian find their homes on the canvas, so carefully placed and mirroring the view you overlook. You emulate the shadows, the waning glints of light, even the sounds seem to live on the picturesque view where time stands still in the confines of four walls.

Hyunjin doesn’t disturb your work flow- in fact, for most of the time you remain there, you cease to remember he’s even working on a sketch of his own, his delicate figure disappearing among the trees as your peripherals shut him out and bring nature to the forefront.

It’s only an hour you’re there, like Hyunjin had promised, before he’s returning to your spot and standing behind you to look over your shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin states dramatically. “Beautiful, and spectacular, and shining.”

You chuckle lightly, wiping the brush on your smock and tucking it away in one of the front pockets.

“Will you sign it?” Hyunjin asks, cocking his head a little to try to find where your signature currently sits, but finding nothing.

“Oh, yeah,” you respond, bringing a charcoal pencil to the bottom right and scribbling a quick signature.

He scans the painting once more, tracing a finger over the corner where you’ve added your signature, and then he gives a small nod before meeting your gaze.

“This one’s my favorite,” Hyunjin tells you. “Because it’s entirely your vision.”

“The ones I make of you are my vision, too,” you explain, and Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

“I like how you see the world. Not how you see me. Or anybody else, for that matter.”

And you find yourself blushing again, unsure if his intention is to fluster you with his poetic words, but well aware that he’s having the effect on you regardless.

“Thank you,” you echo politely. “I like this one, too.”

Your gazes remain fixed on each other for a brief moment, the grass now standing still as the night falls over you, stars glittering in the black sky and the crickets singing their nocturnal songs.

For the first time since meeting him, Hyunjin looks less cold at this proximity to you, his entire demeanor exuding softness and comfort as he smiles at you. Maybe it’s the black puffer coat he wears, the collar pulled up to his chin to keep warm from the frigid winter night around you. He wears his glasses, too, these ones a thicker black frame, pushed high up on his face and a little dorky, admittedly. But it’s also because he seems kinder, more warm and welcoming. There’s no existing rush to capture him any which way- in fact, there’s no pressure to capture him at all. And maybe when you’re not translating his model-like appearance onto canvas, you’re able to step back and admire that he’s soft under his hard exterior, he’s so gentle and human.

At first, you debate telling him, a sudden urge inside of you to apologize for your presumptions of him and admit that he’s slowly become your favorite client to be around. Maybe he’s right- maybe you do have a lot you can teach each other. He lives a life of lavishness, entertaining varying aspects of his idol career and serving a role of great importance to those who know him. And he is certainly of importance to your career, being your highest-paying customer and the one you’ve painted the most now. But he plays a role in other parts of your life too, allowing you to try new techniques, entertain your vision, circling your mind with his poetic words and his strategic motions. All lessons which allow you to grow outside the confines of your studio, too.

But you settle on silence, not wanting Hyunjin to think too boldly of you. Maybe he’s like this with everybody he crosses paths with. Choreographers, vocal coaches and painters alike. Maybe he’s simply as fascinating as he looks.

As you study him again, the sound of a car engine interrupts you, and you turn around to find Hyunjin’s driver has returned as promised. You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright headlights that illuminate the whole field, as Hyunjin helps you gather your supplies again, securing the canvas in its case and transporting it into the backseat of the car with the driver’s help.

Hyunjin holds the door for you this time, ushering you inside, and then he comes around to slide into the backseat next to you.

“I think it’s going to rain,” the driver says as he puts the car in reverse.

You crane your neck to look at the sky through the tinted windows, dark blue clouds that loom overhead and seem to make the night even colder.

“I have one more place we need to stop at,” Hyunjin says suddenly, sitting forward to make eye contact with the driver through the mirror.

The driver nods in response, as if the last location is a secret kept between them, as he begins down the dirt path again in silence.

“Ever been here?” Hyunjin questions, as he holds out a hand to guide you up the stairs. The steep concrete stairs lead to a grand crested marble doorway, a bronze statue out in front and dimly lit lamp posts that illuminate the sign overhead.

Museum of Modern Art.

“Once, a long, long time ago,” you respond. “I think I usually steer clear from galleries since I don’t show my work at them.”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, stopping at the front door and meeting the gaze of a security guard, who promptly strides over and opens the door just an inch.

Hyunjin pulls out an ID, and a folded paper of some sort, and you watch as the security examines it briefly before nodding. It’s only then that you realize the museum is closed for the evening, the only person around behind the night security, but of course that rule doesn’t apply to Hyunjin, who can get in just about anywhere with the flash of a smile.

“It’s the only way to visit with no one else around,” Hyunjin says, confirming your theory. “They let me stay as long as I want. Sometimes I draw here.”

You nod at his words, giving a small smile as the security eyes you intensely, and then he opens the door to guide both of you inside. Hyunjin removes his coat, slinging it over a nearby coat hanger, and he flaunts a white knit sweater with his dark jeans, looking cozy in contrast to the dark winter night outside. He holds your sketch pad tucked under one arm, and then he skips excitedly to a room behind a curtain.

“This one’s my favorite!” He exclaims, giggling softly like a child might. “Do you know they’re all made out of recycled materials?”

And you brush the curtain aside, being met with the sculptures he speaks of, neutral-toned figurines that appear to be made of paper mache, all resembling people. Their forms hold each other, mimic ballroom dancing, and even embrace each other in a tender kiss as they stand tall in the center of the room.

You watch as Hyunjin snaps a few photos with his cellphone, craning his neck to view them at a better angle, and then he turns to face you.

“What do you think?” Hyunjin asks.

“They’re beautiful,” you reply. “They kind of remind me of your drawings.”

He shoots you a flustered smile in response, touched that you’ve even remembered what his drawings look like. And then he graciously bows as he ushers to another room.

“I think you’ll like the next one.”

The next room behind another dark curtain is a gallery of paintings, all of them abstract forms of art that experiment with different colors and mediums. You take a while in this room, sauntering down the row of canvases and observing how each one captures something completely different from the others. Some include only cool-toned shades, their strokes much smaller and overall more somber. Some play with warm tones, long generous strokes that capture passion and heat. And some mix both, two stories dancing in harmony on one canvas, contrasting light with shadow and love with regret.

As you cock your head slightly, observing the way the colors are so evocative from this proximity, Hyunjin comes to stand next to you, cocking his head in a similar fashion and taking in the same details that you do. And if someone were to stand behind you, maybe both of you would mirror the painting, too, two hues of life and recluse working in perfect harmony alongside each other.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asks, and you hum in response.

“Yeah. I love these colors.”

Hyunjin nods, giving the painting a last once-over before nodding in the direction of another curtain.

“Come on, I want to show you this last one.”

The last room houses a little bench, where Hyunjin occupies the left side and pats the spot next to him. You take a seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap, as you observe the colossal painting in front of you.

It’s a watercolor painting, one amorphous shape at a far distance, yet at this proximity, the tangible outline of a figure, sat with legs pulled to the chest and crouched in a position evoking such sadness.

The cold blue hues highlight the shadows which define body parts among the pile of limbs, the curve of a breast, the almost indistinguishable outline of a leg, aspects you have to really squint hard to make out. But the colors complement each other so artistically, and the figure in the painting looks so melancholy, so longing for something more than the confines of the canvas she lives on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hyunjin voices, and you nod, swallowing as you remain quiet.

He pauses for a moment, his voice hitching in the back of his throat, before speaking again.

“The artist was a child prodigy,” he begins. “Apparently they painted all their life and then became a sort of recluse into adulthood. No one’s seen a painting from them since. This was their last big project.”

“Interesting,” you remark quietly.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies. “And their art is always titled around themes of loneliness and solitude. Every painting kind of feels like a puzzle piece leading up to their disappearance from the art world.”

Hyunjin says nothing as your eyes dart around the room, swallowing nervously as you ponder what to say. And nothing comes to mind, nothing that won’t make you seem crazy, or irate.

And then before you can protest his actions, he flips open your sketch pad he’s kept tucked under his arm all this time, flipping through a few pages until he’s nearly at the end. He stops at one of your paintings, cool aqua hues filling the paper in the same manner as the one hung on the wall.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Hyunjin finally says, and you realize he’s turned to face you now.

You stand up at this point, smoothing down your blouse and turning away from his gaze.

“Sorry, I have to go-”

You search for an exit, unable to locate one amidst the dark curtains and the dimly lit room. And the only thing you can think to do is walk back the way you entered, beginning back through the abstract painting gallery as Hyunjin follows behind you.

“They’re amazing,” Hyunjin says. “You have a talent. Your paintings were always my favorite-”

“Please, stop,” you interrupt, your heart beating erratically as you make your way past the paper mache sculptures.

“Why did you stop making them?” He asks, now standing still in the entrance, the security guard on high alert as he watches Hyunjin’s stressed demeanor.

“Sorry,” you voice to the security guard, bowing to him. “I have to go, thank you so much.”

And without turning to look at Hyunjin, you push the doors open, making your way out of the museum and onto the concrete steps. It’s raining now, hard, like the driver had predicted, and you march right past his parked car to one of the taxis parked by the curb.

The cab driver takes an address from you, punching it into his navigation system as he begins to drive down the street, and you pray he can’t hear the quiet sniffles coming from you in the backseat.

As he pulls away from the curb, you glance out the window at the museum, where Hyunjin’s now shoving past the door and standing still, his hands dropped at his sides and a hurt expression on his face.

His hair falls damp around his face as he lets the sheets of rain wash over him, his driver exiting the vehicle in a rush to get Hyunjin back into the safety of the car.

But he remains there, unmoving, his hurt gaze fixed on yours, as you turn a corner and fall out of his sight.

And just like the sessions were uneventful before Hyunjin, they’re much more uneventful after him, too.

Putting the sessions on hold for Hyunjin is nothing, his life full of vibrancy and color when he’s not spending an hour or two with you in the evening posing for a painting. It’s time he fills with extra dance practice, vocal training, spending time with his members and even doing art of his own.

But for you, it means returning to a life of mediocrity, requesting stock brokers to angle their big heads in a more appealing manner so you can capture every one of their unsightly features. You’re ogled at by salesmen, disrespected by accountants and not a single one of them could give a shit about your vision.

A part of you wants to call Hyunjin and apologize, to explain that he was out of line in his approach to identify you and catch you so off-guard. But you’re mostly angry at him, for having ruined something so beautiful you took pride in every week. Now he’s gone, the sessions put on pause until further notice and your life forever changed by Hyunjin, though he’ll keep living his life of lavishness despite being the source of all your pain.

“Now that we don’t have Hyunjin on the books after this week, I need you to resume the work on Mr. Lee’s painting. Let’s not lose sight of the ones we started prior to his pieces,” Q says, as he flips through a clipboard of printed schedules.

“This week?” You echo in question. “I thought sessions with Hyunjin were put on hold until further notice.”

“They were,” he responds. “After your last session this week. He’ll be here tomorrow evening. He’s your last client of the day.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeat, pausing your brush strokes as you turn to look at him. “He requested to come in tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Q replies with furrowed brows. “Why, is there a problem? I already told him yes.”

“No, that’s fine,” you reply, rotating the brush around in your fingers as you think over his words. “Tomorrow works fine.”

Despite the sessions being put on hold, you’ll still have a moment to explain yourself to Hyunjin and make amends. It might not get you exactly where you were before all of this, but the thought of letting Hyunjin part ways thinking you despise him makes your stomach turn. You’ll still get a moment alone with him to rekindle the state of your friendship.

… Or so you thought. When you arrive at the studio the next day for your last session, Q is still there, organizing papers at one of the tables and still dressed in a fancy blazer and tie like he never left from this morning’s session.

“Quinton?” You call, setting your purse down and toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes?” He responds, not looking up at you.

“Are you… don’t you normally sit these sessions out?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says casually. “I’ll be sitting in on this last one. I know they were put on hold pretty abruptly, and I wanted to be around for your last one.”

You give him a small nod, protesting his actions mentally. You won’t get a minute alone with Hyunjin after all- not with Q watching you like a hawk. You want to scream at him, to tell him he has to leave and that he’ll be permanently disrupting the client-artist relationship you’ve developed with your highest-paying customer if he stays and taints the room with his overwhelming presence. But he largely determines the success of your career, whether you like it or not. And requesting Q’s absence will most certainly point to something more going on between you and Hyunjin.

“Right,” you reply. “That’s fine.”

You wish Quinton wouldn’t be so… mechanical. You wish he could trust that you’ll get the job done, despite any existing tensions between you and Hyunjin. You wish he wouldn’t pretend to care about being present, when in reality you know he just wants to make sure it wasn’t you who screwed something up. And you wish he would leave you alone with Hyunjin to make amends the way you know you need to before you part ways with him.

When the door opens once again, you both turn your heads to look at Hyunjin, who strolls in with casual strides, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze falls on Q, and he furrows his brows together, finally looking at you, with a confused expression on his face.

“Welcome!” Q says obnoxiously. “I’ll be sitting in for this session, I hope you don’t mind.”

Hyunjin shoots him a thin-lipped smile, giving a subtle nod as he slings his bag off.

“Sure,” he replies. “That’s fine.”

He assumes his spot on the same wooden stool, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, and then he turns to meet your gaze.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks. He sounds more somber than the other times he’d asked the same question, his voice trailing off a little as he waits for a reply.

“This is good,” you say, taking your own seat and beginning to work light strokes across the canvas. You start with his jawline, the same chiseled jawline you’ve gotten so used to painting, working a robust angle where the crook of his neck meets his cheeks. Then his eyes, the piercing intensity of them, narrowing involuntarily as he poses with such skill, the same eyes which have graced the covers of magazines and album covers. His lips, plump and rosy, forming a small pout as he remains silent. And the outline of his luscious brown tresses, which fall beautifully around his face and soften the rest of his features.

He looks so enchanting this evening, like he’s straight out of one of the paintings at the museum. And your anger feels almost completely dissipated once he’s in front of you like this, just a pressing urge to be alone with him so you can communicate properly.

“Looking good,” Q says as he comes up behind you, his hands folded behind his back.

Hyunjin’s eyes dart over at Q’s standing figure, glancing over at you again while you paint. You attempt to shoot him an apologetic expression, wanting to tell him it wasn’t your idea to have Q here watching your every move. But you can’t properly convey your emotions to him with Q practically breathing down your neck.

“Beautiful work”, Q chimes in, nodding as you add the color to Hyunjin’s hair.

You can feel yourself getting frustrated with him, wishing so badly you could at least ask him to wait on the other side of the room like he normally does. But he remains there, crowding around you as you work and filling the room with his awkward presence.

“I’ll drag up a chair,” Q says with a small chuckle. “So I don’t have to stand.”

And both you and Hyunjin watch as he pulls up a folding chair, dragging it along the floor in one painfully slow motion, the sound of the legs screeching against the concrete floor as he places it next to you and takes a seat.

Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again, cocking his head slightly as though he’s asking why you’ve allowed Q to be so overbearing today. But none of this is according to your plans, either.

“Go on,” Q urges. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You hadn’t even realized you’ve stopped painting, grasping your brush between your fingers as you watch Q adjust in his seat and gesture to the painting.

“I think we should take a break,” Hyunjin says finally. “My leg is cramping a little.”

“Of course,” Q echoes back. “We can take five. There’s a vending machine out by the front door. And the bathrooms are on the right, by the-”

Q can’t even finish his sentence before Hyunjin’s shoving his way past the door, taking long strides away from the studio and waiting outside. He pinches the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance, letting out a deep sigh as he ponders the evening’s events so far.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you tell Q, setting your brush down and following Hyunjin. “I’ll be right back.”

And you follow his footsteps, pushing on the door to meet him outside, where he stands with one hand on his hip, the other massaging his temples frustratedly.

He looks angry, as you predict he would be, but you approach him anyway, fiddling with your thumbs as he stays quiet for a moment.

“I organized this last session to speak with you,” Hyunjin says in an annoyed tone. “I should’ve known you’d invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know he’d be here, I swear. He just stayed, and he was insistent on sitting in.”

Hyunjin finally drops his hand at his side, meeting your gaze, a softening expression on his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he finally says. “I overstepped my boundaries. I’m just here to pay you for art. Not prod into your personal life.”

“I know,” you say back. “I wanted to explain to you, but…” your voice trails off, remembering this is technically your last session with him. And judging by the way everyone speaks of him, it’ll be near impossible to contact him again after this.

“It seems like I missed my chance,” you finish, referencing Q’s persistence.

Hyunjin glances around for a moment at the overgrown plants that line the studio windows, still damp from the evening rain. It looks like a jungle out here, the plants providing no clear view through the windows and instilling such a peaceful sense of privacy.

“Could you stay a little longer?” Hyunjin questions. “After he leaves. I just want to talk to you before I go.”

You think over his proposal for a moment- Quinton is punctual at leaving right past the hour mark. He never stays longer for hours than he needs to, but he’s no stranger to you utilizing the studio to finish up some of your work after hours.

“Sure,” you say finally. “Just pretend you’ve left after the session and I’ll tell him I need to stay longer. Don’t wait near the parking lot or he’ll see you.”

A somber smile grows on Hyunjin’s face as he nods in response.

“I’m going to call my driver and tell him I’ll be longer than the original session. Meet you back inside.”

And you make your way back into the studio, where Q is busy shuffling through papers at the table.

“Ready?” He asks, already taking strides back to his stool, positioned far too close to your canvas and Hyunjin’s seat.

“Yeah,” you reply, sighing a little as he occupies the seat next to you and glances around the room for Hyunjin.

“He’s taking a phone call,” you explain to Q. “Just give him a minute.”

And Q pushes his glasses further up his nose, humming in response as he observes your painting again.

“You’ve really mastered his features,” he comments, scanning over Hyunjin’s painted outline. “Even his eye mole is already there.”

And you scan the painting too, at the little mole painted just below Hyunjin’s left eye as he requested.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess I have.”

You wouldn’t forget it, because everything about him occupies your mind, much like his figure lives on your canvases.

It’s just half an hour more before you’re finished with Hyunjin’s painting. It’s still lacking some detail, like the contours along his face and the buttons of his cardigan. But they’re all details you give yourself time to finish later, before you wrap up your final piece and gift it to Hyunjin.

Q is relentless in his micromanaging for the remainder of the session, making useless comments about your techniques and asking Hyunjin about his own work. Hyunjin’s answers are all short and echo his clear annoyance, desperate to finish the session in order to speak with you privately. But you both remain collected in your manners, graciously conversing with Q and reaching the end of the session.

Q reviews his invoice documents as Hyunjin slings his bag on once more, standing by the door as though he’s ready to leave.

“Payment was finalized today, and your sessions are on hold until your tour is completed.”

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, bowing graciously. “It was a pleasure to work with both of you. I’ll be back when we’re done overseas.”

“Don’t hesitate to reach out!” Q calls, as Hyunjin makes his way past the door. He waves Q off with a small smile and then turns the corner until he’s out of sight.

“Well, there goes your best-paying client,” Q remarks with a deep sigh. “We have a lot more to pick back up on. I know Mr. Lee’s paintings are still in progress-”

“Thank you, Quinton,” you voice to him. “We’ll talk scheduling tomorrow. Please just get home safely.”

“You’re not leaving yet?” He queries, already pulling on his canvas bag and hanging his clipboard from a thumbtack on the wall.

“I’m going to finish the details while I still remember them. I’ll only be an hour longer.”

Q shrugs, making his way pivoting on his white canvas sneakers and giving you a small wave.

“Call if you need anything,” he says plainly. “Make sure to lock up.”

“I will,” you echo, craning your neck as you watch him finally exit past the door and jog down the stairs. You can’t see Hyunjin anywhere, but Q doesn’t seem to notice him if he’s still around, starting his car and speeding out of the parking lot.

And not even a full minute passes before Hyunjin makes his way back inside, shaking water off his hands.

“I stood under one of the gutters,” he says in a disgusted tone. His hair is stringy wet with rain water, and he chuckles when you meet his gaze with an amused smile.

“You’ll have to let me paint it like that, someday,” you respond, and he laughs lightly.

You take a seat on the folding chair previously occupied by Q, and Hyunjin assumes his same spot on the wooden stool. For a moment he says nothing, observing your face as you tap your fingers along the metal of the chair below you. There’s not a sound in the room between the two of you, with the exception of a small creak coming from the wooden stool as Hyunjin adjusts his long legs. He runs his hands through his hair nervously, and then he licks his dry lips with his tongue before speaking.

“I have something for you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, his voice echoing around the empty room.

He stands up to pull his bag off the floor, and then he digs around in it for a moment before pulling out his sketchbook. You watch as his slender fingers open the spiral-bound cover, flipping past pages upon pages of sketches and paintings. He flips close to the end, and then he stops, bookmarking the page with his index finger before turning the book to face you.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” he says, keeping the book shut in anticipation. “It’s just something I drew.”

And then with bated breath, he opens the book out to you, adjusting the page in your view to give you a clear sight of its contents. It’s a carefully drawn sketch, of you, standing in front of an easel with a brush in your hand. Painting, like you always do. You recognize the scenery around you as the spot he took you to the other day, the long charcoal streaks perfectly capturing the grass that surrounded you and the tall trees that overlooked the hills. Although it’s a sight familiar to you, it also feels so foreign, seeing yourself through somebody else’s eyes. It feels peculiar to remember people also perceive you while you paint. It makes you feel less unimportant, a little more visible.

“Wow, Hyunjin, this is…”

“Do you like it?” Hyunjin interrupts.

“It’s so lovely. Really. I feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” he’s quick to respond. “You’ve drawn countless ones of me. And of so many other people. I wanted to gift you one of your own.”

You run your fingers along the thick paper, watching as Hyunjin tears it along its perforation and hands it to you.

“Please, keep it,” he urges.

And you bow once in response, turning to set the drawing along with your bag so you won’t forget it.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “I love it. I’m going to hang it with all my favorite art.”

Hyunjin smiles in response, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets again, leaning against the wooden stool as a silence falls over you both.

For a moment, you ponder what to say to him, wanting to explain the events from the other evening, but unable to verbalize anything amidst your nervousness. Any way you think about it, you fear Hyunjin is going to get mad, especially considering you’d just walked away from him in the face of confrontation. But you also couldn’t help it, his accusation coming so suddenly and so boldly, regardless of it being based on any sliver of truth.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if I was right or not. But it wasn’t my place to ask you.”

You nod at him, initially planning to divert the topic. But you can’t any further, a growing urge inside of your chest to unveil the truth to him, knowing he’s already pieced this much of it together.

“It is my painting,” you say finally, your voice shaking a little. “I specialized in those ones before portraits. They kind of gained traction when they were first unveiled, and a lot of galleries picked them up. But they drew a lot of criticism, and it became so draining to be the topic of people’s judgment. I think being perceived so heavily just kind of… scared me off. So I shifted to portraits instead, and I no longer do public showings or galleries.”

Hyunjin doesn’t react in a shocked manner, nor does he press you for questions immediately. He just nods, taking in your words, and then he meets your gaze with a concerned expression.

“I learned so much from you,” he explains. “When your paintings were unveiled at the annual art show across the city, I was so mesmerized. They’re why I started painting, too.”

You chuckle lightly, shrugging at him as you slouch back in your seat.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do them anymore.”

You think over your response for a moment, and then you stand up from your seat, too, furrowing your brows together.

“How did you… know it was me?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“I had a hunch when I first saw your painting techniques. But I also knew it the moment I saw your other paintings in your sketchbook,” he explains. “My favorite painting of the series is printed out and taped to my locker in our dance studio. It just felt like you. I paid attention to your art for years. I was bound to know it when I saw it.”

You nod for the umpteeth time tonight, making sense of his words as you think back to the signature you drew in front of him back in the field.

“I’m sorry I figured it out,” Hyunjin says finally. “I know this was an elaborate plan to remain anonymous and shift your focus to a new form of your work. And your portraits are amazing. But you have a real talent for those older ones. And the whole series just… it changed me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you tell Hyunjin, looking up to meet his gaze at last. “If anyone was going to find out, I’m glad it was you.”

“You are?” Hyunjin questions, and you hum in response.

“As a client, you have this really interesting way of making me feel seen. When I’m around you, It feels a lot more comfortable from the businessmen I’m used to. It’s like…” your voice trails off as you struggle to finish your sentence. “I feel like I did when I was painting my old stuff. I can see the world beyond just portraits for a little bit.”

Hyunjin says nothing, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back at your eyes once more, which are wide with curiosity and passion as you speak. It’s such a sight to see you talk about your art with this level of devotion again, color in your face once more as you attest to your life’s work.

“Tell me,” Hyunjin begins. “Why are all your paintings so lonely?”

You chuckle softly, shrugging up at him.

“I am lonely,” you say simply.

“I’m lonely, too,” Hyunjin remarks.

And your expression turns serious again, your eyes not leaving his intense gaze as he flickers over your parted lips and takes one step closer to you. He’s towering over you at this point, a strand of hair falling into his face as he lets himself lean into you a little more, just barely grazing his lips over yours.

“Can I please kiss you?” Hyunjin asks so politely, his voice coming out in a whisper as he stops himself from pressing his lips to yours while he waits for an answer.

“Yeah” you finally reply in a whisper of your own, almost on your tippy toes to match his towering height.

And then without another second to waste, Hyunjin closes the gap between both of you, leaning down to press his plump lips to yours and embrace you in a tender, desperate kiss.

He tastes like mint, his lips working against yours with no particular rush, yet his mind still running rampant with thoughts of having you as close as possible. It feels so wrong kissing him here, in the studio you strictly use for the purposes of completing your work-related tasks and nothing more. But with Hyunjin’s lips on yours and his slender hands snaking around the small of your back to pull you closer, it also feels so thrilling, instilling a sense of desire deep within you that can only be fulfilled through acting upon the emotions rooted in your innate fascination with Hyunjin’s entire being.

And you feel visible right now, so tangible when Hyunjin’s nimble hands are running down the sides of your waist and sprawling his delicate fingers along your flesh. It’s you kissing him here, not some shell of who you are when you’re capturing the essences of millionaires on canvas. You’re not the scribbled outlines in Hyunjin’s sketches of couples consuming each other with such passion, though you mirror them. It’s you, child prodigy artist turned portrait specialist, and Hyunjin, in all his fame and splendor, who chooses to spend his free time with you in this studio teaching you about yourself the way you learn from him, too.

