✈︎ The Perfect Picture

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 – 𝟐𝟏

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲

↬ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬!𝐀𝐔, 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐉𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

↬ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒𝐤

↬ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐥'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐄𝐎.

"Are you sure we're at the right address, Sir?"

His chauffeur's question barely makes its way to his consciousness, as Jongseong allows his gaze to nervously and curiously roam the parts of Seoul he's never been to before.

As a business man he's definitely seen most of his favorite and most important capital, yet it genuinely feels like stepping foot into a whole new city.

All of a sudden and for the first time in his life, Jongseong simply can't recognize the place he was born and raised in, the capital he's always loved and appreciated. All of a sudden and for the first time in his life he genuinely feels out of place.

"Yes, it's the apartment complex right here", is the only thing he manages to say before the car comes to a halt and he finds himself in the midsts of Seoul's other kind of night life.

Despite the time being quite late, there are children and teenagers out on the street, laughing and playing together, a group of old man comfortably seated in front of a random little restaurant as the old women are slowly starting to close their shops.

Jongseong doesn't know what he expected when he had spontaneously decided to join his driver to pick you up, especially since you had already told him about where your apartment is located, yet it absolutely didn't prepare him for the reality of it.

It's not like he's never been to the less wealthy parts of Seoul, but for some reason he can't help but doubt the safety of it.

The thought of his pretty girl having to take the bus at late times with all these possible dangers lingering around has his head spinning with worry.

There's absolutely no way he'll let you go home by yourself ever again after this.

With a harsh gulp, Jongseong gets out of the car, the boys' and young men's attention quickly shifting to him as he shoots his body guard a firm gaze to stop him from following the way he'd usually do it. Because for some reason, Jay feels like he doesn't need him in his back in this particular situation.

"Oh, damn", one of the boys yells as soon as his eyes meet Jongseong's, his face quickly giving away just how young he is, however his height as well as the proportions of his body making him seem like they're the same age, "seems like Y/N's finally getting over that stupid asshole!"

His words leave the young CEO speechless.

Why does he know you? And why the fuck is he all up in your business to the point where he actually knows things about your personal life in such great detail?

Jongseong can't help but wonder if you've managed to create bonds to these young men, and as he thinks about the possibility of it, he knows it's nothing too unrealistic, as you usually tend to treat every single human being the exact same way, no matter who they are or where they come from.

"I like him the most so far", another boy yells, a little older than the other ones yet still young enough to be in school, "he actually looks like he'll treat her well."

For a short moment, Jay tries his best to understand whether or not this is actually happening because despite how overwhelmed he is, he feels way more comfortable than he would have ever expected to.

"Y/N and I are just – friends", Jay suddenly says, a soft smile on his lips and the way all boys are quick to reciprocate the sweet gesture melts his heart on the spot, "I'm here to pick her up."

"Nah, you guys aren't friends", the first boy chuckles, "you like her more than that, am I right?"

This time he simply can't hold back a little chuckle in response to the boy's playful words and yet all he does is shrug his comment off.

"What's your name? Might as well let us know since you'll obviously come around a lot more from now on."

For a moment, Jongseong hesitates. Not because he doesn't trust the boys but rather because for the first time in his life, he doesn't want people to know what reputation his name comes with.

"Jay", is what he decides on, "I'll make sure to get to know you all as well next time, but for now I gotta pick her up. The host of tonight's dinner we're invited to is incredibly stingy when it comes to being on time."

The boys nod, some of them shoot Jongseong another row of smiles whereas the older ones seem suspicious and mischievous. And as Jay comes to stand in front of the apartment building's front door, he carefully looks for your name on one of the tags before ringing your bell and silently praying that you won't speak to him through the speaker bur rather just buzz him in instead.

To his luck you're way too stressed and in a rush to actually care about who you're letting into the apartment complex. After almost two three of living here, you've grown used to the random ringings on your doorbell because one of the kids has forgotten their keys again or a random neighbor asking you for leftovers, especially towards the end of the month when the money situation gets a little critical for everyone.

Ever since you've started working for The Park Company, you've been earning way more than most people in your complex and since you have nobody but yourself to take care of, you love giving the rest to the people in your community.

To some people it might be too much but these exact people were the ones who took great care of you throughout the few times you spent jobless and on the actual edge of poverty, barely making ends meet.

It's a great privilege and honor to finally give back to them and there's nobody in this neighborhood you're not genuinely grateful for.

It takes Jay a little longer than five minutes to find his way to your door, the middle aged lady at the end of the hallway quickly letting out an amused laugh upon seeing the tall CEO desperately looking for the right way to go before finally helping him.

And as soon as he lifts his hand to knock on your door, he feels his heartbeat picking up its pace in no time, thrumming in his throat as the blood rushes in his ears and easily blends out every single other noise.

You can't help but be a little surprised as soon as you realise that there's actually someone on the other side of your door since you weren't really expecting anyone and are pretty sure Mr. Park's driver didn't feel the need to come all the way up to your apartment.

With only one boot on your feet and your lips half way lined, you swing the door open and find yourself standing in front of none other than your boss.

The sight of Park Jongseong in your complex hallway feels surreal, like it's nothing but a mentally created image and the longer you stare at him, the more intimated you feel. This block, this part of the city, your life – none of these things are made for people who were fed with silver spoons the second they came to this world and even if you don't feel ashamed or embarrassed, you definitely feel a little shy and yet defensive about it.

If it wasn't for the initial shock, you would have easily missed the way his eyes widen just the tiniest bit and for a moment you're not sure if he actually just gasped for air, but with him you usually tend to read too much into his behavior, so without giving it another thought you take a deep breath.

"I'm so sorry for making you wait, Sir", you say and start fumbling with the little belt of your rather small black dress, too nervous to make eye contact as you feel his dark eyes roaming your body almsot shamelessly.

"I didn't know you would be the one to pick me up."

"Don't worry about it", Jongseong says and clears his throat, every single drop of blood finding its way into his cock, "I wanted to make it a surprise."

His words leave you flabbergasted.

And from the sudden nervousness grazing his features you're pretty sure you haven't done a good job at hiding your reaction.

Jongseong doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, yet he simply has no idea what to say.

You look like you came straight out of his biggest fantasies, your whole demeanor is what he's been dreaming about for the past few weeks and besides that one night at Heeseung's new club he's never been in your presence outside of work.

For some reason he kind of expected this to be a little easier, but at the end of the day all of his worries and doubts have become reality.

"Call me Jay, please", he suddenly blurts and looks at you with his pretty eyes roaming your face, "I think we're past the point of you constantly addressing me as 'Sir' and by my last name."

"But...you're my boss", you whisper and start playing with your favorite necklace, but still too shy to look him kn the eyes, "I don't want to be unprofessional or inappropriate."

"Y/N, I–", but Jongseong doesn't get the opportunity to finish his sentence as his phone starts ringing and the custom ringtone lets him know exactly who it is.

"It's Hoonie", he sighs and pulls the device out of his pocket, not yet picking up the call, "I'll be here waiting for you to get ready. No need to rush yourself."

All you do is nod before turning around and quickly looking for your second shoe as well as finishing the last touch ups on your make up.

For a single second you actually consider inviting him inside but you're not ready for your boss to see your tiny little apartment. This time it is a little bit of shema which kind of hoods you back because compared to his big penthouse, your place is as big as his home office.

Once you've finally finished getting yourself ready and actually presentable, you try your best not to stare at your boss who's currently talking to his best friend, leaning against the wall and looking absolutely out of place and yet like he actually fits into the whole picture perfectly.

With a soft sigh you throw away all of those little thoughts and glimpses of hope before locking your door and waiting for Jongseong to join you.

You're too nervous, too anxious and excited to actually hear what he's saying to Hoonie on the phone and as soon as he pulls it away from his ear, you find yourself gasping for air at the mesmerizing sight of Park Jongseong.

He's not wearing his usual three piece but the casual version of his daily outfit. Few of the buttons on the top of his white dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing just the right amount of chest as the blazer hugs his strong biceps in just the right places. You don't let your eyes find their way to his legs because you know the sight of his thick thighs in those black slacks are going to drive you insane. Riding and using them for your own pleasure being one of your personal favorite fantasies.

Neither one of you says a single word as you make your way to the car, the cold November air hitting you a lot harder than expected and now you're absolutely regretting your choice of jacket.

You quickly check up on your boys, who have obviously been waiting for you two to come downstairs, before they all shoot Jay a knowing look and an appreciative nod of acknowledgment, which you would have missed if you hadn't been attentively watching your boss's reaction to the kids of your block.

With a soft smile, Jay opens the door to his car, making sure you're comfortably seated before making his way to the other side.

You're quick to start a conversation with his bodyguard, since the two of you have been spending just as much time with each as you have with Jay himself and for some reason he can't help but feel a sense of relief hit him.

You're here with him. You're in his car and he finally gets to take the tiniest bit of care of you, something he's been daydreaming about for so long.

You can feel his eyes burning through your skin and you can't even deny how much you're enjoying it. Knowing he actually seems to like what he sees has the butterflies in your tummy go absolutely crazy, despite your many attempts to kill them off completely. There's just something about Park Jongseong which seems to turn the easiest things into the biggest challenges.

"Y/N, I've thought a little about the rules I've set up for you in my office and have decided to abandon most of them", Jongseong suddenly says and when you turn your head to meet his strong gaze, you're surprised to see that he genuinely seems nervous.

"Oh?" You look at him with raised eyebrows, your hands neatly folded in your lap and all of a sudden you feel a lot less anxious than just a few seconds ago.

There's just something about him, which never fails to esse your mind, yet you still struggle to put a name on it.

"I've talked to Yeonie and the boys about this quite a lot and have realised that most of these rules were rather ridiculous. You can wear whatever you want and personalise your desk however you see fit. Please also don't hesitate to call or text me whenever you need something, anything, really. I want you to see how much I appreciate your hard work and you've never done anything to make me doubt your abilities, which is why those rules are kind of nonsense."

You can't help but be a little iverwhelmed because not only has he never been this casual and smiley around you before but the fact he actually gave these things another thought to the point where he felt the need to talk to his friends about makes you feel incredibly seen and appreciated.

"That is really, really thoughtful of you, Sir, thank you so much", you say calmly and are surprised just how well you're hiding the excitement currently rushing through your body.

"I'm also going to organise a company car for you because I don't feel comfortable having you take the bus every single day after working so hard", this one Jongseong was the most nervous about. His urge to lay the world to your feet has been absolutely overwhelming and after quite a little bit of arguing back and forth with Sunghoon, the lawyer had managed to put the company car idea into the CEO's head instead of his initial idea of letting you live rent free in one of Seoul's most expensive apartments.

"That is not–", but Jongseong is determined and as soon as he cuts your words, you know there's no room for discussion left.

"It is necessary. Please, Y/N, let me do this for you. You work so hard snd you try your very best, at all times. Allow me to take care of you, it's the least I can do to show you my appreciation."

Fucking Park Jongseong.

Why the fuck did he have to pull the 'taking-care-of-you' card when literally every other explanation would have been the better choice? Because now that little voice you've been suppressing for the past few days, telling you that your boss isn't as neutral about you as he claims to be, has basically gotten a freeway ticket to freedom and you know it's going to be the only one up there for the next who knows how long.

"Thank you, Sir, I really appreciate this", you whisper and look away, whereas Jay refuses to look anywhere but you. He's been forcing himself to avoid you in any way possible for the past three months, he would never let an opportunity like this go to waste.

"Please, Y/N, let's try and be a little less formal with each other, yeah? I know I've been super keen on keeping everything strictly business but realising how much time we actually spend with each other has changed my mind", he says calmly, this time obviously a little hesitant. Jongseong doesn't want to let his intentions be known right away but rather ease you into it.

He rejected just a few weeks ago, no matter how badly he wants to dive head first into this and just tell you how crazy you've been driving him, he knows he has to slow it down for the sake of your mental and emotional well-being.

"I'll try my best to use your first name but I am afraid I won't get rid of the 'Sir' as easily", you chuckle nervously and carefully watch his reaction, only to regret your decision because the way he oh so obviously lets his eyes fall to your lips and back up has your blood boiling with arousal.

"That's okay", Jay replies calmly, "I like to hear that one from you anyway."

As if destiny heard the sirens in your head going off in response to his flirty little comment, the car comes to a stop and before you can actually think of a verbal answer, Jay's bodyguard has already opened your door.

The following hour is filled withw ay too many hugs and handshakes as Hoonie makes sure to introduce you to everyone you're not familiar with and by the time you finally get the opportunity to sit down, your friends are already all over you.

You don't tell them about your conversation with your boss, too shy and embarassed but also a little scared someone might hear and for some reason their lack of knowledge eases your nerves and soothes your anxiety in the best way possible.

It's a rather small gathering with about twenty people, most of whom you know, which makes the evening so much more bearable than you had initially expected.

The fact that your boss can barely keep his eyes off of you doesn't help much with your nervousness but you can't even deny how much you're liking it.

Every time one of his or your own boys comes a little too close to you, Jay physically tenses up to the point where you can actually watch the way his knuckles start turning white from his tight grip on the table when Jungwon pulls you into a silly little bear hug.

For a while, you completely forget about your actual relation to Park Jongseong. In this moment, you're just two adults with way too much chemistry and sexual tension and it feels like neither one of you is trying to suppress or run away from it.

You can't help but feel a little bit silly for gaining hope yet again but for some reason tonight feels different. Jay's never been this relaxed and casual around you, seeing him interact with his friends in such an environment is something you've honestly daydreamed about and to see it become reality seems surreal.

To your surprise, you find yourself seated next to none other than the man who's been messing with your head for the past three months and as the official dining part of Sunghoon's birthday dinner is about to start, Jongseong casually pulls your chair out for you to sit.

Nothing but a whispered thank you falls past your lips as you try your very best to stay calm but as soon as your gaze meets your group of friends, you know exactly how well that attempt went.

You don't let the girls' wide eyes and smiles as well as the boys shocked facial expressions get to you, the only person you allow yourself to indulge in is your boss, who's been more than just adamant about having a proper conversation with you.

It doesn't take long for his boys to chime in this time and even if he can hide his annoyance very well, he knows their actual intentions. With a soft sigh, Jay decides to pull himself out of your argument about which kind of stew is the best and why, his eyes never once averting from you as they take in your breathtaking beauty.

Maybe it's because he hasn't allowed himself to actually look at you in person or maybe it's because he wanted to maintain the mental and emotional distance to you, but regardless of the reasoning, Jongseong realises that up until tonight he's never fully comprehend just how beautiful you are.

Everything about your facial expressions, from the way you raise your eyebrows or scrunch your nose, as well as your brsathtaking smile and your incredibly adorable laughter simply blows him away.

He dowsn't even realise that Jake as well as Heeseung have gone back to their seats until you tilt your head to the side and meet his curious gaze.

"Hoonie's gonna hold a speech, Jay", you say softly and never once in his life has he loved the sound of someone saying his first name as much as this.

"Oh, right, sorry", he replies quickly and clears his throat, his cheeks filling with blood as embarassmenr overwhelms him, so to avoid an even worse moment, he simply turns around to face his best friend, who's just a single shot away from being absolutely drunk, yet makes sure to hold his yearly birthday dinner speech.

And as the waiters serve the appetizers and side dishes, you finally have a moment of absolute peace, only for the constant vibration of your phone to disturb you.

For some "unknown" reason you're so not in the mood to talk to Jiwoong. It's not line you're going to cancel the date over a simple conversation you probably misinterpreted yet again but talking to him on a night where your boss gives you his actual attention just doesn't feel right.

And on top of that you really don't feel like being on your phone all the time.

With a soft sigh you put your phone right between your own plate and Jay's, knowing he might notice the unnecessary high amount of messages you're receiving and all you can do is hope that he won't actually comment on it.

"Someone seems to really need your attention right now", Jongseong suddenly says and he has no idea why he actually decided to say anything because as soon as he got a single glimpse of the contact name a few minutes ago, his blood has been boiling with rage and jealousy.

It's not like he has the right to feel the way he does but the mere thought of you with that loser of a man makes him want to take you back to his place and claim you in the most intimate way possible.

You're his and he'll make sure to let every single fucker on this planet know about it as soon as possible.

However, until he's made sure he's won you over again, Jay has no choice but to accept your decisions.

And for now, Jong doesn't mind. He's known to be a patient man. He knows exactly when and how he has to handle these things, if he didn't he would have never made it this far.

He'll just make sure to have you forget about every single one of your little boy toys once you let him back into your heart.

"Well, I've got great company here and it'd be a shame if I wasted a night like this by staring at my phone the whole time, right?"

Your response it witty and slightly sassy, your smile actually cheeky and even if Jay knows it's the few glasses of champagne talking, he can't hold back the little chuckle regardlessly.

"Exactly", he says calmly and holds his whiskey glass up, waiting for you to react to his offer and as soon as you xlink your own against his, that heaviness on his chest seems to get just light enough for him to take a deep breath.

And as he watches you burst into loud laughter because of Sunghoon's random childhood story, he knows he has to have you. There's no way he's going to back away ever again until you're his and his only.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: I know this one's a little boring BUT it's super important because from now on Jay's finally about to act on those feelings and not just write them down and be all grumpy about the whole situation. I just wanted to thank you all for the love and support, you guys never fail to make me feel so loved and appreciated and it's everything to me. Sending everyone the fattest kiss! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!!!!🤍🧸)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @xrr-s4sha @kwiwin @heelcvr @deobitifull @kpoprhia @doodlelibrary @abrazosolorcereza @certifiedmoa @sleeping-demons @heerinnie @ohmy-moonlightx @heeswif3y @hoonieluv @fakeuwus @jjaeyuns @cheybabey @ineedsomezzz @super-amberlynn @kshoshi @tinie03 @soiimo @mimikittysblog @primroselover @heebrry @jebetwo @donghyckl @07myonlylove @enhamysunshines @quemirasboboandapaya @lostwonderwall @seuomo @enhaz1 @teawithbucky @beomgyusonlywife @dammit-jjk @lhsvibez @azurez @boutyouwonu @finchyyy @ocyeanicc @jaylaxies @glitterssim @in-somnias-world @zerasari @spookyauthorspopmusictrash @capri-cuntz @fluerz @3amstarlight

⋅ GENRES: older brother’s best friend & summer romance; angst, fluff & smut

⋅ PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

⋅ WORD COUNT: 35.7K

⋅ WARNINGS: implied age gap; mentions of a minor character’s death; mentions of alcohol and drugs; virginity loss; unprotected sex multiple times (three); a lot of art references as Jaeyun majored in Fine Arts, and i am not saying that there’s a scene where he paints the reader naked, but i am; body worship at some point; also biker!Jaeyun; and he calls the reader baby (valid warnings, in my opinion)

                  TRACK 04 OF TAKE MY HAND

Sim Jaeyun wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you.

It’s not as if there was a written rule. No ink on paper or statement made it factual, but there was an understanding that his best friend’s little sister wasn’t someone he was supposed to fall in love with.

Yet, he did. And God — it had been a hell of a ride.

Phone calls from Park Jongseong never had been a good sign for Jake.

Jongseong hated phones, and in special — to make calls. Throughout the years of their friendship, the option had only been initiated by him as the last resort in the midst of the last resort; the keypad of their old dormitory breaking and leaving him out; his car running out of gasoline in the middle of the night; a forgotten file that supposedly could save Jongseong from failing his last law semester and made Jake run through half of the university campus on a winter morning to deliver it to him — and that was the problem of Jake receiving so few phone calls from his best friend. It doesn’t matter if he felt his shoulders stiffening as soon as he saw Jongseong’s name shining on his phone screen. Jake knew he needed to pick up.

It was almost noon when Jongseong called that day, the small shop busier in a way that only happened with the beginning of summer — the vacation season bringing an influx of tourists to Jeju and suddenly making everything a tiny bit more cluttered.

“Here’s the thing,” Jongseong said at the other end of the line. It was such a classic Jongseong way to start a conversation. Dramatic, and with a hint of urgency that Jake knew all too well. “I need a favor.”

“Good afternoon for you too. I am awesome, thank you. How about you?” Jake asked, making Jongseong huff at the other end of the line.

“I am serious,” he said. “Baby is giving me a headache and I need your help.”

“Your sister?” Jake demanded, his voice coming higher than he indeed and catching a few customers’ attention. Jake had never met you, not really. Everything he knew about you had been through these tiny pieces Jongseong gave through conversations, and although he knew you had given your older brother a few hard moments as you always seemed to reach for him first whenever you had a problem, Jake couldn’t imagine how he would ever be directly involved.

He turned around, his eyes focusing on the other side of the beveled glass. The sun fell warm and bright on the town and a myriad of bees hummed at the bushes on the other side of the street, the small insects enjoying the pinky-white blossoms that seemed to be disappearing as the summer kept settling on the island. Down the street, Mrs. Choi was also enjoying the beginning of the summer, leaning on the window of her bakery and screaming at Euntaek — her troublemaker grandson whom people there only cared to call Mrs. Choi’s grandson with a sigh.

“She has been trying this scholarship in the United States ever since she graduated high school, and now that she got it, out of nowhere, she decided to spend summer in Jeju — alone. I want you to be her emergency call,” Jongseong explained, catching Jake’s attention once again. “You are still living there, right? In your grandfather’s old house? Taking care of his pottery shop?”

It was a too practical way to describe the fact that Jake had run away to it — taking it as an inheritance when no one else wanted it, but Jake hummed in agreement.

“But Seogwipo is in the extreme south of the island, depending on the area she-“

“I know. It’s just in any emergency case, it would take several hours for any of us to arrive at the island.”

“Fine,” Jake conquered. “But why — why did she choose Jeju?”

Honestly, there was no reason for you to choose Jeju aside from your desire to leave Korea’s mainland. You had thought of Japan at first, the neighboring country being not even one hour and a half away by plane, but you didn’t know anything of its language aside from the small vocabulary you acquired by too many hours watching Ghibli animations and three months there seemed more stressful than having to deal with the whole expectation your parents’ had been putting on your upcoming university life in the United States. But then, someday you scrolled through a vacation website, and Jeju shone for you. It took fifteen minutes to convince your parents — an additional five to annoy your brother, but on the first day of summer, you took a flight to the Korean island and established yourself in a nice apartment downtown.

Yet, you had to admit, being alone wasn’t all the fun, especially with a landlord who seemed to prefer spending all his hours checking the security cameras rather than fixing your broken sink and had screamed at you for appearing with a stray kitten in the midst of a summer storm — a black furry thing that didn’t even have twenty centimeters but seemed to bother him as a lynx would. The nights were never quiet there and the city hardly slept, but instead of the soothing comfort you expect to find in it, you lay awake in your bed wondering if you had done something wrong. So when the landlord argued that the cat left or you left, you had no second thought before packing your belongings, and putting the cat in the pet carrier you had bought just a few hours prior almost as an omen.

You were too shrinking to call your parents for help not even two weeks into your supposedly independent vacation — too proud to give Jongseong the proof you weren’t ready to be on your own, so you put Sim Jaeyun’s address on the maps app and took the next bus to the small town where he resided, watching as the buildings disappeared and the fields of green tea turned boundlessly beneath the summer sun.

It took you exactly one hour and seven minutes to arrive at Seogwipo. With no transfers or changes, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — a pretty road running along the South Sea that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the stones. The busiest part of Jeju had been left by the downtown, tidy streets giving way to open roads and suddenly the hustling cities were part of another world — another reality. Even the skies seemed to acquire a new shade here.

There wasn’t much through the path, a convenience store, a library, a tiny bakery where an old lady sat by its door-

“Do you need help?” she asked. Her accent was strong, pure Jeju dialect which made you blink at her, taking a moment too long to make sense of what she had just said. You didn’t need help, honestly, your phone’s map seemed to be working just fine, but you felt bad about sounding impolite — especially in a place like Seogwipo seemed to be, so you smiled at her, immediately receiving the gesture back.

“I am searching for my brother’s friend’s house,” you said. “He supposedly lives in this street.”

“Tell me his name, I know everyone here.”

“Jaeyun — Sim Jaeyun.”

“Oh! Jake!” she exclaimed. “Yes, he lives straight ahead. I can ask my grandson to take you there.”

“No, it’s alright,” you broke in. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“It’s not a long walk, but you are with a luggage and-”she paused, availing the pet carrier in your hands. “A cat?”

You looked at it too, catching the idea of an ear but before you could answer, she was already leaning inside the bakery, filling her lungs and shouting. “Euntaek!”

Euntaek appeared at the door, and if the old lady hadn’t told you he was her grandson it would have been impossible for you to notice their connection by yourself. They were the opposite in every way — where she was short and plump, he was tall and lanky with a mess of dark hair being bathed in the late afternoon sun.

He stopped in the midst of a complaint, his mouth suddenly curling in a smirk when he caught the sight of you. His gaze trailed your fluttering white silk sundress, following it all the way to your tights and then back to your face.

“This is Euntaek,” she said as he stepped closer. “My grandson. He is always here over the summer, so if you need anything don’t hesitate to come to us and ask.”

“Just Taek,” he mended, leaning to your side. He smelled like autumn — a musky perfume that Jongseong would have advised him to keep to the cold seasons, all together with a faint scent of tobacco. And you didn’t need to guess what was in the box on the front pocket of his t-shirt.

“Stop playing around and take her to Jake’s shop,” the old lady demanded. He straightened himself at her words, looking ahead at the street as if he was suddenly confused, but he didn’t retort — didn’t reply, when he looked back at you he was smirking again as if he was satisfied with the situation.

“Give me your luggage,” he said. And you obeyed, partly because you thought it would be good for him to have something to put his attention aside from your presence and partly because you were starting to feel tired.

Euntaek guided you through the street as the sun kept going down, your shadow stretching out so long that its edges were already blurring with the approaching night.

“Are you staying the whole summer?” he asked, out of the silence.

“No, I-” you paused. Being completely honest, you hadn’t thought of what would happen after speaking with your brother’s best friend. “I don’t know — probably not.”

“Well, it’s a good idea. You should stay in the city areas, nothing really happens on this side of the island.”

“It seems pretty nice to me,” you admitted.

Euntaek lifted a brow at you, his flirtatious attitude finally eclipsed by something else. “Where are you from?”

“Seoul.”

“Ah, a girl from the city-city,” he said. “I could hear it from your accent, but I guess it makes sense for you to like this end of the world then.”

You didn’t reply this time.

“We are here,” he announced. Just like the rest of the street, Jake’s shop was a single-story construction. White walls and a beveled glass framed by bare woods, just as most Korean houses had been built in the fourteenth century during the Joseon dynasty.

“Give me your phone,” Euntaek said.

“My phone?” you asked, looking at the device still unlocked in your hands. His phrase came with no question marks, no rapport, and you wondered if the was always like this — throwing demands that should have been questions.

“Yes,” he smirked. “In case you need something — Jake doesn’t have a car, he is always taking the old Beomseok’s pickup but I-” The ramble kept going on, but as you extended your phone at him, you had already turned back to the shop. You had once heard Jongseong telling your parents that Jaeyun had moved to Jeju to take care of his departed grandfather’s shop, being the only one who took an interest in the old man’s business. Your brother had even come to help at the beginning of everything, but you never had considered asking him what the shop was about, and now you wished you had so you wouldn’t be so surprised as you caught sight of the dozen pottery pieces — from small mugs to bowls and enormous flower pots, all glazed in the modest earthy tones of Jeju; green, blue, purple, and brown filling the wooden shelves at the fairest end of the room. Down the middle of the shop, there was a long table, and some pottery wheels, their sheer number indicating he not only did it but taught.

The shop was fairly empty, saved from a couple studying the row of mugs, and Jaeyun — standing with his back to the beveled glass.

Euntaek handed your phone back, and you pulled it inside of your purse without even looking at him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said.

“Anything you need just give me a sign.”

“Sure,” you said, already taking the handle of your luggage and stepping away.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy and pond-mud smell of clay taking over your senses as Jaeyun turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

Until now, you had never seen your brother’s best friend — not that you haven’t tried, but his only social media seemed to be Instagram and the absence of posts left you nothing but the group pictures your brother showed you once in a while, blurry things that had been taken on drunk states or taken so distant you couldn’t really tell what he looked like aside from the idea of his sun-kissed skin and his dark hair always curled and always growing past his ears — boyish as he seemed pretty, you remembered once thinking, but up close with the golden light of the sunset bathing over him, you noticed he was utterly staggering and you became uncomfortably aware of the sun touching your face, turning your cheeks warmer and warmer beneath his gaze.

“Jaeyun?” you tried.

“Jake,” he corrected. “Whenever I hear Jaeyun, I feel like I need to look back to check if my father isn’t here.”

You had already spoken his English name in conversations with your brother, rolled through the letters of it absently far enough times to be familiar with it, but there was something different on it now that you could put a face on it. The name fitted him, young and beautiful, cheerful and bright. You couldn’t help but hold the shape of his name in your mouth, try it on your tongue with its new taste and he tilted his head to the side, carefully studying you.

“Would you be Jongseong’s little sister?”

“Yes, I-” you exhaled. “I — Would you have a spare room?”

┈

It took Jake fifteen minutes to finish his talk with the couple and turn his full attention back to you, leaning on the cashier top as you rambled about the apartment downtown, the summer storm, and the kitten — even pulling the animal out of the pet carrier as an appeal, and then, finally, you rambled about the landlord demanding you to put it back into the streets and how you simply could not so you left only with half of the amount your parents spent on the apartment downtown.

You hadn’t really thought about it, but the words kept coming hurried and messed up, a single stream of phrases being pushed out of you, and you told him you were going to find a place somewhere, you just needed time — and a room for a few nights.

“So let me see if I understood,” Jake said. “You came to Jeju to spend the summer, got a nice place downtown but because of this kitten,” he stopped then, theatrically pointing at the animal in your hands. “You got kicked out without getting your full deposit back and you don’t want to call your parents asking them to help you find a new place nor simply want to go back home?”

“Yes, that’s — that’s exactly what happened.” You felt small when the words reached back at you — your whole world becoming so small and silly, and you braced yourself for Jake’s judgment, but he did not. He tilted his head once again, thumping his fingers unrhythmically against the cashier’s top and you weren’t certain if this was because he was considering your situation or because it was simply quite a lot to take in just a few minutes. But he sighed then, a soft gust of air passing through his lips.

“You can’t come here with a kitten,” he said. “It’s obvious that I would say yes.”

You must not have truly expected Jake to agree, because the surprise you felt when you heard his reply stunned you to silence, and in the stillness that followed, you finally noticed how fast your heart was beating. It hummed against your ears so loudly — you had been terrified now that you could think about it.

“For real?” you asked then.

“Of course,” he said. “I will just close the shop and I will show you the house.”

You followed Jake back into the street, not knowing what else to do aside from standing there — watching as he closed the door, playing with the key and locking it. Outside, the night was slowly setting in, moonless and warm.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” he asked.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “It’s a boy.”

“And have you named it?”

“Not yet. I am not even sure if I can keep him, I am leaving Jeju by the end of summer so I thought of finding a nice home for him here,” you blurted out, focusing on the small furry thing in your hands and when you looked at Jake again, he had already approached you. He was as tall as Jongseong, but differently from your brother he didn’t bottle you in the shadows and made a shiver settle on your spine. Instead, Jake was comfortably tall. He smelled like summer afternoons, like orange blossoms and that earthy scent that remitted the pottery pieces displayed on his shelves. “But I guess it should be correct to at least give him a temporary name, right?”

“Jeonchae,” he said. “I always wanted to have a pet with this name.”

“Jeonchae is it then,” you replied, and Jake smiled again, this time something beyond his polite lightness and you felt your heart keening, he had those types of smiles that took over an entire face. You couldn’t even react as he took the handle of your luggage from your hand, guiding you to a side path, countering the shop, and stepping into the back garden — or the front garden. It depended on where you were coming fro. His house stood on the other side of it, the design a perfect extension of the shop.

As Jake opened the front door and slipped in, you looked past him and into the hall. At first sight, the inside of Jake’s house was as plain as the outside. The same wooden frames and white walls you suspected he didn’t mind painting after he had inherited it, but as you walked inside, toeing out of your shoes, you noticed that the greatest of the place didn’t lay on the structure itself, but on the things. Nothing in the living room matched — not the green racks or the maroon couch. The shelves on the far wall were cluttered with books stacked between pieces of pottery and crafted figurines. The last afternoon light spilled through an open window, illuminating the room all together with the yellow lamps and everything was chaotic, bright, and unabashedly joyous.

And you were surprised to notice, you loved it.

Your family’s house was minimalist, bare even, everything almost planned to not indicate any of your personalities and you wondered how it would feel to have a place that showed exactly who you were inside.

“Nothing is exactly knew, but-”

“It is lovely,” you said.

“Kitchen’s over there,” he continued, pointing at the end of the room as if the open floor plan didn’t let it clear where everything was.

“This is my room,” he said, moving his attention to the first door in a row of three. You couldn’t even get a glimpse of the inside before he continued on, scrolling your luggage through the hardwood floor. “The door on the end far end is the bathroom and the laundry, seems a bit cluttered, but well, it is an old house — and here,”

“Can be your room,” he finished, gesturing for you to go in first. You did so, finally letting go of Jeonchae and allowing the kitten to hover over the room.

A bed lay in the center, only with the mattress. And although the windows had been flung wide open, showing the perfect view of the garden, a faint smell of glaze and paint remained in the room, something you couldn’t tell if it came from the pots of paint organized on the shelves, or the pottery pieces themselves — drying at the window frame.

“It was my grandparents’ room,” Jake clarified. “Now I just use it as-”

“A paint room,” you completed. “Is it ok if I look?”

“Yeah, I mean- yeah,” he whispered, rushing his fingers through his hair.

You crouched in front of the pieces, staying eye level with them. Jake had painted a few with the same earthy tones you had seen at his shop, but others he had drawn on it, gorgeous mixes of colors and styles. There were hills in the traditional Korean art style, and flowers in a modern — almost silly way. You could stay there, studying these pieces for hours and catching a different detail every time. But as you turned to say something to Jake, you caught the sight of a canvas leaning against the wall, a three-dimensional painting, with mountains coming out of the plain canvas that took your words away. Different from everything else it barely had colors. A mix of black and white and you could feel it, the struggle and the loneliness on the canvas. Your fingers tickled as if you wanted to reach for it — brush your fingers as if to tender the pain, but you forced yourself to remain still.

“My final project from my first university semester,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “How have you done it?”

“Lots of baking soda — Jay was so annoyed by the mess I made in our shared room.”

“My brother is a naturally annoyed person,” you said, immediately coaxing a snort of laughter out of him, the sound so silly, yet vivid that you didn’t notice a smile was rising to your lips in response until it was already there.

“Now you said the truth,” he said.

“Well, I will leave you to settle yourself,” he continued. “The wardrobe is empty, aside from a few bed sheets, I think. You can use anything here, and if the paint and pottery bother you, just put it out, I can sort it anywhere else.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “Honestly, thank you so much.”

“I would ask you what you want for dinner, but my acknowledgment as a cooker is very little, and there are no take-outs nearby so-”

“Could I help?”

“Don’t worry, Jeonchae is going to help me,” he said, slightly lending himself so he could reach for the kitten, scratching the back of his ears, and eliciting a low rumble of happiness.

“Aren’t you, buddy?”

You were surprised to see the kitten, in fact, followed Jake out of the room and through the house, rushing through the kitchen not only as if he knew the place, but as if he was already part of it.

┈

You weren’t sure how long you were going to stay at Jake’s house, so you decided to not unpack everything, making settling yourself into his spare room a quick task and by the time you stepped out to the common area, he was just taking the pan out of the six-burner stove and putting it on the table.

You almost laughed when you noticed his very little acknowledgment in the kitchen meant lamen and a bunch of leftover side dishes for the night, the takeout pots affirming nothing was made by him. There was something endearing about Jake’s clumsy maneuvering around the kitchen, a certain charm in his earnest attempt, but you couldn’t help but worry if his dinners always had been like this — you were a Park at the end of the day, meals not only being important healthy, but as a manner of caring for yourself and others, so you stopped yourself, trying your best to not show your worry when he caught sight of you.

“I hope you didn’t have high expectations,” he said then, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing like your mother’s or your brother’s — but it’ll fill you up.”

“I wouldn’t expect anyone to be like them,” you said. “Only high chefs love the kitchen as much as them.”

His eyes softened as he gestured for you to join him at the table.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he admitted, passing you one of the bowls. You weren’t surprised to notice it was handmade, irregular and pottery-crafted. You curled your fingers around the piece, relishing the coldness against your skin.

“Are your dinners always like this?” you asked. Jake looked at you at the other side of the table then, taking in how you hadn’t moved yet, and retrieved the bowl from you, ladling a heaping portion of lamen and placing it in front of you.

“You mean extremely unprepared and unhealthy?” he asked, and you gasped. You didn’t mean to offend him, but because you couldn’t find better words to describe it, you remained silent. “Most of the time, but once in a while Mrs. Choi brings me something, once in a while I simply do not eat, so we can say it’s not an every night thing.”

There was a pause, a skimpy moment full of awkwardness. But then, Jeonchae leaped at the dining table, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake. He spared a piece of meat to the kitten, quickly making the apology dice on your tongue, and just like that, the spell was broken.

“Jake,” you called. “What about I take care of dinner while I am here?”

“Oh no, she is surely a Park,” he teased, but he nodded at you, barely giving himself the time to think between a second and another, and making you suck your breath back.

"Really?" you asked. "I mean, I’m not like my mother or Jay as well-”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be like them,” he said, and that was it. It had been just your words in his mouth, but you couldn’t help but feel something very warm growing inside of you. It was the very first time you genuinely thought someone who knew your family, didn’t expect you to be like them. “But I would need to take you to the market tomorrow, I doubt there’s something usable in this kitchen.”

┈

You woke up to the street light spreading through the darkness of your room and a soft series of curses. At first, you couldn’t remember where you were. The scent of glaze and paint took you with a strange closeness, but then you remembered the discussion with the landlord, putting the kitten in a carrier, and taking the bus to Seogwipo to meet Jake — Jake.

You slide out of the bed, padding barefoot to the window, and opening it in time to catch your brother’s best friend adjusting the ladder closer to the house’s wall and taking the first step up to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked because Jake wasn’t possibly going up to the roof late at night although everything indicated it was exactly what he was doing.

Jake turned to you as fast as a complicated smile took over his features.

“Sorry, I woke you up,” he said, the certainty that he had been the one to wake you up stealing the question mark of his phrase and so you didn’t reply.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked then.

“A bit, yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

┈

There were stars, and there were stars at Seogwipo.

Some nights, back at home, you had lingered on your bedroom’s window, trying to catch at least a spare star above the city lights without much success, but as you sat by Jake’s side at the uneven tiles of his roof, and craned your neck to the vastness of the sky, you couldn’t help but sigh at the view, an appreciation sound that came from your bare heart. At Jeju there were never enough streetlights to obliterate the stars completely — you could always get a glimpse of them without much search, but at Seogwipo — so far from anything else, the stars created streams of silver and purple against the dark sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Was it what you expected?” Jake asked. “When you decided to come to Jeju.”

“I don’t think I had any expectations. Honestly, I barely considered it before I decided to come to Jeju. It was there and suddenly it seemed like a great option so I took it,” you said. “It’s just — are you the youngest in your family?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed at your question, as if he was suddenly confused, and in the heat of the moment, you continued. “I am not blaming Jay or my family, it’s not like this. But there is something about being the youngest child no one speaks about,”

“When you are the youngest, you live in the shadows of either their failures or their successes. It wasn’t my dream to go to the United States to study — it was my father’s. He couldn’t do it back at his time, so he tried to make Jay do it for him, but when Jay failed due to his grades, I became the next in line, and I have been living my whole life like this — trying to fulfill everything they want to not be the letdown of my family. When I passed the university interview, got the visa and everything, they started talking about their expectations and it made me realize that I have never lived a single day to myself, so I wanted to try — at least this summer before I go to the United States to live a life I never dreamed about.”

When you finished, Jake had been silent for so long that you thought he had zoned out — leaving you to talk to the vastness of the place. But you looked at him then, and he was there — with the same careful stare he had turned on you this afternoon, and making your cheeks grow warmer. It wasn’t like Jake was a stranger, he wasn’t, not really. You had co-existed on each other’s worlds for so long that it was almost peculiar to think you had met just a few hours previously. Yet still — you were not sure why you decided to tell him about your life like this. But you were hundreds of kilometers away from home, and it was summer, the season when people do things they would never think of. It was late at night, the world so still that it felt safe to let secrets be spilled in the wind, and Jake — he felt safe too.

“I do have an older brother too,” Jake admitted. “He has studied medicine in Australia and people love to praise him or say something like it must be hard for Jaeyun to have an older brother like you.”