Hyunjin’s hands move to tug off the fabric of your cardigan, slouching it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where it piles in disarray among the white tarp that houses loose paints. You’re pretty sure there may still be wet paint on its surface, but you don’t care, your body desperately arching into Hyunjin’s tall frame as his hands cup your cheeks to kiss you even deeper.

You can barely reach him while his frame looms over you, only able to reciprocate his kisses on the tips of your toes as he takes full control of you with his mouth. And Hyunjin seems to take notice of this, intertwining his hands in yours and pulling you down with him as he sits among the tarp and sprawls his legs out in front of him. You bestride his lean figure, balancing yourself on his lap as he adjusts himself on the concrete floor, and you both laugh when you take note of the admittedly uncomfortable positioning. It’s not meant for lovers, this dinky studio and its cold, concrete flooring. But it’s nothing that can’t be overlooked when his lips are back on yours, kissing you breathlessly and tucking strands of hair behind your ears. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, an indication by Hyunjin’s definition that he’s wanted this so badly. And he knew it from the moment you walked into the company building the first time, nervously preparing yourself out in the hallway like you weren’t going to be an absolute pro at your craft the way he now knows you are. He also knew it every time he observed your paintings, both your old ones and the newer ones that capture Hyunjin with such ease, every minute detail that builds up his intense stare only to break him down and soften him, translating this multifaceted version of him only you seem to visualize. And he gains confirmation of it when he’s finally acting upon his urges, your hands snaking around the back of his neck and moving in tandem with his hungry kisses against yours, grasping at his flesh like you’re trying to prove to yourself he’s real, too.

His sweater is the second article of clothing to go, your bodies only separating from one another briefly as you guide the knit fabric off over him and discard it beside you in the tarp. Your hands find his torso reluctantly, running your fingers along his flesh as though asking for his permission. And Hyunjin smiles when you do, placing his hands over yours and pressing down a little firmer for you, so that you can feel every inch of his toned body. He wields the body of a dancer, delicate curves that run along his sculpted obliques and highlight the years of intense training he’s done. His body feels strong underneath you, but he still feels soft, his touches exuding the gentle fondness he possesses for you.

And you’re kissing him again, all while his hands find your tank top and he separates to undress you, pulling it off over your head and tossing it aside. His hands are quick to find your breasts, splaying them over the mounds of your chest and massaging gently as his kisses turn hungrier. You can feel him getting hard underneath you, and you can hear his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he struggles to contain his growing bulge while you straddle him. But you indulge him even further, undoing the clasp of your bra with your own hand as you continue kissing him. Hyunjin doesn’t notice until your hand reaches out to toss your bra aside, a gentle rustle emitting from beside you as it joins the pile of discarded articles of clothing. And he separates to take in the sight of you, raised goosebumps along your bare skin and your nipples aroused for him, the cold air grazing over your chest as you wait for him to resume his touches. Hyunjin gasps a little, leaning forward to take one in his mouth, and then he begins to suck harshly as his tongue swirls around your bud generously and trails saliva along your skin. You moan at the sensation, Hyunjin digging his fingernails into the small of your back and leaving little crescent marks as his sucking resumes harshly, soft moans bubbling from the back of his throat, too, as he stays latched to you. And then he pulls away to give attention to the other one, his teeth grazing the tip of your nipple before sucking again, his eyes shutting as he relishes in the taste of your skin in his mouth. Hyunjin’s hips rock gently against you as he does, chasing the friction of your legs around his crotch as he grows even harder beneath you, desperate for some release. And then he pulls away finally, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with lust and a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You bring a thumb to his forehead, swiping the bead off his blushed skin, before cupping your hands around his cheeks and bringing him in for a kiss.

“Please let me fuck you,” Hyunjin says sheepishly against your lips, groaning lightly when he feels you squeeze your thighs once against his crotch.

“You want to?” You ask teasingly, massaging your hands up and down the sides of his neck as he nods eagerly.

“I really, really want to,” Hyunjin responds, shutting his eyes as you squeeze your legs again and pepper his face in kisses, trailing from his forehead, to his cheeks and down his neck. Hyunjin leans back on the palms of his hands in a state of pure bliss, taking in the sensation he’s only dreamt of until now. And when you nibble down on his neck, beginning to suck a small bruise into his skin, he sits up suddenly, his hands finding yours and pushing you away gently.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says. “I can’t… do hickeys. Company’s orders,” he admits, a little defeated, and you nod your head quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. “I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin almost cuts you off with a kiss, leaning forward and sitting up on his knees. He guides you down onto the tarp, hoisting himself up over you so that his figure is now hovering over yours, and then his hands find your pants.

“You can do hickeys though,” Hyunjin says in an amused tone, trailing kisses down your neck the same way you did him, and latching his teeth onto your flesh to suck a line of purple bruises. You chuckle underneath him, the sensation tickling a little, but still adding to the generous pool already formed between your legs. And as Hyunjin presses into you with his kisses, you can feel his erection graze your upper thigh, once more seeking the friction of your body for some sense of relief as he longs to feel you around his hardened cock.

“Hyunjin,” you voice as he kisses you, and he hums quietly in response.

“You’re hard,” you remark, your eyes flickering to the tent pitched underneath his jeans.

“Sorry,” he replies, pulling away with a worried expression in his eyes, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure. “I just want to take care of it for you.”

And your hands find your own jeans, pulling them off your legs and tossing them aside. Hyunjin’s eyes skim over your lace panties, the trim almost see through with delicate feminine patterns, and he begins to undo the button of his jeans, too.

He kisses you as he snakes off his own pants, not wanting to separate from you any more as his eagerness grows to be as close to you as possible. And when he’s finally letting his hard cock rub against the fabric of your panties, moaning softly at the sensation, he knows he won’t be able to take it much longer if he doesn’t make love to you right here in the studio.

So his hands work to pull off his boxers, finally freeing his erection against his abdomen and gasping with the cool air grazes the tip of his cock. You slide off your own panties as well, tossing them aside and letting his cock rest against your bare flesh now, his precum painting your clit with his preemptive arousal as he ruts against you. Your flesh is slick with his arousal and yours, the existing lube between both of you allowing your skin to glide upon one another so effortlessly, the same way your lips work against each other. And he continues to push his hardened length against you until he’s halfway inside of you, your cunt taking him with no struggle as he thrusts inside of you now. You adjust to his thick girth easily, his length seemingly never ending as he pushes deeper and deeper into you. And then he gives one particularly hard thrust, bottoming out inside of you and coaxing a fervent moan out of you.

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin asks, wincing at the sensation of your walls hugging his erection.

“So good,” you whine, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Feels so good.”

And he begins to move in and out of you at a slow pace, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s already close to reaching as he fucks you, filling your cunt entirely with his long cock and bottoming out every time he thrusts himself back in.

And he tries to kiss you, but he can’t, his mouth simply looming over yours in its parted position as he echoes his moans into you and lets his saliva-coated lips graze over you. He looks like the subject of an erotic painting himself, eyebrows arched up so artistically with every thrust, melting into your touch as you run your hands through his hair. His initial dominance over you is quickly shifted to that of submission to your mind and your body, little whines leaving his lips as he lets you consume him whole and mold him between in your touch, like he’s made of clay and you’re the sculptor. His lanky body seems to extend as he sways his hips into yours, little dips from the pads of your fingers embedding into his pale skin. He folds effortlessly above you, the points of his elbows jutting out as he steadies his body over you, like he’s made of wire and positioned to balance over you so perfectly, not very sturdy, and yet bent and snapped just right so that he can remain glued to you. And if you were to climb out of your body and paint this exact moment, all you would see are an indistinguishable, amorphous set of limbs that seem to dissolve into each other like hues of paint on a palette. Two colors swirling around to make one, the two of you like primary colors that create endless possibilities when mixed together like this, offspring of a hundred different shades, painting the darkened studio around you with your yearning for one another.

And as Hyunjin brings a hand to stroke your cheek gently, a smile grows on his breathless lips as he realizes he’s brushed a thick stroke of wet paint along your skin. The indigo stripe contrasts coldly against your flesh, still glistening in its freshness like he’s just begun on a blank canvas.

“It’s paint,” Hyunjin says as you gasp at the cold sensation, smiling too, when he swipes it again with his thumb and flashes it down at you.

And you chuckle lightly below him, taking note of the bright orange streak that lines his neck, just below his adam’s apple. You’re not sure when it got there, or whether it was from you or him, but you run a finger through it too, bringing it to his cheek to rub your thumb lovingly across his face and paint it there, too. And in one swift motion, Hyunjin swipes the palm of his hand along the tarp, coating it in hues of indigo and deep violet and gray, cupping a hand around your breast to coat it in the same wet substance. And you do the same, your hand dipping generously into the myriad of reds and fuchsia paints that live below you, running a hand down his chest and painting a long stripe along his toned torso.

You both laugh, as he picks up his pace again, pushing himself to the hilt inside of you, the paints melting together with your sweat as he fucks you rhythmically again. And like two blank canvases finally being put to use, new colors blossom between the two of your longing bodies, shades of magenta and blue-gray making themselves known across your breasts and his torso. The colors are vibrant and robust, transferring life from the dull tarp of the studio floor onto blank slates of skin. You wish you could step out of your body and capture the colors forever, mix paints together into little jars and name every shade after every feeling Hyunjin’s ever given you. Longing, lust, fear, fascination, infatuation, obsession.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” Hyunjin breathes into your mouth so desperately. “It’s indescribable, the things you do to me.”

He lets his hands intertwine with yours again, giving them a small squeeze as he fucks you a little faster now and lets his groans shift into small whimpers that escape his lips.

“Please let me cum inside you,” Hyunjin begs, his cock slipping against your cervix with ease as wettened noises of his arousal pooling against yours fill the room. “Please, please, I promise to take care of you, baby. I feel like I belong here.”

He’s a whimpering mess for you now, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he fucks you and lets his hands explore every inch of your body. You want to cry, too, at the realization again that this all feels so tangible, that he makes you feel so seen when he’s hovering over you, placing open-mouthed kisses onto yours and letting his melodic moans fill your ears. The paint between you serving as proof that he’s touched you so desperately and wholly, creating art together in the confined space of your otherwise dull studio. And you want to feel him cum inside you, too, as a final reminder that you’re visible to him, that you’re no longer a fleeting, anonymous artist when you’re with Hyunjin. That he sees you for exactly you are, he knows your deepest secrets, and yet still he holds you, whispering words of permanence in your ear and letting you mold him like art. He’s an artist on his own, and he’s art at the hands of you, both of which draw you to him in ways you can’t begin to fathom, unlike anything you’ve felt before. And he teaches you that you’re an artist on your own, and art at the hands of a lover, both of which you hadn’t considered before Hyunjin, deeming yourself invisible in your comfortable solitude to the vast world around you. But the two coincide to echo the same sentiment that he teaches you exactly the way he also learns from you.

“Cum inside me,” you breathe desperately, grasping his hands a little tighter as he fucks you at a faster pace now.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin confirms, still staving off his orgasm until your verbal consent is heard.

“Yes,” you respond, wrapping your legs around his waist and making your best attempt to kiss him through his release. And you do, your lips moving against his in labored breaths, as he finally twitches inside of you and paints the inside of your listless body, hues of glazed white arousal filling your aching cunt as he whimpers through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin, breathes, giving a few more thrusts as he slows, his arousal dripping onto the tarp below you as he pulls out. And he rolls over to lie beside you, a mess of paint streaks sprawled out along his skin as his chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. The two of you say nothing for a moment, your eyes glued to a blank canvas housed on an easel in front of you.

It’s an almost blinding shade of white, begging for an ounce of color like the shades that now live on your skin. And through your heavy breaths, you picture the endless possibilities that can fill in the empty spaces above you. Grasslands, trees, oceans, clear waters and a vast, endless blue sky…

There is no overseas schedule Hyunjin has to tend to. You’re already aware of this, Hyunjin explaining to you that he made it up to put the sessions on hold and to keep Q from pressing him with questions.

But he resumes the sessions after a few weeks of putting them on pause, because he can’t seem to stay away from you any longer.

Hyunjin reckons he has a couple dozen of your paintings in his room now, all similar portraits of his face, portraits you capture in your signature formal essence, his face staring straight ahead or off in the distance, complete with the fine details of his long dark hair and the mole under his eye.

Only now that Hyunjin is back, Q is present at nearly every appointment. You’re not sure why things changed, and Q maintains a new stance to Hyunjin that the guidelines are based on adjusted company policies. But Hyunjin will do just about anything to be close to you- even if it means putting up with your obnoxious boss breathing down your neck every minute while you paint him.

The sessions are somehow even more unnerving than they used to be, Hyunjin still making every valiant effort to convey his obsession with you through intense stares and little gestures only the two of you can read. Q is obstinate in his ways, his gaze constantly flickering between you and your paintings to ensure everything is going swimmingly. But Hyunjin wishes so badly he could spend the entirety of these sessions alone with you, getting to break down your walls and see you for the person he knows you are when you’re not doing portraits under Q’s all-seeing eye.

With every passing day, and every passing session, Hyunjin grows a deep hatred for Q, despising the way he watches you work and chimes in to converse with the two of you. And he knows he shouldn’t, aware that Q is just your boss and nothing more. Something you’ve reiterated to him time and time again, but he can’t help it, desperate to have you all to himself every second of the day, a deep-seated longing to protect you from the hurt you’ve been dealt and wanting so badly for you to break free from the monotonous cycle you’ve confined yourself to of painting for anyone except yourself.

You can tell Hyunjin hates Q, judging by the way he doesn’t so much look in his direction when he arrives for his sessions. But you can’t convey the slightest bit of reaction in front of either of them, too scared of the prospect of what would happen to your career if anyone were to find out you’re fucking a client.

You maintain a professional composure around Hyunjin, despite the knowing stares he gives you and the sketches you catch him slipping into your purse when Q isn’t looking. At times he’s not around, you complete your daily tasks, well-mannered and organized to the clients who hire you, shooting them kind smiles and complimenting their black business attire when they show up for the evening. When the days draw to a close, Q is punctual as always, leaving just minutes past your last appointment and taking his work home with him.

And when his sleek black car turns out of the corner of the parking lot, Hyunjin slips inside like a mere shadow on the wall, quick to seduce you all over again and gift you with all of his recent sketches. Some of them are portraits of you, smiling or focused on your work. Some of them are erotic nude shots of you, lying on the tarp of the studio or touching yourself the way he pictures you do when you’re all alone. And some of them include both of you, your bodies tangled desperately into each other and drowning in your yearning and love. Sometimes nude, his hands on yours and fucking you mercilessly. Sometimes fully clothed, his lips on yours and bundled up in winter clothes. But always together, always desperate in your touches and always so tangible. You reckon he’s persuaded you into being fucked you on every surface of the dingy studio by now- against the canvases, on the tarp- several times, on the table Q typically occupies and just about every stool available to the two of you. And while Q is oblivious about why you stay a little longer every night, Hyunjin is both calculated and persuasive in returning so you two can get some time alone, time that always ends with his seed dripping out of your still-aching cunt, bodies entangled somewhere within the studio and covered in fresh swatches of paint.

He may have somewhat of an obsession with you, but life is teeming around the studio when Hyunjin is near, the colors and shapes of your work much more robust and vibrant when he’s striding around the space commenting on all his favorite pieces of yours. And you relish in stories of his days, typically spent at fan events or at dance practices. Having him return feels like having your physical figure return home to you, the world in complete equilibrium when he’s near, much less lonely than the one you’re used to.

“I could watch you do this forever,” Hyunjin remarks, watching you glide a brush along your canvas, filling in the shadows of a figure on the canvas in front of you.

And this one’s not a portrait- it’s a watercolor figure, much like the ones you used to paint back then, the technique coming back to you with ease as you highlight the convexes of a body mirroring yours and add varying hues as highlights.

Per Hyunjin’s request, you paint the figures occasionally, only because he’s repeatedly expressed his fascination at watching you complete the process in a live session. The paintings reminiscent of your old work aren’t for sale, nor are they critiqued by anyone except for yourself. And they’re certainly not done with the knowledge of Q, who would turn irate at you utilizing the studio’s supplies for anything but portraits.

They’re just for his viewing pleasure, a little exchange you indulge him in as he continues to gift you with sketches of his own.

Hyunjin’s arms snake around your waist as you paint, his head resting on your shoulder as he watches you dip your brush into a mug of water and dilute the caramel shade that taints the bristles.

“Will you add a second one?” Hyunjin asks in a curious whisper, his lips grazing your ear as you paint.

“A second one?” You echo.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, working a trail of kisses down the shell of your ear. “This one’s you. Will you add me?”

You chuckle lightly, dipping your brush into a warmer shade of brown and swirling it around to gather the color on the fine hairs.

“So they can resemble us,” Hyunjin says, his kisses traveling even lower. “Paint me fucking you the way you like it.”

You chuckle softly again, not missing the way Hyunjin’s hands travel to your skirt, flipping it up to graze his hands along the mound of your upper thigh.

“Hyunjin, I-” you begin to say. But you can’t answer him, shutting your eyes in pleasure as you hear him unzip his jeans behind you and position himself.

“Keep painting,” he says in a sultry whisper, pumping himself lightly behind you as he pulls your panties down.

And you try, bringing your brush to the canvas to add a second figure like he’s requested. But you can hardly make it past the first few strokes before Hyunjin’s sliding into your dripping cunt, letting his hands grip your waist to steady himself as he begins to move.

“Go on,” Hyunjin encourages, as his hips thrust in and away from your trembling figure, your hands trying their very best to keep hold of the little wooden paint brush and fill in his form.

You manage to add a subtle few streaks, beginning the amorphous outline of Hyunjin’s hair, his tall lanky figure towering over yours and taking you with such desperation.

But you don’t get very far before Hyunjin is angling your face to kiss your drooly lips, his hands now finding purchase on your breasts as he continues to fuck you. And all of this is wrong, you know very well. You’re not supposed to be sleeping with a client like this, much less one this powerful, this rich and who wields so much he can hold against you. One slip up and Hyunjin can go tell the world about how you’re the artist who disappeared to sell yourself out to rich men for all their selfish needs. And any option you have to defend yourself would never hold up against his wealthy corporation and all its investors.

But you also can’t help but give into his urges when he’s around, his lips so tantalizing on yours and his cock filling you so fully and completely when he has his way with you.

Maybe it’s not even just about the sex for you- maybe it also has something to do with his stories you live through vicariously, listening to tales of the outside world while you’re trapped in this studio or at the businesses of wealthy men. It’s also the drawings he makes for you, ones you find yourself staring at for hours after he leaves, like proof that he was here and he touched you. The drawings are you in your most tangible form, his hands on yours and his lips on the curves of your neck. It’s like a glimpse into a version of yourself that ceases to exist when he’s absent. And it’s the late hours of the night he spends asking so politely to watch you paint your older work, always so fascinated with the way your mind conjures up varying lonely figures crafted from watercolors and a nylon bristle brush. Older work you hadn’t realized you missed so dearly until you began producing it for Hyunjin again.

But you know that to Hyunjin this is just a exhilarating idea for him, to view your art the same way he carves out a couple hours each week for a museum tour or to sketch in one of his books. He probably finds it more convenient to fuck you here where nobody’s around than to stroke himself in a dorm he shares with three other men. And you can feel it in the way he so desperately pleads you to paint for him or cum for him- that his obsession with you is less about you, and more about the thought of you.

Maybe this is just the result of Hyunjin uncovering a secret nobody else paid close enough attention to connect you to. Or the thrill of you being his favorite artist for years, and realizing you’re finally tangible in front of him, real, and not disappeared like he previously took you for. You reckon it must be the same phenomenon other girls feel toward him, getting intimate with somebody they idolize, desperately cupping his face like it might dissipate if they don’t grasp hard enough. But just the thought of somebody doesn’t imply love. It doesn’t imply a mutual understanding, and it certainly doesn’t imply permanence for either party involved. When he’s gone again, you’ll cease to be real like you already are when he’s not around. And then every vision you have will be rooted in unfaltering solitude once more, your anonymous life resuming again.

“Will you cum for me?” Hyunjin asks, and you snap back to the feeling of his cock twitching in your dripping cunt as he grips your waist. “God, you don’t understand what you do to me.”

You can’t give him an answer before you feel him reaching his release inside of you, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into you and slowing his pace again as he moves your hair away from your face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Hyunjin says sheepishly as he pulls out. “Sit down for me,” he orders between kisses to your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, grazing his hands along your waist and groaning against you.

And he’s already guiding you back to one of the stools, kneeling between your legs and spreading you for him, your glistening cunt on full display for him to taste.

“Want you to cum for me,” Hyunjin whispers, before positioning one of your legs on the wooden dowels of the stool. You can’t verbalize anything to him before his tongue is darting into your entrance, lapping his own release out of you and trailing up to give attention to your swollen clit. He works you in such desperate motions, tongue working your core like a starved animal and eagerly trying to coax an orgasm out of your trembling body. When his arousal is effectively brought out of your tight cunt and painting the tip of his tongue white, he coats your clit in it, giving kitten licks to your bundle of nerves as he hums against your flesh and whispers little pleas for you to let go.

And between your pussy still clenching down around the sheer memory of his cock inside of you mere minutes ago, and his plump lips kissing all over your wettened core, you do let go for him, dribbling cum down the edge of the wooden stool and threading your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down to your thighs in encouragement.

“So good,” Hyunjin murmurs as he comes up for air, intertwining his fingers in yours as you get cleaned up. You shoot him a little “thank you”, and Hyunjin presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand as he nods, getting dressed once more and tucking his softened cock back into his boxers.

“Come here,” he states. “I want to ask you something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“It’s exciting,” Hyunjin retorts.

He guides you to his same wooden stool, where he climbs upon the seat and then takes your hands in his again as you stand in front of him, pressing a small kiss to your palm before speaking.

“You know I care about you, right?” He begins, his eyebrows raised curiously.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you reply.

“And you know I love your art.”

“So you’ve told me,” you say, and Hyunjin brings your hand up to press another kiss to your palm.

“I have a proposal for you,” he then says. “And I just want you to hear me out.”

Your heart sinks at his words, already fearing the worst as you wait for him to elaborate. You pray he hasn’t done anything to reveal your identity, or to make these secret erotic sessions public, knowing you’d both never live a normal life again at either of the instances occurring.

“What is it?” You ask Hyunjin, heart racing in your chest.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand soothingly, trying to calm you down before he speaks.

“I privately sponsor the art gallery every year,” he begins. “I put some funding toward a painting of my choice and it allows those artists to have their pieces displayed for the winter show and make connections,” he continues.

“Okay…”

“And I want to sponsor you this year,” Hyunjin finishes, giving your hands a little squeeze.

“Hyunjin, there can't be an installment of your face at the art museum. People will get suspicious.”

“Not my face,” he says reassuringly. “Your art. Like the ones you used to do.”

And you feel your throat dry up at his words, the exact thing you’d feared coming to fruition.

“I can’t,” you’re quick to say.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t do those paintings anymore. I can paint you, or another person or whoever. But I can’t do one of my old ones.”

“But your old ones are beautiful,” Hyunjin says. “It doesn’t have to be your old series. You can start a new one. Do something entirely different.”

“I don’t want to do something entirely different, Hyunjin. It’s a chapter of my life that’s been closed already. You know I don’t do those anymore.”

Hyunjin maintains his collected composure, his eyes softening as he speaks to you.

“You’re not happy doing portraits. I know you. You have a spark in you when you’re painting for yourself, and people love them. You deserve to be doing what you love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, letting go of Hyunjin’s grasp and shaking your head. “I’m so grateful for the offer, but I can’t put myself back out there again.”

“You can still be anonymous,” Hyunjin offers. “Some artists I’ve sponsored choose to remain anonymous and only reveal to serious patrons of their art. I can make sure they don’t find out who you are.”

“It’s me and my art I don’t want to be seen,” you emphasize.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything now, rising from the wooden stool and reaching for the iced coffee he’s placed on the table beside you.

“Okay. I won’t press it any further.”

He swirls the cup of ice around in his hand, and then he hangs his head in defeat.

“Hyunjin, seriously. Thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you to consider it. But I’m not ready yet.”

He shoves a hand in his pocket and cocks his head slightly.

“Is this because of Quinton?”

“What? Hyunjin, I already told you our relationship is strictly professional-”

“Not romantically,” Hyunjin continues. “You’re like a slave to him. You do everything he tells you to do. He probably doesn’t let you leave this studio.

You’re quiet again, not answering him immediately. No, you don’t stay here at Q’s behest. But it just feels safer to follow his advice. He was just a client when you met him, but he took you under his wing to get you where you are now. He runs all your schedules, he books your appointments for you, he even gives his say on most of your work. He’s the only part of your old life that’s remained the same, despite your transition to portraits, and cutting him off would be stepping into a world completely unbeknownst to you.

“No,” you say finally, but you don’t expand further upon your stance.

“You’re so lonely here,” Hyunjin responds frustratedly. “And yet you follow orders from the same person whose job it is to keep you invisible.”

“Why should I follow your orders?” You retort.

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you reply frustratedly, finally feeling the anger overtake you as you continue your angered speech. “You love the idea of me. You love the idea of escaping your crazy rich life to try and resolve the tortured artist you’re so infatuated with. You love the idea of fulfilling somebody’s life with your presence because it’s all you do for a career. I’m not the person I was when I was doing those paintings- I do portraits now, and I work under somebody who knows what’s best for me. And you’re just a client I’m sleeping with.”

Hyunjin purses his lips, amused you would stoop that low for the purposes of declining his offer. And then he shakes his head as he speaks again.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’m just some client you’re sleeping with. I never tried to push you out of this line of work you hate so much, or drew you on every page of my sketch book or made love to you in every square inch of this goddamn studio. I’m not proposing this because I care about you and I want you to do what you love, it’s because I’m just a client you’re sleeping with.”

And he pivots on his heel to exit the studio, taking rushed steps toward the door as tears brim the corners of your eyes.

“Hyunjin, wait,” you call desperately.