A breath shuddered out of you with the harshness of his words, and his mouth screwed on something between a smile and a frown, his own history setting heavy on him, and making him pause, his gaze drifting downward. Jake watched as his fingers moved on his lap as if he was trying to sort his thoughts, and that was the moment you noticed whatever he was about to tell you was something he had been keeping for himself for years.

“It’s just like you said, I do not blame my family,” he started, the words leaving his lips a bit clumsy and strangely by the unused of being said. “But because my parents are doctors and my brother always knew he was going to follow their path, I grew up thinking I was the letdown of my family.”

“My grandfather, otherwise,” Jake continued. “He was an artist — not a very successful one as you can see from the house or by the fact that you probably never heard of him, but he loved it,”

“I used to come here every summer during my childhood, and whenever I saw him doing pottery — whenever I saw the happiness in him, I knew it was what I wanted to do too, but still, I was afraid I would disappoint my parents so I tried to followed their path and study medicine. I got into a university and went to the United States.” Jake had a dull tone, but it was almost like his canvas in your room — you could feel the pain in each syllable. “My grandfather died when I was there.”

You knew Jake’s grandfather had died — had picked the information in the echo of your brother’s conversation with your mother, but you never knew what the man had meant to Jake, and perhaps that was what made your heart keen as if you had just discovered his passing.

You reached out to Jake, placing your hand gently on top of his. It hadn’t dawned on you how intimate the gesture was until you felt Jake moving beneath your touch, but before you could pull away he had already turned his palm into yours, squeezing you, lightly, and reassuring.

“It’s alright. It has been five years already,” he said. “Somehow I already got to peace with this. But on his last phone call, he asked if I was happy — if I was doing what I wanted to,” he said. “And it stuck on me, you know? I wasn’t — so I came home for his funeral and decided I wasn’t going back to the States. I got into a university in Seoul, and well, I think you know the rest of the story. I graduated in Fine Arts like I always wanted, and came here to take care of his things.”

“I won’t lie and tell you it was easy — it wasn’t. When I told my parents what my plans were, my father asked me if I wanted to be poor like my grandpa. But what I am trying to say is that I understand you,” Jake said. “If you want to stay here during the whole summer to give yourself time, it’s alright with me — just be sure to live for yourself because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Make a list of things you have never done and want to do. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time here.”

A breeze picked up in the following silence, the halted air suddenly stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street. Seogwipo was so silent at this hour that you could hear the soft rustling sound as they moved.

“You sound wiser than my brother,” you whispered. “Maybe I should start talking to you instead.”

“Well, you know where to find me,” he whispered back, leaning to your side. He was just a bit too close, his scent taking over you all together with the summer breezes. And he might have noticed it too because he drew a bit back, rushing his fingers through his hair as his gaze focused on the skyline once again. You did the same.

“But it can be a dangerous thing — to get me,” you replied. “I can become really dependent.”

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it had been was forgotten once he had turned to you. Although the world had turned dim with the night, whatever remnant light now raced towards you — the rose and gold of the stars and street lights softly painting your skin. And when you looked back at him, Jake finally understood what a professor once had said, beauty was rarely soft or consolatory, it was quite alarming. He could feel his pulse jumping at his neck, the bare image of you stirring something inside of him.

“Should we go down?” Jake asked then. “I have to take you to the market before I open the shop and I don’t even know what time it is.”

But he was already slipping through the roof tiles, taking the first step down the ladder before you had even replied.

You carefully followed him, edging your way onto the roof, but the moment you looked down, you felt your heart contracting, shivers scattering through the line of your spine.

“Jake?” you called, your voice sounding quieter than you intended to.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I said I was a bit afraid of heights?” you asked, but he didn’t reply, his eyebrows furrowing as he peered at you. “I don’t mind being in a high place, but I can’t know how high it is.”

“You can’t look down?”

“It makes me vertiginous,” you admitted.

“Alright,” Jake said. “Let’s do it like this — can you sit on the edge of the roof and put your feet on the ladder?”

You nodded, heart thumping in your chest as you carefully shifted your weight and did as he said, finding the first step of the ladder with the sole of your shoes. Either the night had turned colder or your senses had turned very accurately due to nervousness, you felt Jake retreating the few steps he had taken down, and lingering closer to you, his whole body as warm as he sounded when he finally spoke again.

“Give me your hands,” he asked. “You can keep your eyes straight at the horizon or close them, I got you — Just don’t look down.”

You extended your hands at him, and he took it, his fingers curling around yours as he guided you down.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?” you asked suddenly, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes and check how he was doing it.

“Just a few more steps, baby,” he said, immediately making both of you stop, the endearing word whistling through the space between both of you. It’s not like you thought he meant it to be endearing. Your whole family called you baby, from your grandparents to your parents and brother — and even their friends. Probably whenever Jake had heard someone speaking about you the word simply came by, but hearing it in his voice felt different, a flush of warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

“I am sorry,” he hushed.

“It’s alright,” you said. “I guess Jay called me baby too much around you.”

“Yes,” he said, the confirmation coming as a tight exhale. “It happened so commonly that when he first said your name I had to ask who he was talking about and he managed to feel offended.”

You laughed at it, softly, and his mouth quivered in response.

“Just a few more steps,” he repeated then. And with the help of Jake’s steady guidance, you managed to make it down from the roof.

Jeonchae was already waiting at the door. You tried to not feel offended when the kitten once again chose Jake, following him through the house and only stopping when Jake did too.

“Good night, baby,” Jake said, reaching for his door’s knob. He seemed to want to say something more, but stopped himself, slightly shaking his head before he slipped into his room.

He wasn’t quite certain what came first — the thought of it being natural or the feeling of it being natural. But when he lay himself onto his bed, quickly being followed by Jeonchae, he couldn’t remember how his nights had been any other way.

You woke up to the soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of toast browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you.

Morning light flooded through the opened windows of the bedroom, the brightness of it catching you unguarded and making you blink a few times before you managed to roll through the bed, trying to catch what Jake was doing, but the gap in the door was small, a bare sliver that all you could see was his head tilted to the stove in concentration and his shoulders moving, the thin material almost giving you the outline of everything — you abruptly stood up, padding barefoot to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said, promptly extending you a mug. You wrapped your hands around the steaming cup, inhaling the bittersweet scent of coffee and vanilla.

“So you aren’t very fond of cooking dinner, but like breakfast?” you asked.

“I guess we all have one favorite meal.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you agreed. “But if I prefer baking what does it makes me?”

“A tea-time person, definitely,” he said. “Maybe you should meet Mrs. Choi, she has a bakery down the street-”

“An old lady? Not even one meter and a half? Gray hair and a really fierce accent?”

“I see that you already have met her.”

“She was sitting by her bakery door when I arrived,” you said. “Asked if I needed help, and made her grandson walk me here.”

“She made Euntaek walk you through one hundred and something meters?”

“Very fiercely, actually, but perhaps it was just her accent,” you admitted, quickly stealing a smile from him. It had been so quick — if your heart hadn’t keened to the sight of it you would think it had been an imagined moment.

“I thought about going to the market after breakfast,” he said. “Get the things you need, I genuinely only have eggs, three packs of lamen, and bread.”

“Well, you at least have something aside from lamen.”

“Don’t get too proud. Beomseok — a grandpa who lives at the end of the street sells eggs, and the bread is from Mrs. Choi’s bakery-”

“I am surely not proud,” you said, but despite the harsh choice of words, they carried no venom and Jake allowed himself to playfully pout at you. There was something adorable about his expression — almost puppyish, and you had to control yourself to not reach for him, ruffling your fingers through his locks and discovering if they were as soft as they looked.

“Don’t be so mean to me.”

┈

Euntaek had told you — more like warned you about the absence of a car in the midst of Jake’s possessions, always having to ask for the old Beomseok’s pickup. So when Jake told you he was going to wait outside, you had expected to step out to the view of a pickup — although you didn’t know what Beomseok looked like, much less his pickup. Or Jake simply standing there ready to walk you to the market, but not for a single second, you had expected to see him leaning on a motorcycle cruiser with two helmets in his hands.

The thing shone beneath the summer sun, all black, metallic, and nothing like Jake.

You had this odd conviction that often people matched their vehicles. Jongseong’s black Mercedes was made for him, just like your mother’s silver Audi was made for her, but where Jake was soft his motorcycle was hazardous. And you weren’t sure if it was conflicting or if you had just encountered a new side of him.

“No,” you said.

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his hand halting in the middle of the motion of extending you one of the helmets.

“Can’t we go walking or something?” you asked.

“Why?” he asked back.

“Jay also has a motorcycle license, and mom made me promise I wouldn’t ride with him.”

“You promise you wouldn’t ride with Jay — I am not Jay,” he said, which was silly, and he knew it, but you seemed to think it was funny, and it very much felt like a victory. “C’mon, it’s safe.”

“As life?” you asked.

Jake was trying to look unamused, but it was clear by the way the corners of his mouth twisted that he was fighting a smile as he looked through the street, taking in the path you had already walked. He watched the whole path from Mrs. Choi’s tiny bakery to his own shop before he moved ahead, the shops and houses you still didn’t know as if he was looking for something.

Bees hummed over by the bushes at the other side of the street.

It was so impossibly summer.

“Let’s do it like this: you are scratching the first thing on the list of things you have never done before,” Jake said, hurling a leg over the motorcycle. “Beomseok’s pickup isn’t here, so he is probably using it. Next time we go to the market I promise you we will ask for his pickup, but for today it’s our only option.”

“C’mon, baby. I got you,” he said, tentatively extending you the helmet once again. And there it was. Baby. The word being familiar and unknown. Soft and overwhelming. It shaped through Jake’s mouth as easily as it did on the night previously. And perhaps because of the lack of surprise, perhaps because of the new insight the daylight brought, but you finally got it. Jake didn’t call you with the fondness your parents did, nor with fierce overprotection Jongseong did. He took your nickname and made it all his. Teasingly as it was overprotective, careful as it was wild. And you felt something moving inside of you.

You stepped forward, taking the helmet and hurling your leg at the motorcycle by the time a breath should be taken.

Jake put on his helmet too, looking over his shoulder. He was ready to say something to you, but whatever it had been, slid and slipped as he felt you resting your head at his back, the side of your helmet pressed against his jacket as your hands slipped through his waist, finding the shirt beneath his denim and twisting the thin material of it until your knuckles turned white. Jake spread his palms above yours, warm and reassuring, summer always stuck in his skin.

“I got you,” he repeated, a little more breathless. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And then, there was just the air past your ears, the roam of the motorcycle and Jake.

┈

Jake’s neighborhood had only one market.

It was a small and unassuming building tucked away on a noncommercial street. The owner even seemed to live by the second floor as a few clothes hung on a line by the terrace, the white pieces fluttering against the blue sky and spreading a scent of flowery softening through the morning breeze. There was no parking lot, the door opened right on the sidewalk — not that it seemed to be necessary. The establishment was completely empty aside from the cashier, a girl not much younger than you and with such a bored expression that gave you the assurance that she certainly wasn’t spending her summer morning there by option.

She didn’t even stray her attention from her phone as you both stepped in, the faint din of the latest summer hit coming from her earphones being the only sound mixing with the whir of the freezers.

Jake promptly took the shopping cart at the side of the doors. And there was something so domestic about the whole thing — so intimate on the way he pushed the shopping cart around the aisles, you by his side, elbows brushing, and hands tucking on each other whenever you wanted to stop because it was easier like this. It made your chest ache and suddenly it felt unkind to think of Jake just as your brother’s best friend — all the acknowledgment of him being given by a third part, so you started an ask game. It was simple, this or that questions that weren’t even that deep, but Jake tilted his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about it every time. And when he started to ask them back, you smiled at him, cheeks a bit warmer because it was less that he was just being polite and more like he wanted to know you too.

You turned to the final aisle, being greeted by a dozen candies and snacks, boxes and packages in an aggressive assembly of colors and almost mockingly being in their majority from America.

“Jake?” you called. “Where — where did you live when you went to the United States?”

“Ventura,” he said.

“California?” you asked, and he nodded at you. “What was it like?”

“Similar to Jeju, actually, greenish hills, and blue seas. There aren’t many high buildings, and everything had been painted in white as if there is some type of regulation,” he told you. “Yet it never felt like home. I was so lonely there, sometimes I think that city broke my heart.”

“I am sorry that it has been like this for you.”

“But you know?” he continued. “If someday you feel like going there, I know my way — if you want company.”

“I would love to,” you replied. Jake held your gaze — just for a moment longer, yet it made something inside of you unfurl, and you nearly caught yourself saying something more.

“What are you going to study? In the United States?” he asked then.

“Law,” you said. Jake blinked at you before he decided to move his attention to the shelves, his fingers fumbling through the cereal boxes with a concentration too unpretentious to be unpretentious.

“Is there something else you would want to study? Aside from law?” he asked then. It could have been just a simple question, no different from all the others you had been making and answering. But perhaps because of how he asked it, it very much felt as if Jake had already divined all the nuances of your whole being.

If you were to tell the history of your family, law school was so entangled in it that it was impossible to not mention it. Your father’s mother had been a judge, a rare gem as your own grandfather used to say — although you weren’t sure if it was because she managed to get such a high position in a field women were so rarely seen back in their time, or something else. Your father’s father had a mind of his own, so ingeniously crafted that his university refused to let him go, and made him a teacher where eventually, your father came to study and met your mother, the daughter of two counselors.

Family gatherings had always brought Legal Language — even when it wasn’t necessary to. The word abrogate was more used than deny and you knew — to follow their path was the only way to truly blend in. Jake had understood it, perhaps all too easily, and it made your lips part, surprise stunning you for a moment.

“I never stopped to think about it,” you said, already stepping forward.

You tried to pretend you were not so excited when your eyes caught a familiar cookie on the topmost shelf, extending your hand at it without much success. Your fingers have not even skimmed through the package.

“Jake, could you-” you started, but he was already there, easily ending the few steps you had created within. One of his hands rested on your waist as the other reached for the packages for you.

“How many?” he asked. His voice threaded through your hair, and all of sudden your body became extremely aware of his proximity. Jake was all around you — all inside of you, when you breathed in, everything that came into your lungs was the scent of summer, that odd mix of orange and earth that Jake was.

“Five?”

“What are you going to do with so many cookies?”

“It’s my solace cookies.”

“Solace cookies?” he echoed, and you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smiling. You had heard it, the soft deed turning his voice warmer.

“And about the list? Have you thought about it?” he asked after a moment. “What you haven’t done yet, but want to.”

“Not yet,” you admitted. But it struck you late on — when you arrived back at his address, catching the sight of the pottery pieces on his shop’s shelves through the beveled glasses.

“Pottery,” you said. Jake stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, shopping bags still hanging in his hands, but when you glanced over at him, he was beaming. “I never did pottery.”

“This one is easy to scratch,” he said.

┈

“Is it really fine to just not open the shop like this?” you asked. But Jake didn’t reply. Instead, he walked to a drawer you hadn’t noticed the existence until now, taking out an apron and looping it over his neck.

It was nearing midday and Seogwipo was already alive, locals and tourists strolling through the sun-bathed street at the other side of the beveled glasses. You saw a woman peering inside the shop as her little daughter tugged at her dress skirts, but the door was locked, and a small handmade sign informed the shop was closed.

“I am the owner,” he said. You looked back at Jake, tongue rolling on a retort. But he had already walked to you, looping an apron over your neck and making whatever you had thought of saying slip and slide with the weight of thick material on your shoulders. His breath brushed through your cheeks as he leaned on you — warm and sweet smelling, cream and strawberries from the ice cream you had shared while stocking the food as he took the strings of the apron at your back and brought them to your front, clutching them safely.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked.

“No — no, it’s not.”

“Good,” he said, stepping away again.

You sat in front of a pottery wheel, watching as Jake filled a bowl with water and arranged it on a cart, strolling it to your side. Everything there was so carefully designed and considered that you couldn’t help but think about how this shop had been built with love.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“What would be the easiest?”

“There is no such a thing,” he replied.

“What?”

“As long as you don’t want something that requires a lot of pieces and craving it’s easy.”

“A vase then?” you said. “Very tiny, preferably.”

Jake brought a stool to the other side of the wheel and sat down on it. His knee brushed against yours, a barely there thing that you couldn’t even feel his denim jeans against your bare skin, but maybe because your body was still lingering on the ride back, and the way he had reached for the cookies for you, you felt a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, that heat that seemed to be becoming a frequent feeling around Jake.

The fact that he had pretty hands didn’t help with anything — you hadn’t noticed it until then, artsy hands made for masterpieces, and you weren’t really sure if it made it harder or easier to watch as he pounded the clay into a ball and plopped onto the wheel, but when he looked at you, your body felt perilously close to coming undone.

“Ready?”

“I am not sure,” you said.

“Do you know what’s fun about pottery?” he asked. “You can’t mess this up. If you dislike it and feel like you did something wrong, you just pound it back into a ball and start all over again.”

“Don’t stress too much about it,” he continued. “Just enjoy the process.”

“Alright.”

“Wet your hands, and gently cup the clay.”

“Am I supposed to step on the pedal already?”

“Not yet. Cup it first,” he said. “Thumbs in the middle.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, now you step on the pedal.” You did as he said, allowing the wheel to move beneath the clay, twirling between your cupped hands, almost ticklish.

“Alright. Now use your left hand to give it a slight pressure. Your right is more for balance, to keep it upright.”

“It’s starting to get confusing,” you said.

“Like this,” Jake said, gently placing his hands above yours. He folded you over, clay immediately seeping between your fingers with the pressure and smearing Jake’s hands, filling the air with that earthy scent you had already grown used to.

“You are pressing my right hand,” you said. “Isn’t the one for balance?”

“It’s confusing my brain,” he confessed.

“What? Don’t you teach pottery?”

“Yes, but I never put my hands on people’s stuff, I usually just explain.”

“Are you somehow saying I am the worst student you ever had?” you inquired. You weren’t sure if you had intended to be funny, but suddenly, Jake was laughing, the sound rattling you to the core, and you couldn’t help but stop, watching him.

If you thought Jake’s smiles took over his face, when he laughed, it seemed to resonate throughout every line of his body. He tilted his head downward with the vehemence of it, his eyes closing, but not before you noticed how they were shining, glinting specks in his dark eyes.

And God — Jake wasn’t just pretty, but he was the embodiment of summer, warmth and sunshine always stuck on him, and making him glow. When his shoulders fluttered, it made something within your chest move, and you forced yourself to blink, redirecting your focus to the clay.

“Maybe we should stay on the same side?” you asked then.

Jake stood up, taking his stool and swiftly settling it behind you. His chest pressed against your back as he positioned his hand above yours once again, and your heartbeat rumbled so loudly that you almost didn’t realize he was speaking again. “Left hand to give pressure. Right to keep it upright.”

“Is it the time when I tell you that I hate to feel dirty?” you blurted out.

“You hate it?” Jake asked, letting go of you only to brush his fingers on your cheek, quickly smearing it with clay. You gasped at it, lurching up so fast, you almost tripped over the pottery wheel as you turned to look at him, but he only laughed once again, and instead of protesting, you reached for him too, smearing his jaw.

And that was it, the room was taken by laughter and clay.

The vase was destroyed by the amount of times you both had brushed your hands at it, smearing your palms only to clean it on the other one — if it was the right term, handprints being left on its awake. Jake’s arms were already covered when he finally gave it a break, looking at you and offering the precise moment when the idea stocked him. His smile turned a bit wilder, a bit teasing, and before you could truly understand it, he had closed his fist on the vase, sealing the top of it, but handing a good amount of clay.

You reached for his wrist, but as you tried to prevent him from dirtying you even more, you threw both of you out of balance. You hit the floor first and in a heap, the sound of your bodies collapsing on the concrete floor muffling the curse Jake released.

He braced himself above you, his palms spreading just a few centimeters away from your head as he pushed himself up, but he was too close still. When his lips parted, his breath brushed through your cheeks, the same sweet scent from early on, heating your whole body and riddling you in place.

The warmth light of the summer sun had found its way through the beveled glass of the shop, pouring around Jake in a beautiful and dazzling alchemy. Your fingers were clammy with clay, sticky with a grayish mix, but he didn’t mind it when you reached for him, palm splaying through his neck, fingers sliding to where his t-shirt hung loosely around his neck, if anything his skin shivered where you touched it. And when your thumb pressed onto his jaw slightly angling him to you, he released a breath stronger than before, taking you both out of the haze.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked then.

“No,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, very slowly before he stood up, holding his hand to you and helping standing.

“I am sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure what he was asking sorry for, the destroyed vase, the clay fight, for falling on you, or for the way your body was flaming up, every piece of skin burning with the bare memory of him against you. “We can start over.”

You blinked at him, taking a second longer to look at the vase. It had worn shapeless above the wheel, a good part of it lost in the middle of the fight and its top had been destroyed where Jake’s fist had closen on. it surely had no use aside from a very peculiar ornament, but you once had heard about people wanting to retain moments, turning the immaterial memory into something concrete so they could carry it anywhere and that ruined vase was it — doesn’t matter how many years passed, or where you were, whenever you looked at this ruined vase, it would remind you of Jeju, of golden suns and breezes that smelled like earth, and oranges blossoms at the end of afternoons — it would remind you of Jake.

“I like it that way,” you told him. Jake furrowed your eyebrows at you, but he didn’t say anything, taking a string at the table, cutting it off the wheel.

“We have to let it dry before doing anything,” he said. “By tomorrow or after we can fire it-”

“Wait, so people do not take their pieces home?” you asked.

“They do,” he said. “I mean, they receive it at home. I fire it and send it to them later.”

“Out of Jeju?” you asked, and Jake hummed at you, half focused on putting the vase on a wooden tray and taking it to the far end of the shop, letting it rest closer to the sink.

“It was my grandpa’s idea,” he said. “What better trip souvenir than something you did yourself? that’s what he used to say.”

“He seemed like a nice grandfather.”

“He was,” Jake told you. “I just wish he knew I am continuing it — that I didn’t let my father sell this shop.”

“He knows,” you whispered. “I am sure he knows.”

Jake paused, looking back at you. “Come here.”

You stepped closer to him again, and he took your hand, using a wet towel to clean the clay from your fingers, your wrists, his hands hovering through your skin, but not quite touching it.

“Jake,” you called. You weren’t sure if you wanted to say something more, it had just slipped through. And in the midst of your silence, he looked at you with, the same golden eyes and sun-kissed skin.

“Give me another towel,” you asked, and he quickly obeyed, getting another towel and handing it to you.

You took the towel with a hand, and his chin with the other, gently tilting his head to the side as you cleaned his jaw, and then his neck, taking the evidence of your touch from his skin.

“I am sorry. I think I pushed clay into your ears.” Jake snorted at you, something you always thought to be weird coming out as endearing from him.

“I like having you here, baby.”

“I like being here.”

For the next six days in Seogwipo, you barely did anything yet it felt like everything.

Mornings always started with you and Jeonchae sat on the kitchen counter as Jake hovered over the oven, the greatest variation of toast and eggs you had ever known being prepared. And nights always ended in the opposite way. You prepared dinner as Jake stood within reach, always ready to open cans and cut whatever you asked him.

You had to go to the market more times, but you stopped complaining about the motorcycle around the second time, and when you finally met Beomseok and his pickup, you didn’t think of telling Jake to ask for it — but you have to admit, it might have been because the man seemed pretty convinced that you were Jake’s girlfriend or fiancé or whoever could make him say, “you two should marry early. Living your life peacefully is better than anything else”, and you would rather never encounter him again.

Just the memory of it made your cheeks burn.

Jake taught you how to use the credit card machine, and allowed you to take the payments from the customers. You packed orders and watched as he taught people how to do pottery — never touching their projects, “it was just for his worst student,” he whispered when a woman seemed pretty insistent on trying to make him help.

By Thursday Jake asked you if you wanted to help him glaze a few pieces, and when you told him you were afraid of messing up, he laughed at you.

“It’s transparent glaze, baby,” he said. “I don’t know how you could mess this up.” But you liked using the kiln, being the first one to see how Jake’s pieces had turned out after being fired, and organizing it on the shop’s shelves to be purchased.

Mostly, though, you sat on the long table of the shop, Jake, and an endless thread of stories being your company. He couldn’t stay much still, you quickly noticed, always having to be working on something or using gestures throughout his stories. And you couldn’t help but think how Jake glowed there — the place that sculpted him into the person he was today and something within you broke to think of a time he almost lost it all.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

It was Friday morning, the usual hustle and bustle of customers coming momentarily on hold due to the end of the week, and Jake had taken the opportunity to work on a piece of clay as he tended to do when the movement was low, but this one seemed different from his typical methods. He wasn’t using the wheel, but molding it with his bare fingers and a few tools.

“Sculpting,” he said, turning the piece for you, and only then did you notice it was a cat. Chubby and furry.

“Oh my God, is it Jeonchae?” you asked. “I want it, charge me. I want it once you finish.”

“It will be one thousand won, but for you, I will do half of it,” he said. His gaze dropped to the clay once again, but you let your linger on the dark fringe of his lashes, the curve of his full upper lip.

It was easier to look at him like this.

“Do you want to try?” Jake asked.

“What?”

“Sculpting.”

“No.”

“C’mon baby, I got you,” he said, already scrolling back, creating a space in front of him that he was fast to occupy with another stool.

Your body burned as you walked to him, occupying the space between his legs.

“Jake, I am going to mess Jeonchae up,” you said.

“I will help you,” he said, handing you the small piece, but you were saved by the fluttering sound of crystal and bells clanking against the shop door as it was pushed, Mrs. Choi and Euntaek loudly announcing their entrance.

“Oh, sorry for interrupting. I brought some freshly baked pastries for you two,” Mrs. Choi said.

Jake stood up, cleaning his hands on his apron as he walked to them and accepted the tray Mrs. Choi was handing. The old lady rambled about how she had accidentally baked an extra tray this morning, and Euntaek took the opportunity to come in your direction — quickly bringing Jake’s unattended stool to your side. He barely settled himself in as his fingers reached for you, towing for a stray strand of your hair, and brushing it behind your ear. The touch was like a static shock, a spark of energy where skin met skin.

“You didn’t call,” he said. “Or message.”

Euntaek didn’t sound angry or annoyed. If anything, he sounded bemused. As if he wasn’t used by the fact that he might have been forgotten.

“I am sorry,” you hushed, using your wrists to not only brush any other strands he could come to find but to subtly create a distance within you. He smelled like his cigarettes, burning formaldehyde, and tar — something so different from Jake’s scent that you felt the back of your throat burning.

“I guess I was too subtle in stating that I want to go out with you,” he said. “I have a gig tomorrow night, it’s in a bar close to Jeju City — you should come. I can drive us there. We enjoy the rest of the gigs, and then go to one of my bandmates’ place for an after-party.”

“You have a band?” you asked.

“Yeah, rock, but we play a few pop songs once in a while depending on the place,” he said. “So what do you think?”

“I-” you started, looking back at where Jake and Mrs. Choi stood. Although the old lady was still talking, Jake’s eyes were on you as if he had been looking at you the whole time and you suddenly forgot what you were going to say, being mercifully saved by Mrs. Choi calling for her grandson.

She stepped out of the shop, gesturing for Euntaek to hurry up because they had left the bakery unattended. He stood up, his smirk unfaltering.

“Text me your reply, or just shout out the door, I will surely hear from down the street,” he said then, winking at you before he followed his grandmother outside.

Jake closed the door, leaving the tray on an empty wheel before he came back to you, sitting on his stool and tilting his head at you.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You seem bothered.”

“Euntaek just asked me out,” you confessed.

You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he rubbed his finger against his thumb, brushing his digits as if feeling the remnant of the clay there a moment later.

“Do you want to go out with him?” Jake asked, and he was suddenly back at the university dorms, catching the echoes of your conversation with Jongseong through the phone — listening to how you always came up to your brother for advice, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were looking up at him right now as a brother.

He was abruptly tired.

“I don’t think so,” you admit. “I just thought — I don’t know, I have never been to a bar nor have been asked to go to a gig. It seems nice, but I don’t know — Euntaek is a bit-”

“Peculiar?”

“Yeah, if we are kindly speaking.”

You turned, your face catching the afternoon light coming from the beveled glasses and Jake noticed a sliver of clay on your cheek, right where you tended to blush. He reached for it, softly caressing his thumb across the dirty skin.

“Clay,” he explained, turning the pad so you could see the remains when you looked back at him. “About Euntaek — it worries me a bit because well — it’s Euntaek, but in any case, you can just call me and I will pick you up. So you should think about it. If it is something that you want to do, you should go.”

And you thought about it.

You thought about it through the rest of the afternoon when a few customers came in. You thought about it when you prepared dinner for the two of you and spared a few pieces of meat to treat Jeonchae. You thought about it as you washed the dishes, appreciating the handmade pieces before you handed it to Jake to dry.

“I think I will go,” you told him. “It’s something I have never done. In the worst cases, I just scratch it and put it on my never doing again list, right?”

“You have a never doing again list?” he asked.

“Yes, and I intended to put riding a motorcycle, but unfortunately I had no choice on this.”

Jake laughed loudly. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it is,” you confirmed. “My hands are all sweaty every time we use that thing and let me tell you — my hands never get sweaty,”

“But I really enjoy doing the shop’s things.”

Jake tilted his head to the side, a small smile playing on his lips. The softest echo of his laughter. “I am glad to know.”

Sunsets at Jeju were often fairly things — hues of orange and pink painting across the skies as you had never seen before. And although Jake told you that mid-July was supposed to bring the rainy season to the island, Saturday hadn’t been any different. Golden strips of light bathed over the living room as you made your way to Jake’s bedroom.

His door was ajar, but he didn’t seem to notice your approach, still focused on the canvas in front of him. And for a moment, you just watched him, how his head had been tilted in concentration, and how his shoulders moved beneath the thin material of his shirt as he worked.

You knocked as gently as you could, trying your best to not open the door any further.

“Come in,” Jake said.

You pushed the door open, quickly revealing the great mess his room was. None of the bedrooms were really big, but Jake managed to make it even smaller with the amount of canvas and stacks propped against the walls. Everywhere — everywhere, there was something that showed he was an artist. Notebook stuffed by the paint on the papers, stray brushes, and paint. Jake was sitting on the floor, curved upon his newest project, but he straightened his back against what he supposedly called bed when you stepped in, the two mattresses sitting in the middle of the room and guarded by Jeonchae. You breathed a little harder, inhaling the smell of the paint he was using, and Jake — just Jake.

“I am about to leave,” you said, but your words came so small, you doubted Jake had heard you in the middle of the ruffle sounds that came when he stood up, stepping near to his desk and taking a piece of cloth to clean his fingers.

“Is he coming to pick you up?” he asked then, still focused on his hands.

Jake had been in a strange mood all day, but you assumed it was just the heat, settling heavily on the day and spreading with the certainty that summer had arrived. Also, there hadn’t been many customers today which made him decide to close the shop when you said you were going to go to the house and get ready, but there was something there, lurking just behind his actions, some private distress that you couldn’t figure out what was.

“Yes, Euntaek will be here in a few,” you said, but Jake only hummed at you.

You took a step closer to him then, extending him a package of your favorite cookies.

Jake immediately extended his hand at you, halting only when he noticed what you were giving him. “Are you trying to console me?” he asked.

“You have been in a weird mood the whole day, so yeah,” you said, and when he finally looked at you, he was smiling. It wasn’t even half of the smiles Jake tended to give you, barely curling the corner of his lips, but it was enough to make you feel your heart keening, and in the heat of the moment, you turned away, already walking out of his room and into the living room.

You were surprised when you heard him following you, calling you from across the living room. Not baby, but your name — your given name bending on his voice and rolling through the space between both of you. It was the first time he had ever said your name, and it caught you off guard. Not only because of the novelty of it but because no one ever said your name as Jake did — so slow and deliberate as if he wanted to taste the sound of each letter rolling through his tongue, and making you gasp.

“Wait,” he said. “Just — just call me if you feel uncomfortable with anything, alright?”

“Actually call me even if you don’t — even if you simply want to leave. I can go pick you up.”

“I will,” you said. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gave a slight nod in your direction, running his fingers through his hair as if to fix it. But his efforts only seemed to further dishevel his hair, stray strands falling across his forehead, and causing you to lift your hand, the tip of your fingers brushing them back into place before you had even thought this through. His hair was soft beneath your touch, but still somehow different from what you had expected. It was real — much real.

Jake leaned on your touch, coming closer and making his hair fall all over again, but you didn’t mind brushing them again, this time tucking it behind his pinkish ears, and it too — was very much real.

“Do you want me to walk you to his car?” he whispered.

“No, it’s alright,” you whispered back.

Just as you turned to leave, your phone rang, signaling Euntaek’s arrival. You took a deep breath and opened the door, making your way through the front garden and the small path between the shop and the stone wall, into the street, your head bumbling with the deconstruction of everything that had just happened.

Euntaek was leaning on his Jeep, a smirk already on his lips.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

┈

The bar was already full by the time you arrived, but you suspected it always was. Saturday night or any other night. It seemed to be one of those establishments downtown that locals relished because their reputation was tarnished by the fact it wasn’t on the tourist pages, or if it was — it wasn’t as a recommendation.

People milled around on the curb, chatting with their strong Jeju accent as they waited for friends.

Euntaek extended his hand in your direction as you walked past them. It took you a few seconds to notice he was offering it to you, and a few more seconds for you to accept it, allowing him to lead you through the entrance and into the bar.

The rest of his band had already arrived, spread through a rounded table together with a few women in the center of the dimmed-lit place. Euntaek exchanged fist bumps with them, telling you names and statuses you couldn’t truly hear beneath the furor of the place but you pretended that you did. And only by the time he pulled a chair for you, did he let you go, reaching for the breast pocket of his jacket instead as he sat by your side. He took the cigarette box, lighting it up with no ado.

“It’s bad for your health,” you blurted out, quickly causing a laugh to stir from him, the sound coming from the deepest of his body. He took the cigarette away from his mouth, considering the small thing between his fingers before he pressed it against the table. The flame extinguished immediately, but the smell remained.

“Just because I am with you tonight, baby,” he replied, immediately making you stop at the nickname. “I have been meaning to ask, I noticed it was how your brother calls you-”

“My brother?” You cut him out. Although Jongseong did call you baby you couldn’t imagine how Euntaek would come to know.

The crowd cheered as a band took the stage, and Euntael whistled as if you hadn’t said anything, but as the vocalist introduced the band, he turned to you again. “Jake’s your brother, isn’t he?” he asked.

“No,” you said. Maybe it had been the speed at which you denied it, maybe it had been the vexation but you could swear the smirk on his face faltered, dropped by an unsure smile.

“So what are you? Grandma seemed pretty convinced that you are siblings.”

“We-” you started, not sure what should be the rest of the phrase. Jake was still your brother’s best friend and perhaps he would always be, but you had already scratched this connection after the market, knowing it was too unkind to keep your relationship through a third part. You had shared every breakfast ever since you arrived, spent every afternoon together and then dinner, but the word friend didn’t come as easily as you expected it would though you didn’t want to admit the reason yet.

You were saved by one of Euntaek’s bandmates. The drummer, you thought, or the guitarist — you didn’t really hear when he was introduced. He said something in Euntaek’s ear, immediately making him stand up.

“Take care of her for me, Arin,” he yelled to the woman sitting in front of you, but before any of you could reply, he was already following his bandmate through the place, quickly disappearing through the crowd.

“So you are the Seoul girl?” Arin asked. You furrowed your eyebrows at her. You didn’t think she meant to be ambiguous but it made you halt — perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t. It was quite difficult to tell as you imagined Seoul had a lot of girls, and a lot of girls who were wandering through Jeju in Summer, but by the time you thought about saying it, the question had been hanging in for too long, and Arin had already changed her interest. “I am going to take a drink, do you want something?”

“I would appreciate it.”

“What do you drink?” she asked then, and once again you stopped — not sure of what people usually drank in those types of places. She raised an eyebrow at you then, taking you in.

“Never mind, I got you,” she said, already standing up and making her way to the bar at the farthest end of the room dimly lit, with an array of colorful bottles lining the shelves, and the bartender gave her a knowing nod as she approached.

She returned with a shot, a small glass filled with an unfamiliar liquid. You noticed something small and white dissolving at the bottom of the cup as she placed it in front of you. “It’s a shot, drink it in one go,” she instructed.

You did as she said, at first it tasted sweet, with a faint burn of tequila, but then the world began to distort a little at its edges, and by the time you pulled the cup back into the table, everything had already gone softer.

The crowd erupted in cheers as another song picked up, but you couldn’t come to raise your head at it.

It’s not like you have never had alcohol in your whole life — you did. Sipping your mother’s martinis before it was even legal. Taking Jongseong’s champagne crystal flutes at parties and pretending it was ginger ale until your legal age came and you could order the thing yourself from the counter bars. You weren’t a stranger to the taste of alcohol on your tongue. So you couldn’t understand why your senses seemed so slow and the world so blunted around you. Your mind seemed too full, too empty, too askew. The bar suddenly became too warm and you just wanted a gust of fresh air.

You were almost at the door when someone called for you, but you couldn’t quite focus on the word. In the middle of the bar, the colorful lights flickered and faded.

“Are you alright?” Euntaek asked, taking your wrist and pulling you closer to his warmth. He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t think he meant to be rough. You were more stuck on the fact you hadn’t noticed when he approached you.

“I think- I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you said.

“Use the one on the second floor, third door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

For several minutes, nothing happened as you stood inside the bathroom. You tried to breathe, but you barely could feel the air coming into your lungs. The world kept going blundered as you sat on the pinkish tiles, pulling your knees to your chest.

Then you reached for your phone.

┈

Jake woke up in the middle of the night to find the living room lights still on and his phone ringing.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, Jeonchae nestled in his arms as he waited — although he wouldn’t admit this last part willingly. He fumbled through the cushions, quickly finding the device as an unsaved number shone for him. The ID came from Seoul, and he didn’t need to think much about it to know it was you.

“Baby?” he tried.

“Jake,” you whispered. Your voice came small from the other end of the line, not quite like yourself. The muted sound of cheers in the background almost swallowed your following words. “I am scared.”

And it was enough to make him wobble, his heart tumbling inside of him, each wall collapsing individually, and crushing the one before it.

“Baby, send me your location, can you? I will be there in a few, alright?” he asked, and you hummed, hanging up so softly he took a few seconds to notice that you did, but he was already slipping through his front door, running through the street until he reached the small house Beomseok resided in. He jumped the stairs to the old man’s door, slamming it a dozen times, and then a dozen more before he could properly think about it.

“Jaeyun, son,” Beomseok exhaled as he opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“I am sorry,” Jake said. “But I need your pickup. Baby- I mean-”

“Your girlfriend?” the old man asked.

“Yes, my- my girl-” Jake mumbled, and he was thankful that the man didn’t inquire anything more before he reached for his entrance table, taking in the vehicle’s key and extending it to Jake.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, it’s alright. Thank you.”

┈

This part of the island seemed to live in a completely different reality. As the rest of Jeju fell on a sleeping slumber, here it was still blaring with life. The curb outside the bar had been taken by a consistent line of cars, streetlights reflecting on their hoods and leaving not a single space for Jake.

He stopped in the middle of the street — pretty much sure it was the third infraction of the night, hauling the parking brake, and already throwing the door open.

Jake hadn’t been inside somewhere so noisy ever since university, and as he passed the doors, it immediately struck him — the smell of alcohol and damp skin, the smoky air that only could mean cigarettes and things that were illegal in Korea.

“Jake man!” Euntaek’s voice had turned sticky with alcohol, a pinch lower that Jake almost thought it was a stranger, but he would’ve recognized his silhouette anywhere, tall, lanky, and unnervingly annoying. “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s baby?” Jake asked, but Euntaek only blinked at him. The alcohol was making him take too long to comprehend anything, and Jake had to control himself to not reach for him, shaking his head in order to bring it back to its senses.

As Jake spent the last thirty minutes exceeding all the speed limits for you, Euntaek had been drinking his night out.

“She went to the bathroom, third door on the second floor-”

Jake stepped past him.

“What’s that about?” Euntaek asked, rushing behind, but Jake only ignored him, reaching for the bathroom door and trying the knob. It was locked.

“Baby?” he shouted. “It’s me, Jake.”

You reached for the lock, not really moving from your position on the floor and Jake was already opening the door, sighing in relief just at the sight of you.

“Shit. It was Arin, wasn’t it?” Euntaek asked. He was right behind Jake, and the moment he tried to step past to reach for you, Jake was already turning around, physically blocking him. Jake pulled a hand at his shoulders, pushing him against the wall. It was a miracle that you could hear them beneath the furor of the place.

“Your revels and the headaches you give your grandma at the end of the day are not my problem, but if you try involving baby in the middle of this ever again, it will be,” Jake coerced. “And I won’t make it pretty.”

“If you aren’t comprehending this,” he continued. “I will be clearer: from now on you are going to stay away from her.”

A breath shuddered out of you, almost sounding like Jake’s name, a small call that you weren’t sure if you intended to release, but he turned to you then, giving you a glimpse of what Euntaek had been seeing this whole time, and just then. There was something more frightening about him than the whole situation itself. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched. You didn’t blame Euntaek for leaving so fast, but as Jake took the single step between both of you, crouching by your side on the bathroom floor it was all gone.

Jake was all soft again.

“Baby,” he called, just loud enough to be heard. He was mad, and you knew it, but he didn’t allow it to take over his tone — not when it was directed at you.

“I am scared,” you said. “We can’t go to the hospital, I don’t know what it is, but I am sure it is illegal in Korea and-”

You stopped, trying to regroup your intoxicated thoughts.

“Baby,” Jake repeated, almost as gently as how he reached for you, fingers curling around yours, holding your trembling hand and bringing it to his cheek. “It’s alright, I will take care of you.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake just smiled at you, that one broad and reassuring smile.

“It’s fine, let’s go home.”

Jake had said this exact phrase a good amount of times already; as his fingers reached for the keys of his motorcycle at the exit of the market; at the exit of a pet shop you went to buy Jeonchae’s food on Wednesday; as he dropped the shop’s apron after a particularly busy day. But there was something on the way he had said it tonight, so softly and full of protection that home didn’t sound like a synonym for a house — for the place where you both have been sharing through the past week, but somewhere else, somewhere greater, and it ached within you.

You were safe now.

You hadn’t really thought of crying — perhaps the torment of the whole situation stole you from the most common reaction, but the moment Jake kissed the inside of your wrist, it was as if he had broken that thin thread you had kept to prevent yourself from breaking and tears flowed through your eyes as if they would never stop.

Jake didn’t need to ask you to put your arms around his neck, you did it as soon as he curled his arms on you, one on your back, as the other took the back of your legs, carefully lifting you. The full weight of your body in his arms amazed him, you had been taking so much space in his world, that it was hard to believe he could simply hold you like this.

When he reached the main floor and the flickering lights pummeled you once again, you pushed your face further into his neck. The scent of clay was gone, replaced by the faint smell of the flowery soap bar he kept in the bathroom and oranges, but it still lingered in with such familiarity in your lungs that you couldn’t help but close your eyes, breathing him in again.

Jake carried you out of the bar and into the warm summer night. The stars hung so low in the sky that you couldn’t really tell if it was too late or too early as he gently placed you in the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup and bent down, shrugging his jacket off to drape around your body.

“Baby,” Jake called, but you were already curling yourself on his jacket, closing your eyes to relish the warmth of it. “Babe, please, I need you to look at me — just for a second, alright?” he asked, cupping your face. His fingers spread against your wet cheeks, angling you to him. And when you looked at him, your pupils were a bit wider, dazed, and he shuddered out a breath at the view, his heart thrumming against his ears. He was terrified now that he could think about it. “Has anyone tried to touch you?”

“No, I had been in the bathroom the whole time.”

“Alright then,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the night. He closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side, every movement meticulous and deliberate, as if afraid the world might shatter around him if he wasn’t careful enough.

The city slid beyond the pickup’s window as Jake drove away, but you didn’t turn your head — didn’t watch how the moon streamed through the fields of green tea, rather you watched as the street lights caught on Jake’s hair, turning the dark strands into copper.

“Jake,” you called. He looked at you, trying to spare his attention between the road and you, so you reached for him on the gearshift, resting your palm above the back of his hands. Almost immediately his hand shifted beneath you, turning so he could hold you back.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You hummed. “Are you?”

Jake chuckled at that, squeezing your hand. “I am fine — sorry about my reaction with Euntaek. Jay always said I had anger issues.”

“Anger issues?” you echoed.

“Yeah. But never on that level, honestly. I am glad he didn’t take it to the core because I wouldn’t know what to do afterward,” he confessed. “I had never been in a fight.”

Maybe it had been the alcohol still in your system, mixed up with the drug, or maybe it simply had been Jake, and his presence always making everything easier for you, but you laughed then, and Jake smiled in response, not straying his eyes away from the road. He looked more like himself than he had done the whole day, and you silently vowed to do whatever it took to keep him like that.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I told you I would,” Jake replied, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand in a gentle, reassuring motion.

┈

As Jake gently sat you on the bed, a faint light filtered through the curtains of his grandparent’s old room. It was just enough for you to see him bending down in front of you, his hands hovering over your knees before he decided to rest them on his own thighs.

“I feel disgusting,” you blurted out.

“You are not disgusting,” he said. Even in the dark, you could sense the smile on him, the softest of it reaching you before the view itself. Jake reached for you then, a single hand already taking a strand of your hair and brushing it away from your cheeks. “I swear, there’s nothing disgusting about you.”

“I am smelling, the sheets—”

“We can wash it in the morning.”

“I-” you started, thoughts still a bit too slow. The summer heat, leftover makeup, and the hours in the bar’s bathroom were fetching your dress, sticking to your skin, and making you feel awful now that you could truly care. “I need a shower.”

He exhaled then, but he didn’t disagree, instead, he asked, “Can you gather your things? I will turn the shower on.”

You nodded, feeling a bit relieved at his calmness.

Jake disappeared to the bathroom. Soon enough the sound of the water cascading down filled the silent house, and by the time you stepped into the white-tiled room, the steam was already rising. The stool where Jake kept his stuff vacant beneath the water.

“If you feel dizzy, sit down,” he instructed. “I will be outside if you need anything.”

You barely could nod again before he stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you to strip and step into the shower by yourself. The warmth of the water enveloped you, and suddenly the whole incident seemed an age ago. Another you had gone to the bar with Euntaek, stood among strangers, and beneath flickering lights — now there was only the streaming water and the flowery scent of Jake’s soap bar — Jake.

The bathroom felt smaller at the thought of him, brighter, and you doubt it was the drugs still acting in your system, but you sat on the stool anyway, staring at the white titles with the sudden realization. Jake had done so much for you, more than you had ever asked for, and the thought of being a burden weighed heavily on your heart.

It didn’t help that when you finally stepped out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the floor, head tilted to the ceiling as a bottle of water and a package of your favorite cookies were balanced on his lap.

He stood up, offering you the cookies first. Your hand hung above the extended package for a heartbeat more.

“I gave you the last package,” you remembered.

“I felt already solaced enough when you gave them to me,” he said. “Now I think you need-”

You opened it, shoving a cookie into your mouth, entirely, and Jake followed suit, taking one from your hands and shoving it into his mouth too. You laughed at him, unconsciously.

It was so easy to be with him.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he said then, holding his hand out to you. Sugar stained the tip of his fingers. But you took it anyway, letting him lead you back to your bedroom.

As you climbed onto the bed, Jake hovered close to you, making sure you were comfortable as he helped you tuck yourself in with the blankets.

“I will stay here for a bit, alright?” he asked. “We don’t know what they gave you, so let’s be attentive to fevers or any reaction.”

You looked up at him. The bedroom had turned dimmer — the outside suddenly vivid in comparison to the dark room once again and the street lamps filtered through the curtains, bathing Jake in such a soft light.

In the midst of your silence, he sat on the floor, back promptly against the mattress, but then you reached for him, tucking at the lines of his t-shirt.

“Stay — sleep here, on the bed.” It took him a long time to make sense of your request, and when he did, the surprise kept him from moving for another moment before finally, he climbed to the bed, lying above the blankets.

Neither of you moved, not a single twitch. But then you reached to the front of his t-shirt, and he shifted onto the blankets, maneuvering closer to you. The collar of his t-shirt hung loose, showing his silver necklace, and allowing it to glint beneath the dimmed light. The tip of your fingers grazed through the skin-warmed metal before you could even notice, and once again you caught yourself wondering if you had gone too far — your body reacting to Jake before your own mind did, but before you could retreat, he reached for you too, his fingers curling around your wrist, thumb brushing against your pulse and causing you to close your eyes.

“I am never again going to a bar.”

“Traumatic first time, right?” Jake asked, and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know, he was smiling.

“Yes.”

“I will take you another day,” he resolved. “Let’s forget this first time, pretend it didn’t happen. I will give you a better memory.”

“I am sorry for everything,” you said. “It’s a rotten work, right? Taking care of me?”

“No, it’s not — I mean, not to me, not if it’s you,” he replied. You opened your eyes, encountering his gaze. His eyes were bright in a way that made your skin sprinkle beneath the night.

“Have some sleep, baby,” he whispered then. “I am here.”

You were not sure for how long you both stayed like this, but you had fallen asleep before he did. His light and watchful breaths lulling you to sleep, and stealing you from the moment he brought you closer, to him, your pulse steady against his lips.

“Baby?” Jake called. “Is it ok if I fall in love with you? You do not see me as a brother, do you?”

When you woke up, the house had been so silent that you had almost expected Jake to have already gone to the shop, starting his day ahead of you. But as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, you found him there, head resting against the dining table, lashes against his cheeks.

The year had just reached that point where the afternoons had an impossible glow — an idealist painter taking the lead of the world and suddenly turning everything into a vivid canvas. The curtains moved in the afternoon breeze, allowing the beams of light to come and go on Jake’s sleeping form, catching on his skin and picking strands of his hair, turning everything into gold.

You took the chair by his side and rested your head on the table just like him. After a moment, you carefully stroke a few golden strands of his hair, moving it away from his forehead, and drawing it to the back of his ear as you had done on the night previous. Jake opened his eyes then, a bit confused and fuzzy with sleep, but the sunlight caught them too, melting the darkness into gold, and you felt your breath catching in your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was going to make breakfast but I fell asleep.”

“I am the one sorry for making you stay up last night.”

“Yes, you are the one to blame,” he laughed, but he didn’t raise his head from the table — instead, he reached for you too, tracing your features with the delicacy you imagined artists would devote only to their masterpieces. The wind rushed through an ajar window. And for a moment, there was no time, just one breath after another, and Jake’s fingers on you.

Years from now, someone was going to ask you when you fell in love with Jake. You wouldn’t know how to reply. You never knew the exact moment when your heart decided that the next beat would be for Jake, you only knew that it had been built for you pretty much as the summer came to Seogwipo, the flower withering almost imperceptibly day by day, leaving only the greenish tone of the warm season until it was inevitable and you wondered how haven’t you noticed the small changes before. And then, you would remember this moment. Gleaming eyes on you, artsy fingers trailing through your hair. Because it was the moment you realized it already happened — you were in love with Jake.

You turned the thought in your mind, over and over again, expecting that every time you uttered that small secret the truth would feel smaller, something you could hold in the palm of your hand and hide within your pockets without anyone noticing. But instead, the more you turned it over the more it seemed to take over you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Nauseous or something? I was searching for a hangover soup recipe, although I am not sure hangover is the exact term after being drugged.”

“I am fine, just a bit tired,” you said.

“That makes two of us.”

Somewhere over the surface of the table, Jake’s phone started to ring, a soft tune you are almost sure the system named it after a tree, the rustling sound of when the breeze hit it, and maybe that’s why none of you moved, not even when it went to the voicemail and started all over again.

“Maybe you should pick up,” you said, Jake hummed at you. He definitely should — no one would casually call him on a Sunday afternoon if not in an emergency, but despite the distress about it, he took a little longer to let you go, lingering on the warmth of your skin for a moment more before he reached for his phone.

You watched as his eyes widened a bit, a slightly curse forming on his lips as he straightened himself on his chair, but before you could ask who it was, the front door was thrown open.

You knew it wasn’t a real thing, but you could swear your heart quelled, a tiny gap forming where a heartbeat should be at the view of your brother.

“If it isn’t the two people I have been looking for,” Jongseong said. A smile played on his lips, but you quickly realized it was those types of smiles people gave in the middle of annoyance and not because they actually thought the situation was funny.

Your brother pressed something on his phone, immediately making Jake’s phone start ringing once again. “And look, their phones do work.”

┈

It was a dream — it had to be. Perhaps you were still drugged in the bathroom of that dirty bar close to Jeju City because there was no way your brother was standing here. Jongseong belonged to your life in Seoul, your parents’ minimalist house, and the Michelin restaurants. He belonged to the fancy attorney’s gathering and champagne on crystal flutes. The mornings filled with pollution clouds, and the nights buzzed with the traffic on the avenues, but not to Jeju — not to your Seogwipo. It was silly and you knew it. Your brother had known this place before you — he had come here before you, some week after their graduation to help Jake move in, but you suddenly felt overprotective over the place, as if he was going to take it away from you — or take you away from it, actually.

There were no greetings, no hugs or smiles. There was just your brother walking to the kitchen, and standing as tall as he could in front of you and Jake.

The house was starting to get hot and drowsy by the setting afternoon, the July sun streaming directly at the dining table and onto your back as you watched your brother sigh and then sigh some more.

You didn’t need to tell him about the landlord, the summer storm, Jeonchae, the half deposit. Jongseong had discovered everything through the landlord himself when he went there early this morning.

“He was really unpleasant,” Jongseong said. “But have you ever thought about calling me? Fuck, baby. I wouldn’t tell mom and dad if you didn’t want me to, but I could have helped you.”

“How did you even come here?” Your brother asked.

You weren’t really sure about what he intended to get with his question, but still, you replied, your voice coming smaller than you remembered it ever being. “I took the bus,” you told him.

“Do you even know how to take a bus?” he asked then. It had been just words — unconcrete things that shouldn’t weigh anything but it did and the heaviness of it made something within your chest ache. Honestly, you didn’t know how to take a bus. Your parents had made sure you never needed to use public transportation, always being free in the morning to take you to school, and after that, to doctor appointments, extra classes, and wherever you needed to go. You had asked at the terminal, a gentle lady who ended up questioning how old were you when she noticed how confused you were. But to admit would only worsen the situation, so you didn’t. “That’s it, I am taking you back to Seoul.”

“Jay,” Jake called, his voice cutting through the small gasp you realize.

Jongseong stopped, all together with you, and you took the opportunity to turn to Jake, watching as he pushed himself from where he stood against the window, countering the table, and coming in the direction of your brother. A single hand rested on your brother’s shoulder and you weren’t sure if Jake was assuring him, or holding him. “Let’s talk for a second.”

“Baby, go to the shop for a bit for me, will you?” It wasn’t the question, but how Jake did it — the words directed to you when nothing of his body did that made you stand up, walking the path to the front door, stopping only to take the key at the entrance table before you stepped out.

“She calls my parents every day,” Jongseong said, his voice coming so perfectly through the wooden door that instead of going to the shop, you stood still, hearing them through. “Day and night.”

“I have heard a few times,” Jake said.

“And she hadn’t said anything about the landlord — she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel the necessity.”

There was a pause, none of them saying anything and you knew your brother all too well to know he was using this to shoot Jake a pointed look.

“Oh please,” your brother murmured then. “She thought it was better to come here and bother you rather than calling me?”

Bother. The word felt like a slap on your face. Your heart pounded in surprise, a flush of warmth spreading through your cheeks and suddenly you didn’t want to hear the rest — but because you couldn’t move, you did. You heard your brother rambling about how you turned Jake’s life upside down, taking the settled routine he so laboriously built and made it into a mess. You had even brought a kitten! Jake didn’t even like kittens, he was a dog person for God’s sake.

“Stop,” Jake said. There was no anger in his voice, no unfairness. He said it just like he had called for your brother earlier on, that voice that could never not be listened to, and once again your brother turned silent. “You are being unreasonably rude. Baby is not bothering me — actually, she has been helping ever since she arrived.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She helps me with the market, and the food,” Jake said, and you really hoped he meant you went to the market with him, and prepared the food, because never once had Jake allowed you to pay for anything — not even a few nights ago when you told him you were getting ice cream from the convenience store and he ran after you, catching you on the sidewalk. He took your wallet from your hands and replaced it with his credit card, a minion printed on it that immediately made you laugh because, of course, Jake would have those printed credit cards. “She helps me in the shop.” that one felt more like a lie than the rest, you did stay in the shop with him, but help felt too deep for this stupid act.

“You are just mad because she didn’t call you as she is used to,” Jake concluded.

“Because she didn’t call me?” Jongseong echoed. He sounded to be talking partly to himself, that shocking echo people give when taken by the genuine surprise — Jake being good at seeing not only the nuances of your being but your brother’s as well.

The silence that followed was longer, and when it ended it came with the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, their soft rustle making it too hard to get the words and by the moment you noticed someone was approaching the door it was too late to leave.

Jake walked straight into you, stopping for a single second before he closed the door behind him. You would have thought he was going to pretend you weren’t there if he hadn’t smiled at you, and what a smile Jake. Just at the sight of it, your heart tethered itself. Not completely, but enough to stop quivering so much.

“Jake, I-”

He shook his head, silencing you by reaching out at you. His hands cupped your face — thumbs immediately cleaning the tears you hadn’t realized you had shed.

“He wants to talk to you. Wait a bit before coming in,” he whispered. “I am going to the market for a bit, alright?”

You nodded, leaning on him. You didn’t remember the decision to, only that you did, inclining your face in his palms as if it was the most natural thing to do. And although you didn’t shed any more tears, Jake rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks once again, immediately making something move inside of you, humming with warmth.

“Alright,” he whispered, stepping away. You watched as he crossed the garden, pulling his hands on the front pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head up to the sky, allowing the sun to bathe his skin, his hair, beams of light simply not being able to not reach for him. And once again you were reminded of how Jake belonged in this place.

The afternoon was utterly quiet. You could hear the breeze brushing through the brushes at the other side of the street and then another cabinet was opened and closed, and you sighed, taking the knob in your hand.

By the time you stepped inside the house once again, abandoning the shop key back on the entrance table, Jongseong was rubbing a hand over his face, his anger completely burned out by itself. He opened his arms at you in a silent yet clear invitation for a hug, and it was enough for you to rush through the house, curling your arms around your brother’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Jake said I was mad just because you hadn’t called me for help, and yes, he is right — throughout the whole way here, I kept wondering why you didn’t call me before doing anything.”

“But I guess it was my fault. I was too harsh on you when you said you wanted to spend your summer alone, but what I genuinely meant was that you shouldn’t do anything alone, you always got me.”

Your heart keened at his words. You knew it — you knew you never had been truly alone. Not even when you stood in front of the apartment in Jeju City, the kitten in a carrier, and Jake’s address on your phone. You knew that if your immediate plan didn’t work, you could just call them — your mother, your father, Jongseong. They would find a way for you. You had never needed to be truly afraid. There had always been another hand to catch you, or at least to hold you as the things scrambled eminently.

“I don’t want to study law,” you whispered, it was so sudden, you didn’t know what fanthom you to say it. Your voice came so low yet still, you could hear the uneasiness on it, the truth being finally put into words. Your brother’s grip tightened on you, bringing you so close into him that you felt his tiny exhale.

“I know, baby,” he said. “Dad and mom know too.”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he meant — the realization taking too long and weighing your body through the seconds that followed.

“Why do you think they allowed you to come to Jeju alone so fast?” he asked, moving away from you only enough for you to see his face. “I know you have it in you that you have to live greatly to not be a deception for mom and dad, but baby — we are so rich, and I am not talking about money, but love. Whatever you decide to do mom and dad will support you with the only thought of you being genuinely happy about it.”

“Listen,” Jongseong said. “Maybe it won’t be so easy to live with this, but you already got the good grades, and the school awards I failed, you finished the extra classes I dropped, and you carried all the expectations they could have had for us during school time, so let me carry the expectations they could have for after it.”

“The world’s always going to need lawyers, but it’s always going to need whatever you choose to do too. Find your way,” he said. “It’s not that bad, look at Jake — you know about his family, right?”

You hummed at him.

“I have to say, I was quite worried when I left him here after our graduation, I couldn’t imagine what would be like to live without the support of our parents, but he seems alright.”

“He is,” you said. Not sure how much true it was, he ate only lamen by the time you arrived, and although you had never seen him drinking, there were way too many beer bottles inside of the fridge, but somehow you believed that if he wasn’t, he was getting there.

“Do you want to stay here?” Jongseong asked then.

You moved closer to Jongseong once again, resting your cheek on his shoulders as you looked at the living room’s window. Outside, Seogwipo was as halted as it had always been, the sound of the bushes hanging tiny and fragile in the summer air, and you felt your chest aching.

How you wanted to stay.

┈

Jake couldn’t remember a time when the house had been this full — not that it was a difficult thing. His grandparents’ house was small and cluttered, too many years had turned it almost impracticable, too many mismatched furniture, and decorations that should have become an affective memory rather than staying an actual thing in the house. But as he came back from the market it was full in a different way.

Jongseong started complaining as soon as he spotted Jake because hadn’t I told you, Jake, to sharpen your knives when I left? And these pans were still your grandma’s? Jake, I-

But Jake was only half listening, handing Jay the plastic bags, he countered the dining table to stay in front of where you sat. You had changed, trading your pajama set for a pinkish sundress, the tone matching almost too perfectly with the color of your cheeks when you looked up at him, abandoning the task of cutting the vegetables and smiling.

You were smiling — smiling and definitely not packing your bags. And it shouldn’t be, but it was enough to loosen all the ties on his chest.

If Jake were to be honest, your brother wasn’t completely wrong — you had turned his world upside down. Years ago, he had moved to Ventura, a city so empty and full of regrets, he had lost something of himself there, a piece he thought he could rebuild once he had moved back to Korea, graduated on the major he always wanted, and inherited the shop. But instead, he watched the weeks flying by in between late nights alone, beers and clay — and then — and then, one day you showed up, wearing a brand dress as if it was nothing and a stray kitten on a carrier, and suddenly he didn’t need to pretend he was alright. He was.

It was a hell of a ride to have you here, but God — Jake would trade it for nothing.

“Naturally annoyed,” you mouthed, and the spell was broken. Jake laughed — only once as he tried to cough out the rest, but then, you were laughing too, and your brother demanded that both of you leave to go somewhere else because you were annoying him.

You both were still laughing when you stepped out into the garden, taking the side path and stopping in front of the shop. In the hurry of leaving none of you took the key to the shop where you had left it, and Jake showed you the flower pot where he hid the extra keys underneath it.

“The biggest one is for the house, and the smallest for the shop.” He didn’t look at you as he said it, his head still tilted to the small flower pot and allowing a few strands of his hair to fall over his forehead. A smile tucked at the corners of his lips, and he seemed so young like this — so pure. The words Jongseong had said twirled through your mind, and you didn’t know what had been on your face, perhaps the sadness of not knowing how to tell him he was doing alright and that you were proud of him, but when Jake looked at you a frown took up the space between his brows. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you whispered.

“You are going to stay, right?”

“Can I?”

“Of course, you can baby,” Jake said. His words were so soft that the breeze nearly destroyed them. “I like having you here.”

“That’s a good thing, because while you were on the market I called my parents, and told them I am staying here.” you told him. “My mom said she will mail us a few things and that she misses you.”

“But about Jeonchae-” you continued.

“Don’t take to the heart what your brother said,” Jake asked. “I never had a cat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them — actually, I have been thinking about adopting Jeonchae — if you allow me.”

“There would be no better home for him.”

It was alright, honestly, until it wasn’t.

Jongseong prepared brunch for the three of you, and cleaned the house as if it was a task. He asked you if your room was alright and if you needed him to buy anything because he could get it delivered to you.

“We are in Seogwipo, Jay,” you said. “I don’t know if it’s how things work here.”

Your brother seemed about to retort, but in the silence that followed he understood what you meant. There were no traffic sounds filling up the gaps between your conversation, no machines or reform sounds, it was just the breeze of the sea and nothing else.

“But tell me,” he said. “If you need anything. I can find a way.”

“I know,” you whispered.

After dinner, the three of you spread on the greenish grass of Jake’s garden, something you didn’t really know how you hadn’t thought of before. The moon was beautiful this time of the year and the grass was warm against your skin, the peak of summer giving you its all, and turning into a great memory for the next day, when another summer storm finally came in, making the downtown building steadily dripping as the three of you made your way to the restaurant Jongseong had chosen for his last night in the island.

The place was fairly simple for your brother’s exquisite taste and surprisingly empty. No one aside from a group of friends at the far end of the room, and the waitress.

She was somewhere between yours and Jongseong’s age. And a piece of art. She barely looked at you as you made your order, keeping her attention on the side of the table where your brother and Jake sat, and although it wasn’t clear which one of them had caught her fixation you felt your heart keen a bit. Her wavy hair had been held by a dozen pins — not the golden ones you kept in a jewelry box and which perfectly matched all your other accessories, but colorish ones, pink and blue pins holding her hair, and keeping them away from her freckles cheeks. Her necklace was made of beads just like a string she kept on the belt. She was the embodiment of the kids who were born in Jeju and were proud of it, and if you stopped to think about it carefully, she was completely Jake’s style. Artsy and free.

“You know what?” Jongseong said as the waitress left. “I am glad you both met — my beautiful family is finally reunited.”

“What?” Jake asked. “Is baby our love child now?”

“No. I meant my sister is your sister.”

There was a lost moment, a second where you should have released the air from your lungs but you didn’t, and it passed with it stuck in. Jake, however, laughed — out loud as he reached for the cup of water, swallowing the whole thing before he pulled it back onto the table but he didn’t deny — didn’t say he didn’t see you like this and the topic died between both of them, leaving you as the only one still stuck on it throughout the whole dinner, chest tighter than before and it didn’t help that when Jongseong finally called for the bill the waitress asked for Jake’s number.

None of you moved, not even Jongseong, and you took the opportunity to reach for the pickup’s key in front of Jake, murmuring something about waiting in the car. It seemed to take all of them out of the haze. Jake finally strayed his eyes from the waitress, and you were pretty sure that there was a reply, but you were already hurling out of your seat, and walking to the front door.

The weather had cooled down, another sparse rain treating to fall as you walked to where Jake had parked the pickup. The vehicle supposedly had a back seat, but the place was so small and cluttered — there was no particular discussion before you had been assigned for it on the ride here. Jake had pushed the driver seat forward, his hand resting at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head as you jumped to the back, but you might not have paid attention enough. It didn’t matter how you tried to push it forward now, it didn’t seem to come in.

A curse was already escaping from your lips by the time you heard the front door of the restaurant being opened again — Jake surging in the yellowish light of the restaurant, already walking towards you.

“Baby, wait,” he asked. “You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

You stopped for a moment, the concern in his voice making your whole body cease to work, your heart stopping long enough to make you feel empty inside of yourself.

Jake was a nice guy. You knew it — had spent enough time watching as he smiled at strangers, presenting so much kindness that made it impossible for somebody to be uncomfortable with him. You had listened to him talking enough to know he truly cared about people and wouldn’t have a second thought before helping anyone in need and that was the problem. He was a nice guy, careful, and kind, but you had misread it as love and you had believed he could have fallen for you too.

“Baby,” he tried again. But you gave the final push and the driver’s seat finally gave in. Jake only had time to place his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head but this time you didn’t thank him, only hurling a great shuddered breath that was too close to tears.

┈

It had already been two nights ever since Jake had slept in your room, but you could swear, the sheets were still smelling like him.

You lay there, telling yourself to sleep, but instead, you found yourself standing up, tearing the sheet off the mattress, and tugging it into a small ball before you walked out to the living room, intending to put it on the washing machine. It was too late to make it run, yet the simple idea of doing something made you feel better and you continued but as you stepped out, there he was.

Even before the dim light of the living room bathed over, you had felt him. A piece of warmth in the middle of the cold night. A stroke of golden in the middle of a black canvas.

Jake looked up at you, straying his gaze from the cup of water in his hands, his eyes were so painfully soft beneath the dim light of the kitchen, your heart keened at the view and you wished you truly could hate him, turn all this mess inside of you into simple repulsion.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked then, and you hummed at him, already starting towards the bathroom.

You took your time putting the sheets inside the machine, loading everything as if you could start it this late at night because you expected that when you stepped out Jake would have already gone back to his bedroom, yet he didn’t, preferring to walk after you, leaning on the door jamb, hands shoved in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, as he often did.

“You are mad,” Jake said. He had already lost countable hours playing and replaying the events in the restaurant, trying to find where he could have done something that wronged you. He was profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of you being disappointed with him, and perhaps that was it that turned him too dull-edged to analyze it more. Jake just wanted to know. “Was it because of the waitress?”

Your eyes met, and your whole body warmed, a different heat from the anger you had been feeling earlier taking over you.

“Why would I be mad about her?” It had been a question, but it very much felt like the answer he needed because he smiled — faintly before he composed himself but not enough for you to not notice how his eyes were gleaming, and in the rush of the moment you started toward your — his grandparents’ old room, trying to step past him, but he caught your wrist, the sudden contact startling you so much that you tripped. Jake caught you, moving you until the low of your back met the kitchen counter.

If the scent of his floral soap flinging from the bathroom wasn’t a great indication that he barely had left the shower, the water droplets still clinging to the edges of his hair were — rivulets raced down his jaw and into his throat, making it even harder to look at him.

God — this whole day was a huge mistake.

“I am trying to see things from your point of view, baby, but I am having a very difficult time here,” Jake admitted. “I said I wasn’t interested — actually, I don’t even know what I told her before I rushed after you, but it was some variation of a no,”

“And the other option would be because of what Jay said then. Because I didn’t reply. But what did you want me to tell him?” Jake continued, the words coming so hurried and blurted, almost as if all he just wanted was to get it out of him. “I couldn’t tell him the truth, baby. I couldn’t simply say no, baby is never going to be a sister to me because I think I am in love with her — Jay would have taken you out of that restaurant in the same second and caught the first flight back to Seoul, and every time I think of you leaving, I feel so uptight — hell, Y/N, I feel so-”

His hand slipped from your wrist, folding his fingers through yours and bringing your hand to the back of his neck as he pulled you forward — or moved himself in. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, everything inside of you was humming and making it difficult to think but his forehead was resting against yours and when he spoke again, it came as nothing but a hush of breath, the softest gust of air against your lips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked then.

You couldn’t say something. Not when your heart was cracking open under the weight of everything. But then the sound of a door being opened filled your silence and Jake moved back, his hands falling away and making your skin tingle, already missing his warmth.

“Do you always stay up until this late?” Jongseong asked.

“Yeah,” Jake replied, so fastly, you would have believed it if you hadn’t seen him knock out right after dinner for a couple of nights.

“It’s terrible for your health, you know?” your brother asked then, but none of you replied — you weren’t even sure if you had breathed as Jay walked to the fridge taking in a bottle of water and going back to Jake’s room without any other word.

But as the door clicked shut again, you turned back to Jake pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, hands finding and curling on the front of his t-shirt for support. He was trembling — or perhaps you were. You didn’t give yourself another second to consider anything before you placed your lips on the shell of his ears whispering: “I am in love with you too.”

And before Jake could hold you, you had gone. You had slipped out of his reach and the kitchen, rushing to your room and closing the door with a soft click.

Jake touched his ear then, pressing the place where your lips had been almost as if he could hold the words you had just uttered. He laughed, and then, he laughed some more, tilting his head to the ceiling and allowing the sound to spread through the night. He couldn’t care that your brother could appear again asking what was happening, Jake felt like he had experienced all the types of emotions known to mankind in a single hour and most importantly — you were in love with him.

You were in love with him too.

On the morning of the next day, Jake went to Beomseok to ask for the pickup once again and the three of you climbed up to it, taking the road to the airport.

The drive was surprisingly quiet. None of you had spoken the whole way up through the island, the sound of the wind coming through the open windows and the radio were the only things filling the space. And then an old song came in, something about country road and going to the place the singer belonged. Jake was the first one to murmur the lyrics, Jongseong following suit, their voices turned a pitch lower to match the singer’s tune and you couldn’t help but laugh.

In the rearview mirror, Jake caught a glimpse of you. You had tied your hair due to the wind, but stray strands wounded up around your neck as you threw your head back. He had never considered himself dotted in the artist’s eyes, curious and searching, always studying the subject and seeing something more than the concrete shapes. No, he always had been a realist rather than an impressionist, but then you straightened yourself back, caught his gaze in the rearview, your laugh turning into nothing but a soft smile on your lips, and for a slip second, he was — dotted and impressionist. And everything he wanted was to capture your warmth on a sculpture, a canvas — anything he could come back whenever he felt like faltering.

Out of Jongseong’s view, Jake drooped his hand between the driver’s seat and the door. His palm up, fingers stretched only enough to brush against your knees, catching your attention. You touched his fingertips, pinching his fingers, just for a moment, and then he withdrew his hand and put it back on the wheel.

“Jake, the exit!” Jongseong snapped.

“Oh shi-” Jake steered in a hurry, passing through the raised pavement markers. Jongseong reached for the handle above the door, the same curse Jake failed to complete fleeing through your brother’s lips and stealing another laugh from you, but this time Jake didn’t look through the rearview, his heart already was seconds away from bursting.

┈

“We are here,” Jongseong said, eyeing the airport for a split second before he turned to Jake.

“Don’t you want us to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” your brother replied. “It’s not like I am taking a long flight — thank you for the ride, and everything. I am leaving a great responsibility but feel free to just call me, I can come pick her up if you grow tired.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said. He extended his hand at your brother, that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders guys loved to do, and then Jongseong turned to you. It was hard to hug, but you pushed yourself through the middle of the seats anyway, arms curling on your brother’s shoulders as he hugged you back.

“Take care of yourself, alright, baby?” Jongseong whispered. “And call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave you one last squeeze before freeing himself, opening his door, and jumping out of the pickup. He hauled his carry-on from the trunk with no effort, a small smile on his lips before he turned around, and walked to the airport.

“Hey,” Jake whispered, his hand thumbing against yours. “Since we were in Jeju City, why don’t we do something over here?”

┈

You had already heard about the art museum of Jeju — had walked to it during the week you stayed in the city. The immersive digital exhibition had been listed as one of the must-go spots on the island by diverse tourist sites, but the sight of a group of friends arriving made you step away — too awkward to go inside and wander through the rooms all by yourself.

But today — today you had Jake.

The first room was a forest, red flowers hanging on the trees as their petals twirled through an imagined wind.

“Do you have an artsy explanation for this?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Once I went to an exhibition in Seoul with a friend — lights and something was the name. I spent the whole exhibition just appreciating its beauty, and then in the last room there were points of light imitating the pattern of birds’ flocking, that was when a woman appeared, she was with her son, and then she started giving a whole explanation about how birds never stray away from each other, always sharing their difficulties to reach a common goal and how that was what the artist wanted to show,” you said. “Ever since that day, I kept wondering if artists always intend to give deeper meanings to their creations than just beauty.”

Jake tilted his head back, red petals projecting on his face as he watched the exhibition going on. You knew they weren’t concrete, just a projector streaming images on him, but when they slid through his cheeks, you had that odd desire to reach for it. He looked at you then, leaning in, his eyes flickered beneath the lights, mischief glinting as if he wanted to tell you the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

“I personally think it’s just pretty,” he said, however, and you laughed at this, head thrown back, the sound so carefree and soft — your laughter seemed to be coming easier now and it was impossible for him to not smile back at you. “But if you want a more scholarly answer I would say: because art is an expression of personal perspective it is subjective. Their meaning and even what it makes others feel. Someone might come here and just think it’s pretty like me, but someone else might come here and feel like this field is speaking to them, a whisper from their childhood, a secret memory of their first love, or even a sign for a future decision. Art will never strike everyone in the same way.”

“Once a Spanish painter said you can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life,” he continued. “Or something like that, the point is-”

“Some things leave no impression, meanwhile others become a life mark — there will always be the before and the after,” you said.

“Yes.”

The next room was a maze of paper lanterns. A couple of siblings ran in between on a game of tag, and when the boy rushed past you, you had to step closer to Jake, tucking on his jacket for support and being completely unaware of how he melted there. But if anything, he just slid his hand on yours, interlacing your fingers and guiding you through the rest of the exhibition.

There were more fields, and mountains projected on idealist sunset skies. There was an empty room in which flowers grew whenever you touched, and when you brought it to Jake’s attention, drawing a tiny line of flowers, he pulled you through the room, your finger still pressed on the wall and leaving a trail of flowers behind.

But it was the last room that genuinely made you stop — waterfalls of golden, electricity blazing and pulsing and cascading down around you like fallen stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Life-changing beautiful.”

“It really is.” You turned to him, but he had his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes gleaming, lips curling. He had no embarrassment in letting you know he had been looking at you for the whole while.

Jake used your connected hands to pull you to him, and suddenly he was so close and the air stuffy. When he reached for a strand of your hair, he smelled like clay, that earthy scent that was already turning into your summer redolence and oranges.

“Am I too late to be your first kiss, baby?” Jake asked.

The moment seemed to take forever, it seemed to take no time at all. Your simple you are unfolded slowly, blending with the echoes of the world very — very softly, and perhaps it was what prevented his heart from breaking there.

“But I don’t mind forgetting it,” you whispered. “Pretend it never happened.” It was just the echo of his words on your lips, but he was smiling then, his hand leaving yours only to cradle your cheeks, holding you as he leaned over — his mouth hovering over yours, parted lips brushing on a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. And you knew you had told him you could forget your first time, but when his hand slid to the back of your neck, angling you up so he could pinch on your bottom lip, it was hard to not forget it. No one had ever kissed the way Jake did. He seemed to want to relish it, feeling you through each passing second of your connected lips. He seemed to not want to let it go, memorizing you through each heartbeat as he just grazed his mouth against yours, catching his breath before he kissed you again and again and again.

Someone cleaned their throat, immediately making both of you part, lips swollen, and causing you to bury your face in his chest, but Jake only laughed — the sound echoing through your body as he reached for you again, an arm curling around your waist as the other sized for the top of your head, tangling his fingers on your hair as he held you to him and murmured an apology to whoever it had been.

“What do you say about us getting some milkshakes before going home?” Jake asked then, lips falling on the shell of your ear as if it was just another ordinary day — like you were still Jake and baby from a few hours previous and that the taste of his smile wasn’t still lingering on your tongue. But that was the greatest thing about being with Jake: he made everything easy. And when he stepped away, holding his hand out for you, you took it without a second thought, allowing him to guide you out of the museum and back to the pickup.

┈

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“What?” you asked, straying your gaze away from the milkshake in front of you.

Jake had stopped on a dine-in halfway back to Seogwipo, a small parlor just off the interstate that advertised best milkshakes on the whole island! And made you both order not only two — one for each of you, but four, lining them in the middle of the table and sharing.

“Your first kiss,” Jake clarified. “Who was it?”

You weren’t sure if it was the sugar getting into your system, the euphoria of having kissed Jake, and having him sitting across from you, pinkish ear, and ankles resting against yours but you still took a moment too long to comprehend the question.

Was he really asking it or was he testing what you told him on the exhibition?

You pushed the strawberry milkshake back into the line, buying yourself some time.

“You?” you tried.

“No. I meant for real,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It wasn’t even that important,” you said. “It was on a game of truth or dare. I didn’t even like him, but I guess he did as his friend seemed pretty invested in getting us to kiss. He was kinda cute — had this wavy hair and had swimming classes in the afternoons, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did he ask you out after?”

“Yes, asked me to go to one of his swimming competitions.”

“Was he your first boyfriend then?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, playing with the milkshake he had first chosen with his straw and you could swear, there was a hint of something in his tone, a covetousness about this particular topic.

You reached for his milkshake, pulling it back into the line and giving him another one. It took his attention, but you didn’t look back at him.

“No. I refused him,” you said, and Jake laughed.

“You kissed him and then refused when he asked you out?” he asked. “What a heartbreaker girl.”

“I was such a shitty person, right?” you said. “But I was always so invested in my studies to really think about my romantic life. I barely could fit my lunch between school and extra classes, imagine a boyfriend?”

“Can you fit it now?” Jake asked then. You looked up at him, immediately receiving a raise of eyebrow, shy yet flirtatious — that amusing combination he was, and when he took your hand in his bringing your wrist to his lips, shivers scattered through your skin before he had even continued. “Can you fit me into your life? I promise I will be a good first boyfriend.”

“Yes,” you whispered. The word squeezed out of you, coming as nothing but a tight exhale, but Jake smiled at you then, that one twist of lips that took over his whole face. “I guess I can make some time if it’s you.”

┈

You wondered if it would be awkward then. If the silence would start to stretch on too long, and the spaces between words would be filled with awkwardness — none of you knowing how to deal with this new thing between both of you. But later that night, when you encountered Jake on the space within your bedrooms doors as he walked out of the shower, it was easy to curl your fingers on the front of his t-shirt, allowing him to press you against the wall as he cradled your face and kissed you tantalizingly sweetly.