“I see you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, turning around to face you. “I see all of you. Your work didn’t just materialize by some anonymous form. You’re a painter, a really talented one, and I don’t want you to feel this all-consuming solitude anymore. I say that because I love you, not just because I’m sleeping with you. If you want to remain invisible to everybody except Quinton, then be my guest. Just know that I tried.”

And without another word, the studio is empty again, the tip of your brush still dripping with the remnants of the warm brown color and every intention to add a second figure to your painting.

You don’t speak with Hyunjin any more that evening. Or the next day. Or perhaps for a whole week following the conversation, for that matter. The reality is that you want to partake in his offer, the thought of it candidly piquing your interest to paint something other than another rich man. And it would be nice to watch your art be displayed for people to see just once, rather than to live on the walls of a company where only people within a certain tax bracket will ever grace your work. But what you reiterated to Hyunjin still stands- you’re scared to venture out into the competitive world of art galleries again. Your old series was a hit, sure, but it was also torn down relentlessly by those who didn’t understand it and those who simplified it down to its medium. And it was a much harder endeavor to make people understand your watercolor forms, unlike the portraits Q advises you continue producing.

But you can’t seem to stop thinking of Hyunjin’s proposal as a whole, understanding very well that his offer is one of the kindest things he could propose to you at this place in your life. He sees you- all of you, and subsequently he knows that you’re unhappy in this monotonous abyss of adding new features to the same faces every day. The way a change for you is determined only by a shift in a client’s pose or even just an addition of their pet- it’s all so repetitive, exactly what art isn’t supposed to be.

Maybe you’re just scared of getting rejected again, or perhaps it’s that you’re scared of finally being seen again, anonymous or not, putting yourself on the map again and being perceived.

“I want a painting,” Hyunjin says as he saunters into the studio one evening, throwing off his bag and dragging a stool to the middle of the room.

“Oh- Hyunjin, pleased to see you again,” Q remarks, bowing and giving you a nervous look.

Hyunjin doesn’t even acknowledge him, keeping a stern gaze locked on yours as if he’s challenging you.

“We have the evening booked today,” Q begins. “But I’m sure we can accommodate something for next week-”

“I need it now,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m willing to pay five times your asking price.”

And you narrow your eyes at Hyunjin, knowing he’s making his best attempt to provoke you and disrupt the work you’re completing per Q’s orders.

“How do you want it?” Q then asks, not hesitating to put aside your entire evening for Hyunjin’s offer.

“I want to be in a suit. And I want to be holding a wad of cash. I want to look like an investor.”

“Interesting,” Q says, his gaze flickering to yours. “She can do it though.”

Q turns to face you, giving you a knowing look as he raises his eyebrows. “I’ll clear your calendar for today and we can stay and work on this piece.”

And Hyunjin looks to you, too, waiting for you to protest, to say something along the lines of a refusal to partake in the outlandish task. But you avert both of their gazes, readying your paint palette and gesturing to one of the stools in front of you.

“Have a seat,” you say plainly, void of any emotion or desire to fulfill the task. And by the way Q hovers over you, void of autonomy, too, Hyunjin concludes.

“How are things at the company?” Q asks Hyunjin, leaning in a little too close to you as you begin painting long strokes on the canvas.

“Fine,” Hyunjin says, not taking his gaze off yours. His eyes are narrowed like he’s challenging you, yet you don’t give him the reaction he searches for.

“You must be busy,” Q remarks, his hands folded behind his back. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re running her schedule like the fucking military,” Hyunjin retorts, cocking an eyebrow at him. Q takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t argue, doing his best to keep in line at your highest-paying client.

“She’s pretty busy,” Q replies reluctantly. “But it’s nothing she can’t handle.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, again waiting for you to chime in, but you still don’t, working on adding details to Hyunjin’s tresses on the canvas.

“This will be my final session,” Hyunjin then says, and your head snaps to meet his gaze.

“Is that so?” Q questions. “Going overseas again?”

“Indefinitely,” Hyunjin replies. “Not overseas, I’ve just no need for the paintings anymore.”

Your lips part as though to ask if he’s serious, but you can’t, not with Q here alongside you.

“I have so many of them now,” Hyunjin remarks, not taking his eyes off you. “It’s been a lovely time with the two of you, but I won’t be returning after this evening. I hope you understand.”

“Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything we can provide you with,” Q voices. “I hope we’ll remain connected with the peers at your company.”

“Oh, you will,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m sure the investors and the senior managers will love portraits of their own. She’ll have a lifetime of portraits to complete when I’m gone.”

You can feel a pit forming in your stomach, queasy at the thought of carrying on this task of capturing rich businessmen and ceasing your sessions with Hyunjin. He’s unmoving in his attempts to make you revisit your old art. But his begging has also been eye-opening, making you realize just how much you hate this line of work and having Q breathe down your neck.

Hyunjin has a point, you’re unhappy doing portraits. You love the watercolor figures you paint, you love your time with Hyunjin and the feeling of unending curiosity he instills in you. There’s no solitude when he’s around, filling every aspect of your life with such color and vibrancy like the figures you paint. And you learn from him just as much as he learns from you.

But the fear remains, the feeling of hopelessness remains, the perception that Hyunjin is only obsessed with an idea of you and that your career is far gone from the watercolor figures you painted so long ago.

And of course, that you require Q’s uncompromising presence in your life to be even close to successful. He’s the one who transitioned you to a successful career of portraits after your previous line of work fell through. And you’re not sure you can shift to a new focus without him to guide you.

“Hyunjin,” you say suddenly, garnering the attention of both he and Q.

“What is it?” Q replies, as though you’re referring to him. And you wish he wouldn’t be so… disruptive, making you lose your train of thought as Hyunjin waits for your words with bated breath.

“I’ve completed the initial outline,” you settle on saying. “It should be sent over to you in a couple days.”

And he nods, a somber, thin-lipped expression on his face as he understands you’re never going to divert from this path of fear you walk, one you’re forcing yourself to stick to.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, getting up to leave again. “I’ll see you around.”

Private events are seldom actually private for Hyunjin. The interior of the gallery is organized accordingly so that patrons can mingle with their respective artists and all of the prestigious guests invited.

But the exterior is only private up the crowd control stanchions, where beyond it live hordes of people wielding all sorts of fancy cameras and cell phones, snapping photo after photo and analyzing every one of Hyunjin’s movements.

Hyunjin’s attending an art gallery today, the crowds murmur amongst each other, the message echoing all over the city and overshadowing the art itself, which hasn’t even been unveiled yet.

His departure from the black limousine he arrives in is met instantly with deafening screams, the repetitive click of camera shutters and commands for him to angle his face every which way. The people stop to stare at his fitted black suit, the long black hair he sports styled slick out of his face and expensive jewelry he flaunts as a clear indicator that he’s a sponsor of the evening’s show, alongside a long list of other wealthy individuals.

His hands remain tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, giving a gracious bow to the fans before making his way inside to the main event.

And the gallery is significantly more packed than he’s used to, people crowding every square inch of the marbled floors and admiring the intricate pieces of art. The curtains are pulled back neatly so that guests can roam freely among the halls, easels set up in neat rows and canvases mounted on walls to display all the sponsored works of art.

Hyunjin is quick to gravitate to the long white table pushed against the wall by the entrance, set up with generous servings of hors d’oeuvres. And in a bout of nervousness, he’s sampling the cheese platters and the varying flavors of wine, sighing as he swirls a glass of cherry merlot between his slender fingers.

He was supposed to be here sponsoring you tonight, unveiling your paintings for the world to appreciate once again, and so that he’d finally put forth the notion that you’re more than the halls of law offices your portraits exist in.

But that was three weeks ago now- three weeks in which Hyunjin failed to visit you like he’d warned he would. And three weeks in which neither of you reconnected, letting the temporary affair between you dissipate like the sketches he stopped producing of you, like the portraits he finished collecting from you. And like the hope he held onto that maybe you’d come around and entertain a life in which you aren’t so comfortable being invisible and inhibited at the hands of your Q. But that never came around, and although Hyunjin is frustrated with you, he misses you just as much, knowing very well he could spend a lifetime learning from you if only you let him. Now in the gallery he once dragged you to, where he admitted to having learned the secret you hid, he can only pray you know that he sees you for who you are, and not some invisible producer of your static portraits. That a life lived in complete solitude doesn’t have to be the answer to succumbing to your fears, even if it feels more comfortable than the perception and the critiques of others. And that although the idea of you was a lovely one indeed, he loves every part of you, not just the concept of you- and pushing you to grow was his way of making it known.

The gallery hosts are quick to introduce the paintings and their respective sponsors, a variety of them being under anonymous titles and names as they choose to remain hidden, too. But Hyunjin doesn’t wait around to listen to much of it, examining the paintings on his own in between nervous trips to the snack table, where he gets tipsy off a little too much cherry wine. It’s his first time not being a sponsor to a specific painting, instead having opted to donate a large sum to the gallery in his company’s name. But after you declined his invitation to be sponsored, Hyunjin didn’t see it fit to highlight the work of any other painting. It’s you he wants to see up there, proudly showing off your work and making a name for yourself in the industry again the way he knows you secretly want to. And he so badly wishes he could stop by your studio one last time to tell you that he’s not sure he can ever sponsor another painting again if it’s not one of yours. Your art circles his mind relentlessly, as do your words, your heart, your body and your real, tangible presence.

“Nice, isn’t it?” A voice says from beside Hyunjin. He almost jumps, the wine making him a little tired at this point in the evening, not having socialized with many people while he stands in the corner of the room and takes in the sight.

“Quinton?” Hyunjin voices plainly, scowling at his uptight demeanor as he leans against the table beside Hyunjin and crosses his legs.

“So nice to see our former highest-painting client,” Q responds. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve never seen you at one of these,” Hyunjin chimes in. He then looks around the room frantically, thinking maybe you’d accompanied him to the event tonight.

“Don’t bother,” Q says, as he takes a sip of wine. “I’m alone. Just scoping out the competition.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swirling his glass of wine around in his hand before speaking again.

“She never had a portrait at one of these gallery shows. Said they felt too commercial. Of course her old stuff was shown just about everywhere. I think she was just scared.”

“You mean- you knew?” Hyunjin questions.

“Of course I knew. I led her career’s entire rebranding. Of course she didn’t love the portraits, but the money came to us like you wouldn’t believe. And coupled with her fear of these gallery walks and important figures, we had no choice but to compromise. I got her the opportunity to paint people like you. And she did all the work.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply shaking his head and crossing his legs, too.

“She had a lot of people who believed in her art.”

Q shrugs. “She was free to walk whenever she wanted. Her fear kept her controlled, not me. I’m just another businessman for all she cares.”

And Hyunjin gives a small nod, finishing the last of his wine.

“Look, I can’t help but feel like I owe you an apology,” Hyunjin says finally. “I was just a little jealous whenever you were around. Not that there was anything going on, I just mean-”

“You think you’re the first client to have taken a liking to her?” Q interrupts. “I’ve seen it a million times. People want to take advantage and they get obsessed, and they start pulling crazy shit like offering five times the pay for a simple portrait.”

Q looks down to examine his leather shoes, adjusting the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. And then he sighs frustratedly before speaking again.

“I would know,” Q then says, doing his best to avert Hyunjin’s gaze. “She’s a tough one to crack. She loves her paintings, and being alone and I don’t think she’d ever give the time of day to a good man. Not even if he followed her to her next endeavor.”

Hyunjin nods at the marbled floor, and then his head snaps in the direction of Q’s somber gaze.

The way he speaks of you, the way he gets a little too close to you for Hyunjin’s liking- Hyunjin finally thinks he understands. It’s not just the fear of being perceived that keeps you from picking up your old life again. It’s the fear of abandoning Q, who so arrogantly feels like he’s owed something for helping get you back on your feet after you shifted your work’s focus.

He’s the only other person who knows your secret, and he holds it over you like it makes him more important than anyone else in your life. He reduces you to a lifetime of following his orders, likely because he’s bitter that he was never the solution to your loneliness. A wealthy businessman himself, it was Q who kept returning for paintings once not long ago, accumulating piles of your work and making every last effort to pursue you. But when he wasn’t successful, he convinced you that you were right about your fears, that it was your best move to take his advice and he’d keep you turning a generous profit as long as you stuck by him. Q was so hopelessly devoted to an idea of you, and when he couldn’t help you overcome your fears, he became the catalyst for your fears, instead.

“You and I are a lot of the same,” Q voices. “Two rich men with dreams just out of our reach. It seems money can’t buy you everything, after all.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, swallowing nervously and looking at Q. And then Q shakes his head as he sets his glass of wine down on the table.

“Only I’ve never seen her willingly paint the same client so many times the way she does with you,” he finishes. “I guess she really liked being seen, after all.”

Q adjusts his glasses once more, and Hyunjin feels his heart sink at Q’s words, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly guilty for not having contacted you again.

“Could you tell her I stopped by?” Hyunjin inquires.

“Me? Oh no,” Q begins. “I can’t get in contact with her. No one can.”

“You- what? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Q responds. “She told me she was done, and she walked out on me with a single watercolor palette and a notepad. She didn’t say anything else.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Hyunjin interrupts to ask, and Q shakes his head.

“She just left, and it’s been almost a month and she’s still MIA. Maybe she’ll come crawling back when she needs another rebranding.”

Hyunjin can feel his heart sinking deeper and deeper with every passing word that leaves Q’s lips.

He’s tried your cell phone- twice since leaving, and you never answered. But he assumed it to be a fleeting argument that would eventually make amends in due time when he could stomach visiting the studio again- not you running away from all of this for good.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin says frantically, chugging the rest of his wine and slamming his glass on the table.

“It was me who found her the first time,” Q says, not taking his eyes off the art across the room.

“What?”

“It was me who chased after her. After she disappeared. Don’t be surprised if she shuts you out when you finally do find her- I think I’ve already scarred her enough with my relentless attempts at persuasion.”

Hyunjin nods nervously, watching as Q cocks his head at the art, still averting Hyunjin’s gaze. And when he finally does turn to look at him, his eyes are glossy with tears, guilt painting every feature on his face.

“Could you just tell her I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin nods, though he makes no verbal promise to relay the message to you.

“Don’t do what I did,” Q emphasizes. “I think you’re the one person who makes her feel like art, herself. Don’t ruin this.”

“I forgot my ID today,” Hyunjin remarks to the security guard in the late hours of the evening. He’s met with a gracious bow, the same security guard opening the door and ushering him inside anyway.

“Don’t worry about it. Take as long as you need.”

The security guards all know Hyunjin very well now, taking note of the way his visits increased tenfold following your departure from the city.

At first he felt as though maybe he was searching for you when he’d come out here, any ounce of proof that you had indeed existed the way he remembered, and hopeful for the confirmation that you moved on to something new.

But as paintings cycled through their respective artists, and exhibits cycled through varying themes, it was a confirmation he never received, never finding a hint of you among the gallery. Thus, Hyunjin drew the hopeful conclusion that you’d escaped to a nicer city, worked on your old paintings again and made a new life for yourself, independently instead of under the overbearing presence of any other man. It’s what he wishes, at least, feeling disheartened every time he remembers you’ve very seldom lived any part of your professional career for yourself only.

The gallery is quiet at this hour, akin to the silent gray evening beyond its walls, and Hyunjin’s shoes squeak along the floors as he makes his way over to the curtains that veil the artwork.

New sculptures, by the same artist who had formed the paper mache ones. These ones are formed from wire and clay, the figures once again embracing each other in tender touches and dances. Hyunjin studies every careful bend and arch, making a mental note to sketch some of them when he gets a chance.

Another room houses a similar spread of modern art from before, these ones all coinciding with the warm lighting that hangs overhead, strokes along the canvases all housing similar warm-toned hues. He knows you’d love this installment and its careful attention to making use of color.

And the last room, the same little room behind a curtain, a small bench in front of a colossal canvas and just barely lit for his eyes to make out the scene.

Hyunjin’s seated before he can even examine the artwork, squinting carefully at the painting to get a better look. He even makes a conscious decision to put on his black frame glasses, making every attempt to get a proper look at the artwork in front of him.

Diluted hues of paint and water dance along the canvas, figured outlines he’s very familiar with, and the essence of solitude radiating from every brush stroke. Only this one isn’t one figure- it’s two, a warm-toned figure and a cool-toned outline holding each other in a tender embrace, their faces indistinguishable, true to the mystery of your work.

And between them, bright hues of paint, yellows, blues, magentas, fantastic mixtures of chartreuse and vermillion, all painted like brush strokes along their yearning bodies and illustrating a profound sense of togetherness, much more robust than the ever-present solitude.

“Visions of you in solitude,” reads the small bronze beneath the canvas.

As he cocks his head to make sense of the painting, he feels the leather of the bench dip beside him, indicating the presence of another patron. And at this hour, he doesn’t need to turn his head to understand who it is.

“There’s two,” Hyunjin says with a small smile, not averting his gaze from the painting.

“It felt incomplete without one.”

“Is that…”

“You?” You question quietly.

He nods in response, eyes scanning the swatches of paint between their bodies. It has to be me, he thinks. It has to be us.

“Maybe it is,” you reply. “I don’t disclose my processes to just about anyone. But you’re welcome to make your assumptions how you see fit.”

Hyunjin gives a breathy chuckle, finally turning to meet your gaze.

You look lighter- happier, as though you have the weight of your fears and reservations off your shoulders for once. Hyunjin can’t help but lean a little closer into you before stopping himself, knowing he can’t come in here to mirror the same thing Q once did long ago.

“You’re doing galleries,” he settles on saying.

“And they scare the hell out of me,” you respond, huffing a little at the end of your sentence. “But, it is nice to be seen again.”

He gives a little nod, and then his mind goes back to Q, who had asked to relay his version of an apology to you. But Hyunjin hesitates to speak of him, not wanting to taint your new art with the mentions of the old businessmen who took advantage of you.

“I’d have kept my distance if I knew how this went down the first time,” Hyunjin explains, hoping you’ll get what he implies. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to shift your focus. I just wanted you to be happy.”

You sigh for a moment, scanning the painting across from you, too, before turning to speak to him once more.

“Of all the clients I’ve painted, you were the first to ask about my vision. I think you do see me. And I think it was easier to say you loved an idea of me, because I couldn’t understand why you’d love any other part.”

Hyunjin nods, not taking his eyes off of yours.

“I learn from you the same way you learned from me,” you continue. “And you make me feel so seen. But I’m learning how to do that without needing you, too. Getting comfortable with my loneliness, I don’t think it’s something I was able to practice very much. At least not with…”

Hyunjin nods, not needing to hear Q’s name to know who you speak of.

“I understand,” Hyunjin voices. “And I want you to take all the time that you need. What matters is that you feel fulfilled, and that you’re not being pushed at the hands of somebody else. That’s more than enough for me to love you at a distance.”

And you nod at him, your heart swelling at his words as he turns to look back at the painting once more. The two of you stay there like that for several minutes, observing the way you’ve so carefully captured the togetherness you feel when you’re beside him. Swatches of paints that echo the color he brings into your life, and yet rooted in the solitude you’re still learning to be comfortable with. Visions of him in your own solitude, also creating a version of yourself that will continue to learn from him as much as he learns from you. And still art at the hands of him, both when you’re loving him wholly, and at this comfortable distance from each other.

And by the summer months, he’ll love you at a close proximity when you’re ready again, exchanging passionate embraces behind the curtains at galleries and making love to you in your shared apartment. He’ll continue to draw for you, and remain the biggest fan of the two-piece figures you illustrate with watercolors, capturing the same sense of togetherness and yet unwavering solitude that comes with breaking yourself down to the world around you. And the love will be reciprocated unconditionally by you, who finally feels seen at the hands of somebody who perceives you beyond just a concept.

But for now, he’ll remain right here, at this comfortable distance, allowing himself to learn from you as much as you learn from him. And the love will be undemanding, but it will be real, tangible.

[ ᴛᴀɢs: @drhsthl , @straykeedz-recs , @caitlyn98s , @moonlinos , @cottonsthings , @jaykyo , @write143 , @pinkcinnamon444 , @maximumkillshot , @auraleeknow , @skzms @coastalmaine , @venomracha , @lmhcats , @felinows , @maexc , @kang-min-joo , @liinoracha , @sealovesbts , @hanniessleepyeyes , @hyunjinsamdl , @chans1aptop , @yomomma104 , @sheraall , @kbbok , @silentreadersthings , @beomkgyu , @diorrxluvskz , @dancerachaslut , @jeannie-beannie , @heeseungshim , @weareapackofstrays , @bethanysnow , @inlovewithmusician , @kite-lee , @heartheartisa , @katsukis1wife , @minhosbitterriver , @y-ur--i , @seung-mine , @sskzlover , @bomi-ja , @crisle19 , @binniesbang , @leritzreyw , @lixiesundrop , @chopchopslide-juggalo , @vsereniasstuff , @morethancupcake , @fun-fanfics , @awillowbent , @unstiqn , @lixiesfairygf ]

add yourself to the tag list here.

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yuzukult · 3 months ago

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this happened with my family as well!! 🙁 my uncle immigrated here legally over 30 years ago, applied for his siblings (my other aunts and uncles) to come and it’s been over 17+ years & some have still not gone through…

and btw my mom, who immigrated legally via marriage, applied for my aunt and uncle (her brother and sister) to also immigrate about 25 years ago and it still hasn't gone through 👍 so no it's not easy to do it the legal way! thanks

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yuzukult · 3 months ago

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new members — may 2025 !

please join us in welcoming our newest batch of members to the network!

@joshujin

@yuzukult

@cheollollipop

@amyzworldds

@an-annyeoing-writer

@missgraylock

.∿⊹﹟next steps . . .

reblog this acceptance post

mention @svthub somewhere on your blog

use #svthub in your first five tags when posting

thanks for joining us! we can't wait to get to know you!

don't see your name on this list? your application may be considered for next month's batch! if it's been more than 2 months and an admin hasn't contacted you yet, feel free to reach out to us!

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yuzukult · 3 months ago

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svthub official application post !

want to meet more writers and make friends? want to get involved in the caratblr writing community? svthub is looking for new members, and we might just be the place for you!

.∿⊹﹟ are you ready to join us ?

if you . . .

✔️ are an adult 21+

✔️ write seventeen fanfiction

✔️ reblogged this post

✔️ have read our rules and guidelines

. . . then you're ready to fill out our membership application form! we can't wait to meet you!

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yuzukult · 3 months ago

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ahhhh !! omfg.

it’s been a while since i’ve read a new full fledged fic of this length and i have 0 regrets. it made me miss what tumblr used to be for me back then, and reading it made me feel like i was watching a movie, detaching from reality.

such great writing, so enjoyable!! makes me want to write again too :)

CLARITY [K.MG]

Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend.

Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he hears from his bedroom when his friend stands you up for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.

pairing: mingyu x f!reader (with a side of bad bf!jungkook)

word count: 30,2k (lmaooo)

genre: bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff

content warnings: emotional cheating, tsundere mingyu at first, too much crying, self-manipulating, moral dilemmas, jealousy, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, denial (tons), one minor injury, mention of blood, a love triangle?, sexual tension, inappropriate things happen between mc and mingyu, petnames: babe, baby, princess (hers) | explicit smut, teasing, body worship, praise, marking, protected penetration, it's love making guys

🎧: mine — ive, breathing — nct dream, knew you — kailee morgue, begin again (taylor's version) — taylor swift, i wanna tell u — lexie liu

a big thank you to tiya @gyubakeries and ro @shinysobi for reading this over and telling me it doesn't suck ♡ and rae @nerdycheol for supporting my simp and pathetic men agenda ♡

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.

disclaimer: i didn't want to make any svt member the asshole so i made him jungkook, but i love jungkook he's literally my bias in bts and my forever ult so please just remember that this is a work of fiction and it doesn't represent how he is in real life nor how i view him (it pained me writing him this way you have no idea kdjfgnrjeskgf). i also didn't proofread the last two scenes i¿m sawrry

last note: there are several pov switches throughout the whole fic, because it just went where it wanted, I had no control over it, it was the fic i swear.

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used: heartbeat, paper texture (banner)

i hope you enjoy! i'd love to read your thoughts :)

“Are you sure I won’t bother him?"

You’ve blocked Jungkook’s hand from opening the door to his shared apartment, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes.

“Babe, it’s not the first time you’ve come to watch a movie, he doesn’t mind, stop worrying.”

“It’s just... he always locks himself up in his room when I come over. Maybe he doesn’t want to get to know me.” You whisper, in fear the door doesn’t muffle the sounds from outside and he’s standing just by the entrance.

The few times you’ve crossed paths with your boyfriend’s roommate, he barely said hi before sprinting out of whatever room you were in. Sure, your relationship with Jungkook is fairly new, and you don’t expect to become friendly with his circle of friends so quickly. But if his closest friend won’t pay you any mind then how are you supposed to get along?

“He does that to give us privacy, I promise it has nothing to do with you.” Jungkook doesn’t notice the coldness you're sure his friend exhibits towards you, as he has been that way every time he brought a new girl to their home. Jungkook attributes it to his friend simply giving him some space, to not make everything awkward by being the third wheel. “He wanted to watch a movie, and he said it was cool when I told him you were coming over.”

A deep breath leaves your lungs at his confirmation, even if it’s already the tenth time you’ve asked the same question and got the same answer.

Inside the apartment, Mingyu sits manspreading on the couch, phone in his hand and headphones at the maximum not-deafening volume. Jungkook’s still in his fairytale phase, that time at the beginning of a relationship when he still tries to introduce his new partner to aspects of his life, in which Mingyu is included. That’s the only reason he accepted his friend’s insistent plea to hang out with you both tonight. And when a hand shakes his shoulder lightly, he knows it’s his Jungkook with his new catch of the semester.

You sit on the other end of the couch, as far as possible from Mingyu’s motionless body, still unsure on where you stand with him. Neither of you make the effort to talk to the other while Jungkook goes to his bedroom to change. You don’t want to bother him and make him have a reason to dislike you, and Mingyu notices your nervousness, but prefers not to do anything about it.

Mingyu has learned to not try hard to get to know Jungkook’s fleeting girlfriends, because no matter how nice or how pretty you are, in a matter of weeks, he knows his friend will find something to complain about and eventually use as an excuse to break things off. It’s a never-ending cycle, and he learned he can’t do anything to stop it.

“What are we watching?”

Jungkook’s loud voice breaks the ice beginning to build up in the living room, and quickly sits down between Mingyu and you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice the ignoring contest going on, chatting with Mingyu like the other man wasn’t just dead silent.

After discovering you’ve never seen Rocky, a few gasps from Jungkook and a lot of convincing later, the movie starts playing on the screen in front of you. You didn’t actually care what they chose, just happy to spend some time with your boyfriend, even if you’re not alone.

Mingyu knows the movie from beginning to end and backwards, could even recite the dialogues if asked, not because he particularly likes it, but because Jungkook somehow always convinces the girls he brings to their home to endure it.

He used to argue with him about the reputation he built of being a heartbreaker, but Jungkook doesn’t see it that way. To him, he’s just trying to find the one in an endless quest that never fulfills him the way he thinks a relationship should. But Mingyu knows Jungkook well, and the real reason why he can’t last in a relationship for longer than a few months is clear as day, but Jungkook’s blind to it.

You pretend to focus on the storyline, Rocky’s growth journey that Jungkook was so excited about, while he comments on his favorite parts. It’s not a movie you’d pick if you were alone or with your friends, too manly for your taste, and the romance aspect is too shallow, but Jungkook’s perspective and insightful comments are making you appreciate it more.

Tears begin forming on the corners of your eyes as the final fight progresses, your throat closing up in warning as the rounds pass and Rocky gets beaten up by his opponent. No matter the genre, movies always make you cry during the final act as the protagonist reaches the goal after struggling so much.

After the referee separates both opponents, tying at the 14th round, the public demands a rematch, but Rocky’s more preoccupied to look for the woman he loves. You try to sniffle quietly, no longer being able to put a stop to your weeping, and snuggle against Jungkook’s chest, just as his phone rings, receiving a call from Cathlyn.

From the corner of his eye, Mingyu notices the whole interaction, and he almost gets shocked by Jungkook blankly rejecting the call in an instant and putting his attention back on the screen. How didn’t Jungkook notice you’ve been loudly sobbing for the past fifteen minutes is beyond him. But the shock lasts less than two seconds, as Jungkook's phone rings again and he gets up from the couch, heading to the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his thumb already opening Cathlyn’s text conversation.

You know Cathlyn has been your boyfriend’s best friend since high-school, and became inseparable since then. You even came to meet her a few times. She’s funny, nice and outgoing, effortlessly being the center of attention.

The living room gets cold again after Jungkook goes to the other room, and it’s too obvious that Mingyu just doesn’t have any interest in engaging in small talk with you. Your last sniffles echo against the walls, and the sigh Mingyu lets out almost sounds louder in the sea of dense silence.

Another sniffle from you and a tired sigh from him, Mingyu gets up to go after his friend who doesn’t seem to be coming back to the couch soon enough. He leaves a pack of tissues in front of you without sparing you a glance, and just walks past the couch.

"Dude, don’t just leave me alone with her.” You don’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation. You really don’t. But the sound carries. And it just proves that Mingyu clearly doesn’t like you. “She’s your date, not mine.”

“Sorry bro, Cathy was calling me nonstop. I thought something had happened.” Not necessarily true, as she called only once and Mingyu's aware of it. “She wants to go out tonight, clear her head a bit.”

“I don’t care what Cathlyn wants. Your girlfriend was crying and you just left her there.” It’s almost like he was defending you, but something in his tone suggests that it isn’t about you specifically. You blow your nose one more time, and the sound echoes into the kitchen. “Listen, she’s still crying like a baby, go with her bro.”

Last words you hear before heavy steps begin and get closer and closer to the living room couch until the man sits by your side.

“Sorry babe, I know movies always get you emotional.” Jungkook apologizes sweetly, even if there’s something else in his mind.

“It’s okay.” The sun setting behind the windows draws your attention away from your boyfriend. “I should get going. It’s getting late and I promised my roommate we’d go out for dinner.”

Lame excuse, but you’re aware you’re not wanted at the apartment anymore by half the people living under that roof, and it really is too late.

Jungkook nods, unbeknownst to the uncomfortable situation he's a part of, and grabs your coat as you get up from the couch. You turn back, smiling to Mingyu coming out of the kitchen as a form of goodbye, but he just nods and sits back down.

“We're going out later, and Cathy’s paying, you wanna come? It’s a bar close to here.” Jungkook naively asks as he walks you to the door. He might be genuine with his invitation, but you’re not sure.

“I told you I have an important meeting for the congress tomorrow morning, I can't go out."

Jungkook hasn’t proven himself as someone with the best memory out there. You’ve had to remind him of important stuff a few times already. The key is to just take a deep breath and not let it stir up any anger within you, because that’s just how he is.

“Oh, I thought it was on Sunday.” Jungkook asks just as Mingyu walks past the end of the hallway into his bedroom and shuts the door.

Even he knows about your meeting, because you told Jungkook last time you were there, and even if he locks himself up in his room, the walls might as well be made of paper the way he can always hear your conversations.

“Tomorrow is Sunday.” You note as you chuckle lightly.

“Oh, shit. Then I guess I’ll see you when you're done.” He gives you a sweet kiss for the first time in the day, light and fleeting like a feather, and closes the door after you take a few steps towards the elevator.

Nayeon closes her macbook suddenly, done with all the work you have been doing since the early morning, ready to take a deserved break. “So? How was the hot date last night?” She rests her chin on the palm of her hand, ready for whatever gossip you’re willing to share.

“It wasn't hot.” Your eyes don’t leave your notebook, in an intent to work on ideas to make the presentation more interesting.

“You’re so secretive! C’mon, tell your best friends forever and ever what you did!” She insists, making you chuckle as you see your other friend mirroring her from the corner of your eye.

Your pen drops from your hand onto the table as you finally look at them. “It was just a movie night with his asshole roommate.”

“The hot one?” Jennie intercepts, now more interested than before.

“I don't know Jen, his only roommate.” You try to go back to your notes but your friends’ unrelenting stares make it impossible to concentrate. “And how do you even know him? I’d never seen him before meeting Jungkook.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re too cool for campus gossip,” Jennie takes the chance to poke fun at your lack of knowledge of basically anyone, “but everyone knows Jungkook and Mingyu.” They both giggle at their mention.

“Be serious, we're not in high school.” You deadpan, but deep down you know nothing really changes from high-school to college. The drama remains the same, just with a few years added to the people involved. “There’s no such thing as the popular guys.”

When you were younger, the different cliques that formed were crucial to what the experience was going to be for the years to come. And you used to live for the gossip. You always knew the latest fight or the newest couple before anyone else. It felt important at that time and it kept you entertained. But as you grew older, got into college and met new people, meaningless gossip lost its interest, your focus now on passing your classes, meeting new friends, and having the best contacts to move forward with your career.

Sure, you knew of a Jungkook, as your best friends are up to date with the gossip and like it or not, you end up hearing everything even if you don’t know the people they’re talking about. But before he approached you at a party, you had no real idea who he was. It’s true that when you first saw your boyfriend at that party, he caught your attention immediately, and it’s undeniable that if you had seen him before, you would’ve been caught in his spell like every other girl on campus.

“What I mean is that people take notice when two hot guys hang out everyday.” Nayeon points it out like it’s the most common thing in the world. And maybe it is. “They’re like candy to the eye, too sweet, unapproachable, but nice to see nevertheless.”

You don’t forget to roll your eyes before replying. “Mingyu’s still an asshole. He never talks to me! I’m sure he curses at me in his head every time I show up at their apartment.”

“He seems so serious all the time.” Nayeon adds, having your back. “He’s probably a stem major or something like that.”

“He’s always hunched over his computer, so he probably is.” You note, eyes returning to your notebook so you can keep working on the presentation and be done with the topic.

“I once tried talking to him at a party, but he just looked me dead in the eye and said he wasn’t interested.” Jennie’s stare gets lost to the view out the window as she remembers. “I barely told him my name.”

Nayeon and you exchange looks before erupting into laughter.

“You guys are so mean!” Jennie complains, but joins to laugh with you two.

“Hey, at least he had the decency to tell you that and not lead you on.” Jennie shrugs, not really hurt as she has already forgotten that cursed interaction. “He barely says hi to me before sprinting out of my sight.”

“He doesn’t really talk to many people except that group of friends they have. It’s not personal, he's just a little anti-social.” Nayeon puts her two cents in. “Just let him be an asshole if he wants to be one!”

“I shouldn’t let him occupy that much space in my mind.” You nod at them and they both nod back in agreement. “I’m dating his best friend, he’s going to have to accept it.”

Nayeon and Jennie exchange looks, raising their eyebrows at your words before going back to you.

You have a vague idea what they meant by that, but you still ask, incredulously. “What?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison.

They tried several times to enlighten you about Jungkook’s “reputation”, as they called it, but you prefer to get to know him on your own and not have your judgement clouded beforehand. Rumors are just that, rumors.

“Look,” with your hands slapped on the table, you order their attention, “I know you guys don’t really like that I’m dating him,” you observe, “but I promise, It’s fine! He’s really nice and I think he really likes me.”

“It’s not that.” Jennie says at the same time as Nayeon exclaims, “I’m sure he does!”

“We already told you, he usually dates for a few months before breaking up all of the sudden.” Jennie continues, paraphrasing every warning they already gave you. “We’ll have your back with whatever you want to do, just be careful.”

“I won’t let a tattooed man who I've only been dating for a couple of weeks break my heart.” At least you think you're stronger than that.

“Am I an asshole if I tell you to just not get your hopes up?” Nayeon asks, and if it was any other person, you'd get mad, but only because it's her and she just lacks tact sometimes, you let it slide.

“Yes! You are!” You chuckle, knowing she’s just looking out for you. “Thank you guys for worrying about me. Now, I think we should shorten the introduction a little bit. Everyone there already knows who Durkheim is, we don't need to explain his whole biography.”

The notes you've been taking all day stare back at you, now more of a bunch of senseless scribbles than useful annotations.

“Ugh! Back to work already?” Jennie’s body falls limp on her chair, not ready for more hours of brainstorming and not reaching any goals.

“The professor wants to hear the whole thing tomorrow, we can't show up with anything less than a perfect speech.” You insist, opening Nayeon's macbook again against her will.

“Do you promise to tell us any good gossip about those friends of his, in about…” she looks at her empty wrist, pretending there's a watch there, “two hours? We'll work diligently until then.”

A deep sigh leaves you with a barely there smile you try to hide. “Fine. Two hours, and then we can take a real break.”

The waitress carries two pieces of cake and the biggest strawberry smoothie you’ve ever seen in your life, heading to your table. The size of the cup brings out chuckles from both Jungkook and you, but as soon as it gets placed between you on the table, the two straws draw your attention, and Jungkook asks the waitress for another smaller chocolate smoothie.

“You can have that all for yourself babe, I know how much you love strawberries.”

You don’t admit that you were excited for the corny romantic moment of sharing a smoothie with two straws, appreciating that he at least remembered your love for berries.

Jungkook’s phone keeps vibrating with notifications, which he reads but doesn’t respond to, trying his best to focus on whatever you’re telling him. His mind is anywhere but the diner where you decided to have an afternoon snack, battling between answering Cathlyn’s worrying texts and listening to the ideas you gave for the presentation you’re doing with your friends in front of various colleges soon.

In the middle of your story is when you realize Jungkook hasn’t said a word, his eyes lost to the much more interesting brown swirls on the wooden table.

“Is everything okay?” He’s been noticeably distracted lately, getting lost in thought more often, taking longer to reply to your texts. You attribute it to the time of the year, as he’s busier at work and with his studies, and so are you. But even if he says he’s fine, you’re beginning to worry.

“Yeah babe, sorry, just a little tired.” His lips line up in a tight smile in an attempt to reassure you. “Do you mind hanging out at my apartment after we’re done eating?”

Scraping your plans to catch an afternoon movie, you hum and nod before returning to eating your piece of cake, seemingly disguising your disappointment since he doesn’t ask any more questions.

Jungkook leaves his plate exactly the way the server left it for him, the piece of chocolate cake with not even a particle less, his fork unused and clean on the side. He gulps down his new personal smoothie in a second, and as soon as the last piece of your cake is entering your mouth, he’s asking the waitress for the bill. He knows you’re still talking to him, he can see your lips moving, but your words enter one ear and leave through the other, having no meaning in his mind.

Jungkook pays without asking for your share, which you weren’t even going to argue with him about. You’re usually a heavy supporter of each person paying for what they ordered, but as the minutes pass by, it’s becoming harder and harder to not get mad at him, so you’re going to spend his money without feeling bad about it. You know you should ask him about it, but shouldn’t he tell you if something was wrong? Especially after you’ve already asked him? Between being a pushover and pretending nothing’s happening, you end up choosing to just spend the rest of the afternoon with him and hope he’ll just tell you the truth.

The walk to his apartment is less than 10 minutes long, but every dreaded step drags heavily, making everything move slower, with the both of you in silence, and the incessant notifications blowing up his phone acting as a remainder of his true priority.

Jungkook’s trying to ignore the constant ping coming out of the pocket of his jeans, pretending he isn’t dying to just answer who keeps trying to contact him.

And you have a vague idea of who it could possibly be.

The cold apartment doesn’t feel welcoming as you enter through the door, lights off and deadly silent. Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you tiptoe around as if in fear. Your reflection in the mirror looks unmistakably disappointed and sad, and you wonder if Jungkook really didn’t notice or just didn’t care.

He can be charming and gentle when he wants to, always so polite and respectful, but the ability to be aware of your feelings may be something he could work on. Or at least understand that the things he does ultimately affect you too.

In the kitchen, he’s already forgotten his one rule for the date, and is carefully answering every message he got, the glasses of water he was filling for the both of you forgotten on the counter.

When he hears you come out to the living room, Jungkook rushes to sit with you, with a plan already in mind.

“Babe, will you get mad if I go for a bit?” His fingers trace lines on your forearm, and you begin to lean into him before your brain registers his words.

“What? Why?” You ask as your eyes search for any type of clue on his face.

“Cathy called me,” he takes a second to think about the best words to use, “she had a fight with her boyfriend, and I have to be there for her.”

Jungkook never liked Cathlyn's boyfriends. Something about them always feels off about them, as if none of them are ever right for his best friend. In his eyes, he just wants the best for her, someone who'll really be able to care for Cathlyn in the way he thinks she deserves.

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” Deep down, you wonder if it really is so serious that Jungkook feels obligated to stand you up. But it’s fair, she needs her best friend when she’s having a bad time. The fact that her best friend is your boyfriend is a coincidence you can’t be mad about.

“I’ll be back before dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” He’s already standing up, his arms on both of your sides as he crouches to give you a quick peck goodbye.

The door closes shut before you can even utter a reply, and his steps echo on the hallway, getting further away every second, until you’re left in complete silence.

In the quietness of the apartment, you instantly feel out of place, unwelcomed by the inanimate objects surrounding you. Seconds turn into minutes, the ticking of the clock being the only sense of time you have left. You don’t want to grab your phone, avoiding the inevitable feeling of disappointment that’ll take over you if there are no texts from Jungkook waiting in your notifications.

How stupid is what you’re doing? How desperate? Waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the home of the woman that seems to be his priority? You know you shouldn’t be feeling this way, especially since he's already told you that she’s just his best friend. But it’s still hard.

The back of your eyes burn as tears threaten to come out, blurring your vision just as you hear a key turn, heavy steps entering the home you’re not supposed to be in.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu knew he'd find you at his apartment.

Jungkook texted him that he had an emergency and had to leave in a rush. And Mingyu knows what “emergency” really means in that context. It means Jungkook rushed over to Cathlyn's at the first sign that she was feeling off, and he wanted to hide it from him so he wouldn’t have to hear the same reprimand again.

What Mingyu didn’t expect was to find you on the verge of crying on his couch, scattering to find any form of tissue paper somewhere inside your bag.

You both freeze, looking at each other for about half a second before rushing to greet. You pretend you weren’t crying, and he acts as if he didn’t notice. Mingyu utters a quiet hello as you mumble some kind of apology for being there, and then he locks up in his bedroom as usual.

His friend put him in an awkward situation once again. Mingyu doesn’t want to get to know you more than he already does. He knows you're on a different major and that’s enough, because one day, in the near future, it’s going to be another girl walking through the door instead of you, and he’ll never see you again.

He tried a few times to stay friendly, but no one really wants to stay in contact with someone so close to the man that broke their heart. And he gets it. That's why he stopped trying all together.

Mingyu would usually come home from work, put on his headphones, and spend a few hours on his computer until his stomach urges him to eat something. But for this particular afternoon he’s been put in, he skips the headphones in case you need something, or at least until Jungkook comes back, which he isn’t even sure is going to happen.

A project for work distracts him for a good while, organizing different stats and numbers on the excel sheet his boss sent him earlier in the day. He almost forgets you’re on the other side of the wall. Almost.

If he loses his focus on his computer screen, he can hear when you move around on the couch. What can you possibly be doing? Is what he asks himself at any noise that reaches his ears, but there’s never an answer. Until something alerts him that you’re not doing well. The same sniffle he heard days ago as you were watching a movie with Jungkook echoes against the walls of his bedroom.

You’ve been trying hard not to make any sounds that may disturb Mingyu, as you assumed he was busy by the way you could hear the non-stop clicking of his keyboard from where you were sitting. But your mind seemed to have other plans, so much so that you lost control of the cascade of tears brimming from your eyes.

In between everything, you miss the sound of a door opening and steps getting closer to you. Mingyu comes into view as you’re wiping away tears with the back of your hand, and you can’t pretend he didn’t see you this time.

He sits by your side in silence, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say, but also because he can’t just leave you alone in this state. He feels responsible in a way.

“Is he with…” Are the first words that come out of his mouth after seconds of dead silence.

“He didn’t tell you?” You look up at him to find him staring into the wall. He shakes his head, glancing at your slightly blotchy face before looking down.

“He just told me you'd be here, but I figured.” Your body relaxes the tiniest bit. Good, at least you’re not an unannounced guest.

“She had a fight with her boyfriend.” You explain, more frustrated than understanding.

“Right.” He simply replies.

Both of you sit there, fixed on your spots, too aware of the other. Mingyu realizes you’ve stopped crying, maybe because you don’t want to cry in front of him, but at least your breaths became less deep than before.

A growl from your stomach reverberates through the room, and you flush in embarrassment.

“You can–” he coughs before continuing, “you’re here often, you can help yourself if you’re hungry, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle, trying to conceal the humiliation, “but he said he didn’t have anything. That’s why we went out. And I can’t really cook, so.”

Never in the past weeks would you have thought you’d be sharing embarrassing details about you with your boyfriend’s cold roommate, but life has a funny way of turning things around.

“I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you can’t do the basics.” His body turns, now facing you as he takes an interest in your not so fun fact.

“I’m not lying! I can’t even make scrambled eggs.” You hide your face behind your hands, and you immediately hear Mingyu laughing as the dent beside you on the couch disappears.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you. I happen to be a great cook.” Your stomach growls again, and Mingyu looks back at you as he walks towards his kitchen, leaving you no choice but to follow him.

Mingyu’s not thinking about this exchange with you too much.

Yes, he’s doing exactly what he promised himself he wouldn’t, as this will inevitably make you both closer and he will not be able to turn back to his cold self again. But he couldn’t just go on with his day knowing you were having a bad one, and even worse, knowing you were crying because of his friend.

He had to do something, and if that something is becoming your friend for the afternoon, then so be it.

“Grab the egg carton with his name on it.” You chuckle as you follow his instructions, “and his milk too, why not.” If he left you stranded, the least you can do to get back at him is use his stuff and not Mingyu’s.

Between laughs and Mingyu indicating instructions like he was teaching a 5-year-old to cook, time passes, you forget why you were at the apartment in the first place, and you end up with a fine plate of scrambled eggs that doesn't taste bad at all.

“I told you it wasn’t that hard.” Mingyu sits in front of you on the rounded table as you share the food.

“Well, I’ll let you know if your teaching lasts until I have to cook alone.” You chuckle and avoid his stare, realizing your words sounded much friendlier than you intended.

Back in the living room, Mingyu’s ringtone disrupts your conversation, and his sigh alerts you that he might already know who’s calling. He gets up with another sigh, throwing you a knowing look before going to answer Jungkook’s call.

You appreciate his effort to make you feel better, and when he doesn’t ask Jungkook any questions over the phone, only replying with yeahs and okays to whatever he’s telling him, you understand that Jungkook’s not coming back, and whatever he’s telling Mingyu will just make you feel worse.

Before Mingyu comes back, you do the dishes that you used and get your stuff together. The decision to leave has already been made.

“Leaving already?” He appears at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning on the edge of the door like a statue.

“I know he’s not coming back. I’m sorry, I should’ve left earlier, I didn’t mean to be a bother.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed that feeling you have that you constantly bother him, and it’s kind of freeing.

“You’re not a bother.” A man of few words, Mingyu feels like he meant a lot more with that simple statement than just dismissing your apology.

His blank reply doesn’t feel forced, not like he only said what you wanted to hear. No. He said it automatically, not thinking much about it, and it took a heavy load off your shoulders.

“Still, I should–” You’re now standing right in front of him, looking up at his face as he doesn’t realize he’s in your way.

“Right, sorry.” Mingyu rushes to get out of your way, stumbling against his own feet as he walks backwards to go get his keys. “Do you need a ride? I could–”

“Oh, thank you, but it’s okay. I’m meeting a friend at a restaurant close by.” A warmness spreads on your cheeks at his offer. “Do you happen to know which way to go? It’s supposed to be a few blocks from here.”

To redirect his attention away from you, you show him the address of the restaurant on your phone screen. You frequent the neighborhood on a weekly basis, but the blocks tend to mix up, as the buildings look too similar to each other. Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the names of the streets around his place.

“I think it’s three blocks to the right, and then two to the left.” He doesn’t sound very convinced, but you trust you’d be able to tell if he’s sending you the wrong way, so you take his word.

Even after denying him, Mingyu still accompanies you downstairs, and you politely say goodbye to each other at the entrance before separating.

The sun sets on the horizon, the golden hue painting the streets beautifully as you walk. ‘Third block to the right, then turn left,’ you mentally repeat, trying to concentrate on the directions as well as you try to find a street sign that'll tell you if you’re going the right way.

As you reach the second block to the left, where Mingyu implied the restaurant should be at, your phone vibrates inside your purse. The unknown caller doesn’t give up while you contemplate whether to pick up or let it go to voice-mail, but something in the back of your mind urges you to answer. So you do.

“Who is this?” In case that another telemarketer got a hold of your phone number, you try to sound annoyed.

“It’s Mingyu, sorry,” his deep voice sounds the tiniest bit robotic due to the poor service, “I realized I sent you the wrong way. You have to turn right instead of left.”

“Oh,” you chuckle as your eyes read the street number you’re at, “thank you.” You don’t tell him you could’ve figured it out on your own, a tiny smile appearing on your face at his gesture.

“I should’ve warned you that I’m terrible with directions.” His breathy chuckle reaches your ear at the same time as a metal ruffling sound. Was he heading out to find you in case you didn’t pick up?

“No worries.” Your mind is blank, as the two things you’re most awkward at doing are getting combined in one: phone calls and talking to Mingyu. “How did you get my number?”

“I asked Jungkook for it just now.” That feels weird for some reason, but you toss that feeling away, trying not to overthink about it. “You okay?”

“Yep! Heading that way now! Thank you! Bye.” You abruptly hang up on him, the only way you thought to end the awkward conversation.

Your heart rate escalates, pumping hard like it’s about to beat out of your chest as you go the correct way now. Whatever you do, your mind still manages to replay what just happened over and over again, until you’re standing in front of the restaurant hostess.

Walking towards the table you see Nayeon sitting at, the idea of Mingyu having your number saved makes the back of your neck tingle with nervousness, and you can't shake the feeling even as you greet your friend and she starts telling you about her day.

Maybe you’re giving it way too much thought. It’s just the excitement of finally feeling like you’re growing closer to your boyfriend’s friends. Nothing more.

There's been a noticeable shift in the awkwardness of your “friendship" with Mingyu. You didn’t become best friends overnight, but at least he stopped fleeting away from you anytime you'd be over at their apartment, and wouldn’t deliberately choose the spot furthest from you at any group gathering.

As you and Jungkook step out of his car and walk over to the front door for the costume party a classmate of his was throwing, you can only take a deep breath and hope your extroverted self appears after a few drinks, and that Mingyu doesn’t decide he hates you again, because he’ll be the only other person you know at the party.

Not much of a partier yourself, you’re just trying, for him. Trying to join your boyfriend in what he likes, especially after he showed interest in you being there with him by inviting you.

The loud music can be heard even with the door closed, and Jungkook texts his friend to come pick them up, because ringing the bell clearly won’t do anything.

“Hi man! Sorry for making you both wait.” A tall blonde man who you’re sure is named Jackson welcomes you in, giving Jungkook a man hug before looking you up and down and asking. “What did you guys come as?”

“I’m a firefighter dude! And she’s...” Jungkook looks at you waiting for your answer, not even trying to remember the name of the character you’re dressed up as.

“Mavis, from Hotel Transylvania!” You smile as Jackson finally lets you in, and you can see in his expression that he has no idea who you’re talking about when you walk past him.

As soon as you cross the door, it is a relief to find Jungkook’s whole friend group there, sitting occupying the entire couch for themselves, only one big body missing from the ensemble.

Jungkook only takes his hand off you to greet his friends one by one, and makes them promise to save you seats while you go to the kitchen to find something to drink.

It hasn’t been long since the party started, but the crowded house is already filled with that dense air mixed with the smell of sweat, and the sticky bodies make it harder for you two to advance into the kitchen.

Part of you is relieved that Mingyu’s nowhere to be seen, if he’s even at the party. Sure, you’re getting along now, but being around him is still stiff and awkward. Maybe you can use this opportunity to try and get close to Jungkook’s other friends.

Sitting between him and other two strangers that squeezed themselves on the far end of the couch, that plan is quickly scrapped. It’s possible Jungkook doesn’t realize you’re too far away to be included in any conversation, he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but you have no will to tell him. Not when his body is fully turned away from you as he talks to Cathlyn and the guy she's dating, Yugyeom.