He pulled away quicker than you would’ve liked it, but it really didn’t matter because when you walked inside your room with your hands clasped coyly behind your back, Jake was already following you in, and when you both tripped onto the mattress of your bed he was already kissing you again. Jake caught your bottom lips between his, pinching enough times for you to open your mouth to him, his tongue pressing against yours and when you felt him leaning on so his chest was pressed against yours, you had this tiny epiphany. You haven’t lied when you told him about your lack of romantic experiences, but you suddenly wondered if you had been too subtle on the fact that you were a virgin.

“Jake,” you called, but he was already collapsing by your side, laying himself above the blankets just like a few nights previously, turning onto his side to look at you, and when you did the same, he pulled you against him, fitting your body to his — tangling you as much as he could into the circle of his warmth. A piece of a never-ending summer.

“Don’t worry, alright?” he whispered. “You are the one in charge — always.”

The shop was busier today. A group of foreigners on a vacation and desiring to learn how to do pottery. You stood there, watching as Jake talked to all the customers, switching between Korean and English as easily as some people breathed.

Jake made a little gesture at his chest, curtsying and gentleman-like as he bowed at a compliment. His dark hair tumbled forward into his eyes, and you wondered if he could get more prince-like.

You stared for a moment too long, and Jake’s gaze fell upon you as if all the gravity of the world was centered on you, and the force of it made you turn around, skin warmer in a way you knew it wasn’t the afternoon heat setting in.

You had stuck a stray brush in your hair to keep it up, allowing the afternoon sun to love the back of your neck, but strands refused to stay and wound up around. Jake approached you from behind, taking the brush from your hair just so he could pull it up again, threading his fingers through your locks before he stacked the brush again and leaned in, curling his arms around you, breathing into the base of your neck.

“What do you think about closing the shop early?” he asked.

“I think you are not taking your shop very seriously,” you said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was pouting then, his bottom lip being poured out as he tightened his hold around you.

“C’mon, baby” he whispered. “It has been a few days since we last took something from your list,” he remarked, but what he truly meant was that it had been a few days since you had only been making out on his couch, moving to your bedroom when it became too late, and when his hands slipped beneath your pajama’s shirt, spraying his hands on the bare skin of your waist, he suddenly stopped, laughing it off and kissing you sweetly before he collapsed by your side, and wished you a good night. “Maybe we could go to a bar as I had promised?”

┈

Jake rode you up to the island at sunset, the traffic turning thicker and thicker as he approached Jeju City — with its busy avenues, flashing lights, and more people than you’d seen ever since you had gone out with Euntaek.

When Jake held the bar’s door, placing his hand on the small of your back for you to go in first, you had braced yourself for a darkened room, the intoxicated air, a forced retreat to that night a week ago, and the hazed fear, but instead, you were greeted by neon lights and the electronic chime of arcade games humming beneath that old summer hit everyone knew. The machines lined the walls, from the old Pac-Man to VCR games cramming side by side to make room for the tables, and the wooden bar.

Somewhere a group of friends laughed and you couldn’t help but do the same. Surprise and relief burbling out. Jake, however, only smiled down at you, the lights making him glow peach and tangerine as he held his hand out for you.

Jake guided you to the bar where he traded two twenty-thousand won bills for some coins that he insisted were just enough for you both to have some fun, taking turns at the machines, being lit up by the flashing lights and the shimmer of it all. Your hands brushing, your bodies close together.

Outside Autumn was already approaching, pressing itself against the late July nights and making it a chilly thing but there — it was summer, warm, and heavy, making Jake remove his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his gray shirt absent and carelessly just below his elbows, allowing his bracelets to catch the colorful light of the place as you bet over the games. A drink over Pac-Man, and baskets of fries over Pinball. And when you said you had no idea how to play a shooting game, he stood behind you, his hands above yours as he guided you through. Just as Jake always did whenever he taught you something, but this time, you allowed yourself to lean on his touch, pressing your back against his chest and feeling the solid warmth of his being.

“Will you give me a kiss if I get you to break the record for you?” he asked as if you hadn’t been stolen pecks the whole night — as if you didn’t know the taste of his lips better than anything. But the request made your skin tingle, the night being too blazing, too sweet, and when he smiled into your hair, you nodded at him.

When the game ended, requesting you to input your name as Jake got the highest score you turned to him, the same peach and tangerine light gilding him, and it suddenly felt too strange to be in the middle of all those people. You weren’t sure who pushed first, but both of you were rushing past the tables and back into the summer night. Streetlights glinted off the hoods of parked cars, and the stars hung prettily above, the layered beauty taking you anew. But you only got a glimpse of it before Jake used your connected hands to pull closer to him, leaning on and bottling into the darkness of his height. You tilted your head up. Just enough for your top lip to catch his bottom. And he made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the whiskey of the bourbons he kept on asking whenever you lost and the strawberries you always rewarded him from the bottom of your cocktails.

“Should we go home?” he asked.

And it was what both of you intended to do, but half an hour until you got to Seogwipo. Jake decided to stop at a tiny town that consisted only of an artificially bright gas station and a convenience store to fill his motorcycle. You wandered inside the convenience store as he took care of the motorcycle, almost feeling his gaze on you when you stopped at the cashier, paying for a package of cookies and two ice creams without his minion card. But when you stepped outside he didn’t say anything — Jake only shouldered off his jacket, spreading it on the sidewalk, and gesturing for you to sit down as he took the space by the side of it.

It was quite riveting how your bodies already knew each other. When you sat by his side, Jake soundlessly shifted his arm, pressing his palm on the pavement so you could lean on him, your head resting on his shoulder, and when a breeze came a bit harsher, Jake’s proximity was the only heat in the night. It warmed you, starting from your arms brushing against his until it filled your whole body and you pressed yourself to him, eyes fluttering to the sky. Even as you sat close to the streetlight nothing seemed enough to obliterate the stars. They kept shining above you, creating streams of silver and purple against the darkness.

You couldn’t tell if it was very late or very early. The hours blended on a moment itself and you didn’t want to leave, not in a few weeks, not never. And the sincerity of your own thoughts struck you. Your mother once had told you about a night from her youth years: she was right there — surrounded by her friends in the place she loved, and she knew, even as the years passed, she would always remember and miss it and how lucky and doomed she had been for noticing it while she was still there. And now, you finally comprehend her sentiment. You were still there, but your chest ached at the idea of losing the thread of this night — of losing Jake. You felt yourself saddened by the simple idea of someday that summer becoming just a memory of your youth years.

“I wish I was a painter,” you blurted out. “So I could paint this sky — this place, hold it forever.”

In your periphery, Jake tilted his head, following your gaze to the sky. He barely gave himself a moment before he said: “I can teach you — how to paint. I can teach you.”

┈

And that was how you found yourself in Jake’s garden in the middle of the night, a stack supporting a tiny canvas, and Jake sparing tint cans over the greenish grass, studying each color with a deliberate passion and you got yourself wondering about how it had been for him — finally leave his family’s impositions to live the life he wanted.

“Jake?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What was your favorite subject?” you asked. “In art school.”

“Painting,” he said, not even giving himself a moment to think about it. “I like painting landscapes and anything about nature. There are some weekends that I would drive out of Seoul only for it, but also there was this one semester that we had to do people’s portraits as our grade project — I have to admit I didn’t like it very much.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes, I painted your brother.”

“Was it that bad?” you asked.

“Maybe he wasn’t just the right muse,” he said, immediately stealing a laugh from you. The intensity of it made you throw your head back, closing your eyes as you allowed the sound to whistle through the night and when you straightened yourself back and looked at him, he was watching you, eyes all soft. “But I would like to try again — with you.”

“I would let you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warmer than before and in the rush of the moment, you kept talking. “But you know — I thought pottery would have been your favorite subject.”

“I thought so too, but it reminded me too much of my grandpa, it was hard to sit in the university’s studio and not sorrow not being here.”

“I am sorry,” you said, but he only shrugged, moving his attention back to the paint cans as if it was nothing, but you could see the slight bow of his shoulders, the weight of the mourning he never seemed to allow himself to feel.

Jake passed you a brush and a water cup, and when he rose to meet you, you were already stroking a great amount of water on his cheeks. His skin shimmered too prettily beneath the night sky but he only gasped at you, a momentary thing before his lips twirled on a smile, and it was worth it, even when he reached for another cup.

He ran when you did, feet a little clumsy on the greenish grass of his garden and neither of you really cared what you were doing. The peels of laughter made it worth it, the rush of the summer night on your face, and you had that feeling that was almost sadness once again — you didn’t want this night to ever end. But you were tripping upon an uneven part of his garden, being safe only because Jake finally reached you, his hands sparing onto your hips as he brought you to him. Both of you tumbled into the grass, Jake beneath you, legs tangled in a way you were already used to by the number of times you had made out on the couch.

Your hair fell on him, and he tucked it behind your ears — a fool thing to do because it kept slipping, and falling, tickling his cheeks. But he didn’t mind doing it again and again before he finally decided to simply hold it as he brought you closer to him.

It was a soft kiss, unhurried as both of you just wanted to be there, but then you were pinching at his bottom lips and he shifted both of you, rolling so your back was pressed onto the grass, but you didn’t really complain — you only parted your knees so he could fit better within the cradle of your thighs.

Perhaps it was the night itself making everything a little softer on its edges, but Jake finally allowed himself to reach for your knees hooking his fingers under them so he could bring you closer to him. The solid length of himself against your core and you couldn’t help but moan, the sound escaping through your throat before you could even notice it as you curled your fingers on the front of his shirt.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” he hushed, moving back, but you didn’t let go of his shirt, still twisting your fingers onto it and holding you to him. But he was rushing a hand through his hair. The bar’s heat and the motorcycle helmet had turned it mussed, and it stayed back. He looked panicked like he’d done something wrong — like he’d done something terrible.

“Jake.”

“I am sorry.”

“I want to,” you told him earnestly, your voice a nervous whisper. “I do. I want do everything with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” he whispered back. “Alright.”

You almost expected him to laugh it off for tonight, let it go as all the other nights because when he stood up, bringing you with him, he only turned around, placing his hand behind his back, encouraging you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the garden and into the house, letting go only as you sunk yourself into the entrance seat to remove your shoes but Jake was already bending on a knee in front of you, fingers fumbling through the straps of your high heels and removing them, one at a time. And when he finished he didn’t let you go, curling his fingers on your ankles and bringing you to him.

Your knees parted for him, creating a slot that he took with no ado, allowing your thighs to straddle his ribs.

Jake traced, upper and upper through the skin of your thigh, finding the hem of your dress and hiking it up until he found the curve of your hips and splayed his fingers through.

“Hold on me,” he whispered. “Will you, baby?”

You didn’t even need to think before you finished molding yourself into his chest, arms curling around his neck as his finger sunk on to your skin, holding you so fiercely that you wondered if he was afraid you could simply fade away within the small moments he took to carry you to his bedroom, and sit you at the edge of his bed.

It was far gentler than you ever imagined it would be, worshipful even.

Jake kissed your forehead, then your cheeks. His lips brushed against yours tauntingly before he moved lower, kissing sweetly at the spot under your jaw, smiling against it when you shivered at the feel of him. And when he brushed down the column of your neck, you felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny tease that already got you aching for him.

“We don’t need to do anything you are uncomfortable with, alright?” he asked, moving back so you could catch his gaze, all sincere and earnest. “You ask me to stop, and I will.”

You nodded, and the smile on Jake’s face was like the whole of summer. Everything about him warm, soft, and absolutely intoxicating as he reached up on you — brushing his hands through your ribcage, drawing your dress up to your shoulder, and allowing it to fall somewhere over his bedroom’s floor.

You would have felt embarrassed sitting there, chest bare, panties a simple cotton to match your skin tone because your dress had been too thin, but he was looking at you like you were unreal — something an idealist painter had created in a dream, and you reached for him, fingers curling into the precise place where his hair had grown above the collar of his shirt and tilting him to you, catching his bottom lip on yours, once, twice — enough times to feel brave enough to brush your tongue against it, but Jake was already on it, sliding his tongue against yours.

It was dizzying to be kissed like this. Open-mouthed, and noises swallowed by one another, but Jake didn’t move his lips away from yours, not unless it was to slip his mouth to your body instead, slowly finding the inner curve of your breasts, your ribs, your low abdomen. His tongue swirled against your skin, sucking marks and kissing the bruises he left behind with a smile. You were so close to faltering when he kissed the front of your panties, the tip of his fingers fumbling through the edges of it.

“Is it alright if I take this off?” he asked, you nodded once again, hands tucking at his blankets as you moved a bit further into the edge of his bed, letting him slide your last clothing piece off and to the floor of his bedroom, altogether with your dress.

Your whole body ached to pull him closer, but as heavy as Jake’s gaze was, he was being so gentle with you, so unbelievably gentle. Everything was so willful and unhurried as if he meant to take his precious time — to store every inch of you into his memory and savor it at his own count pace. His hands were almost adoring when he hitched your panties down to your legs, deifying when his fingers dug at your ankles, lifting them to his lips.

“Can I use my mouth?” he asked.

“Jake,” you called, and he would have turned self-conscious if it hadn’t sounded like you tended to call him whenever you wanted to ask something — if it hadn’t sounded like you tended to say please. But it did and he moved into the space between your legs, his stomach pressed to the mattress as he brought your legs to his shoulders, tracing a path of kisses over the inner of your thighs, slowly turning greedy as he approached the place where you needed him the most, and when he finally licked a warm stripe over your folds, you whined at his actions, hands faltering at his blankets and allowing your back to fall into his mattress.

He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit, applying a slight pressure that made you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, just enough pressure to make him groan beneath your touch and his hands pried your thighs apart when they began to push against him, rumbling and making you murmur something you yourself couldn’t quite grasp. Your voice broke over the words but Jake smirked against you. He was so lost on how perfectly you looked underneath his control that he failed to ask if he could use his fingers on you, slipping two inside of you with no previous warning and making you arch, head thrown back into the blankets that smelled like him, that perfect combination of flowery soap and oranges, clay and glaze.

It’s not like you had never fingered yourself — you had, coming far enough times all alone, but Jake’s fingers were much thicker and longer than yours, finding all your sweet spots in a way you never could and not to mention how his tongue kept twirling on your clit. You could feel your body coiling tighter and tighter around him with no ado, cunt quivering around the base of his fingers with his every move and when you tilted your hips up at him, he swore, twitching inside of his jeans and moving back only to watch his fingers coming inside of you again and again and again.

His lips parted at the sight, another groan leaving him, eyes hooded and dark as he took you in.

“Hell, you’re so pretty,” he whispered and it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, calming himself down as he tumbled back to you then, knees bending slightly so he could crowd down into you, forehead dropping to yours, both of your breaths hitching as he tried to keep up his pace. “So — so pretty.”

You were sure you gasped his name, gripping on his shirt as your eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your orgasm crashing through your body, and Jake fondled at you, lips pressing against your cheek, as his hands swept through your thighs to soothe you out of your high.

You pushed your face to Jake then, your noses brushing as the reality slowly snuck back in. Seogwipo had always been silent — no matter the time, but tonight not even the breezes seemed current. There was nothing except for your breathing and the sound of your heart thumping against your ears.

“Baby,” he whispered. “Are you alright? I forgot to ask if I could-”

“Jake,” you broke in, and there was it again — his name sounding almost like a plea.

“Tell me what’s it.”

“I want you,” you said, spraying your palm in front of his jeans as if you desired to prove a point. He was painfully hard underneath your touch, releasing a tight cuss at this slight touch. “Please.”

He didn’t care about coming, not really, not when you had given him the opportunity to make you fall apart on his fingers. He could deal with himself quite well later on in the shower just with the memory of it, but then you were slipping your hands through his shirt, curling your fingers on his buttons, and how could he say no to you?

He could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another.

Your hands met in the middle, opening all of his shirt’s buttons, and allowing Jake to hurl it out and onto his bedroom floor, a silent thud that matched the breathless gasp he released when you reached for him again, fingers spraying through his hips, following the skin of his just exposed abdomen until you had reached for his neck, curling it around the slope curve of it and bringing him back to you.

Jake had far enough experience, a reasonable body count for a graduated university man, but he somehow felt like he was pretty much rediscovering himself with you. He never knew how easy it was to make him falter with a kiss on his throat until you were the one doing it, lips parting against his skin and surely leaving a mark.

He groaned with your doing, the sound of it scattering shivers through your spine and making you feel bold enough to push at the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping past the band of his boxers and pushing it far enough for him to only kick it out. His jeans barely had hit his bedroom floor before his lips were on you again, tongue pressing against yours, and tasting like you still.

“Baby,” he whispered. You folded your legs around his waist at the endearing name, thighs clenching around him, squeezing him almost unconsciously as he crowded into you, one forearm by the side of your head, holding himself over you as he pushed into you.

You moaned at the stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you and your hand flew to his wrist for some support, fingers curling around him. Jake’s hand shifted beneath your touch, adjusting himself so he could interlace your fingers, giving it the small and reassuring squeeze you knew so well.

“Baby, I need you to talk to me,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

Jake talked as if he didn’t have his brows knitted and wasn’t patting himself, the breath being torn from him at the feeling of you tight around him, clenching down on his length until he went a bit hazed, but he didn’t dare to move, even if he felt like you were too much under him, softly shaking your head as you tilted yourself up to him, your noses brushing and lips so closely together that when you spoke, he tasted your words.

“It’s alright,” you said. “You can move, it’s alright.”

It was slow at first, the same patience you had watched him having with his creations, slowly and tenderly shaping them up to his confident acknowledgment — when he finally bottomed completely out, he already knew exactly how to move, how to make you tighten around him, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantic. But he was careful with you still, sweet nothings brushing against your temples even as your body came tight around him once again, your hands grabbing at him, desperately trying to hide the fact you were shaking as he continued to move his hips into you.

You whined and he twitched inside of you, grip turning a little tighter and it pulled the breath from you.

Jake came when you did, as defenseless and relinquished as he could be, wrapping his arms around, and holding you until both of you had driven out of your highs. And when he moved to look at you, there were golden stripes painted across his cheeks, the same soft light of when you realized you were in love with him casting a warm glow over his skin and making it harder to let him go.

You didn’t notice a tear had escaped through your eyes until Jake smoothed a thumb over your cheeks, his eyebrows knitting together in worry, but you didn’t allow him to ask what was on his mind, catching his lips on yours, kissing him sweeter than it should’ve been considering you were still naked in his bed, your bodies so mixed up that you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and he began.

“I am fine,” you told him. “I am.”

You just weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with everything you were feeling for him.

The storm hadn’t been forecasted nor expected, a monsoon rolling through the last day of July and catching both of you unprepared from your trip to the convenience store for ice pops.

A gasp escaped through your lips, but you couldn’t confide if it was because of the sudden raindrops kissing your skin or the way Jake pulled you through the rest of the street, using your connected hands to rush you through the side path from the shop to the garden, and into the house.

You laughed as you tripped over the shoes at the entrance hall, but Jake was fast on catching you, leaning you against the wall in order to prevent you both from falling. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back to push you further into him, the line of your bodies pressed together, as the other tangled through your hair, the tip of his fingers finding your nape.

“I want to paint you,” he murmured — blurted out, an admission you weren’t sure he intended to confess, but you caught yourself beaming at him. His voice was all fondness and appreciation. “Can I paint you, baby?” You already knew the answer, but you decided to draw the moment a little longer, tilting your head as if you were considering it. And Jake leaned on you, his lips brushing through the column of your neck, interleaving kisses and pleads, tiny pleases that went down to the neckline of your top, his knees already ready to bend as he planned to go further, but you reached for him, touching his neck, right where his hair grew above the collar of his shirt.

“Alright,” you said. “You can paint me.”

┈

“How do you want me?” you asked, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

His room was no brighter than the whole house. The rainy clouds making everything a bit grayish and dim. But he didn’t care about turning the lights on before he reached for a blank canvas prompt on his desk.

He turned back to you, taking that small sliver of skin between your skirt and top, grazing his fingers there. You shivered when he passed through the hem of it, rushing up to your ribcage, your whole body trembling as he brought you as close as he could.

“It’s a dangerous question, baby,” he whispered, lips brushing through yours. “But you are in charge — always.”

You weren’t sure what it was about Jake that caused you to find yourself doing everything you normally thought impossible, but you reached for the back zipper of your skirt, tugging it down until the piece got loose from your waist and fell, pooling onto your feet.

Jake’s breath hitched and stammered, his surprise taking him for a full moment before finally he slipped his hands a bit further, drawing your top out of you.

You sat on the hardwood floor of his room, his sheet barely wrapped around your waist, and leaving a lot of your skin to be bathed by the dim light as you watched Jake giving the first strokes. There was something satisfying about the way he painted, something controlled and beautiful as if the act of painting was an art itself.

Jake looked back at you, and he noticed how closely you were watching him, gaze following the familiar way his fingers curled around the brush, the way he knew the exact amount of pressure he was supposed to use only to make his stocks fluid on the canvas.

“I am starting to regret it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“You are too pretty. It’s highly distracting.”

Your lips parted to retort, but whatever words you had chosen slipped and slid as he abandoned his brush, reaching for you instead. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back as the other chased for your neck, the tip of his fingers tangling through your hair, and bringing your mouth to his.

His lips parted too, heavy breaths blending as he caught your bottom lips with his once, twice — just enough for you to feel comfortable enough to lick over him, slipping past his lips, and tasting the cherry ice pop he had gotten earlier in the convenience store and the rain still pounding against the windows and resonating with the rhythm of your heart.

Your hands snuck down to his sides, fingers scraping down to the waist of his jeans as you tried to end a distance that didn’t exist anymore. You were too close already, bodies so tangled you weren’t sure which one of you was shivering, but Jake seemed to understand your urgency as his fingers dug into your skin a little harder, pressing you to him, and when you grind against him, he groaned, the sound doing something to you that you couldn’t explain.

“Jake,” you murmured. “Wait.”

“Shit, I am sorry,” he said, hurling away from you. His back met the legs of his desk fast and in a heap, hands fleeing into the air as if he had been caught in a flagrant. “Not today?”

“That’s not it,” you said. “I — I want you to teach me how to touch you.” Although you didn’t give yourself enough time to doubt the wisdom of saying it, you had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer, rainstorms, and Jake — just Jake, and it made the words come a bit weakly, almost too silent for your own ears, and for a moment you doubted he had heard you. But then, Jake stopped, a sharp swallow going into his lungs.

It took him a long time to make sense of your sentence, and when he finally did, it took every ounce of him to not simply rumble you through the floor, kneel before you and touch you — eat you, make up for all the gentleness he had with you on the first time.

He laughed, a bright burst that got you burning, but his own hands were already finding their way back to you, the tip of his fingers brushing a stray lock of your hair to the back of your ears as he moved closer to you again.

“How can I say no to you?” he asked. “Ask me anything and I will give it to you.”

“Anything?”

Jake hummed, leaning in so his nose brushed against the column of your neck. “Ask me the moon and I will paint it for you. Ask me a star and I will capture a whole constellation.”

“I just want you.”

“I am yours.”

You pushed your fingers underneath his shirt, rippling it with goosebumps at your bare touch, but if anything Jake only reached for the collar of it, helping you hurl it out and to the great mess his room was.

He was overwhelmed — he wouldn’t lie. Jake was harder than he remembered ever being, desire and lust laying right next to each other in his heart, each sharpening the other, but he allowed you to take your pace nevertheless, leaning himself against the legs of his desk once again as he watched you — burning you with affection and fondness as he accompanied every move you did, the way the tip of your fingers followed the lines of his abdomen before you finally reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping it, pushing down to his thighs together with his boxers.

You loved the way you made him groan, head thrown back, pulse jumping in his neck as you curled around him, experimentally rolling your thumb through his tip before you started to pump him. You knew you didn’t need to ask if you were doing it right, his whole body was telling you that you were, his hands gripping on your thighs, your waist, rubbing you as if it could prevent him from coming too fast on you, but you did still, leaning on him so when you asked your lips brushed, softly, sweet, and nothing like you were still touching him.

“I feel like you are trying to kill me, baby, but yeah — yeah, you are doing it perfectly.” It was dirty the way he said it, abdomen tightening, groans filling the gaps between words. He sounded wild, unraveled in a way you had never heard him, but it only made you smile at him, pressing the softest peck to his mouth before you raised yourself on your knees. 

“Jake,” you called. “Can I-”

Maybe it had been the way you were already hovering above him, but Jake was fast to catch you, a hand molded to your waist as the other slipped between your thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of your panties, pulling it to the side so you could line him to your entrance, his tip pressed against where you need him the most. 

His breath hitched when you came down on him, whispering your name, pronouncing it with the same deliberate slowness he always had and you couldn’t help but moan at the whole feel of him, palms spreading at the lower of his abdomen, head a bit thrown back and barely giving time before you you started a slow, hard grind on his lap, lifting yourself up and down, dragging your cunt against his pelvis, his length buried deep enough inside you that the base of him caught your clit.

“There is no way,” he murmured. “It’s your first time doing in it.”

“Who else could I have done it with?”

“Some stupid swimmer back in Seoul.” You weren’t sure if it had been because of his saying or your surprise when he rolled both of you through the floor, but you were laughing — laughing so hard that Jake stopped, his hands still hooked on the back of your knees but not quite bringing you to him as he intended.

“You are my only one,” you said.

Only one — not only your first but also the last one to come. And he might have just thought too deeply into it, but he didn’t care. As you looked up at him, dressed in nothing but the remains of light, and the echoes of your laugh, he didn’t care it might be just a temporary truth. He was your only one at that moment, and it was enough to make his breath hitch, heart plumbing inside of his chest.

Jake hiked your legs around his hips, holding himself carefully and sweetly above you as he took your lips, kissing you so when he pushed into you once again, you could feel how much he wanted you in every sharp breath.

His moves were careless this time, gone on all your previous teasing, but he still managed to make you tighten around him, fingers curling on the hair of his nape as your mouth parted against his, his name coming so softly from your lips that he couldn’t help but bury his face into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he could always remember the way you felt coming around him.

Jake whispered your name, a small call that you tried to reply to, but failed, hiccupping and gasping out a laugh when you realized and you didn’t know you were crying until Jake moved back, his thumb pressing against your cheeks, the tip of it barely brushing through your skin as he dried your tears.

“Baby, if you cry every time we have sex I will start being concerned,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you said.

“So what’s it then?”

You felt your lips parting to reply, your body reacting faster than your own mind, but when the words once again didn’t come, you stopped, another hiccup coming through instead.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer than before. “Remember your first night here? When we went to the roof and you trust me with all your concerns? I said you could rely on me and I mean it still. Just because I am your boyfriend now, it doesn’t mean you can’t share your stuff anymore. I want you to trust me like you did back then. Can you?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you confessed. “Every time we are like this I catch myself a bit sad because — I just don’t want to leave for the United States, for Seoul. I just don’t want to leave you.”

Jake breathed in, a sharp intake that made your cheeks burn, suddenly too embarrassed to even look at him, but as you turned to focus on the canvas prompt against his walls, he reached for you, fingers spraying through your chin and angling you back at him.

“I won’t tell you to stay,” he said. “Not because I don’t want to, baby, or because you can’t. But because I don’t want to take this decision away from you. I don’t want you to look at me in a few months — in a few years, who knows, and say you should have gone.”

“To study abroad is a great opportunity. You have worked your whole life for it although it wasn’t your dream, I don’t even know which university you got in-”

“Havard — it’s the best for law.”

“No way, my baby is a genius,” he said dramatically and immediately stealing a smile from you. “But that only proves my point, it’s a great opportunity to have it on your curriculum.”

“Besides whenever you want to come back Seogwipo is going to be here,” he continued, his voice so soft beneath the rain. “I am telling you from experience.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay here?” you asked. “It’s just — Seogwipo doesn’t seem the same without you.”

“I will,” he replied. “I will stay here.”

You reached for him, a single finger tracing his cupid’s bow, the soft lines of his lips, before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, and you could feel the very faint rhythm of his pulses.

Jake closed his eyes, leaning in, just a bit further so his parted lips brushed against yours. “I will stay here for you.”

And just like that July melted into August, summer coming closer and closer to an end, but neither of you ever spoke of it. Not in the mornings when Jake started to linger a bit longer before going to prepare breakfast for both of you, his fingers following the lines of your body as if he was well aware that he had you memorized but still — was afraid of someday forgetting. Not when you both stayed at the shop, Korean tourists becoming a less common thing and leaving only a few foreigners to remain. And on the nights when he hugged you from behind as you stood in front of the stove he kissed your shoulders as if he wasn’t sorrowing that another day came to an end — as if the last week hadn’t came yet and the date printed on the reservation ticket you kept hidden on your luggage wasn’t coming closer and closer. His hands always slipped beneath the hem of your clothes, gathering the pieces on his forearms as he sprayed his fingers on your waist to push you further into him.

You could feel his breath, the soft hush of air as he opened his mouth to say something to you, but whatever had it been was stolen and forgotten as the front door was opened, your brother releasing a full curse. Jake stepped back, his hands slipping away from you, and allowing your dress to fall back into its place, but not fast enough for it to not have been noticed.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Jay,” you called, but it was already too late. Jongseong was rushing through the house, grabbing Jake’s t-shirt, twisting the thin material between his fists. He didn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions — he simply did it, using his grip to push Jake away from you.

They tripped over the house, falling on the small space in front of the maroon couch, your brother above. The sound of their bodies collapsing against the floor was almost imperceptible beneath the sound Jake released when the punch came.

You stopped in the midst of a complaint, but Jake couldn’t blame you. He always imagined what was a fight, the throw of punches all drove in the heat of feelings, but instead, there was just a moment of deadness, his blood rushing to the point where Jongseong had punched him and nothing — absolutely nothing. Even the breezes seemed to have stopped outside.

“Don’t take it personally, I would punch anyone who I caught sneaking his fingers through my sister’s dress,” Jongseong said. Jake opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it again. Your brother was quivering. Not from his shock, like you or Jake, but from some chained emotion, so Jake stayed still, allowing Jongseong to curl his fights on his t-shirt harder, hurling him from the floor and back into it once, twice — enough times for his anger to start to burn out.

“Shit Jake, couldn’t you choose someone else to hook up with?” he asked. “There aren’t enough girls on this island so you had to go after my sister?”

“Jay, stop it.”

“Stay away from this, baby,” your brother grunted at you. “Actually, even leave the house for a bit.”

“Definitely not.”

“Jay,” Jake called then. Jongseong looked back at him, and it suddenly felt like every other argument they ever had, even though this time there was a growing bruise on the corner of his lips, Jake knew they could counter it. “I am sorry.”

“She is my little sister,” Jongseong said, his tone not coming mad, but tired. “She is so young.”

“I didn’t mean to make it a secret, not because I am hooking up with her. I mean, we-” you forced out a whine, immediately making Jake recollect his thoughts. “I am serious about her.”

“It’s true that she is young and needs me way more than I need her, and maybe it is always going to be like this, but you know? I don’t care, I want her to rely on me because I like her — hell, I love her,” Jake said, his genuine feelings slipping like a breath through his lips. He had pronounced love so — so unconcerned, he didn’t even need to think about it before. And maybe that was it that ceased the last flame of fury on your brother, making him hurl away from Jake, throwing himself on the couch instead.

Jake sat up too, a bit slower due to his growing bruises, but you remained still, Jake’s words humming inside of you.

He loved you. He loved you.

“How long has it been going for?” Jongseong asked.

“A month and a few days,” Jake replied.

“I was here one month ago!”

“Yeah, and it was thanks to you that I finally told baby what I was feeling,” Jake said. “So thank you, bro.”

“Don’t make me punch you again Jake,” he hissed. “Who the fuck is your bro?”

Yet despite the harsh choice of words, your brother’s tone had a bit of a joke on it, something only best friends acknowledged. Somehow they had gone from such a terrible place to a joyful one. And Jake felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

“But you better know where you are going, that girl has been spoiled ever since she was born,” Jongseong said. “She wasn’t even a year and dad was already putting a gold bracelet on her wrist.”

“Hey!”

“I know,” Jake said. “And I can handle a spoiled baby.”

“So it’s already come to this — do as you feel like then — I guess,” Jongseong said, standing up. “I am going to take a shower. Get me a towel and some clothes, I am too lazy to deal with my luggage.”

Neither of you moved until your brother had already closed himself on the bathroom, the water cascading stealing the sound of the breath you shuddered out of you as you rushed to Jake.

You took his chin with the tip of your fingers, tenderly angling him to the living room’s light. The wound was worse than it seemed from afar, bleeding as a darker bruise started to form, and immediately making you frown, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. You reached for it, the tip of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.

“I am sorry,” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me sorry? It’s your brother’s doing,” he asked, tilting his head into your palms.

“Exactly, if it wasn’t because of me, Jay wouldn’t have punched you.”

“Jay was mad just because he simply wanted to be, you aren’t the one to blame, baby,” Jake said, but you didn’t seem convinced, so he reached for you too, arms curling around your waist as he brought you closer to him. “Do you think your father will react better or worse than this?”

“Remember when I said I never had a boyfriend before?” you asked. “I guess we will have to find out together.”

He chuckled at your statement, it was a minuscule sound spreading through the night but it seemed to loosen something within both of you and he allowed himself to lean on you, his cheek resting against your hairline.

“Jake?” you called. He hummed at you. “I love you too.”

┈

Later on that night, Jongseong grasped at your door, his knuckles against the wooden piece before he opened a small sliver just for him to catch sight of you.

“Is the small flurry ball here?” he asked.

“Jeonchae?” you asked. “Yes, since you are allergic to cats, we had to close him here.”

“So can you step out to the garden for a bit?” he asked. “I want to talk to you.”

The air had turned misty with the humidity, the grass still damp from the amount of days rain had been washing summer away, so you both only leaned against the wall, head throwing back as both of you watched as the clouds raced by.

“Do you want to go?” he asked then. “To the United States? Do you still want to go?”

“I never did.”

“True,” he sighed. “But there was a time that you accepted it. How are you now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Jake indirectly told me to go. He said it is a great opportunity and I know it is, but my heart breaks whenever I think of leaving him and this place. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to study law, but I haven’t called mom and dad saying this because I also know I — I can’t simply stay and build my whole future around Jake, not because I don’t think it will work in the long future, but because—”

“You need to be a person of your own?” Jongseong tried. You weren’t sure if it was the best way to put it, but because you couldn’t find other words you nodded at him.

“I should get a degree, right?”

“You put it in a weird way,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s something as necessary as breathing if that’s what you are implying. Ever since I started working at dad’s office and taking a few cases I met a lot of people — good people who don’t have a degree and are happy with their lives, and it is what matters in the end isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“As Jake said, it’s a great opportunity to study abroad, but if you know you are going to be unhappy there is no point in it.” Jongseong sighed then, reaching for your hand and giving a slight squeeze. “I personally think that giving up before even trying won’t do it. Nothing is permanent, baby. Life is so full of possibilities. You can go to the United States and study law, you can go and change your course, or you can simply go and come back in the middle of the semester. Restart in Seoul or even here, there are universities here too. Jeju is a small island, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“Did you search for Jeju’s universities?” you asked.

“Did you not?” your brother teased. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is what I told you back when I found out you were here — whatever you decide to do, you have our support, mine, mom’s, dad’s, and now Jake’s.”

“What still feels a bit weird to me,” Jongseong concluded. “I feel disturbed whenever I stop to think carefully about it, but at the same time, it kinda makes sense — you and him. You both are made of the same impossible stuff.”

You weren’t sleeping.

Early on Jongseong had called Jake to his room, forbidding him from spending the night in your room as you both were already used to.

But it was your last night at Seogwipo and your body knew it was a loss to simply let the remaining hours slip into slumber, so when you heard the faint sound of your brother’s snore, you stood up, padding barefoot to Jake’s room.

His door was ajar, as it often was, a bare sliver that only gave you the idea of Jake sitting at the end of his bed. You didn’t need to say anything, gesture anything. With a single glance at your brother, Jake stood up, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

You were already on him, pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, arms curling around his shoulders as you brought him to you.

“I know Jay told you to stay there, but I don’t want to spend my last night away from you,” you whispered.

“I guess it makes things a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” he asked, but you didn’t reply, giving him a slight push as you let him go, cheeks burning and body suddenly too warm.

It was more playful than you remember it ever being. You moved at the same time, a push and pull of two bodies meeting in the middle. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, open-mouth kisses that got you dragging on each other cheeks for breath, and giggles dangerously loud as you made your way to your room. The moment the door was closed, Jake was already reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, hurling it over his head, and taking the single step you had given to reach the bed. A final tug and both of you fell, Jake above you, his hands pawing impatiently over your body, finding the hem of your pajama top and curling on it to slip it off you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, baby,” he whispered. “Will you?”

His hands sprayed over your sides, fingertips moving up through gaps in your ribs before he smoothed across your bare skin. He grazed a thumb over your nipple, leaving it all hard for his mouth to take, his tongue swirling and sucking on it, quickly stealing a moan from you.

You placed the back of your hand against your lips, but not before you had received a warning from him, his teeth pinching you as his fingers hanked deeper into your skin.

“Baby,” Jake warned, but his voice was chaotic, almost as if he was actually hiding his own moan, and you doubted he really cared. He was already slipping further into you, kissing the same path down to your lower abdomen, and curling his fingers on the waist of your pajama shorts, pulling the material down your leg and throwing it away. But as he took your panties off, he put it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Are you keeping this?” you asked. Jake hummed, already leaning back on you. “I want something too.”

“Anything you want.”

His fingers curled into the back of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and when he kissed the inner of your thigh, you had to stop, recollecting your thoughts. “A t-shirt?”

“I will let you take all you want in the morning.”

“What about your leather jacket?”

Jake smiled, giving you another kiss. “Fine.”

“You?”

“Do you want to put me in your luggage?” he stopped, looking up at you. And although it had been him that brought this possibility you couldn’t find yourself agreeing — not even as a joke. Jake belonged to Seogwipo, to the greenish hills and the breeze that always smelled like the sea. He belonged to his grandfather’s pottery shop with its earth scent. He lived it, and you could never ask him to let go of something so vital to him.

“No. I want you now — on me.”

“This one is easier,” he agreed.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before Jake was bringing his mouth down on you, a wet press over your folds, his tongue prodding gently until he found your clit between them and making you reach for his hair, your fingers tangling on it, pulling it on its roots, and making him rub his hardened length against the sheets.

“Jake,” you called, voice shaking, and you didn’t need to finish your thoughts. He already knew — moving away only to hover over you, one forearm on the pillow by your head, holding himself over you as the other worked to push his sweatpants away.

“I needed to prepare you,” he justified.

“I am.”

Jake laughed at that, but he didn’t reply — didn’t retort. If anything he took himself in his hand, giving a few hard plumps before he pushed into you.

It took every ounce of you to not moan too loud, hands clinging on his back, parted lips against the skin of his neck, tongue wringing the sound into a sup, but it only proved useless as he was the one groaning then, the whole feeling of you being too much for him.

Jake gave you both a moment, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your hips, trailing down to the back of your knee, hooking his fingers underneath as he hitched your leg to his hips.

And when he finally moved it was slow — not with the learning of the first time, your bodies trying to understand the new shape of each other, but it was slow with nothing but the simple unhurriedness, none of you wanting to be nowhere else but there — the night where you were still together and the parting was just a possibility.

Jake pulled all the way to his tip before he pressed in again, and when you arched to him, he took the opportunity to slide a hand over the small of your back, holding you so close to him that you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began. And you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to cry, not again — not this time. But when Jake leaned on you, pressing an I love you into your lips, you did.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, reaching for the stream of tears as he always did in the aftermath.

“I am sorry,” you hushed. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want you to leave too.”

“I can come back, right?”

“Whenever you feel like.”

“Next summer — no matter what happens, I will be here next summer.”

“Next summer,” he conquered.

On the morning of your departure, you stood on the curb, your brother and Jake briefly bickering about the arrival of the taxi.

“I could have driven you both,” Jake said as he closed the trunk.

“I know,” Jongseong agreed. It had been your idea, actually — the taxi. You couldn’t bear the idea of making Jake drive all the way back to Seogwipo alone, dragging this longer than you knew both of you could handle.

You watched as they gave that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders before Jake turned to you. The same washed jeans he had been using the whole summer, a white t-shirt, and the morning sun softly bathing over him. Only that now he got a vivid hickey on his neck, pretty much for your brother's dismay, but although Jongseong seemed close to giving Jake another punch this morning, the bruise on the corner of his lips remained the only one.

You held your hand out at him, and he took it as if he was already waiting — wanting it, giving it a brief kiss before he brought it to the back of his neck and pulled you forward to him, the line of your bodies pressed together, your noses bumping.

“I guess that’s it then,” he whispered. And you sobbed at it. It sounded too much like the end, like a closure.

“Jake?”

“Yes, my baby?”

“Thank you for everything, I-” you started, but the words stammered and stumbled, too small for all the things you were feeling inside of you. You had been trying the whole day to not cry, but the moment he curled his arms around you, he once again broke the thin thread keeping you from falling apart, and tears flowed through your eyes, straining your cheeks.

“Ah, baby,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, and all of sudden you could smell him, although he wasn’t smelling like clay, and it made your heart ache, that sickening sadness that felt bigger than you.

God — how are you supposed to step away when it feels more like home than anything in this world?

Your tears seemed endless, and it took you a while to notice it hadn’t been only your tears rushing through your face, but his.

“I am already missing you,” you confessed

“I am already missing you too.”

“Don’t you dare accept another hopeless girl with a stray cat,” you said.

“This is something only you could do,” he laughed. “Believe in me, but even if it happens, you are my only one — you and Jeonchae are my only ones.”

Although there was a hint of entertainment in his voice, your answer was solemn, “You too,” you said. “You are my only one.”

“Your first and only,” he said, and you smiled at him. You didn’t need to confirm, both of you knew. “Next summer, right?”

“Yes. Next summer.”

From Autumn to the end of the Spring of the next year, you lived in an apartment close to your university’s campus. It was an odd thing that surely wasn’t worth the price. Although the windows caught the streams of the sun from morning to afternoon, the place never seemed to get light enough and never felt exactly warm. The air inside was always soaked with the smell of the never-changing humid weather and the chocolate cookies your door neighbor baked for extra cash.

Your father said you could find a better place and move, he could afford it — he surely could afford it. But the thing was: you knew that it wouldn’t matter. One call to Jake and you knew — this odd apartment or luxurious one, no place would ever make you feel at home like his house did.

“Soon,” Jake whispered every time. “Soon you will be back home.”

And you did. Three hundred forty-nine days later — according to Jake’s count, but you did, and Seogwipo was the same as you remembered.

Exactly one hour and seven minutes away from Jeju City, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — the same pretty road running along the South Sea and that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the stones.

Mrs. Choi gasped as she caught sight of you, immediately standing up from the stool placed at her bakery’s door. She rushed at you, meeting you in the middle as her arms curled around you. It was weird that you have gotten closer to her after your departure, almost every other day receiving her audio messages through Jake’s phone as she stopped at his house, leaving just baked bread together with some side dishes and telling you “she was taking care of your boy”. She also occasionally told you about Euntaek, finally getting his life straight and entering a university on the mainland — Busan, which was not his dream goal, but he was at least better than when you came to know him.

“Jake said you were only coming by next week!” she exclaimed then.

“I decided to surprise him.”

“You are going to give him a heart attack, he was counting the days, and telling everyone you were coming back for the summer,” she said, affectionately hitting your shoulders. “But hurry up then, I don’t want to keep you both away. Do you need help with the luggage?”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Just as the rest of the island, Jake’s shop remained unchanged. As you looked through the beveled glass you caught sight of the pottery pieces, the same earthy tones you had engraved on your mind, the same table and pottery wheels. There was only one thing different, the canvas you had painted after changing your major from law school to art school and mailed him had been displayed too, leaning on the shelves with a tiny sign informing it wasn’t for sale.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy, and pond-mud smell, taking over your senses as Jake turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

It had been ages since you had been there, standing in this pocket of the universe — looking at this exact man without knowing he would become your life mark, forever branching out the before and the after.

No, it had been no time at all.

“Baby,” he gasped, barely giving himself a moment before he rushed to you, his arms involving your waist in a familiarity that made you ache. Jake swirled you, just once — pulling you out of the ground as his nose buried at the side of your neck, trying to inhale every little detail he could before he put you back on your feet and drew himself away, just enough to encounter your gaze.

“Surprise,” you whispered.

Jake shook his head, his smile now taking his whole face. And you couldn’t help but reach for him, a single finger tracing his cupid’s bow, the soft lines of his lips, before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, summer and sunshine always stuck on him.

“Welcome home, baby,” Jake whispered, and the word rattled through your chest, filling you together with the scent of soap and oranges, clay and glaze. Everything about Jake — just Jake.

Yes, you surely were back home.

Pls I love puppies and and babies sm 🤭

[JAY] I want to raise a puppy...

overpass graffiti | sim jaeyun

ꕤ DESCRIPTION: “they say we fall in love three times in our lifetime: our first love is the one that breaks us, leaves us hopeless and lost, this then brings us to our second love, the one which picks up the broken pieces of our heart and mends it back together; heals us from the heartache the first left and lastly, our third and final love⏤the love that’s supposed to last. for you, your best friend sim jaeyun happens to be two out of three.”

ꕤPAIRING: best friend!jake x f!reade & second lead!jungwon

ꕤGENRE(S): slice of life!au, soulmate(?)!au

ꕤWORD COUNT: 23.9k

ꕤWARNING(S): loss of virginity, soft dom!jake, sub!reader, oral (f!receiving), p in v intercourse, no protection, drugging (not the reader), underaged drinking, swearing, dry humping, mentions of plan b, mentions of hospitals, possessive!jungwon, mentions of sobriety, heartbreak, allusions to depression, mentions of drinking and smoking, mentions of passing out.

ꕤA/N: i think i have a thing for sim jaeyun and angst.

“Jaeyunie, meet ____. You and her are gonna be best friends.” 

Jake’s mother smiles, a hand lightly on his back, and pushes him forward with a gentle pat.

The moment she steps away from his side however, he panics, looking back at her desperately. He’s met with a smile of encouragement - caring but unsympathetic. Jake swallows harshly, shyness heavy in his throat, and uses all the willpower in his 9 year old body to force himself to look at the small female.

Standing across from him, a girl of roughly the same stature is grinning toothily - or at least she could've been, if she’d had enough teeth. ____, was dressed neatly, her hair laid down with lots of gel and two ponytails with bows holding it all together. Her light purple dress swayed as the gentle breeze blew. In one chubby fist she clutched tightly onto her fathers hand. Jake blushed, if he didn’t firmly believe that girls had cooties he would have sworn her to be the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on so instead he scrunches his nose and says the first thing that comes to his mind and knows will hurt her feelings.

“You’re dirty,” he proclaimes, crossing his arms. “Very dirty.”

At his words, ____’s smile quickly falters and an almost angry look overtakes her face. “Am not!” Sensing his daughter's growing fury, her father steps in.

“____ah, calm down. I’m sure Jaeyun didn’t mean it, why don’t you two spend some time together? Hm? I’m sure you’ll be best friends.”

Not giving his daughter any time to argue, he excuses himself and leaves to go join the other adults by the varanda.

____ crosses her arms and stares up at Jake intimidatingly, “apologize.”

Jake gulps, although he’s a whole head taller than the girl and probably even older, he can’t help but be slightly scared of the icy glare she’s sending his way so he meekly mumbles, “I’m sorry”

However, it doesn’t seem as if ____ is pleased with the half assed apology. She raises an eyebrow and impatiently taps her foot on the grass, “for what?”

He gulps, “for calling you dirty, I didn’t mean it.”

Satisfied with the apology, a wide smile breaks out on ____’s face before she doubles over from laughing so hard. “Y-you should have seen your face!” She abruptly stands and quivers her bottom lip as she stares at Jake, “I-I’m s-s-sorry.” She breaks out into laughter once again, unable to hide her amusement. Jake only frowns and crosses his arms.

“It’s not funny.”

Ignoring his embarrassment, ____ walks right up to him and slings an arm around his neck,  “Let’s be best friends forever, yah, Jaeyunie?”

Usually Jake would have scolded anyone who called him Jaeyunie, his mother and hyung being the only exceptions, but for some reason hearing the name slip out so easily from your mouth seemed comforting. “Okay,” he agreed, slightly hesitant. “You seem kinda stupid, so I can still be number one with you as my best friend.”

You only smiled in response, delighted, before spinning on your heel and running back to your mother and father, who were talking animatedly with his own parents.

What a strange girl, Jake thought. At least she wouldn't be competition.

___

Later that night, both of Jake’s parents and your mother and father were sitting at the table discussing grown-up things while you were in the bathroom and Jake was sitting beside his brother when his name filtered through to his ears. He had been in the process of stabbing the greens off his plate and slowly feeding them to his precious dog Layla when his parents weren’t looking, but at the mention of his name he perks up instantly. 

“...Jake has already been offered scholarships to private middle schools once he finishes elementary but he’ll be attending the private international school his elder brother goes to,” she was bragging again.

Your mother perks up as well, “Wow, that’s so incredible, Suyeon. I think being friends with Jaeyun will really help ____ find some initiative. She’s already so used to being good at things, a little healthy competition is just what she needs.”

Jake’s father nods, gesturing for the maid in the corner to bring over the bottle of wine. “It’s certainly going to help with that. While we’re on this topic, I’d like to invite you to join our study group. We have the best tutors come in and teach the kids after school but only the best of the best are allowed to join, ____ shows a lot of promise.”

Jake listens nervously, watching his father as the maid filled his glass and stepped back.

you’re….smart?

His mother notices him staring, and reaches over to tousle his hair affectionately. “Don’t worry, Jaeyunie,” she croons. “You’ll still be number one. Being friends with kids that are as smart as you is a good thing! You and ____ will have lots more to talk about than you would with anyone else.”

He frowns. He knew sometimes parents lied to kids to stop them from being sad, but his mother would never lie to him. Jake was too clever, he’d figure out the lie before she finished telling it.

“Alright.” He found himself cautious for the second time that day. “As long as I can still be number one.”

Jake in fact did not stay number one for long.

Once you had fully settled into your new life in Australia your grades skyrocketed causing your teachers to bump you up a grade, placing you into Jake’s class, the two of you always went head to head vying for the first rank and each time Jake always fell a point behind.

It aggravated him to no end that you came out of nowhere and completely upended his whole life and identity, Jake had always been the smart one and never had any solid competition so having you seemingly pop out of nowhere and take away the very thing that made him, well him agitated him beyond belief.

But of course this made for a great friendship, while Jake claimed he hated your very existence he soon found himself looking forward to your after school study sessions. You never took them seriously, you always goofed off and made it your life's mission to teach Jake the meaning of fun. It took a while for the boy to warm up to you but you managed to get on his good side with a little bribing of fried chicken and grape soda.

The two of you would wait until your break to sneak out to the fried chicken place down the street to pick up the order you had placed during your tutoring session before heading back to hide in one of the various rooms inside Jake’s spacious home. The two of you would use this time to talk about the annoyances in your life, you would mostly complain about the girls who kept coming up to you to confess their love for Jake and how you were growing quite annoyed with having to turn them down on his behalf. He would only grimace and quickly change the topic to how annoyed he was with you for yet again topping the class rank.

Slowly but surely though, as the two of you began to age, the conversations began to change as he warmed up to you, what used to be pointless bickering and complaining turned into meaningful deep conversations about his fear of attachment, rooted in his father constantly leaving him and his family to go back to Korea for his job overseas. You had slowly become the only constant in Sim Jaeyun’s life and he truly had no intentions of letting you go. You really had become his best friend just like his mother predicted all those years ago.

While it might have taken Jake some time to love you, you loved him from the start. While everyone saw him as the perfect all rounder student you knew he was more than that. You knew he wasn’t perfect, wasn’t some ace who was just naturally talented. No, he worked just as hard- if not harder than his peers to keep up the image he was born to fit. He pulled all-nighters to bring home grades suitable for the assemblyman's son, immersed himself in after school clubs to fill up his resume because God forbid he wasn’t preparing for college at the ripe age of 9, learned multiple languages to become an ambassador for the school and threw himself into learning different instruments and playing different sports to really bring home the title of being an all-rounder.

In everything he pursued, he aced and came out on top. Which is why it irked him to his very core when you came around and knocked him down a peg. You knew right away just how much it bothered him, of course he complained about it every day during your group tutoring sessions but you didn’t really care. If anything it was motivation for you to work even harder to maintain the top spot.

You weren’t doing it out of spite or to intentionally anger him, no you were doing it to show him it’s okay to not always be perfect. It’s okay to rank second, it’s okay to goof off during tutoring sessions when studying is all you ever do, it’s okay to eat junk food when you feel like it and most importantly it’s okay to talk through your emotions with someone. You like to think you ranked first for his own good, to help him realize life is more than just school.

When the two of you reached high school you eased up with working so hard for the top rank but Jake didn’t, he studied all of your summer break before freshman year and placed into a year above you. It annoyed you that you were no longer graduating together but Jake became more lax and carefree knowing he would be graduating a year early, it was refreshing to see a new side of your best friend. Somewhere along the grades of 11 and 12 though, something shifted.

Jake was never unattractive but you never really took note of just how attractive he could be until your junior year.

___

“He’s gonna say no, Sarah.”

“We’re just looking out for you. He’s always hanging out with ____. They’re probably secretly dating, why don’t you just ask someone else?”

“I don’t know why you’re so set on him. I heard he’s already turned down six girls this month. six.”

Jake was just trying to get his calc homework done, bent over in the back of the library with his textbook open in front of him, eyes glued to the page. He spares you a frantic look, desperate to get your attention and convey that it was time to leave before it happened again. 

You, of course, were not paying attention. You were splayed out haphazardly on the chair across from him, headphones in and scribbling in your notebook. You had a smudge of graphite on your nose from scratching it in the middle of your doodling session.

You hum peacefully, completely unaware of your friend's turmoil.

It was everywhere. Prom. It was one stupid night, and he was fully planning on spending it wrapped up in blankets in his living room with you watching romcoms. It was the senior prom and he refused to attend a social event he knew you wouldn’t be at.

Unfortunately, Jake was alone in that feeling, the girls whispering from the table behind the two of you were right. He’d been asked six times. Six excruciating experiences of being cornered by a near stranger who smiled too sweetly and asked him to be their date, six separate occasions on which he’d stuttered a “sorry” and bowed deeply, ducking out before they could say any more.

And by this point, he just really, really didn’t want to have to turn down another girl. He felt like absolute crap.

Jake reaches out, tugging at your school uniform. “____” he whisper-yells.

You shrug him off and pout, “you’ll mess me up. Stop.”

He persists however, this time more aggressive and even goes the extra mile and pulls out one of your airpods. “I’ll buy you dinner please can we just go?”

You finally look up from your work slightly agitated and a full on pout graces your lips, if it were any other time Jake would take a moment to admire how adorable you look but it wasn’t.

“Why do you wanna leave so badly?” you huff out.

Before Jake can answer though he’s cut off by Sarah, one of the girls who has made her way over to your table.

“Jake?”

At the mention of his name his eyes squeeze shut and it hits you like a truck on why he was so adamant to leave. This time it’s the girl from his IB Latin class who he tutored on occasion.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, you wonder what Jake’s response is going to be this time. She’s very pretty.

“Yes?” He croaks out. Behind him, you sit up in your seat, ready to step in if needed.

She looks down, hands twisting together and fidgets and steps side to side, but when she sucks in a sharp inhale and looks up her eyes are filled with determination. Jake feels queasy, almost as if he’s about to vomit.

“Do you maybe want to go to prom with me?”

Jake swallows the lump in his throat, guilt twisting everything into a knot. You see his knuckles turn white as he makes a fist and you resume your drawing, knowing what his answer will be.

“I’m sorry,” he manages. “But I don’t plan on going.”

Your brow shoots up in shock, you never figured he was rejecting all these girls because he simply didn’t want to go, you thought he was just waiting for the right moment to ask the girl he truly wanted to go with. You never asked why he was so closed off about prom, you figured he would tell you in his own time when he was ready.

“Can I ask why?” She lets her hands fall to her side. “Even if you don’t wanna go with me, I think you’d have a lot of fun.” She retreats back to her friends before he can respond. Jake tries not to notice the way they shake their heads sympathetically and pat her back in comfort.

“She’s right you know, prom would be fun.” you say as you shut your sketchbook. “Plus, she seems really sweet.”

Jake rolls his eyes “you sound like my mom.”

“Ha ha,” you drawl, stretching and arching off the chair like a cat. “I really don’t understand why you don’t want to go. It’s your last chance to enjoy a high school dance.”

The previous year, while you were in your sophomore year and Jake in his junior year he skipped out on prom, choosing to attend his model UN conference instead as his dad had put an emphasis on how much more important the meeting was compared to prom.

Jake shrugs and reaches for your backpack to pull out some snacks you packed for him, “it makes it real.”

“Makes what real?” you tilt your head to the side and patiently wait for him to collect his thoughts to elaborate on what was bugging him.

Jake sighs. “That this is the end.” he mummers, “after prom it’s graduation, and after grad I’m off to the states for uni…away from you.”

Your heart skips a beat and your hands start to get clammy at his words. You try to subtly rub your hands on your skirt and sit up straighter, confused as to why his words have such a strong effect on you.

“We’ve never spent more than a week apart from each other and now we’re going to be thousands of miles apart for a year. I can’t go to prom knowing you won’t be there and that it brings me one step closer to leaving.” he continues, he doesn’t look at you as he lays his emotions bare for you, rather he focuses on organizing his snack options.

Your heart twinges at the reminder that he was leaving for Yale in the fall, this would be the last summer spent together for who knows how long. As much as the reminder upsets you, you still plaster a smile on your face and playfully roll your eyes.

“Did you forget our promise? You and me, forever and always. We have all of summer to make as many memories as we went and even after you leave we can facetime, technology has come a long way y’know.” You reach out to take the bag of chips he had settled on eating to open for him before handing it back. “Distance means nothing. I’ll always have time for my best friend, plus when I go to Harvard I’ll only be two hours away. Enjoy the time you have left in Australia. You'll probably miss it more than me when you actually leave.”

Jake shakes his head, “doubt it but you do make a valid point.”

You smirk and shrug, “when do I not?” You clear your throat. “Does this mean you’ll go to prom?”

He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and tilts his head side to side before asking, “go to prom with me?”

This time you can’t hide your shock, it’s not odd for you and Jake to be pairs for most social events but for some reason him asking you to be his date for his first and only prom causes heat to rise to your cheeks.

“W-what?”

“What? I can’t see myself going with anyone else, I’m most comfortable around you. Plus when I think back to my senior prom I want to remember how much fun I had and when I’m with you all the stress I’m under suddenly doesn’t matter anymore.” He states.

“Stop being corny,” you hiss weakly, fumbling with the straps on your bag. “It’s not a good look.”

Jake giggles, “what? Do you want me to get down on my knees instead? Do a promposal?”

Your eyes widen, mortified at the idea of him putting together a grandiose promposal. “You’re such a little shit, I swear—“

“Hold on, siri play stand by me by be—“

You pick up your sketchbook and hurl it at his head causing him to duck out of the way and fall out of his chair onto the floor with the force of his laughter. Hearing his laugh causes a pinch in your heart.

When he finally manages to pull himself together and off the ground, he wipes at his eyes and sighs. “Seriously, though.” He hums. “Will you go to prom with me?”

You swallow thickly, averting your eyes to the floor. “Sure.” you say quietly. “I guess so.”

You're uncharacteristically nervous for prom. Your mom insisted on taking the day off from work to help you get ready when you told her Jake had asked you to go with him.

You thought she was being dramatic but she swore up and down, left and right- that this was the beginning to your ‘blooming love story’.

She brought you to a salon to have your hair and makeup done and even splurged on a $900 dress. You’re beyond grateful to have a mother as understanding and loving as she is. Your father is away on business and unable to make it to take pictures so your mom has been documenting the whole day to share with him, the two of you are currently in your bedroom as she paints your toes.

“Mom?”

She hums in reply and puts down a new coat of nail polish on your big toe. “How’d you know dad was the one?”

Your heart is quiet in your chest, a calm thumping rather than the stutter it had been at all week as you wait for her response. She softly smiles before responding.

“He showed up to my dorm room with pedialyte and carpet cleaner.” She caps the nail polish and cleans around the edges of your toes. “We had been dating for some time and I was supposed to attend a business summit with him but I had a stomach bug and threw up all over my dorm. Your dad didn’t hesitate to drop his plans for the day and showed up to take care of me. He was the first person to ever put me before anything else and I just knew I loved him when he showed up with no clue on what to do but willing. He didn’t care about what his dad had to say about skipping the event or anything else, just me.”

You hum and fiddle with your hands as you think back to moments you’ve shared with Jake. The first one your brain recalls is the first time you got your period. Unfortunately it happened during your school's nature classroom trip. You were up in the woods for the week learning about nature and science through different activities and during your first night there you got your period. You walked around the whole day with blood stains on your shorts and cramps you couldn’t account for. You were beyond embarrassed come dinner time. You had no girl friends in the grade to ask for help and the boys made it a show of embarrassing you at dinner by pouring ketchup all over your seat. Jake was having none of it though, he came up to you at your table and wrapped his hoodie around your waist before grabbing your arm and leading you out of the canteen to the nurse on site.

He stayed by your side that night watching stand by me on your phone outside the cabins getting bit by mosquitoes. He didn’t complain or make any jokes of his own, rather stayed silent and let you have the quiet time you needed. When the two of you finally retreated back to your separate rooms you found a little gift basket on your bed filled with different types of pads, tampons, a heating pack and some chocolates. Apparently while you were walking around with stained shorts Jake was going around collecting different menstrual items from the girls in your grade to give to you, his way of helping.

It did make your heart flutter at the time but you chalked it up to your period hormones and never spoke on how it made you feel to anyone…Was that when you started to fall in love with your best friend?

Your doorbell goes off and you feel anxiety seep into your bones. Your mom senses this and holds your hand to give it a firm squeeze. “don’t stress about something you’re not sure about, okay? I want you to have fun tonight - both of you.”

You nod at her, loving how she knows exactly what was plaguing your mind, you let her lead you out your room and out to the living room. She lets go of your hand and walks over to the door, opening it wide.

“Wow.” You and Jake exclaim simultaneously as soon as you see each other. The butterflies in your stomach erupt once again at the sight of him; dressed in an sleek black suit with the first three buttons of his black undershirt undone, his hair has been bleached blonde and styled down with a part in the middle.

“You look…amazing.” Jake breathlessly lets out, staring at you in complete awe.

You blush and flatten out invisible wrinkles in your dress. “Thank you so do you, I love your hair.”

He smiles and shakes his fringe out of his eyes, “thanks. Figured why not try something new. Ready to go?”

“Woah woah woah, hold on, you two aren’t going anywhere without taking pictures!” His mom appears from behind him, “Let me go get my phone real quick!”

Your mom claps her hands as scurries off to retrieve her phone, “Oh, yes! I have to take pictures for your dad.”

Jake walks up next to you and you’re sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest. “You look really great, ____.”

“You’re not so bad yourself. Blonde was a great idea.” You bring your hand up to fix his parting a bit more. “It’s a nice contrast with the all black suit.”

“Yeah.” He swallows, looking down at his shoes.

“Okay! I have my phone!” Your mom says as she returns, instructing both of you to move out to her garden in the backyard and stand by the peonies for the photo.

“This might take a while.” You whisper to him and he chuckles, gently placing a hand on your lower exposed back.

“Won’t you get cold later?”

You shrug, “probably. Good thing your mother raised you to be a gentleman.” It takes him a second to register your words, scoffing in disbelief once he realizes what you were hinting towards but he doesn’t argue knowing he really will give you his jacket the second he sees you shiver.

“Smile!”

___

After a long process of taking pictures the two of you finally head out with Jake driving you guys to prom. Upon arriving you’re amazed at how extravagant the venue looks. Just another perk of attending a private school you think to yourself.

After finding parking the two of you head inside to find your table, you’re sharing it with your two friends Kairo and Mei and a random couple who snagged their tickets at the last minute (Jun and Luna).

“Jake! ____!” Kairo and Mei are in the entryway to the ballroom, waiting for the two of you where they texted they would be standing.

Mei walks forward, a greeting never making it past her lips, as she reaches out to brush Jake’s fringe out of his eyes. “Sorry, it was bothering me.” She mumbles as she steps back.

You know her intentions are innocent but with the way Jake’s cheeks flush red and he can barely meet her gaze you feel a twinge of jealousy and sadness. Since when was he flustered by Mei? The four of you met during SAT Prep and formed your own study group to help each other out during midterms and finals your freshman year (Jake’s sophomore) the dynamic between you all was pretty formal. The four of you didn’t make plans to go to the movies or the mall like other kids your age, it was strictly studying and neither of you minded it. Kairo and Mei fulfilled you and Jake in an academic sense while you and Jake met all your social and more emotional needs together.

So why the hell was he all blushy at Mei fixing his hair? Why didn’t he react the same when you fixed his parting?

“Should we go in?” Kairo asks.

“That sounds great,” you grit out, your grip tightening on your clutch.

Mei slides up next to Kairo and slips her arm back through his. The four of you walk in and find your table. Kairo pulls out Mei’s seat and Jake follows, doing the same for you.

“So Jake, are you excited for commencement?” Mei asks once you’ve all taken your seats.

Jake clears his throat, “more nervous than excited. Can’t believe it’s all finally over.”

The three of them go back and forth in idle talk before Jake slowly eases his way out of the conversation, mindlessly nodding at what your friends are saying and leaving you to your thoughts.

He’s uncharacteristically silent though as he bobs his head to the music. Seeing as you know him better than yourself, you know he’s nervous - but why?

Was he thinking of Mei? The thought makes you feel sick; you have no reason to be jealous because you’re just his best friend and your feelings are a jumbled mess you can’t navigate through- you don’t even know what you want from him. He can’t fix what he doesn’t know is broken.

Your mind is absolutely blank as you stare down at your hands on your lap. You only snap out of it when a large hand engulfs yours, but you don’t dare to look at him. You can’t.

“Are you okay?”

There they are again; the stupid butterflies winding up in the confines of your stomach. “Yeah,” You remove his hands from yours, “I’m fine.”

Jake reluctantly lets you pull his hand away, knowing something’s wrong but he doesn’t want to push. You compose yourself and remind yourself about your words to Jake; this is his last school dance. It needs to be memorable.

So you’ll make it memorable.

As the night goes on with the food served and multiple performances happening, you’re able to loosen up and forget your worries.

“Do you want to join the dance floor?” Kairo asks as he eyes the growing dance floor.

“No.” You frantically respond, earning a look of judgment from Mei.

“Yes!” She exclaims, grabbing both you and Kairo before dragging you out of your seats with a gleeful giggle.

You try to grab on to Jake for help, but your hand merely grazes his as you’re pushed to the dance floor. On the dance floor, other people have jumped into the idea of dancing and in no time, it’s filled with dancing students.

A little while later, Jake joins the three of you and your little dance circle moves around each other for a few songs; you’re all laughing and you’re genuinely starting to enjoy yourself. Eventually, Kairo and Mei leave to go take a breather leaving you alone with Jake.

“Are you feeling any better?” He leans down to your ear and tries to speak over the loud music.

You nod, “Ye-”

You’re cut off by the loud upbeat music dying out and picking back up but this time a soft violin intro fills the room, you recognize the song instantly. The live orchestra begins playing the chorus of nobody gets me by Sza, you watch as everyone around you pairs up and when you turn around, Jake is already looking at you with a small smile tugging on his lips.

His ears are tinged pink as he offers you a shrug, “Do you wanna dance?” He holds out his hand to you.

You take it with baited breath and immediately at the touch, the butterflies are at it again. You step closer to him and place your other hand on his shoulder while his other goes to your back, where your skin is exposed.

He’s gone back to being unusually quiet again; he’s just leading you to the slow beat of the song and looking away, only meeting your eyes when he catches your lingering gaze.

“____, you’ve been out of it all night. Are you really okay?” He quietly asks, his brows furrowing.

“I…” For a moment, you consider confessing what’s weighing on your heart but you panic. How would he react if he knew?

“____?”

“I think I’m in love with you.” You blurt out, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as soon as the words come out. You feel a little lighter knowing you’ve said your peace but your heart races in panic as you wait for his response.

“Oh,”  Jake whispers. It could have been your imagination but you swear his eyes look just as dizzy and unfocused as your own. His lips part maybe to say something more, but close as quickly as they opened and his gaze flickers down to your lips.

“I-” You choke on your words, shame and regret instantly flooding your body. You want to curl up and hide in a hole but you can’t. Jake is holding on to you too tightly and you’ve already let the cat out of the bag. Might as well get it all off your chest. “I-I don’t know when it happened but I know my feelings aren’t platonic anymore. You’re all I can ever seem to think about, when you touch me it feels like butterflies are swimming in my stomach and the thought of you even being interested in someone else makes me sick to my stomach.”

You take a deep breath, “I think I’m in love with you Jake. I love the little things that make you Jake, your obsession with math and physics, your ability to make anyone you speak to feel truly seen, how you rely on God to get you through hardships you face.” You continue to drone on and on about the quirks you love about your best friend, not noticing the way his lips tip upward in a wide grin.

“I love you.” You confess.

“____?” He asks, voice even.

“Yeah?”

“Stay still.”

Jake steps forward and wraps his hand delicately around the back of your neck, he doesn’t miss the way your hooded eyes follow his movement. He stands up straighter, he’s so close that your noses brush against each other ever so slightly. 

The flush on Jake’s cheekbones is clear as day, a lovely rose pink.

He takes one final deep breath and leans in to plant a kiss on your awaiting lips. The moment your lips touch, you feel a spark of electricity jolt through your body but as quick as it comes, however, and before you can react, he’s already swiftly pulling away.

When the two of you pull back, your eyes are wide open, gaze fixed on Jake’s face, his lips left slightly parted. His entire body is vibrating with warmth and anxiety, hardly able to keep still.

Jake stares at you, still feeling the desire pooling in his stomach, and wonders if he had made a mistake.

“____,” Jake calls, quietly. “____.”

He begins to hold his breath. Did he overstep?

“Did you…” You begin, eyes wide, flickering rapidly across his face. “Did you…just…”

“Yeah,” Jake replies, his voice cracking a tad. “Yeah, I did.”

There’s a silence between the two of your for a long second before you collect your bearings and clear your throat and say,

“Do it again.”

Jake feels numb, unable to be shaken or moved by the world around him, so he steps back in and tilts his head to the side, kissing you once again like you asked. 

You can barely hear the crowd around you over the sound of your own heartbeat.  Jake kisses you softly, almost shyly. A gentle hand slides down to your hip, anchoring you in place, a solid touch while the rest of the world slowly fades away. 

You can’t think about anything other than the feeling of Jake’s lips finally on your own. You continue to kiss Jake until you feel his hand leave your hip and he gently pulls his lips away.

You keep your eyes shut for a second longer, body thrumming with warmth and energy, you feel Jake’s forehead knock against yours after a beat. When you finally open your eyes, like always, Jake was staring right back at you.

“I love you too.”

Following prom you feel as though you’re on cloud nine. After your shared confessions and heated kisses Jake took you outside of the venue to discuss where things would go from here. He only had three more months left in Australia before he had to leave for Yale but he knew he would be a fool if he let you go.

The two of you came to the conclusion that you would take things slow and enjoy the little time you had together working towards being a couple and pick things back up once you graduated and made your way to the states to join Jake.

Things truly felt perfect, Jake would come by your home every now and then to take you on impromptu dates with a new bouquet everytime and an explanation on why he chose those specific flowers. On days where he was too busy getting ready for his upcoming semester to take you out, you would pack him little lunches and drive the two of you down to the park you would often visit in your childhood and have little picnics while listening to him go on about how excited he was for the physics program at Yale.

The people who had been in your lives and watched you grow up together were thrilled at the direction in which your relationship was going. Both your parents were delighted when Jake broke the news that you were officially seeing each other on a romantic level working towards eventually dating. You would often have Sunday brunch together after going to church with his family and yours before sneaking off to his room to cuddle on his bed for an afternoon nap.

Had you known this is what would come with confessing, you would have told Jake way sooner but sadly, time had passed and the date of Jake’s departure from Australia was fastly approaching. He has a week left and he’s determined to make it the best one yet.

“Let's road trip to Sydney.”

You stop fiddling with Jake's fingers and turn your head to look up at him from your position on his chest. “What?”

He smiles down at you before placing a quick kiss to your forehead. “You heard me, let’s take a road trip to Sydney.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Yeah I heard you dummy but why?”

He shrugs and entwines your hands once more. “Why not? It’s my last week and we talked about road tripping down there for spring break but someone,” he pauses to poke at your side with his free hand drawing out some giggles form you his heart warming at the sound, “-just had to get sick the night before we were supposed to leave.”

You let out a groan, “you’re never going to let that go are you?” Jake hums, “absolutely not.”

You huff in thought, “it’s a nine hour drive Jake…”

He sits up forcing you to do the same as well, turning to face him. “We can take turns. Plus my flights’ leaving from Sydney, we could go to the airport together and have a proper goodbye without my parents bugging us.”

You bite down on your lip seriously considering Jake’s impromptu idea. Within the past three months you’ve had to share Jake with so many people- his soccer team, his orchestra friends, his family. Everyone. Alone time was scarce and the thought of a getaway to Sydney where it would be just the two of you and no distractions sounded lovely.

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?”

You hum and move to sit on his lap and throw your hands over his shoulders. “Why not?”

A huge smile breaks out on Jake's face causing you to smile as well, something about seeing him happy always managed to bring you happiness. It should be scary, just how willing you are to sacrifice for Jake but for some reason you always throw caution to the wind the second he comes around. You’d give him the world if you could.

You feel Jake wrap his arms around your waist and slowly slide his hands under your shirt to caress your back. “What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?”

You begin playing with the hair on the nape of his neck and whisper out, “thinking bout’ how I'd give you the world.” Jake’s hands pause at the base of your back, clearly caught off guard, you look down at his eyes and see how dark they’ve gotten. Desire and love pooling in the hues of his brown eyes. “You are my world.”

He leans in as he finishes his sentence and places his lips on yours. The feeling of his lips is incredibly warm as he pushes them against yours, slightly chapped but otherwise still soft. The amount of emotion he puts into kissing you isn’t like anything you felt before, there’s more desire in this kiss compared to all the others you’ve shared. The feeling of his tongue sweeping against the plumpness of your lower lip and the heat from his body sends butterflies to your stomach.

His hands fall down to your hips, pushing up your t-shirt to feel the softness of your stomach beneath his palms with battered breaths before pushing you back. He makes quick work of flipping you so your back is now on the mattress and it’s him straddling you. You gasp at the feeling of the soft mattress beneath you, his body pinning you deeper back as he continues exploring your mouth with his own.

You pull back slightly, breathing heavily and your lips red and plump with saliva. Jake smirks at the sight, his thumb coming up to pull down your bottom lip with the tip of his finger before moving his mouth to the sensitive skin of your neck.

The strands of his hair are silky beneath your fingertips, gasping and tugging at the roots as he bites down on a certain area of your neck that makes your core clench.

“Jaeyun,” you whisper, whimpering at the feeling of his palm applying pressure lightly against your navel. “Are we-?”

He slowly pulls away from you and adamantly shakes his head. “No.” you whine in protest as he pulls away and lays beside you once more. He pulls you close to his chest before confessing to you. “I want our first time to be romantic, not some quick fuck in my bedroom.” He kisses your temple. “You deserve more than that.”

The Following Day - 1:36PM

“Ready to head out?” 

You whirl around to find Jake standing in front of you and your parents, having just finished packing your suitcases in the trunk of his car and is now looking over at you with a tilt in his head. 

You nod and smile brightly. “Of course,” You say, turning to your mom and dad to bid them one fast farewell. “I was just saying bye.” 

He nods in understanding, waving to your parents, “I promise we’ll be safe and if anything happens you’ll be the first we call.” He says to reassure your parents, more so your dad who was a bit more hesitant to the last minute idea.

Your dad nods stiffly at Jake, “take good care of her. No drinking or scandalous activities, I’m not ready for any grandchildren.”

You gasp at your dads words and swat at his chest. “Dad! Stop embarrassing me!” He only tisks in your direction.

“You know what's more embarrassing? Having to finish your senior year pregn-”

“-Ahhh. Dad, stop it! I promise we’ll make smart choices!”

He chortles at your flushed expression and leans in for a hug. “I’m only messing with you.” You hug him back before pulling away to give your mother a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.

“See you in a week!”

After pulling away Jake steps forward to hug your parents goodbye as well.

“Be safe Jake, we’ll miss seeing you so often! Make sure to call us if you ever need anything once in the states, okay?” Your mom softly says to him as she holds his face in her hands, tears slowly filling her eyes. Over the years Jake has slowly become like a son to her, she was used to cooking extra knowing he’d come over for dinner after your tutoring sessions. She had even turned one of the spare bedrooms into a personal room for Jake, allowing him to sleepover when his parents were out of town for business.

You can only imagine how much she's going to miss him, maybe as much as you know you’ll be missing him.

He nods and sniffs, is he crying too? “Of course auntie, I’m really going to miss our Friday night movie marathons.”

You smile bitterly beginning to fight back tears of your own. Your father was always away for weekend meetings in Melbourne starting Friday night into Saturday evening and as captain of the varsity volleyball team you had late night practices every Friday meaning you wouldn’t be back home until the dead of night and your mother was left all alone. Jake, having nothing to do once classes were done would often go over to your home to keep her company so she wouldn’t be all alone in your home. It was a little tradition the two kept up over the years.

You hadn't given yourself time to really mourn the idea of being separated from Jake for an entire year but watching him say his tearful goodbyes to your parents is really putting into perspective just how entwined your lives are. He’s your everything and how he’s leaving, how are you going to manage your senior year without your best friend?

 “We should get going.” 

“Mhmm.” You look over at Jake and reach a hand out to wipe away his fallen tears. “It’s okay.” 

The two of you say one last goodbye before getting into Jake’s range rover, you look out the window to see your parents waving you off. You slide back into the passenger seat of his car and put on your seatbelt now processing the fact that this is the last week you have with Jake.

There is a silence as Jake is starting the car, and a part of you wants to die. On one hand you want to cry and beg him to stay but on the other you know if you do, Jake will differ his offer and take a year off to be with you. That’s the last thing you want, he deserves happiness. That’s all you’ve ever wanted for him. If that means braving a smile for now while your heart is in turmoil so be it.

Jake is the first to break the silence.

“That was a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He drives down your driveway before making a right to pull into the neighborhood.

“Goodbyes are never easy.”

“Yeah but…I didn't cry when saying bye to my parents but something about your parents made leaving seem all the more ...real?”

“It’s only natural, you spent more time with us. You’re like their second child.”

Jake hums in thought, “I don’t think I’lll survive having to say goodbye to you.”

You purse your lips thinking about what your goodbye would be like. Would there be tears? Unspoken words? “I think you’ll be just fine.” You reach out for his right hand that lays on the gear shift and hold it tightly. “It’s only temporary.”

The next nine hours are spent singing old 90’s love songs and making pit stops every now and then to stock up on some new snacks and to switch off so Jake isn’t so tired. During your third stop is when Jake pulls out a camera and begins vlogging the remainder of the trip claiming it would be nice to look back at it once the trip is over.

Once you finally make it to your destination, you pull into the driveway and place the car in park before looking around at your surroundings. The home is modern with nothing but natural light, it’s surrounded by trees to still give you enough privacy but it’s secluded from the other homes on the lane.

“Oh my gosh it’s so pretty.”

You open the door and immediately extend your legs out onto the solid ground beneath you. You let out a sigh of satisfaction and Jake laughs from next to you. 

He’s opening his own car door soon after, but he straightens up into a standing position pretty quickly and stretches upwards. He closes the car door behind him, watching as you eventually pull yourself together to do the same. 

You turn to face him. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” You gesture towards the airbnb and earn a nod from Jake, who mentions something about doing the same thing. You meet back at the car a few minutes later. 

Jake gestures to the trees surrounding the home. “Want to take a walk around the area? I think I saw a park when we pulled into the neighborhood.” 

You nod. “That sounds like a good idea.” 

“Why don’t you get started? I’ll catch up.” Jake watches you leave, before opening the trunk of his car and rummaging around. 

He does catch up with you, quickly enough that you hardly notice that he had sent you out first. You hear his footsteps, and the call of your name, causing you to turn around. “Jake!” 

The sight before you makes you smile brightly. Standing before you is Jake, with his polaroid in hand. The lens is pointed right at you. As soon as you’re staring straight into the camera, Jake grins. “Say cheese” 

You giggle and close your eyes before making a little peace sign. You hear the little click and the flash illuminates your face. You open your eyes to find Jake smiling down at the little printed picture waiting for it to develop. “I can’t believe you brought that.”

“I’m a photographer at heart, what did you expect?” Jake teases back. “Besides, it’s really pretty around here. I need some pictures for my dorm.” 

You blush at the thought of him putting up a picture of you on his dorm wall. The pair of you begin to make your way to the park, taking in the view from different angles. The stroll is mostly just to get rid of the pent up energy, but it’s still a nice view to admire. As soon as you arrive at the park you ditch Jake to run to the swing set.

“Push me?”

Jake rolls his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief but still walks behind you to push you forward.

“Did you know my brother and I got in trouble with our mom because of how high we would swing you?” Jake giggles, “she was worried we’d push you too high and you’d go flying.”