The music's too loud for their voices to travel backwards and let you hear, but judging by Jungkook’s menacing body next to yours, he doesn't seem to be liking the conversation. He didn't talk much about Yugyeom, that name being new to you as Jungkook’s hadn't even mentioned him before. And from what you know, he and Cathlyn have been having some problems for the past few weeks, so it's normal for her best friend to dislike him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Mingyu thinks of himself as somewhat of a good friend. Sure, he may have some faults and he fucks up every now and then, as everyone does, but whenever his friends need him, he’s there. He covers for Jungkook at school, listens to his girl problems as any friend would do, hates whoever he hates, and he’d never break that friendship over any random girl. That said, he’s still a man, and he has eyes.

When he comes back from the patio after catching up with some old friends he bumped into, he first lays eyes on the striking yellow costume Jungkook’s wearing. But as he follows the bright color, he sees you sitting by his friend's side, his arm wrapped around you but giving you no attention as you drink from an almost empty cup.

It's no surprise to him that Jungkook's too enthusiastically talking with Cathlyn instead of any other friend, or instead of dancing and enjoying the party. What shocks Mingyu is how blatantly he’s ignoring you, sitting so pretty by his side.

Yeah, Mingyu can admit he finds you pretty. He might be a good friend, but he’s not blind, and denying it would just make him stupid. Any guy with a brain should be lining up for a chance to talk to you, getting lucky to be the ones you spare a glance to. Instead, you’re sitting with an arm around you and being ignored by its owner. It could be that he’s gulping down his fourth drink already, but he might even go as far as saying you’re his type. But that’s about as far as it could possibly go. You’re pretty, nice, and in love with his best friend. Well, maybe not in love yet, but you like him enough to put up with his shit. And Mingyu’s not interested. He can’t be.

A smile forces itself on your face as your eyes catch his across the room. The most polite way to acknowledge his presence without trying to interact with him further.

Mingyu nods your way and drives his eyes elsewhere. It’s not like he wanted you to do anything else, and even if he wanted to go up and chat with you, he couldn’t have fit in between you and the people on your other side crushing your free arm.

So, he stays there, standing against a wall on the only free hallway –in which there aren’t any people because Jackson threatened anyone who dared to step within a two feet radius of his bedroom, watching the scene progress before his eyes.

Where his friend has a reputation of being a heartthrob, a player, or a heartbreaker, Mingyu’s always thought of as Jungkook’s serious and mean friend. A bad school reputation is the least of his priorities, and he doesn’t care to change how people he doesn’t care about think of him. It’s not like he’s not enjoying the party, he just prefers to stand alone and drink. If that paints him as a boring guy, so be it. He tries scanning the room to find a friend to catch up with, but it's pointless, only the bright yellow costume makes itself visible.

It's mostly a blur of bodies messily dancing to 2000’s pop songs inside that room, but Mingyu could recognize his best friend's silhouette if he was miles away and 90% blind. Your costume contrasts with Jungkook's in a way that even drunk Mingyu realizes it’s you who's being dragged onto the “dancefloor".

He sees you get loose as his friend's hands wrap around your waist and move your bodies in sync. It seems that every single light in the house is on despite it being a party, and you’re in the center of his line of sight, constantly and too easily catching his attention.

What he doesn’t see, however, are your constant complaints about dancing, appearing as flirty whispers to anyone who wasn't listening. And after he takes his eyes off of you two to find a glass of cold water, you’re back again to your original place on the couch, this time with much more space around you.

“Not much of a dancer?” His feet directed Mingyu to where you sat almost instinctively. There’s finally room to sit down so he’s going to take the opportunity before somebody else does.

“Only when I’m in the mood.” Your stare’s lost somewhere in the room, paying attention to your drunk boyfriend dancing with his best friend.

“I see.” You both sit awkwardly, body facing front and eyes focused on the same view.

“Cool costume, by the way. I love Hotel Transylvania.” Mingyu manages to fill in the gaps of the heavy silence.

“Thank you! You’re the only one that recognized me.” A small smile appears despite your bad mood.

“People here lack basic culture.” A simple joke followed by awkward laughs from the both of you, the atmosphere doesn’t help to ease the tension of your interaction.

“I wanted Jungkook to dress up as Johnny.” You have to stretch your neck to Mingyu’s side so he can hear you above the loud music.

“That would’ve been cute.” Mingyu doesn’t know what else to say. It’s been a common occurrence for him to go blank when talking to you.

“I guess he’s not a fan of matching costumes.” You try your best to continue the conversation, not really caring whether he’s interested or not. The little alcohol in your system won’t let you fall on an awkward silence again.

“He probably got tired of them after so many years.”

You freeze.

“What do you mean?”

Mingyu realizes he just fucked up. All those drinks he had before you came, and that one after, finally brought him to the stage where his mouth gets loose and he starts blurring out things he shouldn’t.

“Uh–, I mean, Cathlyn used to force him to do it for halloween.” Force.

For the record, Mingyu's not a liar. He might be loyal to his friend, not wanting to put him in bad situations, but he’s not going to go above and beyond to protect an already weak relationship. So, he picks a word that’s going to save Jungkook’s ass, but still saying part of the truth.

“Right.” If you caught on to his deliberate choice of words, you don’t show it to him.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

It’s pointless to get mad at your boyfriend for such a meaningless piece of information. Every relationship is different, and you shouldn’t be comparing yours to a much older one. Their bond’s just different! It doesn’t have anything to do with you if Jungkook didn’t want to do stupid matching costumes.

Still, you’re glad Mingyu slipped and gave away the truth, and you appreciate his effort to make it sound less bad.

Jungkook gives you no time to ponder on what to do though, as he stumbles his way back to you, so drunk he can’t regulate his strength and falls hard on the couch.

“My heead hit the back of the c-couch with my head.” Jungkook pouts and slurs his words.

“Ow, baby, you’re really drunk.” Mingyu’s eyes pierce through your back, and a wave of self-consciousness takes over you. “Should we go home?”

Jungkook’s cheeks feel warm in your hands as you try to get him to look at you, but his drunk mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and for the time being, his eyes are focused on Yugyeom’s hands groping Cathlyn's ass shamelessly as they dance.

“I don’t feel so good.” He only says, his drunk stare having a hard time straying away from that scene as he gets up and stumbles his way out the house.

Mingyu runs after Jungkook just behind you, and manages to catch him before he faceplants on the damp grass outside.

“Where did we leave my car?” Jungkook asks no one in particular, disoriented from his almost-fall. “Wait, you’re not my girlfriend!” His eyes go wide as he realizes who was helping him and tries to escape.

“I’m here, babe.” Before he manages to, you wrap your arm around his other shoulder, leaving him no choice but to be embraced by yours and Mingyu’s hold so he doesn’t hurt himself again.

Now that you’re outside, with no music blasting at full volume, no people around pushing you constantly, and breathing fresh air, you’re too aware of your surroundings. Or more specifically, how Mingyu’s arm and yours touch behind Jungkook’s back.

It's a weird way to break the ice of skin to skin contact in a friendship, but maybe it’s what you need to end the lingering awkwardness that surrounds your interactions once and for all.

“I saw you drinking.” You scold Mingyu after you two lay Jungkook down on the back seat and he turns to find his way back to his car.

“I’m not drunk anymore.” He mutters just before he trips with his own foot. “Okay. I’ll crash on the back seat for a while and then I’ll go home.”

“I’ll drive you.” Mingyu's silence as he thinks of a polite way to turn your offer down only eggs you further. “I’m going there anyways.”

“I-I wouldn’t want to take advantage.” He fiddles with his keys, avoiding your eyes.

“Of what? Me? His car?” Mingyu hesitates, the gears in his brain visibly turning.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet, his response, and no matter how cute and defenseless he looks when he’s drunk, you don’t really have time to wait.

“I’m offering.” You deadpan, but try to flash a small smile so his drunk brain doesn’t understand your hurriedness as anger. “You’re clearly still drunk, c’mon, don’t make me have to drag you.”

Realizing there’s no way out of this other than listening to you, Mingyu caves in and gets on the passenger seat of Jungkook’s car. “You wouldn’t be able to drag me anyways.”

Of course, you can't push an over six-foot-tall gym bro even if you use all possible bodily strength you have. "Hell yeah I can!” Your teasing stare meets his, and you know he got what he wanted by pushing your buttons.

"I’d love to see you try.”

An indescribable feeling completely shuts down the workings of every organ inside you. It could be what he said, but it’s just a common phrase to tease a friend. It could be his eyes that refuse to leave yours. Or it could be the silver of a smirk that appears as you hold your breath. Whatever it is, you push it down, hide it on the very back of your mind and put up ten walls to disguise as a simple and normal response to teasing.

“We should-”

“I don’t like him.” The drunken backseat passenger you had forgotten about interrupts you.

“Who?” The distraction allows you to break eye contact with Mingyu. A believable excuse to put a stop to whatever was happening.

“That guy she was with.” Jungkook looks like he’s talking to himself, his eyes closed as if he wanted to fall asleep and unaware of who he's actually talking to.

“Cathlyn? Her boyfriend?” Mingyu intercepts so you wouldn’t have to ask the awkward questions, already knowing where this conversation’s going. “Yugyeom?”

“Ugh, don't say his name.” Mingyu’s instinct tells him to see your reaction, to check if you realize what Jungkook means by all of this, and especially if it hurts you. “He has a douchebag face.”

You chuckle at his pouty statement, but deep down his words pierce a surface cut on your denying heart. It’s gone as fast as it came, but it was there, and your hands automatically started the car, urging you to start driving like nothing happened.

Ever since the evening started, Mingyu knew Jungkook wasn't going to have a good time. Not since opening the door to the bar that revealed Yugyeom there with Cathlyn.

“Why is he here?” Jungkook muttered under his breath, annoyed, on the verge of being angry.

“She's allowed to invite her boyfriend. Just like you invited your girlfriend.” Is all Mingyu replied.

Jungkook has been in his life ever since he can remember. When their first tooth fell out, when they schemed behind their parents to figure out if Santa was real, when he got his first bicycle and Jungkook laughed in his face when he fell and scraped his knee, when they met Cathlyn in high school and Jungkook’s eyes shined brighter than ever, when they went to prom and lost their virginities on the same night, and when they got accepted to the same college and joined the same classes. Every memory Mingyu has, it’s always Jungkook by his side. He can't mess with that peace, no matter how violently he wants to tell his friend to stop playing with girls’ hearts and realize he’ll be much happier if he owned up to his true feelings.

So, he resorts to trying to make Jungkook connect the dots himself by telling him harsh enough truths. It’s a work in progress.

In the few hours you’ve all been at the bar’s pool table, Mingyu hasn’t said a word. He's been sitting alone at one table on the side, seeing his friends sucking at playing and actually having fun.

With the excuse of being tired and simply enjoying watching each round, he took the opportunity to be temporarily invisible. With all of them busy, he can look at you all he wants, smile to himself when you miss your shot, and pretend to be drinking from his half empty glass.

There’s not much more he can do. Whatever he thinks he feels, whatever he thinks of you, it’s wrong. That’s why, at that moment, he prefers the loneliness of his table. The crude reality punishing him in real time is enough.

Doesn’t matter if you’re on the same team as Jungkook or not, your attention is always focused on him. You search for his touch, his eyes, crave his attention on you. But the more drunk his friend gets, the more competitive he gets, and the little patience he had with your lack of pool skills is quickly dissipating.

Another round finishes, with the both of you losing to Cathlyn and Yugyeom again, and it’s more than obvious that Jungkook’s annoyed. When your opponents excuse themselves to the bar to get more drinks, you try playing on your own and see an opportunity to try and get Jungkook in a good mood again.

“I swear I know where to hit it! My arms just won’t cooperate.” A chuckle escapes during your lighthearted shout.

Jungkook sighs at your missed shot, your pout having no effect as he’s trying to conceal his annoyance. “Which one are you thinking?” He only asks.

“The red one, close to the middle?” You point to it, waiting for any reaction, but he just waits for you to continue. “If I hit it a little to the right, I think it can go inside the left corner hole.” Bodily coordination may not be your strong suit, but you’ve played enough online pool that your brain’s trained to draw the imaginary angles.

The main idea was telling Jungkook your theory, him realizing you actually have an idea of how to play the game, and finally teaching you how to get a hold of the cue stick correctly.

“You have to do it like this.” Jungkook takes the cue from your hands and takes your place, ushering you to the side to watch as he takes the shot. “Your index and middle fingers serve to place the tip of the stick where you want it.”

“But I-” You were right, and the ball enters exactly where you said it would, but you can’t chant victory. Not when his attention shifts to a heated argument just meters away from you.

In the second it takes you to focus on what’s happening, your eyes land on Yugyeom stomping out of the bar, a crying Cathlyn left behind. You don’t even have to check if Jungkook’s still by your side, as he soon enough appears with an arm around her shoulders in an intent to console her.

When he starts getting the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and heads to walk out the door, you realize the comforting session won’t be quick. But why would it be? His best friend just had a screaming fight with her boyfriend in public. It makes total sense that he’d want to take her out to have some fresh air and a little more privacy than inside the full bar.

“If I knew the night would be like this, I would’ve stayed home resting for next week.” Your body falls on the chair next to where Mingyu’s been sitting in silence. His flat expression rapidly makes you uncomfortable, like you just crossed a line. “Shit, they’re your friends, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav–”

“No, you’re right.” He interrupts you, with a tone that implies you must've taken the words right out of him. “I get having troubles, God knows I've seen them go through stuff, but we're allowed to be tired of it.”

Between his cold exterior and sometimes unfriendly choice of words, Mingyu's surprisingly capable of understanding other people's feelings.

“Has this been happening a lot recently?” You don't care to sound like a gossip. “Her fighting with her boyfriend, I mean.”

Mingyu sighs, eyes wandering to the door through which both of his friends just stepped out of. “Let’s just say, it’s been a regular occurrence.”

“Well, let’s not let other people’s problems ruin the fun.” You decide out loud. You’ve been having fun since you got here, regardless of your boyfriend’s bad mood, and you’re not going to let anything ruin your last night out before the busy week you have ahead. “Do you want another drink?” You down the last sip of what Jungkook was drinking.

“Oh, actually, I’m saving to pay for gas for the trip we have next week. I promised to drive, so.” Mingyu explains, too apologetic for simply refusing a drink. “You’re coming right? It’s a congress that our college’s doing.”

“Of course I’m coming,” maybe you should be offended that he doesn’t know, but it’s not his fault, “I’m the one giving the presentation.”

“Wait, seriously?” Mingyu’s eyes go wide, in slight shock as well as in embarrassment. “I knew you had a big thing coming up, but I didn’t think it was that! How did I not know?”

“Maybe Jungkook forgot to tell you. You know how he is…” Mingyu nods at your statement, but the answer brewing in his mind gets cut short by the glass door opening once again.

As if he was summoned, Jungkook re enters the bar alone, quickly lets you know he'll wait outside for Cathlyn's uber with her, and leaves again without sparing you another glance.

Silence fills the void between Mingyu and you, only murmurs from the people around the bar manage to make it not unbearable. Awkward again, you never seem to have a normal conversation with Mingyu without feeling some type of way. Jungkook interrupting seemingly added a layer of tension very hard to dissipate.

“I’m gonna… practice playing.” You aren’t the best at handling awkward silences, so you stand up with that excuse. “I’m so bad at it! I think the stick does the opposite of what I want on purpose.”

Mingyu chuckles behind you, following you to the pool table to watch up close. “You’re not that bad.” You look at him dead in the eyes, head tilting to the side with scepticism. “I’ve been watching you play! You just need to learn how to get into position correctly.”

Your arms cross in front of your chest, deciding if what Mingyu’s saying is in any way true, or if he’s just trying to make you feel better. He takes the cue laying on the table, accidentally knocking a few balls away from their places in the process.

“Show me how you’d do it.” As he hands the pool stick to you, warm smile and standing tall facing you, you feel secure he won’t tease you if you’re awful.

“Okay, but don’t you dare mock me.” The lighthearted threat makes him chuckle again, and your fingers tremble grabbing the stick from his hand. “This is my usual.”

You mentally cringe at yourself, but you push through it and lean your chest forward, hovering over the table, setting the tip of the stick between your fingers and analyzing which ball to hit.

“I see where things might go wrong.” His voice sounds closer with each word, but it's not enough to prepare you to feel his chest against your back, his arms embracing you to guide your hand where he wants to. “Your hand’s too close to the end of the stick. You’re not in full control of it.”

When he places his hand over yours, helping you slide it up the cue, you’re sure your whole body’s covered in goosebumps. Your heart accelerates to unimaginable speeds, about to jump out of your chest as Mingyu’s breath fans on the back of your neck.

“I think we can get the blue striped one,” your mouth blurts out faster than your brain can think, “If I manage to hit the white a little to the left, I can go right and push it into the middle hole.” You try to play off the unprecedented effects Mingyu has over you, forcing yourself to get your mind back in game mode.

He doesn’t let go of his hold on your hand, his arm grazing yours even more closely. “Are you sure? That one seems like a long shot.” You can hear his smirk through his teasing words.

“Just help me hit it there.” Your head turns just barely to the side, finding his face much closer than you imagined, and your eyes roll before going back to the table, trying to mask the blush you feel creeping on your cheeks. “I know I’m right.”

“Relax a bit. It’s close to the hole, so you don't need to hit it too hard.” Mingyu extends his other arm over the table, helping you position the tip to hit exactly where you told him to. You don't dare move, his cheek brushing against your temple freezing you in place momentarily.

When you feel his hands tighten over yours, taking control of the stick with your fingers tangling with his, your arms fall limp, letting him shoot the shot. With the tiniest push, the barest tense of his muscles all around you, both your arms move the cue forward and hit the white ball.

The both of you smile as the striped ball falls in the hole you said it would, relaxing against one another before realizing just how close you really are.

“I told you, I was right.” You chuckle away from him, using cue in your hands as a barrier.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted your skills.” Maybe it’s the drink he was stalling to finish until you approached him, but Mingyu’s more relaxed with you tonight, a little more prone to smiling than usual.

“Babe?” But Jungkook’s voice quickly wipes it off his face. “Let’s get going, wait for me outside.”

“Wait!” You get off Jungkook’s hold, almost offended that he thinks he can drag you away at his will. “I was finally getting a hang of it. Mingyu’s a better teacher than you, you know.” You try to joke to ease the suddenly tense atmosphere, but it doesn’t work.

“I’m really tired, babe. And I promised I’d take you home, so, please?” Jungkook retorts, face turned your way, but his eyes are on his roommate.

The staring contest between the two men doesn’t stop, an indecipherable friction you don’t really want to find out the meaning behind.

“O…kay,” there isn’t really an out where the three of you will be happy, so you just accept Jungkook’s petition to leave, “bye Mingyu.”

You walk away, your hand in the air wishing for Jungkook to take it and come after you.

Mingyu begins to grab his stuff, assuming the both of you will be quickly out the door by the time he’s done paying his tab, but it seems the night is not over for him yet.

Jungkook grabs him by the arm and turns him around so they’re face to face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What the hell man?” Mingyu shoves the other’s hand away, a hunch telling him his friend’s anger has something to do with you.

“I leave for a minute and you’re all flirty with my girl.” Jungkook’s always been a jealous man, but Mingyu can’t help but sigh at the accusation.

Still, Mingyu can’t lie and say he wasn’t flirting. He can’t say he didn’t love the way you were blushing and squirming under him. And he can’t say that it wasn’t what he was looking for.

“I was entertaining her because you left.” He retaliates with a part of the truth. “It’s getting old man, you can’t just leave her to go after Cathlyn all the time.”

“You’re back with that again.” Jungkook throws his arms in the air, easily irritated by the topic. “You know what? I’m tired of this.” As the confrontation he was looking for didn’t turn out the way he wanted to, Jungkook begins walking away, “I’m leaving, we’re leaving.”

“You never want to talk about it, but you know it’s wrong.” Mingyu adds, a little louder this time. “You gotta stop.”

“Why are you so worried?” Getting more frustrated by the second, Jungkook barely turns, not fully facing Mingyu. “You never cared about it before.”

“C’mon man, I’ve always noticed.” How awful of a person he is. Accomplice to his best friend breaking girl after girl’s hearts, it’s true that he never cared this strongly about Jungkook’s extracurricular activities. Even though he always tried to make Jungkook realize the truth by himself, for his own good, Mingyu can admit, to himself at least, that now he has an added, selfish reason to want his friend’s behavior to come to an end.

“It’s my life. When I need an opinion, I’ll ask for it.” With that, Jungkook finally leaves, getting out the door to where you’re waiting in the cold.

Mingyu wasn’t done with the conversation. There was so much more he wanted to say. He wanted to say that it’s your life too. Jungkook's messed up feelings were affecting the people around him too, especially every girl he dates to forget. Especially you. But he just couldn’t keep pushing it, not without the truth coming to the light.

Mingyu’s reputation of being too serious, or even heartless sometimes, wasn't born out of nothing. He's aware of his resting bitch face, of the way he bolts in and out of class and the way he's never the first choice for group projects in the classes none of his friends attend. If he cared what other people thought of him, maybe it'd hurt. But he has enough friends, friends who like him the way he is, and doesn't go to college to expand his contact list.

Going to university, to him, was exclusively a way for him to learn more about his likes and interests. He goes to his classes and focuses maybe a little too much, but it’s how he lives his days, how the hours pass until he has to go to work. That is, until you came into his life unprovoked, and disorganized his sharp and efficient lifestyle.

He never crossed paths with you on campus before, and if he were to run into you after the first time he met you, he would've probably ignored you and scurried to his building like a flash. But today, he unconsciously looked around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your figure coming out of your major’s building. He hoped you’d see him and smile at him as you walked his way to make useless small talk. But you didn’t, of course you didn't, and as soon as he sat down on his usual seat in his favorite class, he realized. He’s fucked.

For the first time in his life, the numbers on the chalkboard didn't make any sense, the words coming out of his favorite professor's mouth sounded like a mumble of pure nonsense. His mind couldn't focus, diving into the memory of your sweet smile next to his ear. Or the shivers your body graced him with as his hands purposely covered yours on the cue stick. His hand would grab his pen to try and write a single sentence, and the feeling of your fingers barely interlaced with his would overwhelm him.

What’s worse than pining after your best friend’s girl? As of the moment, Mingyu has no answer. There’s nothing he can really do either, besides accept you’re in a sort of happy relationship. He can’t take you aside and say ‘hey, you know your boyfriend? My friend? Yeah, so I have a theory that he might be in love with his girl best friend, sorry!’ Even thinking of doing so puts a bad taste in his mouth.

He's aware that, currently, he's at least top5 worst friends in the world. And he's not looking to end your relationship and get bumped up to the top1. It's decided. He'll just ignore whatever feelings are bubbling on the pit of his stomach until they disappear!

Easier said than done, because nothing he does seems to get you out of his mind. And the vivid reminder that he’s nothing more than someone you have to get along with is screaming at him everywhere around his home.

The four walls of his bedroom imprison him, suffocate him with the thought of you. He is a bad friend. He does want you. He does resent Jungkook for keeping you his. But if he broke up with you, would Mingyu ever see you again? Would he ever get the chance to see the heat visibly rushing to your cheeks as he walked closer to you?

Mingyu hates himself. He hates himself for getting turned on at the memory of your body heat against him, shivering at his closeness but not pulling away, letting him wrap himself around you, even if the both of you knew he shouldn't. He needs to drive his mind elsewhere.

Locking in to work in front of his computer, trying to scare away the sturdiness building up in his jeans, it might become the first time he wishes it was his day to go to the office. The front door of the apartment opens, rushed steps and messy, wet, breaths echoing against every thin wall that surrounds him. The reminder that what he deeply wants, it's not, and should never be his.

Working from home has never been so much of a curse.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Jungkook grips at your sides, his body flushing against you and pressing you further into the couch. The near desperate way his lips roam over yours has you gasping for air, but he doesn’t relent, hands making a mess of your hair as he hopes you give him the satisfaction he craves for.

He grinds his hips against yours with determination, and you press against him trying to give him what he’s hopelessly looking for. But no matter what you do, he goes in for more, your bodies getting more and more out of sync.

You try to give him what he wants, emitting sounds of a satisfaction you're nowhere near feeling. His mouth moves to the side of your neck, leaving marks you're not sure you want.

The white door, now in your line of sight, calls for your attention. You shouldn’t be thinking about other people while you have a man in between your legs doing everything to feel any type of pleasure. But if the yellow light sneaking below the closed door alerts you of something, is that the person at the back of your mind is probably right there, behind the dangerously thin cardboard the architects of the building call a wall.

“Isn't Mingyu gonna hear?” The choked up question comes out in a whisper, in fear, in panic. And the mention of his name speeds up your heart rate far more than your current activity.

Jungkook barely cares about your worry. “He's gaming.”

You know gaming implies wearing noise canceling headphones and tuning out of the real world. But is he really?

“I don't know, babe, shouldn't we check?” It sounds stupid to even ask. Check? Knock on his door to very politely ask him if he can hear you having sex?

“He's not gonna hear,” Jungkook sighs, finally looking you in the eyes to answer, “and I wouldn't care if he did. He has to know you're mine.”

There's a speck of disdain behind his words, behind the weirdly possessive statement he just made. It leaves you more breathless than ever.

“What are you talking about?” You don't know what kind of egotistical manly fight they have going on, men friendships are not exactly your expertise, but it can't be about something you're aware of.

“Don't tell me you don't see it.” Jungkook hasn't gotten up from on top of you, but his hands on the sides of your waist tighten a bit more after your question.

“I don't know what you mean.” You chuckle in an intent to ease up the newly tense atmosphere. You didn’t mean to make it about him. “He's your friend, you shouldn't be jealous.”

“And you shouldn’t be talking about another man while you're under me.” Jungkook retorts, half angry, half still turned on. It's a weird mix. One that doesn't let you reply to correct yourself.

Jungkook lowers down to your mouth once again, kissing you fervently to make you forget about anyone else. And you decide to let go. He’s here, your bodies tangled together and your loose clothing crumbled up your torsos to feel each other’s skins. You shouldn’t doubt that, in that moment, he wants you.