“I blame your brother. He turns everything into a competition.”

“So do you!” Jake exclaims. You quickly stop the swing with your feet to turn back at him with a judgmental look on your face. “When we were a little older and Jaehyun left us to push each other you would get annoyed that I didn't push you as hard as you did for me.”

“It's true though.”

You scoffed, “at least I didn’t actually push you off your seat.”

He laughs at the memory, “we’re stronger now, do you wanna see who can go higher?”

“knowing exactly how strong you are… uh, not really? but whatever, let’s do it!” you brace yourself on the swing and start pulling yourself back to get momentum.

“Okay, wait! Wait!” he rushes to the seat beside yours and pushes it as far as his hips can go, already giving him an advantage. “Okay, go!”

Childish laughter escapes both of you as you let yourselves swing back and forth, trying to put your weight in properly to reach higher than each other. it really felt like you were kids again, you felt at peace, a part of you never wanted this night to end.

The next few days fly by and just like that it’s the night before Jake’s flight. You had spent your time in Sydney visiting the opera house, late night dinner dates and excursions all over the bustling city. There truly never was a dull moment within this week that’s come to pass. Getting to make new memories with Jake is exactly what you needed.

The two of you have just gotten back from dinner at Altitude, a restaurant overlooking the opera house. You’re now in your shared bathroom dressed in one of Jake’s old tee’s and a thong doing your nightly skin care routine as Jake undresses in the bedroom, getting ready for his nightly shower. You look at his reflection through the mirror as he takes off his shirt. Your eyes skim down his toned chest, desire pooling in the pits of your stomach. Throughout your time here it’s been nothing but makeouts and little pecks throughout the day. You wonder if he’ll finally make a move tonight.

“I can feel you staring, love.”

“That’s the point.”

Jake doesn’t say anything in response but rather slides up behind you and peppers your neck with gentle kisses. He cages you between his body and sink and presses his hips into your back. Your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his fully hard cock pressing against your lower back.

Jake’s eyes rake your body through the mirror, desire burning in his irises. he shifts his eyes to stare at your lips before moving back to turn you around and face him and press himself directly to your front before leaning down and in. He takes his time, giving you the opportunity to pull away but you don’t. You want this.

He leans forward and allows his lips to graze yours, the faintest of touches. “Are you sure you want to do this darling? We don't have to.” Jake asks softly.

You shyly nod your head and lean in to close the gap but he pulls ways and shakes his head, “no love. I need to hear you say yes.”

“Yes, I want to do this, Jaeyun.” You push forward allowing your lips to touch. He groans once your lips make contact. You’re unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of his lips on yours.

You can faintly taste the shirley temple he had at dinner on his tongue. He sucks harder on your lip and brings one hand down in between your things to prod at your pulsing heat.

He pulls away to let his eyes drink in the sight of you before leaning down to pick you up. you let out a yelp and grasp onto his biceps for protection, “w-what are you doing?” You sputter.

“I can’t make love to you properly on the sink, darling.”

You blush at his words and bury your face into his chest, after a few strides Jake is gingerly placing you on the bed.

He gets onto his knees and straddles your hips before reaching out to help you out of your shirt. You breathe in deeply savoring the way he feels pressed against you. the feeling of his warm fingers moving under the hem of your shirt across your stomach. He lifts it off of your body and tosses it across the room.

“Thank you for trusting me with your body.” Jake says before leaning back in and places his lips on yours yet again.

You moan into the kiss before he trails kisses down your jaw to your neck, his teeth brushing over your skin and making you shiver regardless of the heat being provided by Jake’s skin pushed up against yours. You close your eyes and relish the feeling.

With his lips still pressed against your neck, he whispers, “what do you want love?”

Your eyes flutter open as he slowly pulls away to look at you.

“I won’t do anything until you tell me what you want.” He reiterates before placing his lips back onto your neck, biting down making it harder for you to form a coherent sentence.

“I-i don’t know.” You say breathily but he chuckles in your ear, “yes you do love, tell me what you want so I can make you feel good.” He says as he gently tugs at your underwear, you whine and raise your hips off the bed to allow him to take it off faster. He tisks, “I need to hear you say it.” You look up at him to meet his gaze, “I want you to touch me.”

His gaze hardens, “spread your legs doll.” He orders.

He shifts his position and allows you to spread your legs before slotting himself in between them. He taps his fingers against your hips silently asking you to raise them. You shyly lift them to the best of your ability and let him pull them off of you, your arousal clinging to your underwear and clit.

Once you’re completely naked, he brings his lips to your chest and roughly kisses your skin, his tongue probing at your nipple. You whimper when he bites your left nipple, the feeling overwhelming. He pulls back and looks at your bare body.

“Fuck you’re so beautiful.” He mumbles before leaning down to toy with your pussy.

“You’re so wet too. Did our kissing turn you on so much, love?” Jake asks, smirking down at you. your face heats up at his words but you don’t respond. He looks back down at your pussy and shifts his position so he’s laying down in front of your pussy. He lets his pointer finger circle your clit for a little before running it along the slit of your folds. You let out a mewl at the feeling wanting more. “P-please Ja..” You moan.

“Patience, love.”

He dips one finger into you and you hiss at the feeling. It’s been a while since you’ve been touched down there and you’re extremely sensitive. “You’re so tight,” he says, pushing his finger deeper until the entire digit is buried snuggly inside you. You close your eyes and tug at the bedsheets, loving the feeling of him fingering you.

You’re a moaning mess by the time he manages to slide his whole finger into you. You clench around his fingers as he slides them in and out of your snatch and grasp onto your bedsheets. “Does it feel nice to be stuffed with my fingers?” Jake asks.

You know your voice will fail you so you adamantly nod your head. Jake picks up the pace and your hips move to his strokes. Jake licks his lips when he feels your walls clenching tightly around his digits.

“I-i think I’m close.”

His fingers curl inside of you which causes your hips to jerk upwards. “Are you cunning?” He asks cheekily.

You nod eagerly, “yes!” your eyes snap shut as you enjoy the feeling, “o-oh my gosh” you cry as you feel him kiss the inside of your thighs. He trails the kisses upwards until he’s face to face with your pussy and places a soft kiss on the nub before sucking on it, his tongue flicking around. He pulls his pointer and middle finger out so he can eat you out freely.

He licks the slit of your folds and firmly grips the flesh of your thighs most likely leaving marks.  Marks that would remind you of this moment later on.

Jake picks up the pace, he’s going so fast that you let out a quiet scream. You fist and unfist your sheets as you rock your hips against his face and come.

Your orgasm hits you so hard that tears fill your vision.

Jake allows you to ride out your high before coming up from your private parts and leans back down to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Are you feeling alright love?” He asks as he strokes your hair. You’re heaving, trying to catch your breath.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to continue?”

You nod but then remember Jake wants verbal responses, “I do.”

Jake wastes no time in removing his shorts and boxers and gently moves up your body. you wrap your arms around his neck. “C-can you be gentle?” You sheepishly ask.

Your question sends an immediate reaction to Jake’s dick, he swears he could have busted a nut right then and there. “Of course doll, I'll be gentle.”

He tentatively strokes your folds with two fingers, eyes darting back up to yours to check your response. You hiss, still a bit sensitive. “Is this okay? Are you sensitive?”

“I’m fine,” you assure, “go ahead, I’m okay.”

He nods, gathering some of your wetness and smears it on his cock, a moan of relief leaving his swollen lips. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be buried inside of you,” he says, angling himself better and positioning his cock near your entrance.

“Please,” you whimper, biting back a cry once his length breaches your entrance. Jake lets out a guttural growl, slowly sinking into you and bottoming out letting you adjust to his length.

“You’re so beautiful.” Jake says, rolling his hips torturously slow. “You were made for me, love. Just for me.”

You open your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready, you can move now.”

Jake leans forward to place a kiss on your cheek, then on your jaw, and then on your neck. As Jake busies himself there he slowly begins to thrusts in and out of you.

Your hands are all over him; clawing his back, gripping his biceps. “Love,” he whispers, “you feel so good.”

The sound of your bodies slapping against each other plus your loud wanton moans and the creaking from the bed is all that can be heard reverberating around in the home. He thrusts two more times, his hips stuttering before he chokes out, “mm gonna cum.”

You scratch at his sides and bite your lip to suppress your moan, “m-me too.”

“You can cum love,” Jake coos. He wraps his arms around you and hugs you closer to his body, the feeling of your chest pressed against him and his dick pounding into you is enough to send you over the edge.

“I’m cumming!” You mumble into his skin. Jake groans at the feeling of you cumming on his dick before his hips still and he comes inside you painting your walls white.

His lips are on your shoulders and neck, softly sucking on patches of your skin and murmuring sweet nothings as you calm down.

“Fuck.”

Jake pulls out and looks down at the mess of the sheets, now that he’s no longer caught up in his lustful haze it dawns on him that the two of you didn’t use protection. So much for smart choices.

As if now remembering yourself you shrug, “I’ll just grab a plan b tomorrow.”

Jake nods, “I’ll send you the money for it.”

His body then drops to lay beside you and he pulls you in close with the promise of a hot shower after a few minutes of decompressing. You roll over and sit up, swatting Jake’s hands away as he reaches for your arm. “Wait, I have something for you.”

He hums, interest piqued. “Huh?”

You open the bedside drawer where you had hidden the card you had written for Jake before the two of you left Brisbane. It was a love letter, all the things you’ve ever wanted to tell him but kept to yourself out of fear. It holds all the words your heart so desperately wants to tell him before he leaves.

“It’s not anything extravagant but I know you care more for sentimental things anyway.” You hand him the card, “don’t read it until you’re on the plane.”

He looks at the light pink envelope decorated in stickers and his name written in neat calligraphy in the center, the faintest smile on his face but a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I love you.”

The way he says it sounds different from all the other times he’s ever told you. Almost as if he needs to convince you that he loves you but you know. He places one last kiss to your lips before pulling you back down to cuddle.

“I’m going to miss you.”

Jake hums, “me too.”

The room slips into a comforting silence and eventually you drift off.

8:41am

You wake up feeling cold. You whine and feel around for Jake’s body but when you feel nothing you open your eyes and softly call out for him. “Jake?”

When you’re met with no response you sit up and look around the still dark room. You stand from the bed and reach for your shirt that was still on the ground. You hadn’t intended to fall asleep, it was only meant to be a quick nap before the two of you took a shower together and watched movies until it was time for you to head to the airport.

“Jake? If you’re trying to scare me, give up.”

You’re still met with silence and you begin to feel uneasy. “Jake?”

You search the living room and your heart drops. His things are gone, his shoes, his suitcases. Everything. You run back to the room to see if it’s really true, if Jake left without saying goodbye. What you find breaks your heart even more. All his toiletries are gone, all that's left are your belongings. You let out a sob when you find the love letter you had written for him laying atop his pillow, opened and crumpled at the sides, proof he had read it but didn’t care enough to take it with him.

You drop on to the bed in shock and disbelief, tears sitting in your waterline. You turn to look beside you, staring at the letter as if it had burned you, the only trace that Jake was ever here is his scent in the sheets. You look at the alarm clock to see if you’ll be able to make it to the airport on time and bid him a proper farewell, your heart sinks once again when you realize you’re far too late. It’s 8:50 and his flight leaves in ten minutes. You sniff and decide to not dwell on it, Jake probably had his reasons and you have to get ready to go home.

You strip out of your shirt and discard it on the floor before walking into the bathroom to start your shower. You step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic floor. Your mind is in shreds; how could Jake leave without a goodbye? You turn the dial, releasing thousands of frigid drops, wetting your hair and trickling down your back. Your eyes fall closed and images of last night cross your mind.

You want to scream. Did last night not mean as much to him as it did to you? Was this all so he could fuck and just leave? You wrap up your shower and step out to brush your teeth. When finished, you dry off and head for your suitcase to pick out an outfit. You settle on sweatpants and an old graphic tee with slides. Once dressed and ready for your journey back, you finish your packing and look around the house one last time to see if maybe Jake left anything for you, maybe even an explanation. All you find is a plan b box on the kitchen counter next to a water bottle. You pick up the pill box and exit promptly and throw your things in the back of Jake’s car. You look down at the passenger seat where the letter you had written for him sits. You pick it up and examine it one last time before shoving it deep into your backpack.

Maybe this was less painful than having to say goodbye.

It in fact was not less painful. A day passed, then two, then a week, then a month. You stared at your phone at all hours of the day, calling and texting waiting for confirmation that he had arrived safely and an explanation on why he went ghost but it never came.

You started your senior year alone. That was the first time you ever realized just how dependent you were on Jake, you had no other friends to go to the movies with, you spent your senior appreciation week alone, you had no one to make plans with when the weekend would roll around. Maybe you should have made deeper connections. You slowly started to lose sight of the end goal, Harvard had always been your dream but your mind was in too much turmoil to see it meaning anything without Jake, your heart can’t stand to be near him but not have a connection to him. You had heard from his mother that he had settled in at Yale and was enjoying his time abroad. You never told your parents what happened down in Sydney, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it without crying.

Eventually you began to decline, your grades took a hit and your GPA dropped from the perfect 4.5 it had been sitting at for the past four years to a 3.2. You started failing your core classes and you were kicked off of the varsity volleyball team. Your parents couldn’t understand the sudden change in you. You stopped talking to them, stopped going to your tutoring sessions and stopped caring about life itself. You would only go to school when you felt like it and come straight home before locking yourself in your bedroom. When time came to send in your college applications you didn’t know what to do. You knew Harvard wouldn’t want you and you never considered any other options. You sat down with your guidance counselor and she gave you some options. The majority consisted of staying in Australia, letting you know it didn’t seem possible to go abroad. You limited your application process to four schools, two in Australia and two in Massachusetts. If Harvard didn’t want you, maybe a private school would grant you admission and you could transfer in your sophomore year.

As much as you wanted to be far away from him, Massachusetts happened to have all the top schools that were realistic for you. You applied to Northeastern and Boston college. Neither were the ivy leagues you were hoping to attend but private institutions nonetheless. You sent in your applications for early action, praying you would get in and get to leave Australia behind. You were suffocating here.

Luckily for you, your acceptance letter came from Northeastern and you were quick to accept. You were waitlisted for Boston College and accepted to both Australian unis but you had decided where you were going. You toured Northeastern in the spring with your mom, you both absolutely fell in love with the campus. It was right in the middle of the city, across from the train system making getting around easy. You got to meet the girl you would be dorming with, Avianca; Avi for short. She was very bubbly and sweet, and very opinionated. She had grown up in Boston with her mother and two brothers. Her mother was unable to join the two of you so you went out to brunch with her and your mother. After that your mother left the two of you to go shopping for some things for your dorm.

“Are you excited to start in the fall?” Avi asked as the two of you browsed targets room decor.

You shrug and hug yourself, “I guess.”

Avi stops to look at a large beige throw pillow, “that's all? Aren’t you excited for the new experiences?” She looks up at you, “the boys?”

You play with the tag of the pillow in her hand. “I-” you hesitate and she picks up on it.

“Unless…” she smirks up at you, “you have a boyfriend?”

You pause. Could you even consider Jake a boyfriend? He never officially asked you to be his girlfriend but the two of you did way more than what other couples do in a lifetime. As if reading your mind Avi hums.

“Ahh, I see. It’s complicated?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

She tosses the pillow into the cart, “is it over?”

You continue walking down the aisle as you think back to Jake, this would be your first time ever saying what went down outloud. You were hesitant to tell your parents because of how close they were with Jake, you didn't want this affecting their perspective of him but Avi doesn’t know him, she’s unbiased. And that’s how you found yourself crying inside a target finally opening up about just how hurt you were by Jake’s actions.

Once you finish telling her your story from start to finish, Avi is embracing you. “Jake is a dick. You did not deserve that. I’m so sorry.”

Avi spends the rest of your time together comforting you. She lets you rant about Jake and gives you her two cents every now and then. You felt a little embarrassed at how much you were crying but Avi was quick to reassure you letting you know it was actually time you let it all out. The two of you exchanged numbers before parting ways again and she made you promise to keep in touch with her while you were back home in Australia until your move-in day and that's exactly what you did.

After flying back home you slowly started to rebuild. Jake isn’t a part of your life anymore and you can’t continue to wallow in your self pity. It was time to let go and move on, you would be starting your freshman year of college in four months. You don’t want to be stuck up on someone who wasn’t even thinking of you.

You took the time to learn new hobbies as you didn’t have volleyball to lean on. You took up baking for a bit before getting bored and moving on to painting. You learned how to knit and made yourself some mittens and a scarf to prepare for the cold Boston weather. You even took up photography, opening up a private instagram account to post your pictures as you traveled around Europe during June. It was a graduation gift from your father, you had stops in France, Wales, Germany and Spain. You spent a month traveling before heading back south.

You flew to New Zealand before officially going home to explore the mountains, it was a nice reset. Jake had promised to visit with you but it never happened and you weren’t putting things on hold for him anymore. You would facetime with Avi every night, brainstorming ideas for your room and your plans for welcome week. She had no intention of staying in your dorm that first week before classes started.

At first you were hesitant, going to raves and frat parties meant the inevitable. The possibility of running into Jake would be significantly higher and if you didn’t run into him there was still the fact that you would be approached by some man before the night was over. You had expressed to Avi how you couldn’t see yourself entering a relationship anytime soon. You had yet to fully heal from Jake and the thought of being that vulnerable again terrified you.

She only listened before reminding you that you didn’t have to date every guy that said hi. Some below the belt touching and harmless flirting never hurt anyone. She went on to ramble about how you’re entering your prime and have an insanely hot aussie accent that could help you secure any guy you wanted. You zoned out once she started asking you if you could moan for her so she could take pointers.

Your parents could see the shift in you and it brought them relief, they felt more at ease to send you abroad now that you were in a better mental headspace. You left two weeks before classes started to move in and get accustomed to the new environment. Your parents came to help you and Avi move in before leaving to go back home.

It’s now nighttime and you’ve just officially finished decorating.

“So, there’s this rave at slackers tonight, wanna go?”

You turn to look at Avi from your bed as she sits at her desk organizing her makeup. You snort, “as if I have a choice.” She looks up at you grinning.

“Glad you’re aware! Now get up and go shower, you’re all sweaty and doors close at 8!”

You roll your eyes but listen to her nonetheless. You stumble out of your bed and walk towards your closet to try and brainstorm what to wear. “Is there a theme?”

Avi hums, “yeah early 2000’s.”

You scan your wardrobe to see what you can find before deciding upon a baby blue butterfly top you had gotten off of amazon and a mini cargo skirt. For shoes you settle on some old Nike air forces knowing they would be demolished by the end of the night. You head over to the bathroom and begin getting ready. You try not to take too long, making sure to properly wash your body but you don’t take the time to exfoliate. Once drying off and exiting you make quick work of getting dressed and sitting beside Avi to start your makeup while she works on styling her hair. You don’t take too long for your makeup, choosing to opt for a more natural look and go for a half up/half down hairstyle with two strands out in the front.

Once you’re both ready, you grab your student ID’s and bags before heading out and start the five minute walk to the T. As you’re waiting for the train to arrive you take pictures with Avi to post and make a new story post of the sun setting. Once the green train arrives the two of you hop on and head towards the party venue.

By the time you arrive, the line is still relatively short and you’re inside in under thirty minutes. You scan your surroundings, the club lights are too bright and strobing too fast, just asking for someone to seize. The dance floor is crowded with people and there are drunks stumbling all around you.

Avi spins on her heels and smirks up at you, “what are the odds you get a stranger to buy us drinks?”

You quickly shake your head. “Zero! I’ve never done this before Avi!”

She shrugs, “so? Have you seen yourself? You look so hot, ____.” She makes it a point to slap your ass. “You have all the right assets on display, you just have to use them to your advantage.”

You gasp and rub your sore bottom, “okay one, never do that again. Two, why don’t you get a guy to buy us drinks? Put those tits to good use.”

She smirks. “I was already planning on it. But seriously, I promised to help you get over Jake and what better way to do that than getting under a new man?”

You groan. “Sleeping around isn’t going to help me get over Jake.”

“What makes you think he hasn’t done the same?” You furrow your brows at her and she scoffs. “Come on ____, he’s been in the city for a year while you were on the other side of the world. Jake is hot and I’m sure he knows it just like other girls in Connecticut probably do too, what would really have stopped him from getting his dick wet?”

You stay silent, deep down you know Avi is just being truthful and realistic. Jake had no obligations to you and no one to get in his way of whoring around if he really wanted to as much as it may hurt you.

“Okay.”

Avi’s brows shoot up in shock. “Okay? That’s really all it took?”

You nod firmly, “I’m done putting my life on pause for him. Besides, a little flirting never hurt anyone, right?”

Avi squeals and claps her hands together. “Perfect! I better see you throwing it back on some guy before the night ends!”

The two of you decide to part ways to find your prey of the night. Avi makes quick work of heading to the bar where the older men are to see if she can score some drinks while you idle around the dance floor, scoping out the faces to see who you wanted to make a move on. Before you can set your sights on someone, you feel the warmth of a body behind you though they’re not quite pressing against you yet. It doesn’t feel bad, and neither do the fingertips ghosting along the curve of your waist. You press into their touch a little more. The tentative fingers at your waist get more firm once they realize you’re open to their touch.

“Wanna dance?,” the body behind you asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. It makes chills prick at your skin. You bite your lip to keep from smiling at the sensation. Your hand goes to cover the bigger one on your waist. You’ve missed being this close to someone. 

You intentionally keep the touch constant when you turn around in their hold. Their palm slides along your body till it’s settling on your lower back just above the swell of your ass.

When you look up, your reply gets caught in your throat.

The owner of the warm body behind you is handsome, strikingly so. Tall, strong. Smile dreamy with dimples, and eyes dark. He gives you a soft grin accompanied by an encouraging nod, wanting you to say what you can’t seem to get out.

“Uh–” you sputter with a wince, before clearing your throat, “Where’s the fun in asking?”

You can’t hear his laugh over the music, but you can tell he’s amused by the way his chest rumbles, and how his eyes curl. The hand at the base of your spine moves to your hip, squeezing gently.

His other hand is moving, too, and you track it until it’s tucking some hair behind your ear. You go still and flush when he leans down to your ear again. “If you insist,” he tells you. You don’t get to respond before he’s forcefully turning you back around and pressing his body into yours. The song changes to an upbeat caribbean mix and the sexy stranger has you bent over, one hand in your hair as a makeshift ponytail and the other resting at the base of your spine as he sensually moves his hips to the beat of the song, practically humping you. You can feel yourself getting wet as his clothed dick brushes against your vagina, your miniskirt and thong barely hiding anything. You begin whining your waist to meet his thrust giving those around you a show. Soon, a circle forms around the two of you as people turn on their camera to film. When the song finally ends the two of you separate and the crowd disperses. Some guys stick around though, hoping you would part form your dance partner and give them a chance to feel you humping them but you never get the chance. The stranger leans down to your ear, “I’m Jungwon.”

You smirk and respond with your name. “I’m, ____. Clearly you’ve done this before Jungwon.” 

Jungwon briefly looks surprised, eyes widening like a child before he’s laughing. “Ah,” he muses, guiding your arms to drape over his shoulders, your hands interlocking behind his neck. His hands do the same around your waist as he pulls you a little closer. “Perhaps but clearly the same goes for you.”

There’s a flutter in your tummy that you haven’t felt in months and it’s exciting. Makes you giddy as you blink up at him sultrily.

“Are you complaining?” you ask him.

He adamantly shakes his head, “Of course not, as long as you’re not in a relationship no complaints over here.”

You cock your head to the side. “I don’t do relationships.” You wait a beat before asking, “Is that what you’re looking for?”

He looks up like he’s thinking. Then he’s shrugging. Crowding your space, cheek brushing yours as he talks into your ear again, he answers, “I want what you want.”

Jungwon doesn’t move out of your space like the times he did before, instead pulling you into him a bit more, making your space his space too. Lips brush against the corner of your jaw, just below your ear. Teasing, yet sure. 

“I want to forget–” Your hand twines into the hair at the nape of his neck when he nips softly at your earlobe, making you gasp quietly, interrupting yourself. “–about someone.”

He lets out a smug sound of understanding. “That sounds doable,” you hear him say, before he purrs confidently, “Let me help you.”

Just as the two of you lean in for a kiss you’re interrupted by the calling of your name.

“____!” You pull away to find Avi stumbling towards you. When she’s close enough, she grips onto your shoulders to try and keep herself up. “H-help.”

You look at her in worry and try to balance her but she’s quickly becoming more and more unstable, her words slurring and her body becoming limp. You begin to panic, “Avi? Avi! You’re scaring me, what's wrong!?”

Jungwon steps in to help you hold her up. “Shit, I think she was laced.”

Your eyes dart to his in worry, sensing your panic Jungwon tries to calm you down. “There’s a hospital nearby. I’ll call an uber and we can head over.”

You nod, trying to steady yourself for Avi’s sake. The two of you make quick work of ushering her out of the building and outside to help her get some fresh air while Jungwon orders the uber. It’s there in seven minutes and the three of you rush to the nearest children's hospital.

Once you arrive, Jungwon hands over Avi to the medical staff while you try and give them the information they need to admit her. She’s rushed into the emergency bay while you and Jungwon are told to sit in the waiting area while they pump her stomach.

“It’s going to be okay. We got her here in time, I’m sure the doctors have everything under control.” Jungwon says as he takes a seat beside you. It’s clear you’re distraught and don’t know what to do but it’s also clear that what you need right now is not only reassurance but a friend. Your shoulders slump instantly and you nod despondently. Cautiously Jungwon entwines your hands together, lacing your fingers with his.

He shifts, leaning his body into you allowing you to cuddle into him for some warmth, your lack of proper clothing clearly not helping. You bite your lip to keep in the tears before resting your head against his shoulder. You close your eyes, basking in his comforting presence, letting both his words and presence wash over you and ease your worries.

The both of you sit in silence for long, drawn-out moments before you finally speak up. “I’m sorry, this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your night.” You pull away and wrap your arms around yourself, “you can go if you’d like.”

Sensing your guilt and apprehension, Jungwon shakes his head softly and removes his bomber jacket to hand to you. You stare at it for a second before taking it and putting it on. “It definitely isn’t how I saw my night going but you clearly need a friend, it wouldn’t be right to leave you alone.”

You twiddle your fingers, “why are you being so nice to me?”

He purses his lips in thought, showcasing his dimples. “Like I said before, it’s clear you need a friend. You’re obviously going through something with a guy you probably really like and your friend is in the hospital after getting laced. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

You blink at him, embarrassed that he read you so easily. “I-” You cut yourself off and look away, feeling the tears start to well up. “I feel so lost and alone.”

Jungwon slowly reaches for you and brings you in for a hug, letting you cry into his chest. “I moved to this stupid city all by myself and now I miss my parents, I miss my home and worst of all I miss him. Avi is the only friend I have and I can’t help but feel like her being in this position is all my fault! She only wanted to go out to help me move on a-and we made this stupid bet about getting guys to buy us drinks and now she’s getting her stomach pumped!” You angrily rant to Jungwon, overwhelmed by the events that have transpired within the last twenty-four hours.

He listens, gently rubbing your back as you let it all out. “It’s normal to miss your life back at home, going to college is hard enough, let alone having to move to a different continent. I understand the guilt you’re feeling but I doubt Avi is mad at you for what happened, you weren’t the one who drugged her.”

You sniffle and wipe at your nose with the sleeve of his jacket, “I guess so.” You pull away from his wet chest to wipe away the remainder of your tears. “I’m scared.” You softly admit.

“Of what?”

“Being alone again.” You whisper, you can’t help but wonder if Jungwon will stay after this, if Avi will be okay enough to stay for the semester. You pray you don’t lose either of them.

“Good thing I don’t plan on leaving.” Jungwon offers with a soft smile, you look up at him gratefully and wrap him in a hug.

“Thank you.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night in the ER, the doctors eventually come to fetch the two of you to join Avi, letting you know that she’ll be just fine and able to return home the following day. Jungwon stays true to his word and doesn’t leave your side until it’s time for Avi to get discharged. The three of you clamber into the back of the Uber Jungwon ordered and drive to your dorms. While sitting at Avi’s bedside the three of you began conversing about anything and everything. You found out that Jungwon was also a freshman at Northeastern majoring in Biochem. On top of that, he was living in the same dorm as you-his room only two doors down.

Once you arrive, you bid farewell to Jungwon with the promise of grabbing breakfast with him and his roommate Beomgyu the following morning before heading into your own room.

“He’s cute.” Avi says as she gently takes a seat on the couch.

“Jungwon?”

She hums, “sweet kid.”

You nod absentmindedly as you gather your bathroom supplies. “I guess so.”

Friday November 15th - present day

Three months have passed since the beginning of the semester and it’s safe to say that you’re beginning to feel at home in the city. Jungwon stayed true to his word and didn’t leave you. In fact, there was never a moment where you were alone. If you weren’t at Snell studying with Jungwon, you were at your dorm watching shows with Avi or at the dining hall grabbing lunch with Beomgyu. 

The four of you have truly become inseparable these past few months and you’re so grateful for the support they provide. It’s nice to finally have other people to rely on rather than having to rawdog life alone. When the four of you aren’t absolutely swamped with homework you grab dinner together at one of the dining halls before going back to your place for a movie night. Tonight happens to be one of those nights.

“Wollastans hands down has the best snack options,” Beomgyu says as he empties the grocery bag onto your living room floor. Avi hums and takes a seat beside him on the floor in front of the TV.

“That they do.” She reaches for the pack of gummy bears and offers some to Jungwon who’s laid on your couch arms wide open as he smiles up at you waiting for you to take your rightful seat in between his legs. He takes a handful of gummies and thanks Avi before patting his chest.

“Hurry up princess, I'm getting cold.”

You scoff and roll your eyes before kicking off your shoes and making your way across the threshold to plop down in between his arms. “What are we watching tonight?” You ask. Jungwon taps your cheek silently asking you to open up, you do and he plops a cherry bear into your mouth.

“Interview with the vampires.” Beomgyu replies as he ques up the show. Once it’s ready to go Avi hands you a blanket to cover yourself with before she cuddles up to Beomgyu, the two of them whispering to each other lost in their own world. You smile softly at them, you and Jungwon have a running bet of how long it was going to take before the two crack and just get together. They’re adamant that they’re just friends but it’s clear as day feelings are there.

You feel Jungwon wrap his arm securely around your waist before he places a soft kiss atop your head.

As touchy and flirty as the two of you are, you’re just friends. Once Jungwon made it clear he was here to stay you found the confidence to open up to him about Jake. You told him about the ghosting, the sex, how much he meant to you and how you don’t think you’ll ever love someone the way you love him or even be ready for a relationship anytime soon. Jungwon understood and made his intentions clear, he just wanted to make you happy. If that meant putting his feelings on the backburner and doing things your way so be it.

It wasn’t a fair deal at all, Jungwon devoted almost all of his time to you, he would walk you home from your late lectures, wake up at five am to run to Tatte to buy you breakfast before your eight ams, turn down girls who approached him in hopes that when you were ready you’d come running to him.

He did it all without complaint, he loves you fully and without restraint. He’s loved you from the start, he loves you the way you wish Jake had.

You can’t help but think about where Jake would fit in your life now. You’ve changed and made sure your new life left no room for him, you tailored your life to make sure Jake could never waltz back in and destroy all the progress you’ve made. You don’t think he’ll fit in with your group of friends anyhow. As this year has come and passed, you replaced Jake with Jungwon. It’s hard to picture Jake falling back into the role of being your only friend in your life.

You have Avi, Beomgyu and Jungwon. They look out for you and make sure to take care of you. It’s a reciprocal friendship, they’re pouring into you just as much as you pour into them if not more.

You snap out of your thoughts when Jungwon softly pinches your side. “You zoned out, are you okay?”

You nod your head and play with his fingers under the blanket. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

You feel him take in a sharp breath before pulling you into him even more. “I’m the lucky one.”

___

As the movie night comes to a close, you sit up from Jungwon’s hold to stretch, your friends following your actions. You reach for your phone to check the time to see if you can squeeze in one more movie.

“It’s only nine, we can start another show or watch a movie.” You offer

Jungwon wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in closer to his side, “I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, I’m down.”

Avi stands up and clears her throat. “Actually can we go out?”

Beomgyu looks up at her questioningly, “wanna ride the blue bikes around campus?”

She shakes her head, “a Harvard frat is hosting to-”

“Absolutely not.” You cut her off. You haven’t been to another college party since the one at slackers, the sight of Avi getting drugged permanently put you off from the party scene.

She huffs, “why not!?”

You give her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious? You were drugged the last time we went to one, I don’t want to see you in the ER again!”

The boys can sense the growing tension, Beomgyu stands and tries to calm Avi and Jungwon soothingly rubs your arms.

“It was one time! I won’t drink this time!”

“I still don’t feel comfortable.” She throws her hands up and turns to pout at Beomgyu knowing it’s a weakness of his.

“Yah! this is between the two of you, stop pouting at me.” He says in response before turning on his heel to head to your kitchen to raid it for some more food. You huff and turn to Jungwon to have him plead your case but he only shakes his head, he knows better than to get in between the two of you.

“Uh-uh, No. You two figure this out.”

He stands from his seat beside you to go join Beomgyu in the kitchen.

Avi takes Jungwon’s seat and grabs your hands. “I promise I won’t drink! I know better now and the guys will be there! You know they won’t let anything happen to either of us! Come on, _____ please!”

You sigh and shift your attention to the boys goofing off in your kitchen, Avi is right. The boys wouldn’t let the two of you out of their sight, especially Jungwon as he was there for the last party the three of you had attended.

“Fine.”

The living room of the frat is completely packed, people are scattered around the home, either dancing in a large group in the middle of the living room, relaxing in the kitchen with drinks in hand or smoking blunts upstairs. Something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you is the hordes of couples pressed up against each other and the walls, making out and grinding against each other for the entirety of the house to see without a single care in the world.

You turn to face your friends, “an hour tops then we’re out of here!”

Avi playfully rolls her eyes, “aye aye captain.”

She grabs Beomgyu’s hand and they walk into the midst of the party leaving you with Jungwon. “Want to grab a drink with me?”

You pull your attention away from a guy who’s completely wasted and forcing another to a dance off to Jungwon who’s standing next to you. You shrug, “sure.”

You both exit from the hallway where your little group had clustered and enter the kitchen to grab a drink. Jungwon hands you a water bottle but you nudge away his hand and reach for a red solo cup to pour yourself a shot of tequila. You knock it back and move down the counter to pour yourself some of the punch.

Jungwon watches you in worry as you pucker your lips at the taste of the punch, “I thought no drinking tonight.”

“No drinking for Avi. Plus it’s for the nerves.”

He nods at you and takes a sip of his water. “What has you on edge?”

You look around the kitchen sadly before confessing what’s weighing on your heart. “It feels so odd being here, it was my dream for so long and now it’s just some other school down the block.”

Jungwon hums before scanning the area himself. “Do you regret choosing Northeastern?”

You sigh, “I..” you trail off to really think through your answer. Northeastern has become more than a safety net. You have a family here because of the school, people who love and care about you without restraint and would be crushed if you up and left them. You also can’t help but feel as though there’s a double meaning to Jungwon’s question. “I don’t think so, more so mourning what could have been here.”

Jungwon nods, “are you still thinking about transferring?”

You shake your head. “No, I think it’s time to close the chapter on this time period in my life.”

Jungwon stills beside you, to him, Harvard = Jake and the life you lived with him back at home in Australia, does this mean this is finally the end of you and that dirtbag?

You smile and place your arms around Jungwon’s neck. “I think it's time to start focusing on what I have here at Northeastern…with you.”

Jungwon swears he feels his heart stop at your words, are you finally going to give him a chance? His eyes suddenly gleam with mischief as he rests his hands on your waist and squeezes you a little tighter and yanks you towards him, bodies just centimeters apart as you crash into his chest, all up in each other’s personal space.

Your eyes widen in complete surprise. 

“Are you saying what I think you are?” He teases with a stupidly lowered tone, a smug grin decorating his face. 

You ignore the electricity shooting through you, rolling your eyes and playfully sneer at him. “Don’t be smug, I can still change my mind, you know.” You force space between you two and try removing his hands from your waist but his grip transforms into an iron lock. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Try me.”

He pulls you in close and leans in to whisper, “yeah? Then who's gonna do this?” He doesn’t wait for you to question him, leaning in right away to place his lips on yours and cage you between him and the kitchen counter. Your eyes blow out, taken by surprise until you find yourself quickly melting into the kiss, hands gripping his shoulders tighter. Jungwon can’t help himself from opening up his mouth to catch more of yours, lips sensually kissing yours in a slow, unhurried pace. 

You instantly love the way he kisses, completely taken by his pillowy, delicate lips. 

Jungwon doesn’t care if your lipstick smudges onto him or how brash the public display of affection seems; all he cares about is the soft feeling of your lips against his own for the first time and the fact that you’re willing to be his.

He knows it’s going to stay on his mind for weeks. 

You’re beginning to get lost until he disconnected your mouths, only looking at each other with overwhelming feelings and shimmering eyes that depict how nervous you are for this new step.

“Wanna dance with me?” You shyly ask.

Jungwon smirks, his mind recalling the first time he ever met you at that slackers party. “Where’s the fun in asking?” He mocks, you roll your eyes at the familiarity of his words before dragging him out of the kitchen and into the living room to dance away your inhibitions.

The two of you make your way to the center of the room knowing once you start dancing, all eyes will be on you. Jungwon squeezes your hips one last time before turning you around and helping you slowly grind down on him to the beat of the song, once you have a steady rhythm going on he begins to buck his hips to meet your pace.

Just like that night at slackers, you’re bent over whining your waist against Jungwon and catching the attention of those around you. Jungwon sneaks one arm around your front and gently squeezes at your right boob under your crop top, getting turned on by how your butt applies the right amount of pressure to his cock every time you bounce off of it and the lustful gaze of those watching. He could cum in his pants. You have to bite your bottom lip to keep from moaning.

As the song comes to a close Jungwon releases you and places a kiss against the base of your neck, “I’m going to grab us drinks, stay right here baby.”

You nod and let him remove himself from you completely to go get the two of you drinks, you turn around to see if you could potentially find Beomgyu or Avi and spend some time with them until he returns but before you even get the chance to fully scope out the area you feel someone grab onto your wrist and spin you around.

You’re about to tell the stranger off but your words get caught in your throat when you turn around to find a tall blonde man dressed in all black staring you down. You exhale sharply at the way he seemingly undresses you with his eyes.

“You sure know how to put on a show, princess.”

You feel your face heat up a bit at the use of pet name and being called out on the way you were just dry humping Jungwon. Not knowing what to say you wait for him to continue. Picking up on that, the stranger continues, “I’m Jay, what’s your name darling?”

“____” you breathlessly let out.

He hums and pulls you in closer, “sexy name for a sexy girl, who’s that guy? Your boyfriend?”

His hands travel down to grab at your ass over your leggings and you have a feeling that even if you were taken, Jay wouldn’t care.

You bite down a moan at the way he caresses your ass, taking turns between rolling the flesh and pinching it every now and then. He lands a sharp slap to your bottom when you don’t answer, his patience running thin. “Answer me princess.”

You shake your head, “n-no I’m si-”

Before you can finish your statement Jay gets ripped away from you by another male who huffs out in playful annoyance. “C’mon mate, it’s my birthday and you’re ditching me for some action?”

This time, your blood truly runs cold. Standing in front of you in all his glory for the first time in a year and three months is Sim Jaeyun. His eyes sweep over to you and the smile that was just gracing his face begins to slowly fall. Your eyes greedily take him in. You notice he’s dyed his hair back to black and grown it out a bit, parting it in the middle like you used to do for him during your walk to school. His shoulders also seem a bit wider, did he start working out? You even note his style has changed, gone are the tight skinny jeans and random hoodies. He’s dressed in wide legend pants paired with a simple white tee tucked in and Jordans on his feet.

“____.” He breathlessly lets out.

Hearing him call out to you breaks your heart, after all this time you thought you would be angry at him for what he did. Swearing to Avi that if you ever ran into him you were going to rip him a new one, maybe even slap him for having the audacity to hurt you the way he did. But now that you’ve been graced with the opportunity all you feel is a deep sadness, all your anger gone in that instant.

You see Jay’s eyes bug out of his head as he looks between the two of you. “She’s ____?”

Your eyes flicker over to Jay as you make the assumption Jake must have told him all about the two of you. Jake reaches a hand out to grab yours but you instantly jerk away from his touch. He doesn’t deserve it, your mind screams at you.

“Don’t.” You grit out, fighting back the tears.

Jake’s face falls even more at the malice in the simple word, heart breaking at how you avoid his touch but respects it nonetheless.

“Please, let me just ex-”

You don’t let him finish before you’re spinning on your heel and bolting out of the party. You knock into a few partygoers, the alcohol finally taking its effect. You hear muffled shouts of your name as you push past people to make it outside to the lawn. In your daze you don’t see your friends running after you.

You stumble out of the party and onto the lawn. The front of the frat house is nearly empty, save for you and a couple that’s making out on the grass. You stagger towards a bush when the overwhelming feeling of vomiting consumes you. Your stomach contracts violently and all the liquor you had consumed comes back up splattering the bushes.

“____!” You hear Jungwon call out your name before he’s kneeling beside you and holding your hair back.

You heave again and once more the contents of your stomach spray the ground. You sink to your knees and retch until only clear liquid is coming up. Your throat feels sore from the stomach acid that is layering it and your mouth tastes of vomit.

Avi kneels beside you and rubs your back soothingly as Beomgyu stands protectively in front of you, shielding you from Jake’s view as he tries to grab your attention, constantly calling your name.

“It’s alright,” you hear Jungwon whisper as you feel your stomach begin to settle. He slowly ties your hair up for you using a hair tie Avi offers and once he’s sure Avi has a steady grip on you, he’s standing to square up to Jake.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jungwon asks. Beomgyu’s eyes widen the tiniest fraction at his roommate's question, knowing damn well he can’t fight and Jungown might be alone in this one.

Jake scoffs and steps up to Jungwon, his own annoyance at its peak. “I’m her best friend who the fuck do you think you are?”

Your friends all still at the realization of who exactly the stranger is. Avi is the first to react, scoffing at his audacity from beside you as she looks up at him.

“You know you got a lot of fucking nerve to even call yourself that. You’re the one who ghosted her, you’re the one who left. You don’t get to claim that title anymore.”

Jake falters at the harsh glare he’s receiving from your friends but he’s determined to speak to you.

“You don’t know shit.” Jay spits out from behind Jake knowing the true story as to why Jake did what he did. Albeit shitty, his friend had his reasons and he wasn’t going to let anyone shame him for the decisions he made as a kid fresh out of high school.

Beomgyu swears he sees red. “Watch it.” He says as he shoves at Jay’s chest. Jay, having none of it though, pushes back causing Jungwon and Jake to have to step in and separate their friends before things escalate.

Jake pulls his friend away and harshly whispers in his ear before Jay scoffs and walks away back into the party. Jake clears his throat and turns back to you and your friends who are all still glaring and making a protective front around you.

“Please, ____. I Just need one chance to explain myself.”

Jungwon opens his mouth to respond for you but you're quicker than him.

“No.” Your voice is firm, “you don’t get to hurt me the way you did and expect me to give you the courtesy of explaining why you chose to break my heart.”

From your seated position you can see the tears swimming in his eyes and it almost makes you crack. Almost. But you need to choose you for once. You need to stop throwing caution to the wind when it comes to Sim Jaeyun, he never once did that for you.

“You’re a year too late.”

Still determined and not deterred by your stance, Jake takes a cautious step forward, stopping when Jungwon deems he’s gotten too close and steps up as well to place a hand on Jake’s chest.

“I’m sorry, ____. I know I fucked everything up and-and that I don’t deserve another chance but please-” He chokes back a sob, “please just let me explain!” Avi rolls her eyes and helps you stand. “What good will that do? You’re right, you don’t deserve shit from her. Explaining why you’re a shitty person isn’t going to change anything.”

Although harsh, Avi is right. Hearing him out won’t change the fact that he no longer has a spot in your life, it won’t change the damage he’s caused, it won’t do anything.

“Let’s go guys.” You weekly let out, completely drained and craving the warmth of your bed.

“____!”

You ignore Jake’s call of your name and leave with your friends surrounding you, making it impossible for him to see you anymore. Your heart seizes in your chest at the desperation in his voice as he calls out to you but you keep walking, you leave him behind like he did to you all those months ago.

[November 15th, 12:35 AM]

[jake]: can we please talk?

[jake]: i’m sorry

[jake]: please

[jake]: _____?

[November 16th, 2:48 PM]

[jake]: i know you don’t want to talk to me but please let me explain ____

[jake]: i’ll leave you alone after, i swear

[November 17th, 6:15 PM]

[jake]: i’ll be at caffe nero near newbury tomorrow at 2 until they close

[jake]: please come and let me explain, i’ll leave you alone regardless of what you decide.

Jake stares down at his phone as he hits send, over the past two days he’s been sending you text messages praying you’ll respond but each one has been left on delivered. He doesn’t know if you’ve read them or even blocked him.

He tosses his phone aside and drops down on his hard dorm bed staring up at his ceiling wondering why he let things get so bad. He thought he was making the right decision for the both of you, thought he was doing right by you by leaving you alone.

Falling in love takes courage he doesn't possess at the time. You never stood a chance and it's little wonder why you felt so cheated.

Leading up to his departure from Australia everything was perfect, it was a dream. He had the girl of his dreams, a scholarship to the school of his dreams and for once- a supportive family backing every decision he made. It was new, it was different. It was scary. Jake grew up having to fight for his parents attention and had to work for their love, it was conditional, he had to be perfect. Being given it so freely and easily by you came as a shock.

He knew just how much you loved him, how much you had sacrificed over the years for him, he doesn’t deserve it now and he sure as hell didn’t think he deserved it back then. How could he love you if he barely understood how it worked? He had such a twisted view on love. At the time he thought it came with conditions, that he couldn’t love or be loved without conditions. That it was only a matter of time before the hammer dropped on your changing relationship and you began expecting more from him as a boyfriend, more that he couldn’t give.

Reading the letter was what really did it for him.

Of course he didn’t listen to you when you told him to read it once he was on the plane. He waited until you fell asleep and reached into the drawer to retrieve the letter and began reading it. Jake read it over and over again until he had it memorized, so much so that he still has it memorized to this day. He left you with the original but wrote it down on a napkin on the plane when he realized how big of a mistake it was to leave it. He sits up to walk over to his desk and retrieve his written version of the letter and begins to read it once again.

Dear Jake, my sweet angel boy,

I should have told you this right after prom: that there's this special love that I have deep within my heart. That love is only for you. It is far greater than this world. I wish I could show you how much you really mean to me. If I could only let you feel how much I really do love you in a kiss or a hug, you would begin to feel the love that I have for you.

If I could describe the love that I have for you and use lyrics of love songs or even the sonnets of Shakespeare, it would still be impossible, because the love that I love for you cannot be put into words. You've had my love from the day we met, and you will have it forever. As time goes by, my heart and love for you will keep growing stronger, brighter, and bigger.

Call me your love from this day forward. Although we have two different minds, and souls, we have one and the same beautiful heart. My love for you is unconditional. Please don’t forget that.

I love you with all my heart, body, and soul. I will never stop loving you. You are my life, my world, and everything to me. Distance may keep us apart for a short while but you will always and forever be embedded deep within my heart.

My beautiful love, you are my world and you have been since the first time I saw you. I felt love the first time I looked at you all those years ago in your backyard, and my world became a beautiful place to live in. I often ask myself, what in the world would I do without you now? I hope to never find out the answer to that question.

I’m writing you this letter to tell you how much you mean to me, and to thank you for coming into my life. You are something I never thought could exist for me. You are the best thing that has ever happened in my life, and I don't regret telling you how I feel.

I love you Sim Jaeyun, today, tomorrow, forever.

Tears swim in Jake’s eyes as he places the letter back in the depths of his desk. He wishes so badly that he didn’t run, that he stayed and talked through his fears with you but he was too much of a coward and knew deep down that you deserved better. He never deserved you to begin with and he was a fool for ever thinking a broken boy like him could ever love someone as amazing as you.

After leaving, Jake found it hard to settle into his new routine. He missed your presence every single day, finding it harder and harder to ignore your text messages asking how he was, if he had eaten, if he liked the campus.

By the time Jake had realized how big of a mistake he made and just how much of an ass he looked like, he couldn’t take it back. The damage had quite literally been done and it seemed you were moving on. The text messages stopped coming in, he was removed from your close friends and his mother no longer had any updates for him when he would ask. Apparently, you had stopped going over and it was rare to catch glimpses of you as the school year progressed.

When he had heard from his brother that you were no longer on the volleyball team he wanted to reach out and ask what happened. You loved the sport too much to just quit, especially during your senior year but Jake had a feeling he was the last person you wanted to hear from.

His first semester at Yale was nothing like he expected it to be, everything was dull and lifeless. Every day was the same routine: wake up, shower and brush his teeth, get dressed and head to lectures before studying at the library until midnight because his roommate had a girl over.

He felt like he was slowly losing his sanity. As the end of his first semester came to a close and winter break was fastly approaching Jake decided he had had enough. Yale meant nothing if you weren’t in his life. He knew at that point you had probably sent in your college applications and were practically a shoe-in for Harvard so he did what he thought would bring him peace.

He sent in his transfer application before the end of the semester to be able to start in the spring and got his acceptance right before winter break. He didn’t tell his parents about the sudden decision, knowing they wouldn’t be happy with him but he was done living in his fear. It was what caused him to lose you and he would be damned if he let it happen again.

He eventually told them once everything was set and as expected he received an earful about his decision from his father before he realized how deadset his son was on this before backing down.

Once the spring semester started Jake could slowly feel his world start to mend. Everything seemed brighter at Harvard; the physics program was easier, the people were kinder, he had friends and his new roommate wasn’t an ass.

Jay and Jake clicked the second Jake rolled his suitcases into the new room. Jay took him under his wing and treated him like a little brother. It felt nice to have someone to rely on, sure Jay wasn’t you but he slowly became someone who meant the world to him and he looked up to. Eventually Jay introduced Jake to his friends Heeseung and Sunghoon and the four became an inseparable group. The four of them truly did everything together: they took all their gen ed classes together, they attended each other's sporting events and they would often go to frats together with Jake staying sober to take care of his friends.

The guys never pushed Jake to explore the women that approached him at parties knowing his heart belonged to you. They had heard him go on and on about you on several occasions and knew he only transferred to be close to you. They admired his determination to right his wrongdoings but were truthfully skeptical if it would work. They encouraged him to just text you, arguing the more time he let pass the harder it would be to win you back but Jake argued back that this was something that couldn’t be fixed over text.

The semester flew by and Jake was increasingly getting excited. Once he had submitted his last final exam he was on the first flight back home to Australia in June. He couldn’t wait for you to start school in the fall to talk to you and he was long overdue for a trip back home, two birds with one stone. However, when he made it back home to Brisbane his dreams were once again crushed. His mother informed him about your solo trip to Europe and how your parents had sent you away under the guise of it being a graduation gift but really it was out of fear of your declining mental health.

Jake was lost, he had heard nothing about your mental state as his mother insisted she knew nothing about your life anymore when he would inquire about you over the phone. It came as a shock when his mom sat him down to tell him about you being kicked off the volleyball team rather than you just leaving like he assumed, how you no longer attended study groups and even skip school now. What came as the biggest shock was hearing you didn’t get into Harvard. Jake felt absolutely disgusted with himself.

He had caused this, he was the reason behind your suffering and yet he had the audacity to show up here thinking you would welcome him back. He was right, he really doesn’t deserve you. Look at all the pain he’s caused you and what you’ve lost in the process.

He didn’t stick around much longer after that, He flew back to the states a week before you came back from New Zealand and became hell bent on leaving you alone. He owed you that much, some peace after bringing nothing but chaos into your life.

The rest of his summer was a haze, he spent it getting high or drunk with Heeseung and Jay. He didn’t tell his friends about what he had heard from back home, the guilt eating at him but he made it clear that there would be no Jake and ____. The two of you were officially done.

Heesung and Jay were obviously worried about their friend, they knew of the love the male held for you and to see him so torn up over it that he was drinking all his inhibitions away or smoking until he was numb was alarming but they didn’t stop him.

They did however intervene towards the end of the summer when Sunghoon came back from Korea and Jake insisted the group went to an end of summer kickback. They had never seen Jake so out of it, he got so crossfaded that he passed out at the party and was unresponsive for twenty minutes.

Emergency services had to be called and the party got shut down. It was safe to say his friends were done with his shit and sat him down and forced him to talk about his emotions because they would be damned if they watched him continue down this path and eventually die from it.

That night was an eye opener for Jake and he swore he would get better, promised he would stop holding things in and be more upfront about how he was feeling. Seeing Jay cry over the possibility of his death was what really put things into perspective for him, the thought of you also possibly being torn over him dying got him to take his sobriety seriously.

His friends held him accountable as the new school year began, they cut back on frat parties, made the effort to not drink as much around him and even began being more open with each other due to Jay’s claims of “vulnerability breeds vulnerability.”

It was safe to say that Jake was finally beginning to heal. He knew sooner or later he would have to face the consequences of his actions and he was fully prepared to do so, just not so soon. It was Sunghoon’s idea to go to the frat at Kappa Alpha Theta for his birthday. Jake was fully prepared to say no and spend the day alone. This would be his second birthday spent away from you and he wanted the privacy to read through old birthday paragraphs you’ve sent him over the years and stare at the polaroids he took of you during your getaway to Sydney.

Jay and Heesung were having none of it though and insisted he needed to actually celebrate his birthday like Sunghoon said. Jake eventually caved when the three of them offered to stay sober with him. Seeing you at that party was devastating but seeing you in another man's arms was infuriating. Jake knew he had no right to be upset with you but it irked him that he was no longer the only male in your life. Jay had told him about the dance that took place before everything went to shit and Jake couldn’t help but wonder if you had fully moved on from him. Heeseung had to remind him that if you had, Jake couldn’t be upset with you, he had practically pushed you into Jungwon’s arms the second he decided to leave you behind in Australia.

“How long do you plan on staring at your phone?” Heeseung asks as he enters the younger male's room with Jay and Sunghoon trailing behind him.

Jake sighs and tosses the device to the side, “she still hasn’t responded.”

Sunghoon takes a seat beside Jake on the bed, “give her some space dude I’m sure seeing you at the party was the last thing she expected.”

Jay hums, “you did what you can. Give her space to decide what she wants.”

Jake heeds the advice of his friends. He’s inconvenienced you enough, leaving you alone to decide if you want to meet him is what you need now. He can only hope you do decide to hear him out.

“I don’t think you should go.”

You look up at Avi who’s standing above you on the couch staring down at your phone screen, contempt written all over her face. You gently sigh and lock your phone, letting it fall on the couch with a soft thud.

“I know.”

Ever since the party Jake has constantly been texting you. Avi was beyond annoyed with the male and his inability to- “leave you the fuck alone.” You would read them as they come in, unable to bring yourself to delete the messages like Beomgyu advised when you told him about them.

“Just block his number, ____.” Avi huffs, crossing her arms as she stares down at you. You look away and draw figure eights into the couch cushions as you think.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

It’s silent for a beat, you think for a few seconds before shrugging. “I don’t know.”

Avi sighs and uncrosses her arms. “You’re being selfish.”

You stop drawing imaginary shapes on the couch and fix your eyes on Avi, waiting for her to continue.

“What about Jungwon? Have you stopped to consider what this would do to him if you let Jake just waltz his way back into your life?”

You purse your lips, you haven’t talked to the younger male since the party. He’s been reaching out as well, trying to gauge how you’re feeling with the sudden appearance of Jake but you’ve yet to open them let alone respond.

“I don’t k-”

Avi groans in annoyance, cutting you off. “-I swear if you say I don’t know one more time, ____! Can’t you see how bad Jake is for you? One appearance and a few text messages and look at you! You’re not talking to us anymore, you haven’t left your bed in almost two days! Jake is toxic, this isn’t healthy!”

For some reason you want to defend his name, want to call Avi out on being a bitch but you don’t. You know she’s being logical and Jake doesn’t deserve it so you keep quiet. When she realizes her approach may have been a bit too harsh she softens a bit and takes a seat beside you.

“I’m sorry, I just-.” She cuts herself off with a deep inhale. “Jake will never love you the way Jungwon has. It’s harsh but true. Maybe Jake did have his reasons but that doesn’t change the fact that his approach was wrong. He didn’t stop to consider how hurt you would be and that’s not okay. Do you really want to be with someone who can hurt you so easily?”

She gently pats your back before continuing knowing you won’t answer. “Jake is selfish, he’s only ever cared about himself and Jungwon has only cared about you. Don’t miss out on what could be a great love with Jungwon because you’re infatuated with the idea of being with Jake.”

With that, she gets up and leaves you to stew in your thoughts. She’s right, Jungwon was the one to stay and pick up the pieces. He was the one to show you that love didn’t have to be painful, he’s patient, kind and above all absolutely madly in love with you. He healed you from the pain Jake caused so why are you self sabotaging? Who’s to say Jake won’t hurt you again? That he even has a valid reason for stringing you along?

Your phone buzzes on the couch pulling you out of your reverie. You sigh, expecting to find another text from Jake as you pick it up to look at it only to find it’s not from him but rather the other male you’ve been ignoring.

[November 17th, 7:37 PM]

[jungwon]: do you want to grab lunch with me at tatte tmr at 2?

You want to scream at how fate is playing out, now you really have to choose.

[November 18th, 2:17 PM]

You march up the sidewalk to the sound of the steady patter of rain against the pavement that leads to the little cafe that’s tucked between the huge city buildings and hidden away from view with vines crawling up its side. You come to a stop in front of the door and take a deep breath to calm yourself before entering.

A part of you is scared you’ve made the wrong decision, you want to turn around and run to him but you know you need to see this through. People love to think about the what if’s: what if I chose the wrong major? What if we weren’t meant to ever meet? What if things had just gone the way I had so desperately wanted them to?

For you, it's what could have been that plagues your mind. To you, they’re far worse than what if’s because they were within your reach, the possibility of it coming to fruition so near but never close enough.

Jake has been your biggest what could have been, your almost. You try and reason that it’s okay that you picked him in the end, you need to know why. Why your love wasn’t enough, why the two of you aren’t together, why he was so quick to give up on the two of you.

You head inside and note the cafe isn’t big, it’s small and cozy. You spot Jake easily, he’s sitting near the back by a window facing you. He offers you a hesitant smile and wave of his hand. You exhale and slowly walk towards his booth and slide into the seat across from him. He meekly slides a drink across the table.

“I know you always liked lattes so I ordered one for you, I hope you don’t mind.”

You look down at the drink he had slid over to your side. It sits prettily in a white china cup, a leaf pattern in delicate milky foam among the pale brown. You wrap your fingers around it, enjoying the heat that spreads through your hands, grateful for the little warmth it provides. You take a hesitant sip, it’s bitter, but you recall telling Jake that only babies ask for hot chocolate.

Truth is, you had stopped drinking lattes once your friendship with him ended, the drink brought back too many unwanted memories. Memories of walking to the nearest cafe in Brisbane during finals season to get your coffee fix to stay up and finish studying were too apparent and hurt too much.

You take a bigger sip and this time let the warm liquid sit on your tongue for longer. You can't smell the bitterness of coffee beans in the warm air of the cafe and you feel safe and calm for just a moment. You allow yourself to get enveloped in the smell of baking bread and let your worries slip away for just a split second.

You place the cup back onto the table and slowly come back to reality. “Thank you.”

Jake shoots a shy smile your way and shrugs, “anything for you.”

You clear your throat and sit straighter, back on alert. You fiddle with the handle of your teacup not knowing what to say. Was this a mistake after all?

Jake, sensing your hesitance, decides to speak up first. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Jake studies your face for a good minute. He notes all the subtle changes about you, he picks up on your new hairstyle and the change in your clothes. He also picks up on the awkwardness that hangs in the air, things have never been this tense between the two of you and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“I was scared that I wouldn’t be enough.” Jake looks away for a brief moment to collect his emotions and make his apology sound as sincere as it can be. “Ever since we were nine you’ve loved me and I was scared that I would mess things up, that once we made things official you would expect more from me, more that I didn’t know how to give and that ultimately I would be the cause of your unhappiness and all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, ____.”

“I had enough love for the both of us,” you softly confess, your heart breaking at the revelation of how he truly felt at the time. “Why didn’t you just say that? Why didn’t you let me love you?”

Jake gulps, tears stinging his eyes. “Because it didn’t seem like a fair trade. You don’t deserve someone broken. I thought love came with conditions and I didn’t want to drain you.”

You frown, growing annoyed with how he declares how you feel. It irks you how his brain works, how he assumed how you would react, how you would feel rather than giving you the opportunity to brave through the motions together.

“You don’t get to just make decisions on my half.”

Jake stiffly nods. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Your hands ball up into fists, anger beginning to consume your body. “I’m sorry isn’t enough! I was in love with you Jake! I was willing to go to the ends of the earth just to see you smile! Why didn’t you just talk to me? I would have loved you enough until you could love yourself! We could have made it work!”

Jake shakes his head, “no we couldn’t have.”

You glare at him, “why the fuck not!?”

This time Jake stays silent. Your eyes challenge him though, begging him to continue. To give you one good reason as to why he walked away but he gives you nothing, once again making you look like a fool for throwing caution to the wind and picking him.

Angry tears pool in your eyes as you forcefully stand from your seat and stare down at Jake. He looks up at you in surprise and shame. “Don’t you fucking get it? Even after all this time, I’m still in love with you!” You scoff as you see his eyes widening at your confession. “And yet you still can’t be honest with me, I feel so stupid. You make me stupid Sim Jaeyun.”

You don’t wait for him to respond before you’re bolting out of the coffee shop and out into the rain. It’s coming down harder now than it was when you left. You let out a string of curses at how soaked you’re getting and at how embarrassed you feel for confessing your love to Jake.

“____! ____, wait!”

You hear him calling out to you but you don’t stop, if anything it spurs you on to walk faster. The streets of Newbury are astonishingly empty due to the rain making it seemingly easy for a clean escape. What you fail to take into account though is Jake’s ability to sprint due to years of soccer.

He grabs onto your arm and spins you around to face him, determination written all over his face.

“I don’t deserve love, ____ I don’t!” Jake can feel his head spin with hurt, pain and daunting thoughts that have always plagued his self-deprecating mind. “That’s why I walked away. I can’t be loved, not by you, not my dad, not by anyone. I’m not worthy of it… I’m not a lovable person.” 

“Oh my Gosh..” You place a hand over your mouth, emotions reaching a crescendo as you raise your voice. “Yes you are, Jake. Why do you think I’m standing here and telling you I love you? Why do you think I ever did any of the things I’ve done for you? Couldn’t you see it in the way I looked at you? In the way I touched you, the way I trusted you? You’re worth every fucking last bit of love I have.” 

“You are the greatest love I have ever known, ____. It felt selfish to keep you all to myself knowing you could have had more! Knowing I was holding you back-”

You shake your head cutting him off, “I only ever wanted you. You were always more than enough Jake and I wish you had just told me! I would have reassured you each and every time! That’s what you do when you love someone!”

Jake suddenly closes the gap between you, gripping your face intimately as he looks into your frantic eyes. “I didn’t know how to talk through my emotions, ____. I thought it was better to deal with it alone and that caused me the best thing I’ve ever had. I’m still in love with you. My feelings are so strong I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t think straight, I don’t think straight when it comes to you.” Your eyes stare back at his desperate ones, Jake trying so desperately hard to get you to understand. “I want to try again. I want to do it right this time and never let you go.”

Your lips quiver, taken aback by his warm touch and confession. Unable to resist the urge any longer, Jake slowly leans forward, one hand firmly grasping your waist, the other resting at the base of your neck, and presses your lips together. Lightning cracks overhead as the rain continues to pour down on the two of you, soaking through your clothes. But none of it matters. A warmth radiates through you as you continue kissing Jake as the world seems to melt around you. After a few moments, you slowly pull away, taking a small gasp of air. A sheepish smile creeps onto Jake’s face as you sigh against his lips, breaking eye contact for a moment before Jake plants another, shorter kiss on your lips.

“I love you, ____. I’m sorry for not trying hard enough before but please, give me another chance to love you the right way. The way you deserve. I’m not scared anymore.”

You sniffle and nod your head, “”Okay. Let’s try again. No hiding this time. I want all parts of you Jaeyun, even the parts that scare you.”

He smiles and pecks your lip one last time. “You have all of me.”

GET WELL SOON , P.SH !

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

PAIRING: racer ! sunghoon × orphan ! afab reader.

SYNOPSIS: You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

WORD COUNT: 19.2K

FEAT: WONYOUNG from IVE, JAY from ENHYPEN, HANNI from NEWJEANS, + some ocs

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

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TAGLIST: @chexnluv @moonpri @wensurr @jiyeons-closet @isa942572 @jkslvsnella @woniefull @aleeza444 @capri-cuntz @vi-ri @hotteokisms @flwwon @shhth @lialaiakalaiiaia (the ones in bold couldn't be tagged)

AS YOU LAY IN THE HOSPITAL BED, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air, your gaze drifted to the bouquet of white roses on the table beside you. A scoff slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a bitter reminder of why you were even here.

This was all his fault. Park Sunghoon.

For a second, you tried to maintain your calm, the nice person part of you struggling to hold on, but that guy—he tested all of it.

“Throw them away, please?” you asked, your voice clipped as you turned to the nurse adjusting your IV.

Before she could respond, an infuriatingly familiar voice cut through the room, smooth yet utterly exasperating. “You don't like white?”

You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. The sudden rush of irritation heated your cheeks as you whipped your head towards the door. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Strolling in casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive designer coat, as if he hadn’t ruined your entire week.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you shot back, your glare burning through him. The forced smile on your face was saccharine, dripping with the very clear message that he was definitely not welcome.

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Of course, he had the audacity to smirk—like always. "Sadly," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “you gotta keep them.”

Without invitation, he sauntered over to the side of your bed, his presence filling the room, as if his wealth and arrogance alone could smother the oxygen. You watched him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over your chest in defiance.

“Just leave me alone, you rich jerk,” you spat, unable to hold back the venom in your tone. Your fists clenched beneath the thin hospital sheets, a reminder that you couldn’t even storm out of here like you wanted to. You were stuck—and it was all because of him.

His face faltered for a split second, the cockiness slipping ever so slightly as your words hit him. But like clockwork, he masked it, that composed, arrogant look sliding back into place.

It should’ve been satisfying to see the momentary flash of guilt cross his features, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your life had been flipped upside down, not when you were confined to this bed because of his mistake.

BUT HOW DID ALL OF THIS HAPPEN?

Well…

FLASHBACK!

Your eyes were stinging from the tears, and you clumsily wiped them away with the back of your hand. You weren’t exactly drunk—maybe two shots deep after an agonizingly stressful day—but it was enough to make your head spin. Why did it all have to be so sad?

Sniffling, you stumbled down the empty street, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you sobbed quietly into the night. The darkness felt overwhelming, like it was swallowing you whole, and even though your tears blurred your vision, you knew where you were heading—or at least you thought you did.

It wasn’t until you heard the loud, abrupt honk of a motorbike that you even realized you were standing in the middle of the street. You barely had time to turn your head towards the blinding lights before—BAM!

The impact wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was enough. The bike, thankfully, had slowed down, but not nearly enough to stop it from hitting you. Pain shot through your leg as you collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You groaned loudly, clutching your leg, wincing at the sharp sting that radiated through your body. Meanwhile, the rider, who had also fallen, was busy steadying himself, dusting off his helmet as if he wasn’t the reason your entire life had just flashed before your eyes.

“THE HELL?!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you tried to shift your weight but immediately regretted it. The sharp pain in your leg intensified, forcing you back down onto the concrete. You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes once again as you glared up at him.

The guy finally looked your way, lifting his visor to reveal his face. "Ma’am, are you okay?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, as if he hadn’t just crashed his motorcycle into you. Like it was some minor inconvenience to him.

Your blood boiled. “Okay???" you spat out, your voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "I’m literally bleeding! Are you dumb?!”

The guy blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but remained calm. Too calm. “Alright, alright, just calm down,” he muttered, crouching down next to you, but that only made you angrier.

"Calm down?” you snapped, clenching your fists as the pain and the frustration built up inside of you. “Say that when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out!"

He flinched at your words but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, you were still seething, glancing down at your leg where the blood was now slowly trickling down your thigh, staining your jeans. The sight of it made you dizzy, your head swimming with pain and exhaustion.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you still had enough energy to notice him—freaking fixing his bike. He had the nerve to set it upright on its stand, making sure it was okay before coming back to check on you.

"If you even think about making this a hit and run," you rasped, your voice hoarse from both pain and anger, “I’ll haunt your entire family line.”

The guy stopped, visibly gulping as he knelt down beside you once again, clearly panicking now. "No, no, that’s not—look, the ambulance is coming, okay? Just… try to stay with me.”

Your vision blurred, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the world began to tilt. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was him leaning over, actually cleaning the blood off your thigh with his sleeve, his face a mask of panic and guilt. You didn’t know what was worse—the excruciating pain or the fact that you now hated him with every fiber of your being. Park Sunghoon.

And just like that, you passed out, your hatred for him searing into the darkness of your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

AND WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED AFTER THAT?

You may wonder, but well...

Turns out, the guy—Park Sunghoon—was not just any calm, overly collected motorcyclist who’d crashed into you that night. No, he was the son of a wealthy man, one of those who didn’t have to face consequences because money speaks louder than the truth. And apparently, money really does talk, especially when you’re up against a system rigged to work in favor of the rich.

Even though Sunghoon had confessed to being at fault—had told the police it was his mistake—the tests showed otherwise. Your blood test, which revealed traces of alcohol, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. You weren’t even drunk, for heaven's sake—two shots hardly counted—but that didn’t matter. The system had already labeled you as the reckless one. Your claims of innocence? Brushed off, like dust from his expensive jacket.

It was humiliating. The police barely questioned Sunghoon. His parents swooped in like hawks, ensuring their precious son wouldn’t be held accountable for such a trivial incident, and just like that, there was no investigation, no justice. Just a quick sweep under the rug, and you were left to fester in your anger, helpless against the machine that protected people like him.

Being an orphan only made things worse. You had no guardian, no family to back you up or fight for you. Your best friend, Wonyoung, was the only one who came to your side. She tried covering your hospital bills—she had offered, insisted even—but you couldn’t let her. She needed the money more than you did, and you weren’t about to burden her with your mess. But you couldn't deny her when she showed up every day with packed lunches, smuggling in home-cooked meals like they were contraband.

On one particular afternoon, you sat in the hospital bed, poking at the warm rice she had lovingly packed in a small bento box. Wonyoung sat across from you, her eyes burning with the same hatred you felt. She stabbed at her own food, her anger simmering with every bite.

“I still can’t believe him,” she muttered, barely able to contain her frustration. “How does he get to walk away from this like it’s nothing?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head as you swallowed a bite of food. “Because he’s rich. Rich guys don’t face consequences, apparently.”

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You sighed, your gaze falling to your bandaged leg. It throbbed, a constant reminder of everything that had happened. “Join the club,” you muttered. “He hasn’t even tried to take responsibility. Not once.”

Wonyoung scoffed, glancing over at the sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over everything. “How does he sleep at night? Like, seriously?”

You thought about that too. How did Park Sunghoon sleep at night? Probably on some ridiculously expensive mattress in his mansion, far away from the mess he’d left you in. You clenched your fists around the edge of your blanket, biting back the urge to cry. Not again. You were so tired of crying, of feeling powerless, of being at the mercy of someone else’s mistakes.

AND AS THE DAYS PASSED, the gnawing anxiety of being kicked out of the hospital clung to you like a dark cloud. Let's be honest—you had no money. The minute the hospital caught wind of that, you were sure they’d toss you out on the curb without a second thought. It wasn’t like you had any guardian to bail you out, no family waiting in the wings to cover the mounting costs. You were an orphan—alone, except for your best friend Wonyoung, who had already done more than she needed to.

Sitting up slightly in your bed, you glanced at the nurse as she came in to check your vitals. She seemed nice—too nice—and it was exactly that thread of hope you grasped at as you hesitantly asked, “So... when do I pay the hospital bill?”

You knew the question was pointless, knew the answer would sink like lead in your gut, but you had to ask. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen.

The nurse adjusted the IV drip, giving you a small smile as she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Someone already paid for you.”

Your jaw didn’t drop—not even a little—because let’s be honest, you knew who had covered it. Sunghoon’s parents. Of course they did. Anything to wipe their son’s record clean, to make sure no trace of this incident marred the reputation of their precious heir. Rich people.

“Right.” You muttered, sinking back into the pillows, staring at the plain white ceiling. It was always the same. Pay, forget, move on. No justice, just convenient cover-ups.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension building inside you, walked out of the room. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes, hoping—praying—that it wasn’t Sunghoon or one of his parents waiting for you outside. But your luck? Yeah, it never worked in your favor.

“Enjoying your stay here?” His voice was as smooth as silk, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, Park Sunghoon, standing in the doorway with that charming smile of his. It was the kind of smile that could have melted hearts—not yours, though. Not now, not when he was the reason you were lying here, stuck in this bed, smelling nothing but disinfectant and medicine.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “A dream vacation. Smell of medicine, broken bones, IV drips—just paradise.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, like he wasn’t standing in front of you after nearly ruining your life. You could have thrown the flower pot sitting by your bed at him—would have if the nurse hadn’t spoken up at that exact moment.

“She has a fracture in her leg and some soft tissue damage, but with rehabilitation, she should recover in twelve to eighteen weeks,” the nurse said, looking at Sunghoon like he actually cared about your prognosis.

“Alright. I get it,” he muttered, nodding as if he was taking mental notes, and you wondered why. Why was he still here? Why did he even care? He had already done his job, hadn’t he? Paid the bills, covered the mess—so why was he still hanging around?

The nurse excused herself, flashing what you swore was a knowing smile before she left the room. “Okay, then, enjoy your time with your girlfriend,” she said as she slipped out the door.

Girlfriend?! You nearly choked on your own breath. Girlfriend?? Really?! Your eyes shot to Sunghoon, demanding an explanation as you sat up straighter, the hospital blanket clenched in your fists.

“Explain,” you hissed, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. Your leg ached with the movement, but you ignored it, your whole body brimming with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... my dad wouldn’t let me get involved after the accident. But I wanted to take responsibility, and the only way I could stay connected to this without the media getting involved was to pretend you were my girlfriend. That way, it looks like I’m just... you know, paying your bills because I care.”

“Because you care?” You scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “As expected. Rich people like you don’t actually care—you just want to clean up the mess and move on. Get the media off your back. Don’t worry about me though, Sunghoon. Just stay away from me, because if you keep hanging around, I swear, I will go insane.”

You grabbed the flower pot with one hand, aiming it directly at his face. Your knuckles whitened from the grip, the tension boiling over.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sunghoon raised his hands defensively, stepping back with a sheepish smile that only infuriated you more. “Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”

He slipped out of the room with a smile that seemed too nonchalant, like none of this was serious to him. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving you to stew in your anger.

You let out a long string of curses under your breath, tossing the flower pot back onto the bedside table with a huff. Your head fell back against the pillow, and you closed your eyes, groaning in frustration.

Why did this guy have to be so infuriating? Every time you thought about him, your blood boiled, and now you were stuck in this mess with him as the person supposedly “taking care” of you. What a joke.

You clutched the blanket tighter, trying to shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness.

THE NEXT DAY?

SUNGHOON WAS BACK AGAIN.

You groaned inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye as he quietly settled into the chair beside your hospital bed. He didn't speak, just sat there, his eyes glued to you. What the hell was his deal? You were already too tired to deal with the fact that this guy, who had already caused enough trouble in your life, was now making himself a permanent fixture in your hospital room.

“Can you just go away?” you murmured, voice low and raspy, refusing to look at him directly. It was irritating enough that he was here—you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly as if he were genuinely invested in whatever non-existent conversation you were about to have. “I just... I just wanted to apologize,” he started, his tone softer than you expected. “Look, I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, didn’t want you to get this fracture—”

“Don’t bother me with your false apologies,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as your eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way you were going to sit here and let him play the nice guy when he was the reason you were stuck in this bed. As far as you were concerned, his words were as hollow as his concern.

Sunghoon flinched at your dismissal, but his face quickly returned to that neutral, unreadable expression he always wore. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small, elegant container from his side, opened it up, and began arranging a steaming bowl of ramen. The fragrant aroma hit your nose almost instantly—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg on the side, and a hint of spice. His personal chef’s touch, no doubt. How typical.

“Here.” He pushed the bowl towards you, chopsticks in hand, offering it like it was some grand gesture of peace.

You stared at it, the smell tempting your empty stomach. But hell no were you going to eat anything he gave you. Not after everything. It felt like taking pity food, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d done something nice.

“I don’t want to eat this,” you refused coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away as if the sight of it disgusted you.

Sunghoon blinked, clearly taken aback by your blunt rejection. The chopsticks hovered mid-air, the ramen dangling precariously off the ends. “Then... what are you gonna eat?” His tone wasn’t mocking, just confused—like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse gourmet ramen made by a personal chef.

You bit back a sigh, feeling the frustration bubbling under your skin. “The hospital food,” you replied flatly, knowing full well you had no intention of eating it. Who in their right mind actually wanted hospital food? But you weren’t going to let him win. Even if it meant enduring that tasteless mush, you would.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, completely unfazed, and with the same calm indifference, he took a bite of the ramen himself. Leaning back in his chair, he made himself comfortable, savoring each bite like he had all the time in the world. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of his quiet chewing, and your irritation spiked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, glaring at him as he continued to eat in silence.

He glanced at you, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found this whole situation amusing. “You said you didn’t want it. So, I’m eating it.” His tone was maddeningly casual, as if the fact that you were lying there in a hospital bed while he enjoyed a meal meant absolutely nothing to him.

“I—” You started, but your words stuck in your throat. Was he doing this on purpose? You glared at him, eyes narrowing, your frustration palpable. Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

It hit him square in the chest, the force of it barely making him flinch, but it was enough to get his attention.

“Just eat somewhere else!” you snapped, your voice raising a bit louder than you intended. “Not near me. You’re making me feel nauseous,” you added, feigning an exaggerated gag as you pressed your hand to your stomach, though in truth, your frustration was more mental than physical.

Sunghoon paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his gaze flickering over to you. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something like amusement, or maybe even disbelief. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual blank, indifferent expression.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair back a few inches as if to placate you. He continued eating though, leaning further back, seemingly unbothered by your outburst.

You watched him in silence, your hands clenching the hospital blanket in frustration. How could someone be so infuriating? Every fiber of your being screamed to tell him off, to shout at him for being so... so... indifferent.

But deep down, you knew you couldn’t push him too far. As much as you hated it, this guy and his filthy rich family were the ones footing your hospital bills. Without them, you’d be in deep trouble, maybe even kicked out by now. You needed to be civil—just civil enough—to keep this uncomfortable arrangement going. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

As Sunghoon continued eating, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Your job. What the hell were you supposed to tell your workplace? They were going to fire you for taking such a long break, weren’t they? You were already behind on rent, behind on everything. And now, because of him, you were going to lose the only shred of stability you had left.

You glanced at him again, annoyance bubbling up inside you. This was all his fault.

Every second he stayed here, pretending to be remorseful, pretending to care—it only fueled your hatred more.

After finishing up his food, Sunghoon finally stood up from the chair, and for a blissful second, you thought he was about to leave. Peace, at last.

But no. You watched in dismay as he turned toward the door, only to return moments later with another steaming bowl of food—something undoubtedly made by his annoyingly talented personal chef again. Your stomach growled involuntarily at the sight of it, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted it.

Just as you were about to shoot him a glare, the nurse caring for you entered the room, pushing a small tray cart with the dreaded hospital food on it. Great. She offered a brief, polite smile as she placed the tray on your bedside table. The food looked even worse today—if that was even possible—bland and unappetizing, the kind of meal that probably hadn’t seen salt or seasoning in years.

“Here you go, sweetie. Make sure you eat something,” the nurse said warmly before quickly leaving the room, clearly unaware of the ongoing battle of wills between you and Sunghoon.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you looked over at him. He was watching you, his elbow lazily perched on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damn smirk. The one that made you want to throw something at him—if it weren’t for your fractured leg keeping you bedridden.

“Thank you,” you muttered halfheartedly, reluctantly picking up the plastic spoon that came with the hospital food. You took a bite of the mushy, tasteless concoction, and immediately regretted it. It was like eating wet cardboard. You fought hard not to gag, your throat tightening as the flavorless blob slid down.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly from across the room, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought you wanted hospital food?” he teased, leaning forward just a little as if to get a better look at your suffering.

You made a face, a sickened grimace pulling at your lips as soon as the nurse was out of sight. The taste was vile. And worse yet, Sunghoon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening. He knew you didn’t want the hospital food. He knew, and that only seemed to make this entire situation even more entertaining for him.