You drift away into the feeling of his lips against yours, both hands cupping his jaw to relax the hurried pace he’s setting. His hands under your t-shirt feel good, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows how women like to be touched, and it helps. It helps free your mind of everything else.

Still, you’re careful of the sounds that leave your lips. You let Jungkook’s tongue slip inside and dance with yours, muffling any soft moans you don’t get to restrain. He searches for something, his hips angling with yours to feel some kind of friction. If he keeps moving like that, you’ll be in the mood in no time.

A ringtone coming from the back pocket of Jungkook’s jeans disrupts the quiet setting. You stiffen under him, but he doesn't let his mood come down. You're grateful when he grabs his phone to decline the call and puts it on the end table in a rush, finding your body with his hands once again.

It's like, for the first time, he's prioritizing the time he planned to spend with you. He searches for your touch like nothing happened and you're the only thing he's thinking about.

“Just let it go to voice-mail.” Your hoarse voice surprises you, echoing over a new call. Jungkook doesn’t respond, not stopping the trail of kisses up your neck until your lips are against each other again.

But a call comes in again, and he groans against your mouth, trying to ignore it, letting the default ringtone soundtrack your activities until it stops on its own. It’s awkward, but he doesn’t stop kissing you and wraps your legs around him, trying to make you forget.

By the fourth call, you're both annoyed, and Jungkook reluctantly gets up from on top of you to check who's bothering him so much. The caller gives up just when he gets the phone in his hand, but from the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of him opening his texts. You don’t mean to spy on him, not wanting to be a controlling girlfriend that needs to know everything her boyfriend's doing, but it’d be nice to simply… get told.

The clicking sounds of his fingers typing on the small screen of his phone are about to send you straight to a mental hospital. Why's he typing so fast? So insistent? Is he mad? He's not telling you anything, as if he forgot he was just kissing you out of breath.

“Did something happen?” You dare ask, even if deep down, you know the answer is clear as day. You know who’s the only one capable of making him drop everything in a heartbeat. “Is Cathlyn okay?”

“She needs me.” Is all he replies. Cold. Decided.

“What do you mean?” The question manages to mask the anger brewing inside you. For now. But you need an explanation. How many times can you put up with the same situation until you blow up? He can’t expect you to be all right with being stood up constantly.

“Yugyeom broke up with her.” He explains without looking at you, like that’s enough of an excuse.

“She always needs you when you’re with me.” Bitterness bleeds through your mumble. It doesn’t feel good. You should understand that best friends need each other. But why are you never on the receiving end of his undivided attention?

“You can’t expect me not to care when she’s going through something. She’s my best friend. She goes first. Always.”

His words are like a bucket of ice water in the middle of winter. The explicit revelation that his priorities are carved on stone. There's silence as he realizes what he said, and neither of you dare speak up.

Your lungs expand but no air gets inside, and your throat threatens to close as your body prepares to start shedding tears. “Why make plans with me if you're just gonna sprint her way at any sign of trouble?” You can’t stop them. “You’re supposed to be with me.”

Tears cascade down your face, quiet sobs getting in the way of your pathetic pleads. Covering your face from the outside world, you shrink in place, giving in to the crying as Jungkook kneels in front of you.

“Baby, I'm sorry.” His now soft voice barely reaches you over your sobs. “I know I haven't been very present.”

“No, you haven't.” His hands carefully withdraw yours from your probably blotched face.

“I promise you,” Jungkook makes the effort to look you in the eyes, “after this, I’ll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

He tries. But you, convinced or not of his willingness to fulfill the promise, don't want him to leave. It's not about the fight, or the sex, or even him. If he leaves, it cements you as the second option. If it was about winners or losers, you'd lose.

“Stay.” It comes out so quiet you're afraid he didn't hear you.

But he did.

“I can't.”

Silence again. Deafening silence as you look at each other with different thoughts racing through your brains. He decided. There's nothing to be done.

Jungkook takes your hand in his and squeezes it tight in an attempt to bring you comfort. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He thinks he'll be able to nurse his best friend's heart and then come running back to you after.

At your silence, he stands up, reaching for his coat hanging on the hallway before sparing you one last look and heading out.

The soft click of the door closing behind him breaks you a little more inside. The couch, no longer warm with the weight of two bodies, feels empty, too big for you to fill.

Bare, exposed, you let yourself be vulnerable only for him to cut you off and leave you there, with your feelings blurting out of you in the form of tears and sobs. The undecorated walls judge you as you cry your eyes out. Is there something you can do that’ll make him like you more? You already try so hard, you’re just not… her.

When the white door opens to reveal the other man of the house, you're not surprised. Of course he was there, and of course he heard everything. Your luck wouldn't let you escape this situation without throwing a more embarrassing one at your hands.

It took Mingyu all of two seconds to realize what was happening. His headphones in the grip of his hand are proof that he did not want to hear what you two were doing, he just didn’t get to put them on. He may be a bad friend, but he's not one to invade someone's privacy.

That's why it took him a bit more time to decide to step out of his room. Would you let him be there for you? Would you be too embarrassed? You shouldn’t be, he thinks. It’s not your fault.

At one point, he got used to Jungkook abandoning his fleeting girlfriends at the first notification from his best friend that popped up. Mingyu never did anything for the girls, and they usually left after a few minutes. Maybe that's why most of them didn't like him. He didn't care, and they always cut ties with everything Jungkook related after the break up, so why would he?

He shouldn't be doing anything. Caring that you're crying alone in the middle of his living room goes against every rule he imposed onto himself. He should be cleansing his mind of you, stepping away from the weird not-friendship you two developed and going back to focusing on the things that matter. He shouldn’t let you climb up that list.

But as soon as he heard his roommate standing up and leaving, the itch at the back of his brain started screaming at him to do something. How can he step back and do nothing? He can’t be indifferent this time. Unfortunately, he does care. Unfortunately, every sob and quiet sniffle tugs at his heart and urges him to be there for you, to come out and try to be there for you as best he can.

The sight of you, even if it's not something he hadn't seen before, breaks him. Making yourself as little as possible, with your clothes wrinkled and your hair a mess, you let him sit by your side, the cold couch caving under him as he settles at a good enough distance that he’s close enough to feel him beside you, but not sticking to your side inappropriately.

The silence with him is a more understanding one. It’s not the first time he’s seen you cry, but you don’t dare say anything. Is there even something to say? You didn't argue, Jungkook didn't run away angry at you, he didn't tell you he hates you and wishes you were somebody else, yet, you feel as if he did something worse. Empty yet full of self deprecating thoughts you wouldn't voice out to the best psychologist on the planet. You couldn’t tell Mingyu even if you wanted to.

A hand, warm and firm, places just above your knee. It’s soft, careful, an innocent touch to understand that he’s there for you. The gesture is oddly comforting, and you allow yourself to feel everything. The embarrassment, the disappointment, the hurt, knowing Mingyu won't judge you for it.

“It’s not your fault.” Mingyu claims, his voice overpowering your racing thoughts.

Maybe it’s the way he says it so sincerely, but you break down even more. Your hands cover your face once again, bending down until your forehead touches your knees. Mingyu’s hand frees itself from the cage you created. He’s definitely had enough of your crying for the night by now. He tried to help and you repay him by dropping half your weight onto his hand and continue crying? If he leaves too, you wouldn’t blame him.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you closer to him. “He doesn’t deserve your tears.”

Your heart stops for a second, taking in your closeness and the reason behind it, and what he said about his close friend. Your head lays against Mingyu’s shoulder almost on its own, and he keeps you there, even if your tears start staining his shirt.

“He wasn’t like this before.” Your voice breaks trying to defend the you of the past, and the arm behind you stiffens before you feel his hand hold onto your other shoulder for comfort. “They warned me, and I didn’t listen.”

He shouldn’t be the one to tell you. Mingyu knows that. But you’re so broken, crumbling against him like there’s nothing else you can do, that he almost lets the truth slip out. It’s on the tip of his tongue, the thing that’ll break you even more. But he can’t allow himself to do it.

So, he stays silent, offering a place for you to let out all your feelings. Whatever you need to feel better, even if it’s just a little.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time passes, or what you’re thinking, but he can feel how your breathing regulates with every second. Eventually, your sniffles become rarer and rarer, you straighten your posture and, unfortunately for him, step away from his hold.

“I’m sorry, I–” You can’t look him in the eyes, taken aback by the realization of what happened, guilt making you trip over your words, “I shouldn’t have–”

Getting up and gathering your things is the only thing you can think of doing. Whatever solace you found in his arms is now gone, replaced by an awkwardness you don’t know how to handle. Mingyu’s eyes bore holes on your back as you pick up your things that fell down when you first entered the apartment without care.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu’s gentle words help you relax, but the need to get out of the apartment is stronger. “You can stay, I don’t want you to leave while being upset.”

“I can’t be here, Mingyu.” You don’t mean to sound so hostile, but everywhere you look is a reminder of how pathetic you just were. It’s pushing you away.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mingyu hovers around you, not wanting to scare you away. He’ll do whatever you ask him to. “Anything.”

“I– I just want to be alone.” You walk yourself to the door, too tired to think about how you feel about everything that happened. Too busy to consider anything else. “I have to get ready for tomorrow.”

“Right, it’s tomorrow.” He’d forgotten about the college thing. Your college thing. He was so busy pretending to mind his own business and hiding from his feelings that he forgot you have your own life too. “You’re gonna do great.”

“Thank you…” Your hand rests on the door handle, hesitating leaving Mingyu after he helped you. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Your lips tight in the best smile you can manage, in an attempt to not seem mad at him.

“We’ll pick you up in the morning.” Mingyu announces, even if he knows you planned to come on your own.

“There’s no need for that.” You let out a sad, airy chuckle that squeezes Mingyu’s heart.

“No, We’ll–” he starts, but corrects himself, “I’ll pick you up. It’s not up to discussion. You, focus on resting.”

Mingyu takes the decision for you and opens the door himself, both of you ignoring the tingling at the touch of your hands. A quiet mumble goodbye is all you manage to say before going for the elevator. And Mingyu stays at the door until he’s sure the elevator’s going down.

The scorching mid-day sun heated the car so much you can’t rest against it. A few feet ahead, the guys stand in line at the convenience store at the gas station, with mainly energy drinks in hand and a few sandwiches. After driving the entire morning, everyone collectively decided to stop for a while for a bit of leg stretching and to recharge for more hours of driving.

It’s been a weird day from the start.

Mingyu picked you up like he promised, and even made sure you didn’t dare take an uber to their home by texting you they were on the way too early in the morning. You were about to open the uber app when he texted.

You barely got any sleep during the night, your brain switching from replaying the evening at Jungkook’s place and revising for the presentation. You rested so little, yet the usually soothing hum of the car isn’t helping you sleep, choosing to focus on everyone’s voice.

Since you opened your eyes, after tossing and turning all night, you didn’t let yourself think about anything that wasn’t the presentation. When to pause, how much to wave your hands in the air. It worked to an extent. But hearing Jungkook sitting by your side making the effort to talk to Cathlyn, who was sitting in the passenger seat while Mingyu was driving, almost made you go insane.

The only reason you’re alone waiting while the rest of them shop is because you insisted. No, you don’t need to go to the bathroom. No, you don’t want anything specific to eat. No, you don’t need to walk it out. Just in need of a little bit of peace. And Jungkook let you be. He’s been pretending nothing happened the previous night, and you’re glad he’s not forcing you to voice out your thoughts.

The bell above the store’s door chimes as everyone leaves altogether. Instinctively, you reach for the passenger’s door, as the idea was for Mingyu and Jungkook to switch seats so Mingyu can take a rest from driving, but a voice reaches you before you get the chance to open the car.

“Is it okay if I stay there?” Cathlyn runs over to you with a pack of chips in hand.

“Shotgun again?” Jungkook appears behind her, a sly smile on his face before he rounds the car to open the trunk.

She giggles at him but turns her attention back to you when she notices your silence and questioning look. “I’m sorry, I just get really dizzy in the backseat.”

Giving up on reality is easier than fighting it. You’re not going to be the one to deny the poor girl who just got broken up with. Sure, sit with your best friend, laugh with him and ignore the rest of the world outside your bubble. Who cares? “Sure, I don’t mind.”

The car is not that small, but with Cathlyn’s friend, who you didn’t know was coming on the trip until you were in front of the car on the street by your building, you end up between her and Mingyu in the backseat.

Feeling him by your side wakes up flashbacks from the previous night. But if before he was warm and comforting, he’s now rigid in place, looking out the window as the car gets back on the road. You don’t know what you expected, or why you feel a hint of disappointment at the pit of your stomach, but there’s nothing you can really do. You aren’t giving him many chances to be friendly with you either.

For a moment, you’re thankful for the cease in conversation, when Jungkook turns up the volume of the radio and random pop hits start entrancing everyone in the car into listening quietly. Cathlyn and her friend, who they call Mel, bob their heads to the song in sync without realizing, and it’s peaceful.

But then, the next song plays, and the two people sitting in the front part of the car collectively gasp. Mingyu shifts on your side, and you know he recognized what they did too.

“This is the song that–” Cathlyn starts, but they both laugh before she can finish explaining.

“He really hated you for that.” The only reason Jungkook’s eyes are on the road is because he’s driving, because if he weren’t, you’re sure he’d be laughing his ass off with Cathlyn.

“He hated me before too!” She slaps his shoulder before erupting into laughter again. “For no reason may I add.”

All three of you in the backseat just stare at them, listening, waiting for one of them to think of telling the anecdote. Your instincts want nothing more than to look at Mingyu, side eye him for a little help, but you fight them.

“What did you do?” Mel asks by your side, trying to get the attention from the party in the front.

“Our history teacher hated her in senior year.” Jungkook looks at Mel through the rear-view mirror. “She argued with him almost every day.”

“I can see her doing that.” While her friend chuckles at the bit of the story, Cathlyn still doesn’t turn around, almost exclusively laughing with Jungkook.

“And he threatened to fail me on the last test we had!”

“I keep telling you, there’s no way he would’ve done that.”

“It seemed like a very real threat to me.”

“So, you had to blast this song outside the classroom?”

“I had to make a show out of it!”

As they keep bickering about their senior year, leaving you out of the fun, the air around you becomes as awkward as ever. Mel’s laughing with them, the only one paying real attention to their jabs at each other. Mingyu, on the other hand, looks down as he plays with his fingers. You’re… bored.

The conversation you’re not a part of doesn’t interest you, the music’s no longer loud enough to help you take your mind off everything, and you have at least two more hours of agony.

So you focus on the cars on the road, the ones you pass, the ones that pass you, the grass, the animals, the farms, until your eyes finally close on their own.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When you open your eyes again, the car’s slowing down, arriving at the motel that’ll house the five of you for the following days. It’s still bright outside, but the slightly orange tones in the sky and your stomach growling indicate the beginning of the evening.

A familiar hard surface below your temple holds your head in place. When exactly you fell asleep is the first question that pops up in your head. The second one answers itself quickly.

“We’re here.” Mingyu’s low voice accompanies his soft grip just above your knee, with a little reminder of the last time it was there.

As you lift your head and stretch your neck until it pops, it hits you. You fell asleep on Mingyu’s shoulder. A whole two hours where you bothered him, again. Made him take care of you, again.

“You should’ve woken me up.” Mingyu shakes his head at your intent of an apology, but you interrupt him before he speaks up, “I’m sure you were uncomfortable.”

“Really, I didn’t mind.” In the background, Cathlyn and Mel excuse themselves out of the car to look for their room in a rush. “I can wash all the drool off my shirt just fine.”

“I do not drool.” The way he chuckles compels you to join him. It’s easy, and the first time you even smiled in the day.

The door to the driver’s seat shuts closed with force, and both you and Mingyu scurry to get out of the car as soon as possible.

You don’t miss the way Jungkook studies you as he hands each of you your bags from the trunk. Cold as ice, he stays silent when Mingyu excuses himself to find their shared room.

“If your plan’s to make me jealous, that’s not gonna cut it.” Jungkook’s voice surprises you from behind, and the frown he wears on his face accompanies the angry tone.

“I didn’t plan anything.” He doesn’t speak to you the whole trip, and now he has the audacity to be mad at you? “But by the looks of it, whatever you think I did, it clearly worked.”

“Already looking for a rebound?” He follows behind you to the entrance of the motel.

“Jungkook, I don’t have time for this.”

You have hours and hours of practice ahead of you, and they might not be enough for your talk to be perfect. He knows the congress is a big deal to you, or at least he should. You can’t be thinking about anything else. Not about him. Not about your relationship with him. Not about Mingyu.

“Are you planning to break up with me?” You’ve never heard him talk like this before. He doesn’t sound hurt, just angry, jealous.

You scoff. “If you keep being an asshole, I might.” The answer blurts out without checking with your brain first. He didn’t expect you to say something back. You didn’t either.

“Fine.” Jungkook crosses his arms, waiting for you to say the words you’re not even sure you want to utter. “Do it.”

“Look, I can’t deal with this right now.” You take a deep breath, trying to think clearly, to not do anything impulsively. “You’re mad and I’m stressed. It’s not the best time.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it tomorrow?”

“What? I’m not saying anything, Jungkook, stop.” Your bag’s heavy on your shoulder as you rack your brain for anything to help you out of this. “Why don’t we take the night off, I’ll practice for tomorrow, you can relax after all the driving, and we’ll have a proper talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Jungkook huffs, mumbling something close to a ‘fine then, bye’ before storming off.

The back of your throat feels dry and hoarse from the hours of speech practice. How to modulate correctly, how to make your voice bigger. It takes a toll on you.

When you and your friends planned to do the finishing touches the night before the congress, none of you thought you’d be trapped in a tiny motel room for hours, tweaking the words to seem more professional, timing yourselves to fit in the 15 minute time slot, and even going as far as to plan when and how to look at the screen behind you.

Your stomach growls incessantly. You haven’t had anything to eat in hours, besides the simple dinner the three of you had after setting up in your rooms. Seeing every one of you is tired, the girls don’t stop you when you get up and leave the room in search of a vending machine.

Somehow, the balcony has better lighting than your hallway, and you spot a big vending machine just outside your hallway. Picking a snack is not hard when your tummy begs for anything, so you grab the random chip bag you picked and begin to head back when you hear a loud thud and a curse coming from the next hallway.

Judging by which hallway you’re walking into, and the sheer size of the person bending over in pain in front of their door, it’s Mingyu.

“Are you okay?” You rush to help him in any way you can.

Mingyu’s head shoots your way and he curses again. “Shit, it’s you, hi, yeah.” He grunts in between words and tries to stand up straight. “I closed the door right in my hand. It’s no big deal, really. Go rest for tomorrow.”

Even from afar, you could see the sweat stains on the back of his sleeveless t-shirt. His shallow breathing and sweat dripping down his hair and face welcome you as you reach him. It's a sight. His skin glistening under the white hallway lights catches your attention a second longer than it should before it goes back to the cause of his pain.

“You’re bleeding!” Taking a closer look at the hand he’s holding, you see a growing red bubble right under the ring finger’s nail. “Let’s get you inside.”

“You don’t have to–”

“Shut up and go put your hand under running cold water.” After he’s helped you so many times, the least you can do is google what to do when someone has a bubble of blood growing under their nail.

The empty room catches your attention as you read the quick answers your search pulled up. “Jungkook’s not here?”

Looking over to the open bathroom door, Mingyu’s hand is under the running tap like you instructed, but he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes. He must know about the fight you two had.

“He went out with some friends that came here too.” He answers before giving up and drying his hand. “It’s not clearing out.”

You should be used to him sitting closely by your side. Your breath shouldn’t quicken and your hands shouldn’t sweat as the bed creaks below him. Actually, you need to stop getting into situations where Mingyu needs to sit beside you. But you can’t help it.

Maybe focusing on his minor injury can help your body relax. “Okay, so, google says it should go away on its own in like… two or three days.” Even if there’s so many questions you have for him that you avoided all day, it’s not the time.

“I'll have to stay with a blood bubble on my finger for days?” His threatening pout lifts your mood quickly.

You chuckle, taking his hand in yours once again. “Does it hurt?” Mingyu shakes his head with a small smile growing in his face, letting you have your way.

Now that he’s calmer than when you found him outside, his fingers relax in your hold as you look for any bruises. His hand that held you and comforted you one too many times, now being taken care of by you. Rushes of warm blood follow where your skin meets his, even the lightest of touches aren't free of his effect on you.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Your mouth betrays you once again, voicing out your thoughts instead of getting through the silence. “Your friends.”

“Didn’t feel like it.” His answer is simple. And you wish it was enough to satiate your curiosity, but you simply can't stop asking questions.

“Nothing more?” You don't know what you expect him to answer. Maybe you're just looking for excuses to keep talking to him, to stay in the momentary bubble that surrounds you every time you’re with him.

“I haven't been… liking him much lately.”

Mingyu's careful with his choice of words. Still believing it’s not his place to talk about what goes on in Jungkook’s life, he can’t not be honest with you, not when you’re so close to him he’s sure you can read every expression on his face.

A drop of sweat drips down the side of his face, training your eyes to follow its way down until it dampens the side of his mouth.

“You're best friends.” A remainder, more to yourself than to him.

“Doesn't mean I have to agree with everything he does.”

Mingyu hopes you understand the meaning behind his words.

You hope he doesn't notice the way your eyes stayed too long on his moving lips before going back to his eyes.

You both hope for things you can't voice out, charging the little space between your stares with electricity. With his hand forgotten in your hold, reading his expression becomes your main task.

None of you dare move, and you know, somehow, that he's waiting for you to do something –anything. What you don't know is what you want.

Your phone chimes in your back pocket just when you part your lips to speak. There's a millisecond, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't watching Mingyu's gaze closely, where his eyes drift down your face. With your lips dry at his attention, you break the spell, letting go of his hand to reach for your phone.

Nayeon asks where you disappeared to, and sends a long chain of suspecting emojis when you tell her who you’re with.

“I–I have to get back.” Getting up from the weak motel bed in a flash, Mingyu's eyes follow you to the door. “Sorry for taking up your time.”

“You gotta stop with that.” He stops you in your tracks, with a soft grip on your wrist to turn you back to him.

“Stop talking like you're a bother.” He doesn't let you dismiss him. “You don't bother me. I wouldn't spend time with you if you did.”

“You didn't use to like me. And now you pity me, that's why you spend time with me.” Even if you'd like to believe otherwise.

“That's not true.” He doesn't let go of you, and you stop aiming to get out the door. “I don't pity you.”

“You never talked to me until you caught me crying that day.” Your head tilts, trying not to seem so serious with your counter argument.

Another text comes through your phone. You shouldn't be wasting time on such an important night. But is it really wasted time if you're spending it with him?

“It wasn't about you.” Mingyu reveals, but it doesn't really clear up your doubts. “I don't like getting to know people I'm not sure will stick around.”

“So, it's true.” You bring your arm out of his grip, a way to protect yourself. “I wasn't supposed to last this long.”

“Look. It's not my place, and I've already gotten too involved.” Mingyu's words fly over you, choosing not to overthink what he means. “Jungkook's shit is Jungkook’s shit, but you can decide what to do too. Don't wait for him to make a decision for you.”

“I'm capable of making my own decisions, Mingyu.” You say, convinced but weary of his tone.

“I know you are. He doesn't.”

The silence is striking, breathtaking, heartstopping. Words don't come up in your brain, an infinite echo of Mingyu's remark rendering you incapable of following a simple order.

“See you tomorrow.” You can only offer him a small smile before finally leaving the room full of him.

The applause almost breaks you down. You can finally take a deep breath. The thing you’ve been preparing for weeks, taking up most of your sleep time and raising the bar for how much stress you can handle, is finally done.

Well, not completely. Your speech is done, yes, but the time for questions begins. Jennie and Nayeon answer everything swiftly as your eyes scan the room for any known faces. You finished the presentation and you can barely catch your breath as your heart tries to slow down, so they take on the most annoying part of the job.

From across the room, behind the people eager to ask their questions with their hands in the air or attentively listen to your friends’ responses, the tall man only looking at you makes your heart stop.

Was he there the whole time? When you speak in a room full of people, you tend to disappear into your own mind, barely registering what surrounds you until your time’s up. He could've just got here, but deep down you know he didn’t. Deep down, you know he’s been there since the start, supporting you without your knowledge.

As a hand on your shoulder starts gently dragging you away from the stand, splitting the way between your connected stares, a sense of accomplishment washes over you. You're done, you can carry on with your life.

In the hallway just outside where you just spent the most stressful hours of your life, you can hear the next group beginning their presentation, one that luckily you’re not required to be present for. Perks of being in the line up.

Getting out the other door, Mingyu searches for you and finds you walking over to him with the biggest smile adorning your face.

“What did you think?” Your friends’ giggles make it to your ears from behind. Merging the constant teasing you’re the victim of with their infatuation with Mingyu is dangerous, but there really is only one thing in your mind now.

“You talked really well.” The highlight of every word as his eyebrows wiggle with confusion lights a warmth in your belly that spreads across your body into a chuckle.

“You didn’t understand a thing, did you?”

“I didn’t.” It’s his chuckle, and his smile, and his eyes glimmering, and his chin tilted down to get a better look at you.

Have you ever felt this way before? Easy under someone’s gaze, unafraid of making them feel less intelligent. He’s… genuinely happy for you. Out of all the presentations in the schedule, your subject matter was the least close to his field, yet he chose to listen to your sociology lesson.

“Thank you for coming.” You say before the magic fades. “You–you didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t want to miss it.” He’s the most genuine he can possibly be.

Mingyu undoubtedly, and selfishly, cares about you. From the sidelines, he saw you getting the opportunity, the toll the preparations were taking on you. He wasn’t going to skip one of the biggest moments of your life after seeing you struggle for so long.

“That makes one of you.” You don’t mean it to sound as spiteful, but the sour taste in your mouth as you realize who isn’t present triggers the resentful tone. “Anyway, I’m not gonna let some asshole ruin my day! We’re going to celebrate with the girls and some guys I have no idea how they managed to make friends with, do you want to come?”

Mingyu doesn't think about what you mean behind your invitation. “Sure, if you want me there.” He’d jump at any chance he got to spend time with you.

Ever since that night at the pool bar, Mingyu never forgot your willingness to not let one bad moment overshadow an otherwise enjoyable day. A quality he could learn from. That’s why, he also can’t forget about the moments he comforted you, when everything became so overwhelming you had no choice but to let it all out.

“Let’s go then!” Your hand aims to stretch back for him to take, but the little angel on your shoulder wins this round, and you just walk out the hall with Mingyu following you, hand hanging cold by your side.

The evening sky greets you on the outside world, and the fresh air filling your lungs after being trapped inside the suffocating new college is very welcomed by your body.

Following your friends wherever they go, letting them choose which bar or club to go celebrate, you can only smile and silently walk behind them. Mingyu’s towering presence occupies the space to your right. He’s also silent, admiring the new city, letting you have the unspeaking moment you need.

It’s not long before you’re getting into a club with flashing colored lights and loud pop music coming out of the speakers. The sense of accomplishment embodies you whole. One less thing to worry about, one less thing weighing you down. You won't let anyone take the freedom from you.

It’s a carefree night. You let yourself be dragged to the packed dance floor, your friends leading the way amidst all the bodies crowding as they dance out of sync.

Being drunk could never compare to the happiness you feel as you join everyone dancing. You allow the music to take over you, with your hips and limbs coordinating to the rhythm of each song playing, blending into the sea of people.

You don't know when, you don't care how, and with no will to stop, you and Mingyu drift towards each other, the little space and dim atmosphere making it easy to hide everything wrong with what you're doing.

“You're happy.” Mingyu leans down to say to your ear. The only way you could hear him over all the noise.

“I am!” You don't fight the smile growing in your lips, focusing on the way Mingyu's eyes scan your face under the blue lights.

This time, the battle between the little angel and the devil dictating your choices ends with the victory of the mischievous voice that tells you to inch closer to Mingyu.

With the excuse of the loud music, you stand on your tiptoes to reach the side of his face, your lips grazing his ear as you say, “I'm glad you came.”

His hands steady you in place before you lose your balance, holding onto your hips and keeping you in place.

You should swat his hands away. He should stand back from the girl who isn't his. The tension sizzles from the tip of his fingers barely dipping into a bit of uncovered skin and up your body until your chest tightens.

“I'm sure you'd want someone else here.” Even with the scandalous meaning behind his words, you don't ignore the light teasing tone he purposely uses.

“I'm not thinking about him right now.” His eyes search for yours, finding only truth in them.

The people surrounding you, unscrupulously dancing against each other and paying you no mind, sway your bodies from side to side. Neither of you make a move to separate, letting the pushing crowd be the excuse for your closeness. You have the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, but you fight it. Maybe if he was something else, you would.

But the universe would never let you be this careless without some karma waiting for you.

When your gaze reluctantly disconnects from Mingyu's in search for your friends, the sight of two familiar people catches your attention a few meters to the side. You should've known he was with her. That he'd choose her over you even for this.

They're just dancing, and you can't complain about it because you're currently in the arms of another man too. It's just… different.

Your hands find Mingyu's still on your sides, grabbing them softly to get them off you as your eyes go from the scene you just witnessed to him and then back. Of course, he gets it immediately.

“I can talk to him.” Mingyu has this instinct now, to shield you from having a bad time.

“No, I'll do it. I have a few things in mind to say.” While you appreciate him wanting to help, it’s something you have to do on your own. You can’t shield behind Mingyu any longer.

Making the sacrifice of looking like a psychotic girlfriend, the adrenaline moves your legs forward, no time to think further about what you’re about to do. They don’t see you coming, they probably didn’t even see you with Mingyu before, too sucked into their bubble to notice other people.

“Jungkook.” His shocked expression just confirms your theory. He notices you’re mad quickly, but the wheels turning in his mind, failing to find the reason for your anger, are so visible you can’t control your mouth. “Glad to see you’re having fun.”

“Hi, babe! I didn’t—see you come in!” He leans into the wall behind him for support, body as stiff as ever. “Having a good time?”

“Are you kidding me?” Admittedly, you’re raising your voice a few decibels over the necessary amount, but you’ve never cared less about drawing attention than at this moment. “You really forgot, huh?”

Only then, Jungkook realizes he messed up. It’s not normal to see you angry, especially not at him. “Let’s talk outside, okay? It’s quieter.”

You catch his eyes going back to Cathlyn before he places a hand on your lower back to direct you to the door. Astonishing, really.

“You could make it less obvious, at least.” The harsh cold night wind slaps you even more awake. “I’m not stupid, Jungkook.”

You’re not dressed to be standing outside on the street at this hour. The city’s too windy, making you shiver as if it was the middle of winter. You don’t want to look weak in Jungkook’s eyes, you need to look like you stand your ground. The cold is a mental state anyway, you can fight it.

“You’re not, babe, but what are you talking about? What are you doing here?” His cluelessness does everything but help his situation.

“We’re celebrating that our presentation was a success.” At the news, everything clicks in Jungkook’s mind.

“It was today.” Jungkook reminds himself out loud.

“Of course it was today! Why else do you think we drove all this way?” He has to be a special kind of disengaged and disinterested to selectively wipe his memory like this, you think.

“I’m sorry, baby! So much happened today, and I thought you didn’t want to see me after last night.”

“Don’t use one fight as an excuse. You forgot or you didn’t care. Either way, this was important to me and you didn’t come.”

People passing you on the street side eye the scene you’re making. Jungkook seems to care about being judged, taking in account the way his eyes widen at every raise of your voice.

At his silence, you keep going. “What did Cathlyn fucking need this time? What could have possibly been more important than your girlfriend?” It feels pathetic to call yourself that.

“You have to understand,” his voice becomes tense at the utterance of her name, “she’s my best friend. She means everything to me.”

You’re positive she’s listening to all of this. Hiding behind the club’s door waiting for the chance to come out and comfort her oh so dear best friend. It’s not her fault, but it’s hard not to grow an ill feeling thinking about her.

“Don’t I mean anything? Why get into a relationship with me if you won’t take it seriously? If you’re in love with someone else?”

It’s hard to form an articulated sentence when the anger and the sadness spar in your mind. It’s hard not to feel desperate, a pitiful attempt at making a careless man care about you.

Your gaze trains on the floor, tuning out Jungkook’s lame excuses and not truthful apologies. Without looking at him, and with only the grey sidewalk on sight, it’s like you can think clearly for the first time.

“I’m sorry, baby, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” It’s just a moment where you let his words register, and it’s the last thing you need to decide.

“No. You won’t.”

Jungkook shuts up instantly. Your gaze doesn’t falter this time, locking into his with your best poker face. You can see every thought passing through his mind, every little reaction he fights to show. He analyzes your expression, looking for another meaning, for any sign that you don’t mean what you said.

“I promise I will, baby, c’mon.”

The thing is, after so many promises, those words coming out of his mouth become meaningless. They’re just empty words he uses to get you to forgive him, he’s not being truthful, he’s just begging so he can feel better with himself.

“No! You won’t! That was your last chance.” It gets clearer and clearer to him what you’re saying.

You shouldn't have been silently enduring the scraps of his attention he was giving you. Waiting for your growing feelings to be reciprocated by someone who doesn’t respect you. Those feelings, however big or small —you’re not sure, quickly started dissipating at the realization that he simply didn’t care. It wasn’t his memory, or his busy schedule, it was the lack of intention. Care and intention he always showed to someone else.

“Babe…” He sounds like he gave up too, one last pity attempt you know he doesn’t mean.

“We’re done. You never wanted to be with me, and I certainly don’t want to be with you anymore.”

When you start walking away, Jungkook doesn’t stop you, standing where you left him with his eyes lost to the ghostly street.

Realizing the burden he’s been on your life and letting it go finally lets you see clearly. Your night might’ve been ruined, but you’re liberated from that pain. You’re not happy, but you’re not sad either, just walking forward, a new future ahead.

You’ve walked almost two whole blocks, the motel a half block away, when the sound of rushed steps chasing you alerts you. You didn’t think anyone would be coming after you, but you realize who it is right when the figure appears in your line of sight.

“Are you okay?” Mingyu’s breathless, slowing his pace to match yours. He definitely heard everything that happened.

“Yeah, I think so.” Even if you sound convinced, he stays walking with you.

“I’ll walk you inside.” He doesn’t look back, deciding on what to do. But you know he should be making sure his friend is okay. You guess he is, though.

“I'll be fine. You can stay with—”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” Mingyu interrupts you before you can say the other’s name. “I don't care about him right now.”

Your heart stops for a moment before your brain catches up. All those times Jungkook left you and Mingyu came right to the rescue, when he got annoyed at them in the pool bar, or admitting he didn’t like what Jungkook was “choosing”. Of course he has to know how his best friend and roommate feels about everyone.

“You knew it all this time.” He doesn’t look at you, staring at the distance as he listens closely. “That he’s in love with her.”

“I didn't want to be the one to tell you.”

Your room door’s just one step away now, but you still stop in your tracks at his words. You never thought of his silence as his way to shield you from the truth. You never thought that the initial pity he took on you —even if he denies it, came from a place of hiding something from you.

“He was in love with somebody else while being with me! That’s the kind of thing you need to tell me!” Luckily, the hallway is completely deserted at this hour. You wouldn’t want to make another scene. You’re more aware of everything now, free but raw, as if anything could scar you.

“It wasn't my place!” For a second you understand Mingyu. Imagining him even implying it hurts more than realizing the truth yourself. But it still hurts. You trusted him with your most vulnerable moments, and all that time he hid that he knew the real cause for that pain. “And don't act like you didn't know it too.”

Mingyu’s harsh comment feels like a punch in the gut. There’s no malice in his tone, you’ve come to know him and his tendency to be too direct sometimes, it was just unexpected this time.

But he is right. There were signs everywhere for you to see, signs you turned a blind eye to. It was a thought that often crossed the back of your mind, but you dismissed it before you could think about it further. You were stupid to think you were paranoid and it meant nothing.

“Stop.” You realize you weren't looking at him and shoot your gaze up. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the asshole and you’re not at fault for believing him.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I thought I was smarter than that, turns out I’m just dumb.” You want to curl up in bed, hide from the judging outside world and forget all about Jungkook and the past few weeks. But not all of it.

“He’s the dumb one for not seeing how great you are.” Mingyu's hand on your shoulder manages to comfort you enough to hold off on the tears. “Are you okay? About breaking it off?”

“I know it was the right choice for me. But I have to assimilate it, I think. Sleep it off”

Mingyu nods in acknowledgement as your hand reaches for the doorknob. As if that was your way of ending the conversation, he turns his body to head out the grimy hallway, because he knows what’s next. You’ll cut off everything related to your now ex, a pack of memories in which he himself is included. This is why he shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. There’s no way you’ll want to be in touch with him after everything.

“Mingyu.” It’s your voice that makes him turn around. Even considering how heartbroken you must be, there’s a slight grin on your face as you think about what to say next. “I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”

His heart accelerates as if it was miles ahead of the thought process his brain is having a hard time catching up with. Still, beyond whatever he wants and feels, he knows you need some time to think clearly, someone to be there for you regardless of feelings.

At his hesitation, you open the door and look back at him as you enter. It’s a clear invitation, one he accepts immediately.

After closing the door behind him, the unmade bed calls his name and he sits at the edge to take his shoes off as you begin your night routine in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I’m curious about something.” You look cute smothering moisturizing cream all across your face, Mingyu thinks. “Do you think she likes him back?”

He finds it in himself to chuckle. “Do you really want to talk about that right now?”

“Look, I won’t be sad about it if I can turn it into a gossip session later. It’s my way of getting over things, so please just indulge me this time.”

You’re looking at him as you tap your face with the pads of your fingers. Mingyu doesn’t see an ounce of sadness in your expression, instead, you’re very serious with what you’re asking. And he won’t argue with that logic, if that’s what it takes to help you forget and spend more time with you.

“She never told me anything.” Your half closed eyes and head turned to the side signal Mingyu to keep talking. “If he confessed, I think she could like him back. They already act like a couple anyway.”

Mingyu realizes he went too far. You don’t say anything, but your shoulders slouch before you grab your pajamas from the nightstand and lock yourself in the bathroom. That was definitely not what you wanted to hear. Shit.

“I hope they can finally realize they’re idiots.” When the door opens to reveal the loose but all too revealing clothes barely covering your body, Mingyu can almost hear all the air in his lungs escaping at once. “Are you getting in bed?”

Maybe it’s his mind playing sick games with him. You can’t possibly be asking him to slip under the covers with you and be calm about it. There’s a lot of things he can calmly face up to. The idea of laying down so close to the person who’s been making a mess of his every thought is not one of those.

Still, he follows suit with your not so indirect invite. He doesn’t want to make assumptions about you, about the situation, or about what you want, so he lets you take the lead for tonight. Trusting that you’ll show him what you need and believing that he can give it to you.

The both of you lay awkwardly side by side, facing the ceiling deep in thought. Only the breathing sounds and the way your arm grazes against his keep Mingyu’s senses in check. He feels like a highschooler having his first conversation with his crush. He can no longer be the cool, calm self he praised himself to be. So, he resorts to silence.

“Was he always like that? Ending relationships after realizing it’s not what he wants?” You turn in your place, facing him with those doe eyes of yours that always make him fold.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think it’s the girls that break up with him.” He mirrors your position, feeling better at the entire situation when he sees your smile at his comment.

“Good for them.”

There’s something in your gaze that makes Mingyu question if it’s worth it to be loyal to his friend. Though that moral code must’ve been broken already, there’s still a line, no matter how thin, he hasn’t crossed yet. Emphasis on ‘he’, because he can never be sure what’s your next move.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He dares to ask again.

Mingyu’s hyper aware of how close you are. How you shift a bit closer to him as you think your answer. He thought the clothes he was wearing were okay to sleep in, but his bodily temperature keeps rising at the thought of you.

“I still feel a bit stupid.” He can’t stand hearing you talk about yourself like that, but he doesn’t get to argue. You shut his mouth closed, placing your index finger on the center of his lips before he can utter a word. A touch so innocent he immediately feels bad at how electrifying it felt. “My friends warned me that his relationships never lasted. And I guess I wanted to see it for myself. Have the empirical data, if you will.”

He sees your gaze go down from his eyes, and your hand goes down with it to whatever caught your attention. He swallows hard, waiting for just one signal. The chain around his neck tugs at the back, and he realizes you’re inspecting the little charm hanging from it.

“It’s not like I was in love with him.” Every word you say feels like fire on his end. “He was fun at first. That’s what I liked about him.”

You play with Mingyu’s chain like it’s second nature. Like you don’t realize your hand’s dangerously close to his chest, about to feel the beating of his heart growing stronger each second.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” That makes your eyes go up again, eyelashes fluttering so close he could count each one of them.

“I get why you didn’t, you’re a good friend. And I think it was better for me to realize on my own, if that makes you feel any better.” The smile that grows on him matches yours perfectly.

“I don’t know how much of a good friend I am anymore.” The honesty slips out of him under your scanning stare. “I’m here after all, aren’t I?”

Mingyu should feel guilty. He left the bar to go after you without so much of a second thought, leaving his supposed best friend to deal with everything on his own. That’s how much he cares about you. His need for you overflows into every area of his life, making the guilt disappear into the stream of things that don’t matter. You’re not taken anymore. And, deep down, he knows Jungkook’s going to be fine. He doesn’t care about you even a fraction of how much Mingyu does.

He’s still deep in thought when he feels your hand going up the side of his jaw. Your icy fingers contrast against his fiery skin, driving him to lean into your touch. He’d close his eyes and let you do anything you wanted if it wasn’t for the intoxicating force of your gaze.

The irrational part of his brain doesn’t let him stop you as your face gets closer so his. You’re slowly testing the waters, seeing if he’ll back down, but Mingyu’s quicker, and leans down the last millimeters to finally connect.

Your lips melt against his with a soft sigh, and everything stills for a moment. Enveloped with the tenderness of your touch, he feels you hazily pressing further against him, unsurely yearning for more.

But the rational part of his brain, the one that tugs on the last strand of morale he has, retrieves his head from your electrifying kiss.

“We shouldn’t—” Mingyu regrets it instantly at the sight of your saddened eyes. But he knows it’s for the best. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t sure.

“You don’t want to?” The way your hand flies away from his personal space almost makes him take it and put it back where it belongs.

“I do.” He sounds desperate. He needs you to understand. “But you should see how you feel when you have a clear mind.”

A thousand thoughts rush through your mind, visibly turning your expression soft again. Mingyu offers his arm for you to lay on, the most outlandish peace offering he can make without losing his mind first.

“Okay.” Your soft voice reverberates up his arm as you lay your head on his relaxed bicep. “Do you want to leave?”

He couldn't begin to imagine any dimension in the multiverse where he'd choose to stay away from the featheriness of your skin against his. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I asked you first.” Your light chuckle heals the worry beginning to creep up on Mingyu. In the future, he'll make sure you never doubt him again.

“I don't want to leave.”

The way your smile keeps making a blank slate of his brain should worry Mingyu. But he's never felt this way before, and if there's a chance, however big or small, that you could feel the same way, he won't go back.

“And I want you to stay.”

The morning sun rays bleed through the flimsy curtain, illuminating the otherwise plain motel room in a golden light. You feel warm all around, wrapped in Mingyu’s arms instead of the bedsheets that sometime along the night seem to have fallen to the floor.

But even in the confinement of Mingyu’s backhug, you feel free. What has been dragging your spirit through the floor finally cut from your life. The previous night’s events faded to a distant memory as soon as you laid your head in Mingyu’s chest and drifted to the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You don’t dare turn in his hold, afraid to wake him up and make him face the day. That’s the one thing you haven’t been able to dust off since you opened your eyes. The guilt.

Maybe for you, cutting Jungkook out of your life was the best decision, but Mingyu was his friend first, and last night, for whatever reason, he chose you. He chose to comfort the whiny girl that dumped his boyfriend instead of his best friend since they were in the womb.

The morning with him feels like sunrises on the beach, like a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day, like being trapped in an infinite bear hug. It feels like hope. And the guilt from wanting it all could consume you whole just like the need for him.

Mingyu must have mind reading superpowers, because his arms tighten around you before the guilt overwhelms you, easily forgetting it all at the feeling of his breath on your neck.

Neither of you say anything, sharing the comfortable silence, relishing being in each other’s arms. You don’t stop him when he tangles his legs with yours, feeling him everywhere from head to toe. You let your hands caress his forearms as they drift dangerously close to your lower belly.

It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong on some moral level. Borderline evil even. It’s too soon, and you need to understand what you’re feeling before moving forward with whatever this is. This that feels so nice, so right, but so wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t seem to be having the same moral dilemma that’s running around your mind anymore. The hardness you feel pressing against your inner thigh followed by a gasp that spreads goosebumps all across your back confirming your theory.

In the morning haze, in the limbo between days where time doesn’t run and actions don’t have consequences, you give into his infectious desire. The agreement you made the night before flying out the window as soon as a fire ignites all across your body.

You purposely grind against him, the indecent action causing your face to feel even warmer. A low moan gets caught in Mingyu’s throat at the feeling of your ass against his morning wood, one hand gripping your hip to keep you in place.

“What are you doing?” His raspy voice sends another fire down your body, making you squirm in his grip.

“Nothing.” You feign innocence, pretending to straighten your posture but ultimately pressing yourself harder against his chest. “You don't like it?”

The space between your bodies is crushed impossibly tighter until all you can feel are his muscles tensing in his search for you. The barrier you left standing the night before, demolished with little care as he sighs to your ear.

“It's not that, princess,” every bit of skin Mingyu touches works like a button to make you need him more and more, “we should wait.”

You'd agree with him if it wasn't for the elastic of your sleeping shorts stretching to fit his wandering hand. It’s a timid action, one that contradicts his words but only gets encouraged by your gasp. These aren’t the hands that held you close when you were broken, no, these are the ones that felt you shiver pretending to teach you to play pool, the ones that pushed you against him in the dimness of the club. The ones you crave with your whole body.

At your reaction, he drifts further down, playing with the hem of your panties so painfully slow the grip of your hand on his forearm grows stronger with each second he doesn't fully touch you. His lips graze your shoulder, trying to contain himself from kissing every inch he can reach.

When he flattens on your pelvis, pressing you against his faltering hips, you swear your whimper drives him to not so innocently thrust behind you. The room is impossibly hot, but you don’t care, nothing matters other than your need to feel him inside.

Your mouth opens, hoping to work enough to plead for him, but a loud knock on your door startles you both out of the embrace.

If the earth it’s going to swallow you at any point in life, you hope it’s right then and there. Your panties are uncomfortably sticky as your embarrassed gaze connects with Mingyu, the both of you speechless with guilt. The most awkward second ever before another knock echoes into the room.

“Tell Jennie I’ll be out in a second? I promised her we’d go out for breakfast together.”

The embarrassment doesn’t let you look at him a second longer before you lock yourself in the bathroom. Maybe a splash of cold water on your face can help you not look like you just got cockblocked.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

However Mingyu thought his morning would go, the reality was far from his imagination, though it felt far better. He wouldn't mind waking up next to you again, heating up your skin with his touch until you whimper for him.

The sight of you, just woken up and shy at the boldness of what you just did, puts a sheepish smirk on his face. He almost forgets the wrongness of everything. But the decision he made, selfish and long forgotten, quickly comes back to bite him in the ass as he opens the door.

“Wow, this is a nice sight!” Jungkook's face morphs into sarcastic shock as the door reveals a disheveled Mingyu.

“What are you doing here?” In all honesty, Mingyu didn’t think about his friend last night, deep down knowing he wasn’t going to be hurt for long.

“Are you her bodyguard now? I just want to talk about last night.” Jungkook attempts to take half a step into your room, but Mingyu immediately blocks the door.

“It’s not the time to get in my way, man.” The baseless threat doesn’t make Mingyu budge in the slightest, which pisses Jungkook off. The man’s eyes widen after scanning the state of the room. “Did you fuck her?”

“What?” Mingyu can't believe what he's hearing.

“I asked, Did. You. Fuck. Her?” Speaking each word with clenched teeth, Jungkook's voice bleeds anger.

“Why do you care?”

Jungkook barely lets him finish his question. “So you fucked her.”

The crude language puts a bitter taste in Mingyu's mouth. As if only the sex mattered and not everything else. Not that he comforted you at your weakest, that you opened up your heart to him, that you kissed him so softly he almost passed out. Mingyu can only hope the bathroom door miraculously becomes soundproof.

“Don't pretend to care about her now.” Never in his life has he talked to Jungkook this way, always afraid of what could happen to their friendship if he tried to put some sense into him. Then again, his actions never hurt someone Mingyu actually cared about.

“I bet you couldn’t wait for me to dump her.” The words spit out of Jungkook’s mouth like acid. “Eager to take on my leftovers.”

“Dude, I get that you're mad, but you're getting out of line.” The peacemaker in Mingyu takes over —it’s either that or a punch in the face, and tries to get his friend back in the hallway.

“I’m not mad!” He gasps with a hand to his chest. “Just shocked, that's all. Didn’t even let a day pass.” Venom coats every word he says, justifiably betrayed by the one friend he thought he could always count with.

“I didn’t mean for it to come to this,” Mingyu admits quietly, “I wasn’t supposed to care.”

There’s nothing as Jungkook processes those words. A tense second that becomes an infinite one, a void sucking every apology out of his mouth. Mingyu would pay millions to know what’s going on in his friend’s head. He could always tell what he was feeling even when he shut everyone off. But he was never the one causing his anger.

“I can g—”

“I’ll take the bus home with Cathy.” Is all Jungkook says.

His blank face waits for Mingyu to nod before walking away with no second thoughts. Out of the million outcomes he thought for this conversation, Mingyu never thought he’d be the one left speechless. But they both clearly need some time alone before going back to being roommates, before talking like two grown adults and resolving this.

It’s the sound of a door closing just meters behind him that takes him back to the room, your room.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do to shield you from the hurt. He’s tired of simply being there to comfort you in the aftermath. He can’t stand the sight before him, your lips turn downwards trying to get a hold of your feelings. He can see it all, the process of all the emotions going through your brain, until your face settles to a serious expression.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Mingyu stays at the threshold of the door, not sure if you’d still want him as company.

“Don’t be. I’m glad I did.” You stay put in place, half a step from the messy bed, looking everywhere but at him. “At least I don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

Guilt. That’s what he noticed when he gained consciousness and felt you tense in his hold. “About what happened earlier—”

“I’m sorry about that,” you interrupt him in his hesitation, “you said you didn’t want to and I crossed the line.”

“It’s not—” Your lips part in surprise as your eyes fly to his. “I—shit, I don’t want you to think I’m only being nice for something in return.”

“You should be glad I don’t think of you that way.” It’s a weird feel of rejection, the one in your heart as you start picking up your things. A man says he doesn’t want to have sex after rubbing himself against you and fighting with your ex boyfriend. “We should pack, get ready to leave.”

“What do you think of me then?”

Mingyu standing leaning against the doorframe, following your every move with his eyes, makes you stumble upon every possible obstacle on your way. Even with your gaze elsewhere, you can feel him watching your every move.

“I think you’re a good man that lacks a sense of urgency.” Unfortunately, you didn’t bring much stuff on the trip, and you’re getting to the end of things to take your mind off of Mingyu. “Are you going to stare at me all day?”

“I like you.” Mingyu’s sure about a lot of things, but at the weight lifting from his shoulders, the way you stop at his words and how you wait for him to continue, he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. “I’m sorry if that's weird and wrong to say, but I do.”

“I—” There’s no way to describe it, how your mind clears of any reasonable thought the second those words escape Mingyu’s lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Like I said last night, I want you to figure out how you feel on your own time. I’ll be here, you can count on me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His assurance helps. He somehow always knows how to help you, what to say, how to act.

Before you know it, you’re face to face with him, his warmth embracing you as he tilts his head down, waiting for your next move. Your cheek lays softly on his chest after wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly, the only way you have to express your gratitude.

Warm air effortlessly fills your lungs, the scent of him coating every one of your senses as he replicates your hug. His arms feel right around you, as if you were meant to be like this forever, and you relax in his hold.

“Thank you.” Two simple words that mean so much more are the only thing you manage to utter, hoping he'll understand.

“Always.”

Some girls my friends met at the congress came to town and begged for us to take them to a club Do you want to come? It’s close to my place

As soon as you press send, you throw your phone at your bed on the other side of the room.

It’s been two weeks since the most eventful weekend of your life. Two weeks since you finally stood up for yourself and chose your well being for once. Two weeks since Mingyu started being one of the most important parts of your everyday life.

Those afternoons when he made you wonder if you actually fit in his friend’s life, when the thought of him would cause you an immediate headache, feel like a ghost of the past. You couldn’t imagine not being around him now, not receiving his ominous texts in the middle of the night after he finishes a random project for college that you don’t understand, or not seeing his face after class when he picks you up and rambles about how good his class was that day.

He promised he’d be there for you, waiting for you to see how you feel about him without expecting anything in return. And every day that passes, the hurt and confusion fades away bit by bit, and a new, stronger, unexplored, feeling grows in your heart.

You don’t know what compelled you to invite Mingyu out of nowhere. You’re fully dressed, about to leave and with your friends already waiting on your building’s front door, but something at the back of your mind itched with a potent need to see him. Your fingers clicked on his contact and texted him before you could realize what you were doing.

It’s not two minutes later that your phone vibrates with a new notification. Your skin crawls with the combined anxiety of wanting to see him but also not wanting to see him at all. The usual two feelings that fight to take over every time you think of him.

You’re quick to run out your apartment before your friends come up and drag you out themselves. With your unlocked phone in hand, Mingyu’s name lights up your screen.

Sure. Text me address. I’ll meet you there.

The simplicity of his texts always makes you chuckle, embarrassingly smitten by his short sentences. You quickly text him the name and address before hopping off the elevator and joining your friends in the cold weather in which you’re not meant to be wearing the club clothing you chose.

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit you were nervous to see Mingyu. The change came without warning. After getting used to him checking up on you, learning your coffee order and your class schedule, the anticipation started taking over you. Your eyes look for him around campus, your feet flee out of your classroom knowing he’s going to be there waiting for you.

You try to distract yourself when you get too in your mind about it, about him. It’s a difficult new kind of occurrence you’re not sure how to navigate, so you resort to acting nonchalant about it. That’s why, when he arrives and your friends make eyes at you, you don’t let the subject go further than admitting you invited him. It’s a normal thing for people to invite their friends to hang out!

But no matter how hard you try, your eyes don’t stop wandering to the bar, where Mingyu’s forgotten his quest to get another round of drinks and is talking to the most graceful and gorgeous woman alive.

Of course, Mingyu chose tonight of all nights to look like a prince coming to the rescue. A fitted black shirt that even with the lack of light inside the club managed to highlight his build. You almost fainted when he locked eyes with you across the room and smiled walking all the way to you.

And you’d caught that girl’s eyes glued to him when he first entered the club and greeted you all. As soon as he took one step away from you to walk to the bar, the girl unhooked herself from your group and followed him.

“I wonder what’s taking so long with the drinks," You’re barely processing your words as they leave your mouth. As if you haven’t been policing the interaction since it started.

“Yeah, did he…” Jennie’s voice trails out before she can finish, following the line of sight you basically burned in the air after so many stares. A small smirk flashes through her before she mumbles, “Oh.”

Now there’s four more pairs of eyes witnessing why you’re making a fool out of yourself.

“Guess he found something else to do.” Still digging your own grave, you can’t stop making stupid comments.

Jennie and Nayeon exchange a look you’re too busy to catch, while you make sure your empty drink is still… empty. Yeah, the very interesting plastic cup in your hand. Definitely the most interesting sight you can be staring at. The cheap cocktail you thought could ease out the anxiety, and now that the little effect it had left your body, all you can do is laugh at yourself.

“Who is she anyway?” You didn’t even catch her name before she jumped at the chance to get Mingyu alone.

“We presented right after her.” Your friend’s voice barely reaches you over the loud music, and on top of that, you don’t really care to know much about her anyway.

“Right…”

It’s not a big deal. What else did you expect? That he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you like the last time you were in a club together? That you’d feel him all around you again as he felt you up with everyone watching? Stupid. You got too comfortable, took him for granted, and he got tired.

“Are you okay?” Nayeon materializes by your side, her hand on your arm steering your eyes back to her.

“He can do whatever he wants! I really don’t care.” Seeing how they can always tell what’s going on with you, of course they read through the lines.

The other two girls you came with look confused before they dare to speak up.

“We tried telling her that he was off limits," One says as the other confesses, “We thought you two were together.”

The girls’ confusion only fuels yours. You really didn’t want to think about it further before, just in case, but it gets you wondering. “W—why would you think that?”

“We just saw you talking after you presented," The blonde one giggles before her friend adds. “You guys looked cute!”

How did they get to that conclusion after the simplest interaction? Were you that obviously nervous? Was the prickling of your skin visible when he stood too close by your side? It’s become the norm for you two to act this way, the invisible skinship boundary long broken.

Deep down, you know there’s no reason to doubt him. You want to be weary of him, find one single flaw to use as an excuse to not like him, but it’s pointless. Mingyu’s never proven to be anything other than supportive. He’s been so patient with you, the deeper feelings for him developed almost on their own. No warning.

Even before breaking up with Jungkook, Mingyu was always present. Since that first day he found you crying, he made sure you had company, made sure you didn’t get too in your head and helped you have a good time. He was there for you before you even realized you needed it.

You took him for granted for too long, and now he has a pretty girl in front of him showing clear signs of attraction, all while you get scared texting him.

You've been so stupid, so blind to what you had in front of you, that now you're losing it, seeing it disappearing from your life with your own eyes.

The charged stares you've been sparing them must've made their way into Mingyu’s sixth sense, because he finally unglues his eyes from the girl and connects them with yours. You know you have no right to be jealous, you two are nothing, just two people with a very complicated relationship.

As if he knew everything going through your mind, Mingyu smirks your way. He fucking smirks. The twist of his lips cause a chain reaction from your hanging jaw down to your insides becoming a roller coaster. You barely hear your friends saying they’re going to the restroom, choosing to stay and challenge Mingyu.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

When he got your text inviting him out, Mingyu was sitting on the couch that had seen it all happen. Jungkook, just beside him, easily took a peek at the notification that lit up his friend's mood.

“Is that her?”

Even if they’ve resolved the bad blood between them, Mingyu couldn’t help to hide the reality of his feelings from Jungkook. “Yeah," He told him after replying to your text.

Mingyu could count with one hand the few times you had dared to text him first these past few weeks. Seeing your name pop up, inviting him out, was thrilling.

It's been no secret that every time Mingyu disappeared to go somewhere unannounced, he was going with you. Jungkook knew it, but it was time he encouraged it.

“Dude, if you like each other, I'm not looking to get in between," Jungkook assured with his eyes back to the tv in front of them.

“Isn’t it weird?” Mingyu tested the waters, checking if he was hallucinating the support.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird," Jungkook shrugged, as if it were that simple.

The situation is weird. And maybe it will always be weird.

Mingyu started making up this fantasy in his head, where, in the future, you’ve finally let him in and he can love you the way you deserve. One where you can look back at the past and laugh with that blinding toothy smile of yours, with all the hurt being just a distant memory. But before you two get to that point, Mingyu will make sure nothing gets in the way of your happiness ever again. And he foolishly hopes you find it with him.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook’s question took Mingyu out of his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking if I should apologize or not.”

“She’s fine,” at that moment, Mingyu realized that maybe his best friend is better at hiding how he feels than he thought, “but an apology wouldn’t hurt.”

Having long conversations was never their strong suit, so the topic ended there, with Jungkook deep in thought and Mingyu getting up to change clothes.

Something drove him to try and be more presentable for you. The last time you two went to a club together, he almost gave up everything right then and there. Now that there are no barriers between the two of you, he won’t hold back at your advances, he won’t freeze if you dance close to him. At least that was his initial goal.

When he arrived at the club, Mingyu had to pause as soon as he saw you across the room. The smile you showed your friend after something she said illuminated the whole room, leaving nothing else in front of his eyes but you.

He greeted all your friends as politely as he could without straying his eyes off you. His hand traveled itself onto the small of your back, keeping you intoxicatingly close to him as best he could. And he didn’t want to leave your side, but maybe breathing an air free of your perfume would help him think clearly, he thought.

Talking to one of the girls you were with, Mingyu partly feels bad for already forgetting her name. The overworked bartender’s taking too long to prepare all the drinks, and he has no other choice than to entertain the girl.

Answering her questions gets harder and harder with the music blasting, and as she places her hand on his arm to get closer to him, Mingyu can feel the interaction being under someone’s scrutinizing eyes.

Is this all in his head? Are you really standing with your arms crossed and the cutest frown ever on your forehead, almost killing the girl in front of him with your stare? The corner of his mouth lifts autonomously at the thought of you not liking him flirting with another person.

He hasn’t seen this side of you, the jealous and slightly possessive one. And even if you’re nothing more than friends, he loves it. He loves the way you squint when you lock eyes, how you shrug when he doesn’t back down. It’s easy for him to excuse himself and walk towards you again.

At the sight of him, you turn your back on Mingyu, pretending to be dancing alone. So, he has no other choice but to stand behind you and ask in your ear. “Something on your mind?”

Your back tenses against his chest, but you don’t move away, allowing Mingyu to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you close. With your friends suddenly nowhere in sight, he interlocks your fingers while in his hold, helping you relax even if you’re still pretending to be mad.

“You took your time.” The initially suffocating sea of people now feels protective, working like a barrier between your bodies pressed tightly together and the outside world. “Having fun?”

“I am now," Mingyu’s lips graze the side of your face as they lit up in another smirk, growing goosebumps all across your body. “How about you?”

Somehow, being like this doesn’t feel weird. You’ve had Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you so many times now that they easily mold to your figure. There really is only one difference, one that none of you dare speak up but washes over your every interaction.

“I was thinking of going home already.” You look down at your hands tangled in one, fearing that Mingyu can notice at any time how butterflies erupt in your stomach at every word he purrs right in your ear. “Not much to do here.”

“I can take you," His choice of words halts your breath, but you remember.

Untangling Mingyu’s hands from yours, you turn around in his arms to face him, regretting instantly as soon as your eyes connect again.

“You should stay. You looked like you were having fun.” That makes Mingyu chuckle, and an embarrassed warmness bursts inside you at the sound.

“I didn’t think you were the jealous type, princess.” And you didn’t think he was the type to tease you in public, but life takes you to unthinkable roads sometimes.

You scoff as an excuse to take your eyes off him for a second. “Jealous, huh? You’re funny.”

In an intent to get away from his menacingly broad body, your hands take the unconscious decision to push his chest away. But you don’t have the true will to do it, or the strength. He’s too big, too muscly for you to move, and he traps your hands against him, against the sheerest shirt ever that lets you feel every muscle tense under your touch.

“I’d like to think I can make a girl laugh sometimes.” He’s all you can see, covering every spot in your vision with his unerasable teasing smirk.

“Yeah, I saw that.” At the roll of your eyes, there’s no denying that you’re jealous anymore. Do you really care if he knows anyway?

“Oh, you did? Controlling.”

“I’m not controlling! You can do whatever you want, I won’t get in your way.” If he wants to flirt with an emotionally available girl after the infinite amount of time he waited for you, you can’t stop him. You’ll take your feelings to the grave.

Something brews in Mingyu’s mind at your rebuttal. “You won’t?”

“No.”

For the first time in forever, Mingyu willingly unclasps one of his hands from yours, “And if I do this?”

Mingyu’s fingers creep up your neck and get a hold of your chin, titling it up until you have no other choice but to look him in the eye. He waits for your answer, as if you’d ever say no. As soon as you nod, giving him the okay, another smirk is the only warning you get.

Your lips, meant to be pressed against his forever, part with a sigh as Mingyu's arms wrap around your waist. The world around you, with frantic music and people moving at lightspeed, fades to nothing in his embrace. You move along Mingyu’s soft lips naturally, letting your heart convey your feelings through the kiss.

The memory of that last kiss you dared give him all those days ago can’t compare to this one. There’s no hesitation this time, no guilt restraining you from following your true desire. Nothing outside your bubble really matters as your hands travel up his chest to keep his head in place.

His hair feels soft between your fingers as you push yourselves together closer and closer. You never want anything else in life, just kissing and kissing Mingyu until your lungs give out. It’s unfortunate that you can’t.

“Let me take you home," He gasps with your lips just millimeters away.

Your stomach twists and turns with anticipation. “Okay,” barely a whisper accompanies your nod, fearing the way your voice could come out if you said more.

With his hand in yours, walking the moonlit streets in swift steps and giggles, any worries you had slip away with the wind. The feeling of his lips linger on yours every second it passes, every breath you take, every step forward until you stop at an intersection and Mingyu pulls you into him again.

The walk blends between kisses and hand squeezes to check if you’re in a dream or not. You never want to back away from his hold ever again, but as your building materializes in front of you, you're forced to take your hand off the hem of his shirt.

The elevator’s wall hits your back as soon as the automatic doors let you in, barely giving you time to push your floor’s button before Mingyu’s over you again. His mouth takes yours with a hunger that grows every second you’re not inside your apartment. He’s losing control, succumbing to his desires the more you show your want for him.

By some way, your tangled bodies manage to reach your door, though Mingyu’s hands refusing to stop going over your hips and waist are the challenge to overcome. Your fingers tremble trying to turn the key the right way, your nervous system focusing on the lips kissing every inch of the side of your neck he can reach and his fingers slipping underneath the fabric of your top.

As soon as you close the door behind you, the reality closes in on you. With Mingyu’s arms wrapping around your waist again, the bag you forgot you were holding dropping onto the floor with a thud, and the bright lights in your apartment making everything clear.

Mingyu notices your sudden hesitation and stands before you, worried eyes studying you, looking for any sign to tell him what's happening in your mind.

“I made you get in a fight with your best friend," Your reminder is like a dagger against the silence.

“Is that what's bothering you?” His eyes find yours and understand immediately. “We're fine,” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “he actually encouraged me to come tonight.”

Your eyes widen with hope, leaning into his touch when he doesn't retrieve his hand from the side of your face. “Did you guys—”

“We talked,” Mingyu's voice explains so softly, one wouldn't think he was just making you gasp with that same mouth on yours, “and I told him he should apologize to you.”

Standing in the middle of your entrance hallway, you feel stupid for even bringing that up. He wouldn't be here with you if he felt guilty. He wouldn't be cupping your face in his hands, making you look up to him to find the glimmer in his eyes outshining every light source in the room.

“And you’re sure about this?” What ‘this’ means, you’re not sure either.

“I've never been more sure about anything.” Your breath hitches at his answer, your body noticeably frozen as you look for a non-existent lie in his eyes. “Maybe we should take things slow, let you figure out what you want.”

Before he can back away from your personal space, you react. “No, no, I want this too. I want you.”

Those words coming out of your mouth combined with your hands gripping his shirt to keep him in place quickly make Mingyu regret his previous statement. You're so close, too close to him, saying you want him with your eyes dark and wide.

Mingyu’s hands stay on you, caressing the side of your face as if he was debating whether to give in and kiss you again or do the rational thing. Yours, instead, find the first button at the end of the all too well fitting shirt Mingyu’s wearing, and start unbuttoning it one by one.

“I should take you out on a real date first," Mingyu maintains with a sigh, but not stopping you in your quest.

“I personally think,” at his unmoving body, you take a step closer, with your hands against his chest not daring to sneak under the welcoming fabric, “we’re past that, don’t you think?”

For a second, Mingyu thinks you’ll be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart, stronger with each second your hands lay on his chest. Rationality is losing the fight against his desire.

“Just making sure this isn’t a rebound situation,” Mingyu blurts, even if he doesn’t really care about it for himself. He’d take whatever you give him.

“You aren’t a rebound. This isn’t a revenge plot.” You think for a second before you continue, “You saw me cry way too many times and were there for me at my weakest. You make me feel seen, wanted, and getting to know you has made my life better in ways I could’ve never imagined.”

Your words go through Mingyu's ears and right into his bloodstream, getting warmer and warmer the closer you get. His hands go down your body, encouraging you to move forward until your chests touch.

“I needed you even before I knew what I needed.” You can sense the tears beginning to build up, but you push through. He has to know. “I know what I want now, and it’s you.”

“If this is a dream, I never wanna wake up,” every word Mingyu says comes with a widening smile.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck with confidence, “I can assure you, it's not.”

As if you've been getting chased by your feelings all this time, putting it into words and letting it all out works, and your brain stops racing. You can finally breathe, think, see.

“So, was that a no about the date?” As always, Mingyu manages to make you chuckle again, and it reverberates all across both your bodies. Every shiver of his, you feel, with the minimal skin to skin contact against his barely uncovered chest and the tiniest top you found to put on.

“You can take me on a date another day. Now, I want something else.” You don't know where all this confidence is coming from, but seeing the shock in Mingyu's eyes, it only grows. “You okay with that?”

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

The space between your faces charges with electricity as you take in his words. An unconscious bite on your lower lip pulls his gaze down, egging him to close the space slowly. You almost don’t register his advance, focusing on the part of his lips that were just on yours minutes ago.

There’s nothing more to be said, no invisible walls to tear down, only you and him and the pull between you, pushing you closer until your breaths mix. After all the obstacles you overcame, and the bumps that lead you to where you are now, there’s no more time to waste.

When your heads meet again, your tingling lips mold against Mingyu’s for the thousandth time, worried about nothing and wanting it all. And he doesn’t hold back either. His hands on your waist venture up inside your top, feeling your back tense at his touch as the fabric crumples up, leaving more of you exposed to him.

You can’t hide your craving for him any longer. You follow his rhythm eagerly, making a mess of his hair between your fingers and pushing him further against you. Every touch of his makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your jaw and neck. His hands and lips everywhere.

“Might as well just take this off.” Mingyu’s lips print a smirk on the sensitive skin of your neck before pulling back. You get what he means immediately as he tugs on your top, taking it off you as soon as you put your arms up.

His hands feel your chest up to his liking, getting to know the places that make you sigh into his mouth. Every touch of his fingers makes that spot light up like fire, and every sound you make encourages Mingyu more and more.

Your hands sneak under his opened shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest directly elicits a groan from Mingyu, making you shiver as you slip the fabric down his arms.

Your living room becomes a cliché mess of scattered clothing before you direct the both of you to your bedroom. You barely have time to drink in Mingyu’s body before you’re falling with your back on the mattress, chest to chest again, bare against one another, free of any fabric in between.

Mingyu slots between your legs effortlessly, a low moan coming from him as his hardening length grinds softly on the crevice between your limbs. His golden skin that was the star of your every dream, finally at your reach, soft and warm under the pads of your fingers.

“Gyu—” Words choke up on your throat as you feel his lips wrapping around one of your nipples.

“You're gorgeous,” His lips against your chest makes you halt your movements, mind focused solely on him, “so pretty, only for me.”

It's almost as if he was talking to himself, but you moan at every compliment, arching your back for more of him. And he loves it. Loves the way you react to the stream of thoughts that run around his brain every time he looks at you.

“Fuck!” The curse leaves you both in unison when Mingyu finds his digits against your core.

“I barely even touched you and you're already ready for me?” Mingyu feels your reaction to his words first hand as a wave of arousal hits you.

“Fuck you,” you gasp and he chuckles, kissing down your torso until he’s facing your core.

“I'll take care of you, don't worry, baby.” His breath fans at your wet folds, so close to where you want him but still teasing you with his fingers.

You’re about to fight back when you feel him teasing at your opening, his eyes entranced by how ready you are for him. All the anticipation, the tension between you from the past weeks, culminating at once at this very moment.

The slickness leaking out of you from all the kissing and groping makes it easy for him to set the pace. Mingyu’s fingers stretch your insides with expertise, as if he learned every spot of yours to touch to have you squirming.

The torturously slow thrusts of his fingers drive you crazy, curling and hitting exactly where you need them before he’s pulling back. You don’t hold your sounds back, your every reaction letting Mingyu know how good he makes you feel.

“That’s it, baby,” His low voice sets fire to the blood rushing through your veins, and your walls clamp harder around his fingers.

Your knuckles turn white as you grip the sheets below you, and Mingyu’s other hand has to hold your thighs apart so you don’t close them around his head.

“Mingyu—shit!” His lips leave a trail of breathy kisses on your inner thigh, trying to help you relax and take him in, but ultimately turning you on further. “Gyu, wait.”

“I love that you’re calling me that.” He listens and stops thrusting, leaving his fingers to fully fit inside you.

“I need you.” You’re not embarrassed to say what you want. Not with him.

“But you have me?” He tries to tease, but you’re ahead of him already and immediately correct yourself.

“Inside.” His fingers adjust themselves inside you, almost making you forget what you were asking for. “I need you to fuck me.”

Mingyu chuckles at your neediness, but you know he wants it just as bad. His rock hard length draws your attention as he stands up and retrieves his wet digits from you, leaking and ready to split you in half.

There’s a second of hesitation as he looks at you splayed on the bed, as ready for him as he is for you. You recognize the train of thought going through him and stretch your arm to open the drawer below your nightstand, where you keep condoms just in case.

It’s sinful, the sight of Mingyu rolling down the condom as his eyes rake up and down your body. When he kneels on the mattress, fitting like a glove between your legs, it takes another kiss of his on each of your spent legs for you to realize that what’s happening is real.

Caged between both of his arms, his hands holding his weight on both sides of your head, your legs wrap around his waist and push him inside you, at last.

His length fits inside you, opening up your walls to mold to his shape as you both moan.

Your hips collide as he hits your deepest parts. “Being inside you is gonna kill me.” You can feel the twitching of his cock deep inside you. He paused to let you get used to his size, but the last thing you want to do is wait.

“I’m gonna kill you if you don’t move.”

You’ve learned teasing him works wonders, and as soon as those words leave your lips, he’s complying with what you ask of him. “Whatever my princess wants.”

Whatever thoughts you had, they fade at the drag of his length deliciously making you his with each thrust. Deep and slow, he lets you feel everything he has to give before almost pulling out.

The skin of his back becomes the victim of your scratches, your nails digging into his tense muscles with every grind of his hips. But no matter what you do, how you touch him, how loudly you moan, his pace remains at the same torturing speed.

“Relax, baby.” A hand caresses the side of your face, and you realize you’d shut your eyes closed at the feeling of him pushing inside you.

Mingyu lowers his head, flushing your chests together again as he kisses you softly, matching the pace of his thrusts with his tongue tangling with yours. He drinks every sound you make, as they are only for him, and lowers his hand down your torso until it meets your connected cores.

Your sensitive clit feels like fire under the touch of his fingers, circling around it to help you ease up the tension. “That’s it, baby, taking me so well.”

Everywhere he reaches becomes your new favorite place for him to touch. From your lips, down to your cunt, and all the way inside you, everywhere now has his name written. You’re his.

The pulsing of your walls around him doesn’t cease, becoming quicker and harder the more he continues with the slow pace. Your insides wait for every intoxicating thrust as if starved of him, craving everything he gives you and more.

His lips move on yours, parted and unable to work, mumbling praise you don’t get to hear as every one of your senses focuses on the fire inside you threatening to burst. Mingyu’s hips falter, having trouble thrusting inside you as you tighten impossibly tighter around him.

Your vision turns white as your orgasm explodes without so much as a warning. Your legs tremble around Mingyu’s pistoning hips, thrusting endlessly searching for his release.

Mingyu’s broad body falls limp on you as his length twitches, coming inside the condom with a groan while your walls hug him tight.

You lay under him happily, a smile on your face as you stare at the ceiling. He feels warm all around you, a feeling you could get used to. Mingyu can’t resist it and kisses you again. He’ll take every opportunity he can get to feel your lips on his.

“What's on your mind?” He asks, eyes locking in to yours as he slips out from you before attacking your lips again.

You both smile in the kiss before he stands up to discard the used condom and put his boxers back on. “Just thinking where you can take me on our date.”

He turns around with a glowing smile. “You’re thinking about that already?”

The way he lays down on your bed with you, naturally wrapping you in his arms and pulling you to him, feels like a dream come true.

“Of course, baby, I always think ahead.” You note the way he blushes when you use that nickname on him and snuggle against him.

Listening to Mingyu’s steady breathing and heartbeat under your ear, drifting to sleep has never been easier.

The smell of freshly grounded coffee fills the air around the café Mingyu picked. A cozy new place, lighted with yellowy light bulbs and with a space designated to read books you can borrow from the shelves covering the walls. It opened a few weeks ago in his neighborhood and he’s been insisting you try it out together since.

You’ve been on countless dates with him already, but you still feel nervous having him sit by your side in the booth. Still get embarrassed when he asks for a big smoothie with two straws for you both.

You don’t see a future where you don’t get nervous around him, but he’s always there. A future without him wouldn’t be life at all. And the best thing is, Mingyu feels the same way.

“Are you sure they’re coming?” You ask as your eyes drift to the glass door for the tenth time in the past five minutes.

“I promise they are!” Minguy takes your jaw in his fingers to make you look at him. “Remember to not say anything about the apartment. He'll as her when he's ready”

“What are you talking about?” You ask, feigning cluelessness, and Mingyu chuckles before giving you a peck.

Detaching your lips is always the hardest chore. But after a few awkward instances where you let your kisses deepen in public, you both decided to control yourselves, even in a secluded booth like the one you’re currently in.

Mingyu’s eyes light up watching the street from the window you’re sitting against, and you turn around to see the people you’ve been waiting for.

Jungkook and Cathlyn walk inside the store holding hands and with matching smiles on their faces as they greet you. How Mingyu convinced them to go out on a double date with you still astonishes you, but you’re glad everything that happened could finally be put behind you.

It was hard at first, even after Jungkook apologized to you, you didn’t dare go inside their apartment for months until Mingyu moved in with you a few weeks ago.

As soon as they sit in front of you, the plan you’ve been scheming starts. Your eyes lock with Mingyu’s and he instantly realizes what you're about to do, but not even his hand squeezing your thigh under the table can stop you. “So, Jungkook, what are you going to do now that you live in the apartment alone?”

note: it's finally here!!!

thank you all for being so excited this past month and for reading this monster of a fic i somehow came up with.

if you reached the end, just know that i love you, and i'd love to hear your thoughts <3

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