Your pride was the only thing stopping you from throwing the tray out the window and devouring the meal he brought, but your body was betraying you. Your stomach growled again, loud enough for Sunghoon to hear. He chuckled, clearly amused by your stubbornness.

Before you could protest, he moved closer, balancing the bowl of ramen on his knee as he picked up his chopsticks. With an exaggerated nonchalance, he twirled some noodles around the chopsticks and brought them to your lips.

“Here,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “Just try it.”

You stared at the chopsticks hovering in front of you, your resolve weakening. The savory scent of the ramen was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your body betrayed you once again. You leaned forward and took a bite, unable to resist the warm, perfectly seasoned noodles. The difference in taste was almost enough to make you groan in relief.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he watched you chew, his eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a teasing lilt.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you glared at him through a mouthful of ramen. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, voice muffled as you chewed.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking up in playful curiosity. “You don’t like being called a good girl?”

“It’s cringe,” you replied shortly, swallowing the bite. “Just... feed me, dude.”

He raised an eyebrow at the casual “dude” and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t ‘dude’ me,” he shot back, his tone playfully offended. He twirled more noodles around the chopsticks and held them up for you again.

You glared at him but leaned in for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor. Dammit, the ramen was good. Stupid rich kids and their personal chefs.

“Why can’t you be nice to me for just one second?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of genuine curiosity.

You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Maybe because you literally got my leg fractured.”

He let out a low sigh, his face softening as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other still held the chopsticks. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost me my life,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitter sarcasm. You gestured to your leg, propped up awkwardly with a cast. “I can’t work. I’m stuck here. All because of you.”

He winced slightly, but it was brief, his calm expression returning just as quickly. “Yeah, but I’m paying for your bills and feeding you gourmet food. I think that counts for something.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re throwing your money at the problem you caused,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He leaned in again, closer this time, his face just inches from yours as he held up the chopsticks with a piece of soft-boiled egg. “You need protein to recover,” he said with mock seriousness, as if that somehow excused everything.

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare but opened your mouth reluctantly, letting him feed you the egg. It was delicious, of course.

Your bickering continued, the tension between you palpable—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to examine too closely. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something almost... comfortable in this strange back-and-forth. Even if he was insufferable. Even if he had ruined your life. There was something about the way he teased you, the way he looked at you with that annoying smirk, that was... unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Next time,” you muttered between bites, “just don’t call me a good girl.”

Sunghoon grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see.”

A WEEK HAD PASSED,

AND SOMEHOW, THIS GUY,

PARK SUNGHOON—

Had become an inescapable shadow in your life. He was always around, lingering like a ghost in the corner of your hospital room, and frankly, it was getting on your nerves. You’d half expected him to get bored and move on, but no, he was persistent. Today was no exception, as he casually strolled in, dressed far too well for someone who supposedly had nothing better to do.

As if the universe wanted to test you even more, you suddenly realized you needed to use the bathroom. Perfect. With a fractured leg and several other annoying injuries, it wasn’t exactly a simple task to just get up and go.

Your eyes flickered over to Sunghoon, who, as usual, was making himself comfortable in the chair beside your bed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. How does he not have work? you wondered. But then again, he was rich. He probably was the boss—no one to yell at him for skipping out.

An idea popped into your head, one so devious it made you almost grin. If you were stuck in this hell because of him, then he was going to suffer for it, too.

“I need to use the washroom,” you said, your voice dripping with forced sweetness. You shot him a smile so sugary it could give someone a cavity.

He looked up from his phone, raising a single eyebrow, his expression both confused and slightly suspicious. “And why are you telling me this?” His tone was casual, but you could tell he was wondering what you were up to.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Did he really not get it?

“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, “because you’re going to help me get there.”

Sunghoon’s face twisted into an expression of disbelief, the confusion deepening as he stared at you. His brows furrowed, and he glanced from you to your cast, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “Can’t you just call the nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.

You shrugged again, acting as though the answer was obvious. “The nurse is probably busy with other patients. You’re here, so... help me.”

For a moment, Sunghoon just stared at you, realizing that this was your revenge—your small, petty way of getting back at him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options, but ultimately, he sighed, knowing full well this was his fault. He couldn’t say no. Not this time.

He stood up from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket, and walked over to you. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, though there was a subtle trace of amusement in his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

You smirked, raising your arms toward him in a silent, exaggerated demand for help. He gave you a look—one that said he knew exactly what you were doing—but he bent down anyway, carefully placing his arm around your back to help you sit up.

His movements were surprisingly gentle as he shifted you, mindful of your injuries. For a moment, you almost forgot you were supposed to hate him, but the memory of your fractured leg came rushing back as you awkwardly stood, balancing on your good leg while he held you up.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you teased, leaning a bit more heavily on him than necessary.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, his grip tightening around your waist as he helped you off the bed. “Just don’t fall on me,” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

You let out a small, fake gasp. “Are you afraid of a little contact, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone dripping with mock innocence.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he ignored your jab, shifting his weight to better support you as he guided you toward the bathroom. “Gosh, why can’t you just call the nurse like a normal person?” he groaned, sounding far more exasperated now that he was actually having to deal with you.

“Because,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is your fault. You got me into this mess, and now you get to deal with it.”

He sighed again, clearly trying his hardest not to snap back at you. You could practically hear the patience draining out of him as he helped you into the bathroom, your body leaning heavily on his arm as you hobbled on one leg. His other hand hovered near your cast, careful not to jostle it.

Once you were inside the small bathroom, he slowly backed out, giving you space but not before shooting you a deadpan look. “You good?”

You smirked, biting back a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Sunghoon closed the door behind him with a soft click, but not before calling through the wood, “Just yell when you’re finished, Your Highness.”

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Revenge tasted sweet, even if it was petty. You knew Sunghoon didn’t want to be here, playing nurse, but it felt good to trouble him—just a little.

You took your time, prolonging your stay in the bathroom for as long as possible, savoring the knowledge that Sunghoon was waiting outside. Maybe it was childish, but it made you feel a bit better, if only for a moment.

As you lingered in the bathroom, relishing in your small, mischievous victory, Sunghoon's voice rang out from the other side of the door, his tone laced with irritation.

“You done?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled through the door.

You smirked, leaning your head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, debating whether to prolong this little game. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for you. In your attempt to stand up properly, your balance wavered. Your injured leg buckled slightly, causing you to slip, creating a loud thud that echoed off the walls.

“Oh God?! Did you break your leg again?” Sunghoon’s voice immediately shifted from annoyance to a surprising edge of concern. You could hear the door handle jiggle as he attempted to open it.

In a panic, you yelled back before he could barge in. “Don’t even try! I haven’t pulled my pants up!” Your voice wobbled between panic and embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself.

There was a brief pause, followed by a mixture of relief and exasperation in his tone. “Seriously?”

You could practically feel his embarrassment from behind the door as he rubbed the back of his neck, caught between wanting to help and this awkward situation. “Then pull them up!” he said, as though that solved everything. The sheer audacity of his tone made your eye twitch.

“Listen, boy,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. “If I could pull them up, don’t you think I’d be able to walk out? I’m literally stuck on the floor. And it’s disgusting down here!”

His groan was audible through the door, no doubt paired with him running a hand over his face in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

The back-and-forth bickering continued for what felt like forever, with you calling out orders and him grumbling on the other side of the door. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally gave up trying to maintain any shred of dignity in this situation.

“Okay, I pulled them up! Now, help me get out of here,” you finally yelled, exhausted from the struggle.

Sunghoon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh of relief, one that almost made you want to smack him if it weren’t for your current predicament. “Phew, finally.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped inside with a mix of irritation and amusement. He bent down to help you, slipping his arm around your waist once more, lifting you up with practiced ease. You let out a small huff as he guided your weight against him, his warm hand steadying you as your body adjusted to standing again.

Without another word, you wobbled toward the sink, more than ready to return to the bed, but you couldn’t just ignore the fact that your hands were still dirty. Sunghoon kept his arm around you as you leaned over the sink to wash your hands, his eyes narrowing as he observed what you were doing.

"You..." he started, trailing off, his eyes slowly widening in horror. “You haven’t washed your hands yet, have you?”

You glanced up at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I fell, genius,” you muttered, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon’s face instantly paled, his eyes darting from his hands to yours, his expression shifting from shock to absolute disgust. He immediately let go of you, stepping back like you’d just told him you had the plague.

“You did NOT just touch me with unwashed hands,” he said, his voice a mix of horror and disgust as he dramatically recoiled. His hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly, before he rushed to the other side of the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands with soap, as though he were trying to rid himself of every possible germ.

Watching him panic was somehow immensely satisfying, a smug grin curling your lips as you watched him suffer in disgust. “Eww, eww, eww!” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed, his face twisted in revulsion.

“Serves you right,” you quipped, leaning back against the wall, watching him frantically rinse his hands as though his life depended on it.

“You’re disgusting,” he shot back, glaring at you through the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying hard not to smile.

"Don’t act like I planned to fall, Sunghoon,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you continued to lean on him for support, your smirk never faltering. “But seeing you in pain—this... disgust—I gotta admit, it feels kinda good.”

He shot you a look, half exasperated and half amused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re something else,” he muttered, shaking his head as he helped you back toward the bed.

As much as you wanted to hate him, there was something oddly... endearing about his reaction. The tension between the two of you simmered beneath the surface, a strange mix of frustration, amusement, and something else you refused to acknowledge.

“I know,” you said, smirking as you let him help you lie down on the bed again. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made the air between you shift. For a moment, the banter fell silent, replaced by an unspoken tension. You both looked away at the same time, the quiet hum of the hospital room filling the space where your words had been.

It wasn’t hatred, not anymore—not exactly. It was something far more complicated than that.

AGAIN,

The next week went by in a haze of frustration, playful revenge, and shared irritations. What had started as your deep-seated hatred for Sunghoon for causing your fractured leg evolved into something less easy to define. It became a bizarre game of you tormenting him with every small inconvenience, while he reluctantly dealt with the trouble, almost as if he believed he deserved it. You had no idea why he kept coming back, why he hadn't just left you to the hospital staff—yet here he was. Every day. Helping you.

And today? Today, you were bored out of your mind, sick of the sterile walls of your hospital room and the bland hospital gown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The thought of sitting in that stiff bed for another minute was unbearable. Naturally, you decided Sunghoon should suffer the consequences of your boredom too. After all, he was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Take me out for a walk,” you’d said earlier, putting on your best guilt-trip face. “It’s the weekend, you have time. I’ve been stuck here for days.”

Sunghoon, standing at the foot of your bed with an exasperated sigh, had rubbed his temples as if debating whether to throw you into the wheelchair himself or just walk out. But he didn't. With a reluctant grunt and a muttered “Fine, whatever,” he agreed, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner and helping you into it.

Now, as he pushed you down the hospital hallway, your eyes gleamed with mischief. Your fractured leg was propped up awkwardly, wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and your body was still healing, but you were reveling in making him work for it.

"The garden!" you demanded, pointing outside through the glass doors like a queen giving orders to her servant.

Sunghoon, visibly tired from both the physical effort and the mental strain of dealing with you, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You enjoy this,” he muttered, his voice barely hiding the annoyance beneath. It wasn’t a question. He knew you were having way too much fun making his life difficult.

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you leaned back in the wheelchair with a smug grin, watching the trees and flowers of the hospital garden come into view. The warm sunlight kissed your skin, a far cry from the cold hospital walls. This, oddly enough, felt freeing. And it was even better knowing Sunghoon was stuck with you through it. He owed you, after all.

As you rolled along the garden’s paths, you caught sight of something from the corner of your eye—flashes. The unmistakable click of cameras. Paparazzi.

Your smile widened. You remembered the lies Sunghoon had told the nurse—how he had casually, with that infuriating confidence, claimed you were his girlfriend to save face. He was wealthy, privileged, and undoubtedly terrified of the media catching wind of the real story—that he was the one who crashed into you and got you in this mess.

A WICKED IDEA BLOOMED IN YOUR MIND.

Without warning, you let out a loud, exaggerated sob, your shoulders shaking dramatically as you hid your face in your hands. The sound echoed across the garden, loud enough that even the photographers several feet away perked up, their lenses immediately focusing on you.

Sunghoon immediately froze, halting the wheelchair in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he moved to your side, kneeling down beside you. His eyes darted around, realizing the attention you were drawing.

But you didn’t stop. You cried even louder, your voice cracking as you spoke, “It’s because of you! You ruined me! You ruined my life!” Your words were over the top, a dramatic sob story for the cameras.

Sunghoon’s eyes went wide with panic, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He glanced over at the paparazzi, whose cameras were now flashing like crazy, capturing every tear, every quiver of your voice. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was low, trying to keep his cool but clearly rattled.

You shot him a look through tear-filled eyes that could have won you an Oscar for Best Actress. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” you sobbed again, clutching your leg for dramatic effect. “All because you weren’t paying attention!”

He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to contain the situation. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously between you and the flashing cameras.

But you weren’t done. Oh no. You were just getting started. “I should’ve never trusted you!” you wailed, loud enough for the photographers to pick up every word.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, panic flooding his features as the paparazzi moved closer, their cameras capturing every second of your breakdown. He looked desperate, and it was almost... satisfying. Watching him squirm under the weight of his own lies felt like sweet revenge.

You were just about to spill the whole truth—about how he’d been the one to hit you with his motorbike, how he’d been pretending you were his girlfriend to save his reputation—when Sunghoon, clearly sensing what you were about to do, suddenly placed his hand firmly over your mouth, silencing you in an instant.

Your eyes widened in shock as his palm pressed against your lips. Without saying a word, he grabbed the wheelchair handles with his other hand and started pushing you back toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the flurry of camera flashes now going wild as the paparazzi captured the scene.

You muffled against his hand, glaring at him furiously as he practically ran down the hospital pathway, steering you out of sight from the media frenzy.

He didn’t stop until you were back inside the hospital, away from prying eyes. When he finally removed his hand from your mouth, you gasped, shooting him a withering glare.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?!” you yelled, still breathless from the intensity of it all.

He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “What the hell? Are you insane?! You were going to ruin me out there!”

“I should ruin you!” you shot back, crossing your arms as best as you could in the wheelchair. “You deserve it!”

His face softened for just a split second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you drag me down that easily.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden tension between you—something beyond the irritation, beyond the bickering. Something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

He turned away, gripping the wheelchair handles once more as he moved you back toward your room in silence. And as much as you hated him, you couldn’t help but feel something else too.

As Sunghoon pushed your wheelchair back into the hospital, you couldn’t help but notice the other patients scattered throughout the halls. Most were older, their faces worn with the kind of wisdom you only get from enduring the passage of time. You saw them glance your way, eyes lighting up with admiration, clearly assuming that you and Sunghoon were some kind of tragic but loving couple, destined to overcome hardship together.

Ha. As if.

There wasn’t a drop of love here. The very thought made you internally cringe. If only they knew the truth—that Sunghoon was the reason you were in this wheelchair in the first place. That this whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ facade was just a cover-up for his recklessness. But, no. To them, he was probably some knight in shining armor, dutifully pushing his beloved around the hospital.

You caught a glimpse of an elderly woman giving you a soft smile, and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. This wasn’t a fairytale romance—it was a mess. A tangled, ridiculous mess.

Sunghoon finally maneuvered you back into your hospital room, the wheels of the chair squeaking as he parked it beside your bed. He bent down, his fingers curling around the handles of the wheelchair as if ready to help you out. For a brief second, you could see the faint lines of stress etched into his face, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.

Before he could do anything, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to answer, but eventually muttered, “I’ll just take this real quick.”

He stepped away, answering the call with a curt, “Yeah?” His voice was low, tense. As the conversation unfolded, you heard snippets of his replies: “I know better,” and “I’m an adult,” followed by a string of sighs. You couldn’t hear the other person on the line, but you could guess. It was probably one of his parents, likely lecturing him for spending so much time around you. After all, why would the rich, polished Sunghoon waste his precious time with some girl he’d accidentally injured?

But the truth was, Sunghoon couldn’t just up and leave you. Oh no. The media was already onto you both, snapping pictures every time you were in public together. If he suddenly disappeared now, they’d think he was the kind of guy who bailed on his girlfriend just because she got injured. His reputation would plummet faster than you’d hit the ground earlier.

Still, was it the truth? That Sunghoon didn’t want to be around you?

The reality was more complicated. You couldn’t even imagine calling him a friend, let alone anything more. This was a weird, temporary arrangement—nothing else.

“I’ll be back,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, still distracted by his phone. Without a second glance in your direction, he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared.

Wait. What?

You blinked, staring at the empty space where he had been just moments ago. Did he seriously just walk out without helping you get back into bed? Your mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered to the empty room.

You waited, expecting him to come back any minute now, to walk in with that same frustrated expression and a sarcastic apology on his lips. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Nothing.

An entire hour dragged by, and still—no Sunghoon. The nurse was nowhere to be found either, probably off on her rounds, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

The frustration boiled inside you. There was no way you were going to stay trapped in this wheelchair any longer. It wasn’t comfortable, and the bed—despite being stiff and unwelcoming—looked like heaven compared to the cold seat you were stuck in.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to do it yourself.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the armrests, trying to hoist yourself up. Your fractured leg protested immediately, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain, but you ignored it. You couldn’t afford to fall, not now. You just had to get onto the bed.

One step. Then another.

You winced as your good leg took the brunt of your weight, wobbling unsteadily. It was like trying to walk a tightrope while holding a stack of plates. Your body swayed, arms trembling as you gripped the bed frame for support. Almost there. You could feel the edge of the mattress pressing against your fingertips.

And then—your foot slipped.

With a sickening thud, you fell face-first into the mattress, your body collapsing awkwardly against the bed frame. Pain shot through your leg as you let out a sharp gasp.

“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath, your voice muffled by the bedspread. “Sunghoon, this is all your fault!”

You lay there for a moment, too stunned and too furious to move. How could he just leave you like that? The idiot was probably off taking some important call while you were stuck in this miserable situation. Your hatred for him simmered again, bubbling to the surface like boiling water ready to spill over.

With a groan, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles straining as you fought to get into a proper position on the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. All you could think about was how Sunghoon was going to get an earful when—if—he ever came back.

But, despite the frustration, there was something else gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. Something about the way his expression had softened just before he left, like he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you. Like there was something there, beneath all the sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs.

No. You shook your head, refusing to entertain the idea. This wasn’t some cliché hospital romance where the guy who ruined your life suddenly became your savior. Sunghoon wasn’t some misunderstood prince charming. He was just... Sunghoon. Annoying, frustrating, and absolutely the last person you wanted to deal with.

Still, as you lay there, face buried in the hospital bed, you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing frustration twisting into something else. Something far more complicated.

THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A HAZE.

And the day after that.

And another day.

Each one crawled by, dragging itself through hours that felt like days. But Sunghoon didn’t return. Not a text, not a call, not even a shadow of his presence outside your hospital room. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at you. Was he sick? Had something happened? Why the hell were you even wondering about it?

You shouldn’t care.

You didn’t care.

In fact, you should be overjoyed if he had caught some miserable flu. Or—better yet—if he had gotten into trouble of his own for once. You’d be happy. Relieved, even.

Right?

Except, you weren’t. Something unsettling tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said a word before disappearing. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the more it latched onto you.

And then the door to your hospital room creaked open, a slow twist of the knob announcing a presence you hadn’t expected.

In walked a woman.

Her aura screamed wealth, a kind of quiet, effortless opulence that you recognized instantly—the tailored coat, the way her silk scarf draped perfectly over her shoulders, and most notably, her glasses. You had never seen anyone wear glasses that looked like they cost more than your entire hospital stay.

She didn’t spare you much of a glance at first, too busy taking off her glasses with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But as soon as her eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, and instantly made you sit up straighter in bed, pressing your back against the headboard.

Was this Sunghoon’s mother?

The question popped into your mind, but the answer came without you having to ask. Her next words confirmed everything.

“So, you’re that girl,” she said, her voice clipped as her eyes flickered over you. It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement. You were that girl—the one her son had dragged into this mess. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but somehow managed to muster some sarcasm.

“Yeah, the girl your son fractured the leg of,” you shot back, the words leaving your mouth with a little too much venom. But, realizing this was probably not the time for jokes, you cleared your throat.

The woman didn’t look amused. Instead, she merely hummed, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m here to talk,” she said flatly, ignoring your tone entirely. Her eyes, sharp as ever, stayed fixed on you, not even bothering with an introduction. You could hear some faint commotion outside the room, likely the nurses eavesdropping, curious about the sudden appearance of such an elegant woman.

“Okay…” you replied, scratching the back of your neck nervously, your mind already racing. What could she possibly want?

Without a hint of hesitation, Sunghoon’s mother stepped closer to your bed, pulling something out of her bag—a cheque. She laid it on your blanket-covered lap with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.

“Take this,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And leave my son.”

You blinked, staring at the cheque in disbelief. Was this really happening? It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a cheesy drama. Your mouth opened to respond, but before you could, she continued, her tone icy and business-like.

“If the media says anything, tell them the two of you broke up because of something you did.”

The words hit you like a slap. So this was it, huh? A payoff. A quick exit plan for the inconvenience you had become. Without thinking, you picked up the cheque. Shamelessly, even. You weren’t going to pretend like you weren’t curious. Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced at the amount.

It was a lot.

Enough to cover an expensive surgery. Heck, enough to completely change your life—your face, your identity. Maybe even start fresh. Your heart raced for a moment, but then a sneaky idea popped into your head. Maybe you could push this a little further.

“I can’t take this,” you muttered, putting on your best ‘reluctant’ act. You hoped it came off as genuine, like you were too noble to accept a bribe. You glanced up at her from under your lashes, waiting to see her reaction.

For a split second, her eyes narrowed, and then—without a word—she reached into her bag again, pulling out another cheque. This one was double the amount of the first.

Your internal grin nearly split your face in two.

“I’ll take it,” you replied immediately, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could process them. You grabbed the second cheque, abandoning any pretense of hesitation. This was too good to pass up. Who cared about Sunghoon? You weren’t even his girlfriend. You didn’t owe him anything, and this was way too much money to let go.

Sunghoon’s mother arched a brow, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “You’re smart,” she said, her voice dripping with a patronizing kind of approval. Before you could even react, she patted your head like you were some kind of obedient puppy. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to stay still, biting back the urge to snap at her.

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor in a rhythm that oozed confidence and control. You watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant chatter outside the door. You glanced down at the cheques in your hands, the weight of them sinking in.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. This was it. After years of living in that godforsaken orphanage, of scraping by, of enduring the endless bullying—you were finally getting a break.

Who knew a fractured leg could be this profitable? If this was what came from one little accident, maybe getting hit again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

At least you knew one thing for sure: money beats boys. Every time.

YOU EXPECTED TO NEVER SEE SUNGHOON EVER AGAIN. In fact, you had made peace with it—or, at least, you thought you had. But that didn’t stop the daily ritual that had developed between you, Wonyoung, and Hanni.

They sat on either side of your hospital bed, a swirl of indignation and venom, bitching relentlessly about the guy who had caused all of this—Sunghoon.

At least you had your friends. They were here, taking time out of their lives to be by your side, and if that wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. Wonyoung sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs crossed with effortless grace, while Hanni lounged at the foot of your bed, absently stroking your hair like you were a cat. They had barely paused for breath since they’d walked into the room, diving headfirst into their favorite topic: how much they despised Sunghoon.

"I mean, the guy just fractures your leg and disappears without so much as a note?" Wonyoung scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief as she flung her arms in the air like she wanted to strangle him. She shot you a look that said how could you have possibly put up with this idiot?

“And let’s not forget,” Hanni added, leaning forward conspiratorially as if Sunghoon might somehow hear them through the walls, “he’s probably just out there living his little rich boy life while you’re stuck in here, waiting for your leg to heal.”

She shook her head in disgust, fingers still lightly grazing your scalp. “Rich bastards are always like this,” she muttered under her breath, giving you a soft pat like she was reassuring you that you weren’t alone in your suffering.

You could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, watching the two of them fuel each other’s fire. Neither of them had actually met Sunghoon, but they hated him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious to watch.

“I know, right? Like, how dare he?” Wonyoung continued, practically vibrating with indignation. “Does he think just because he’s rich and pretty, he can just act like that and not have any consequences?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a thin line, as she mimicked slapping someone in the air. “If I ever see him, I swear to god I’m going to knock some sense into that stupid, spoiled—”

“Oh, please,” Hanni interrupted with a snort. “If you ever saw him, you'd probably get distracted by how disgustingly handsome he is and forget all about punching him.”

Wonyoung blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Me? Never. I’m immune to pretty boys.”

“Sure.” Hanni teased, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to your last crush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their bickering, the sound surprising you. It was strange how comforting their presence was, even though all they seemed to do was rip into Sunghoon. Not that you minded, of course. They were right—he deserved it. Completely.

…Right?

You listened as they went back and forth, each taking turns trashing him for his ghosting act. The more they bitched, the more venomous their words became, but somewhere deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a small, annoying tug of… something else.

Sure, you hated Sunghoon. You absolutely detested him. He had caused this whole mess, fractured your leg, and then vanished into thin air without so much as a “Sorry, hope you’re doing okay.” The guy didn’t even have the decency to send flowers. Who does that?

But… still. A part of you—a very, very tiny part—missed him. Even though he was infuriating. Even though he’d probably caused you more stress than anyone else in your life. You couldn’t shake the strange pang of absence, the way the hospital room felt oddly emptier without him awkwardly hovering around like your personal nurse. Maybe it was the fact that, for a few fleeting moments, you’d been able to annoy the hell out of him and enjoy watching him fumble over basic hospital tasks. There was a twisted kind of satisfaction in making a guy like him—a spoiled, oblivious rich boy—take care of you.

But more than that, you missed having someone to direct your frustration at. As much as you enjoyed watching Wonyoung and Hanni tear him to shreds on your behalf, it wasn’t quite the same.

“Seriously, though,” Hanni said, dragging you out of your thoughts, “I bet he’s out at some fancy restaurant right now, eating caviar or whatever rich people eat, without a single thought about you.”

Wonyoung huffed, leaning back on her elbows. “Probably. You know, I bet he’s never even eaten instant ramen. Can you imagine?”

You snorted. “Yeah, because the moment he tastes anything less than five-star cuisine, his delicate palate might collapse.”

Wonyoung laughed, but then her expression grew more serious. “It’s just messed up, though. He leaves you here to rot, and for what? Did he even like you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Who knows? I think I was just a… distraction for him.”

“That’s even worse,” Hanni said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you should’ve asked for more when his mom came by with that cheque. They owe you a hell of a lot more than just money after all this.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widened. “Wait, his mom came here? And gave you money?”

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that part,” you said, suppressing a grin as you leaned back against your pillow. “Yeah, his mom basically bribed me to stay away from him. Two cheques, actually.”

Hanni’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” you replied, the grin breaking free. “Apparently, I was such a nuisance that she wanted to pay me off to disappear from Sunghoon’s life for good.”

Wonyoung let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should’ve held out for a third cheque.”

“Honestly,” Hanni added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Rich people are something else.”

You laughed, a bit more genuinely this time, as they continued to bitch about Sunghoon and his high-society family. But despite the humor and the camaraderie, there was still that nagging feeling. That tiny, irritating itch in the back of your mind.

You didn’t miss him—not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the chaos that came with him. And, unfortunately, chaos had a way of finding its way back.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“Woah, I didn’t expect you to bad bitch about me the second I disappear,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, smooth and dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. The all-too-familiar dramatic hurt expression was already imprinted in your mind—the same one Sunghoon wore whenever he wanted to be the center of attention, which was, frankly, all the time.

You snapped your head in his direction, and there he was—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as if he hadn't just walked in unannounced, with that smug smirk plastered on his ridiculously perfect face. His brows were raised in mock disbelief, his lips twisted into an amused pout, as if he'd caught you red-handed in the act of a crime. How dare you talk about me when I’m not here? his expression screamed. But it wasn’t just that. No. Sunghoon looked… annoyingly good.

The worst part? He knew it.

Hanni and Wonyoung, who had been enthusiastically leading the charge in your anti-Sunghoon crusade just moments ago, froze mid-rant, their jaws practically hitting the floor. The air thickened with awkward tension, the kind that made your stomach do a weird flip. You glanced at your friends, fully expecting them to keep up the bitching. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now—not after all the trash-talking they’d just unleashed on his name, right? But when you turned to look at them, all you saw were wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Wait a minute. Were they… shy?

Hanni was the first to break. Her voice, usually sharp and unfiltered, faltered as she stared at Sunghoon like he had descended from the heavens. “Were we talking about him?” she whispered under her breath, as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes cursing his existence. She blinked, clearly taken aback by his presence. So handsome, so— you could practically hear her thoughts scrambling for coherence.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was shamelessly gawking. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon ready to rip Sunghoon to shreds. Instead, she was wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a human so beautiful in her life. “Uh…” She trailed off, her brain short-circuiting under his gaze. So much for being immune to pretty boys.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at their sudden change of demeanor. Traitors.

Before you could say anything, Sunghoon took a leisurely step into the room, his presence practically swallowing the space whole. “Your mom told me to stay away from you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him in the hopes that it would somehow send him running for the hills. As if mentioning his mother would magically undo his annoying existence. “And by the way,” you added, “I’m not giving that money back. No way.”

Sunghoon’s smirk only widened, the infuriating bastard. “Well, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, “she told you to stay away from me, but I’m still allowed to stay close to you. You’re not the one initiating this.” He shrugged, as if his logic was sound and you were the one being difficult.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. What? You actually had to tilt your head back to process that nonsense. Was he serious? You blinked, glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer to his ridiculous statement might be written up there, and then back at him.

He wasn’t joking.

You were about to retort—about to remind him just how absurd that sounded—when you glanced at your two supposed best friends, expecting them to jump in and tear him a new one. But instead, they were still sitting there, suddenly very preoccupied with… being shy? Their gazes darted anywhere but at Sunghoon, as if he was some untouchable, otherworldly figure they couldn’t dare criticize anymore.

You scoffed under your breath. Unbelievable.

“Well…” You tried to gather your thoughts, but before you could finish, Hanni shifted beside you—by accident, of course—and her elbow brushed against your injured leg. Pain shot through your body, and you winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow!”

Immediately, Sunghoon was at your side, crossing the room in a flash, his expression now serious as he kneeled beside you, his hands hovering over your injured leg. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

Your instinct was to push him away—to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The last thing you needed was him fussing over you like he actually cared. But you were injured, and Sunghoon had the upper hand—literally. His fingers gently pressed against your leg, checking to see if you were in pain, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop him. You tried to shove him off, but he was stronger, and your body wasn’t exactly in fighting shape.

“Stop—” you muttered, but your voice was weak. And, truthfully, despite how much you hated him, you let him check because… well, he was good at it. Annoyingly good.

Hanni, meanwhile, had the audacity to mutter under her breath, “Should’ve brought popcorn. This is hella interesting.” She shot you a guilty look, clearly aware that she’d caused the whole thing by bumping into your leg, but that didn’t stop her from thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding right before her eyes.

Wonyoung, who had somehow recovered from her stunned silence, leaned back and muttered, “Right.” She was watching the whole scene play out like she was stuck in the middle of some romantic comedy, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon like she was waiting for the inevitable kiss scene.

“Weren’t you two on the #hatehim team?” you hissed, glaring at both of them as Sunghoon finally pulled back, satisfied that your leg wasn’t worse off than before.

Wonyoung blinked innocently, already gathering her things. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Hanni added with a shrug, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “We’re just, uh… neutral parties.”

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, they both stood, gathered their bags, and exchanged quick looks like they had just silently agreed on something. In unison, they made their way to the door, Wonyoung gesturing for Hanni to follow her like they were in some secret mission.

“Wait—are you leaving?!” you called after them, your voice laced with disbelief.

Hanni flashed you an apologetic smile, but her feet didn’t stop moving. “We’ll see you later! Good luck!”

With that, the two of them excused themselves, slipping out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you alone with Sunghoon. You blinked after them, incredulous. They had changed their minds way too fast. How the hell did that even happen? Just ten minutes ago, they had been ripping Sunghoon apart, and now? Now they were acting like he was some kind of romantic hero who had fallen from the stars to sweep you off your feet.

You sighed, sinking back against your pillow.

But even as you stared at the door, trying to figure out how your two best friends had suddenly betrayed you, the nagging worry crept back into your mind. The cheques. You couldn’t help but glance at Sunghoon out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he would tell his mom about this little reunion. You would kill him if the money got taken back.

And just like that, Sunghoon was once again at the center of your frustrations—always, always causing trouble.

THE FACT THAT THE SUNGHOON — the only son of Park Corporation—had re-entered your life wasn’t exactly a secret, nor did it stay hidden from the one person who mattered most: his mother. There was no way she’d let this slide. And just as you predicted, not long after Sunghoon's unexpected return, his mother showed up at your hospital room door once again, this time with backup.

And by backup, you meant Sunghoon's older cousin brother, Jay. A man whose only crime, as far as you could tell, was being related to the Park family. If Sunghoon was infuriating, Jay seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His discomfort radiated off him like a bad cologne—too strong, and kind of pitiful. His eyes darted nervously around the room, like he was scared to make eye contact with you. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if he knew why he was there.

Mrs. Park nudged him sharply, her manicured nails digging into his arm. “Tell her,” she hissed, clearly fed up with his lack of initiative.

Jay, however, looked more like he was preparing for a high school speech than an intimidating favor-demanding confrontation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at his palm, probably reciting some mental script he had prepared on the way here, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh… so…”

You raised an eyebrow. Was this really happening? The Park Corporation sent this guy? This was their best shot at trying to intimidate you? First, Sunghoon barges into your life like a hurricane, and now his cousin shows up, looking like he’s one deep breath away from fainting. Honestly, you felt bad for Mrs. Park. How did she expect these two to run a massive conglomerate? You stifled a laugh, pity almost bubbling up in your chest.

Before Jay could stumble through another word, though, the door burst open, and in walked the person you least wanted to see. Of course. Of course Sunghoon had perfect timing. He always seemed to show up when things were about to get interesting, like some messed-up alarm system that detected whenever you were about to make some extra cash off his family’s dramatics. You barely blinked before he was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just barged in.

“Jay,” Sunghoon muttered, his tone heavy with disappointment, “You too?”

Jay immediately straightened up, as if trying to salvage what little pride he had left. “Your mom asked me to. Trust me, I didn’t want to do this.” He stepped back, throwing his hands up as though he were surrendering to the inevitable.

Sunghoon’s mother, however, had zero patience for this nonsense. She let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her temple as if dealing with two grown men acting like toddlers was giving her a migraine. “What else could I do when my son is wasting his time on this?” She waved a hand in your direction, as though you were an unpleasant distraction from Sunghoon’s otherwise charmed life. Her voice dripped with irritation, as though you were personally responsible for ruining her perfectly laid plans.

You paused mid-bite, glancing at her with an amused smirk. She had brought her son’s cousin to what? Scare you? Threaten you into backing off? You leaned back against the pillows on your hospital bed, casually spearing another piece of the expensive meal Sunghoon had brought you earlier. A luxurious spread, by the way. How thoughtful. You chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the unfolding chaos in front of you. It was like watching a soap opera, but better, because it was real. And because you were the center of it.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed by his mother’s theatrics. “This again? Seriously, Mom?” His gaze flickered toward Jay, who was doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. “You got Jay involved in this?”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Park snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting to command the entire situation with her presence alone. “I can’t just stand by while you throw away your future on—” She glanced at you with disdain, the kind only a Park could muster. “This girl.”

You snorted, taking another bite of food. “This girl is sitting right here, you know.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, briefly softening in what might have been sympathy—or maybe annoyance. Hard to tell. Either way, he turned back to his mother, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

His mother wasn’t having it. “You’ve been running around for days, ignoring your responsibilities for this… this situation!” She gestured dramatically toward you as if you were some scandalous tabloid headline.

You set down your fork and raised an eyebrow. “It’s cute that you think you can still control him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that screamed you’re not helping.

Mrs. Park glared at her son, then at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t about control,” she said icily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about ensuring you don’t ruin your life over some impulsive decision.”

Jay, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. He kept glancing between the three of you, clearly regretting every single decision that led him here. He took a step back, slowly edging toward the door, clearly hoping no one would notice him escaping.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, your voice teasing but firm, “You’re part of this mess now, Jay.”

His eyes widened in mild panic. “I—I don’t—”

But before he could defend himself, Sunghoon’s mother cut in, “Jay, tell her.” She prodded him again, practically pushing him into the spotlight.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an exit. “Uh, look, I… I don’t really want to do this, but…” He paused, throwing an apologetic look your way, “Can you just… maybe think about backing off? Just… consider it? For me?” His voice was pleading, clearly not cut out for this whole intimidation thing.

Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this entire situation was giving him a migraine. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His mother snapped. “You’re wasting your time. There are other priorities for someone in your position.”

Sunghoon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, his jaw tightening as he responded. “You keep saying that. But you’re not listening to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, as you continued to enjoy the spectacle. The three of them—Sunghoon, his mom, and Jay—bickering like some dysfunctional family sitcom, while you sat back, fully immersed in your gourmet meal.

“This is better than TV,” you muttered to yourself, watching as they tried to one-up each other.

Mrs. Park shot you a death glare, but you just smiled back innocently, because really, what was she going to do? Take your meal away?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you again, and for a moment, there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Frustration, maybe. Or something that bordered on concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jay, finally finding his courage, jumped in again.

“You know,” Jay said, sounding more desperate than threatening, “this would all be easier if we just… moved on. You know?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Easier for who?”

Jay hesitated, clearly realizing he was in over his head. His shoulders slumped, clearly realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this alive—figuratively, at least. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Sunghoon, probably weighing whether it was safer to keep talking or to just bolt. He ended up choosing the safer route: silence.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was far from done. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward his mother, who was glaring at him with the ferocity only a woman scorned by her own son could muster.

“I’m serious, Mom,” Sunghoon said, voice tense but controlled. “You can’t keep barging into my life like this. It’s not going to work.”

Mrs. Park scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I barged into your life? Are you kidding me, Sunghoon? You’re the one who keeps throwing everything away for… for her,” she spat, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.

You almost choked on your food but managed to swallow it down, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey. Don’t drag me into this. I’m just eating.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back to you for a moment, his expression softening. It was brief, but there was something almost apologetic in his eyes before he looked back at his mother.

“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not what you think,” Sunghoon said, his voice taut with frustration. “I’m not ‘throwing anything away.’”

Mrs. Park’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your time, Sunghoon. You should be focusing on the company, your future, not this… whatever this is.”

She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t exactly a fan of being treated like some pesky side project Sunghoon needed to get rid of, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“So, what,” you said, leaning back in your bed, eyes flicking between the three of them, “You’re all here to—what? Threaten me? Make me back off? Because I gotta be honest, this isn’t working.” You gestured toward Jay, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and Mrs. Park, who was glaring daggers at you.

Sunghoon’s mother took a step forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not here to play games with you, girl. I’m here to ensure my son’s future. You’re nothing but a distraction.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, feigning hurt. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated with the whole ordeal. “Mom, you’re not helping. Just… stop, okay?”

“Helping?” Mrs. Park echoed incredulously, as though the very idea was laughable. “You think I’m not helping by trying to save your future from her?”

You were starting to get a little irritated, even if the whole situation was more laughable than threatening. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy land you’re living in, but Sunghoon is the one who came to me. Not the other way around. If you’re so worried about his future, maybe start with him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that said please stop fanning the flames, but you were past caring at this point. You’d had enough of this woman coming into your life and treating you like you were some common gold-digger. She didn’t know the half of it.

His mother, however, seemed immune to reason. She shot her son a glare. “You’re throwing your life away, Sunghoon. I raised you better than this.”

And finally, something in Sunghoon snapped. His usually calm demeanor cracked as he stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. “No, what you did was control my entire life. And guess what? I’m done. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you micromanaging every decision I make.”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting this outburst. Even Jay looked taken aback, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. This was getting good.

“Sunghoon—”

“No, Mom. Stop,” Sunghoon cut her off, his voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing this because you care about your image. About the company’s image.”

His mother recoiled as though she’d been slapped, her perfectly manicured nails curling into fists at her sides. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” Sunghoon laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like a business deal my whole life, Mom. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick you could practically feel it pressing down on your chest. Sunghoon’s mother stood frozen in place, her face a mixture of fury and shock.

Jay, sensing the growing hostility, started inching toward the door again, but before he could make his grand escape, Mrs. Park turned to him, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Jay, we’re leaving.”

Jay practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to comply. He glanced at you briefly—an apologetic look that almost said sorry for the drama—before scurrying out of the room behind his aunt.

Mrs. Park paused in the doorway, turning to throw one last glare in your direction. “This isn’t over.”

You raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking another bite of your meal. “Looking forward to round two.”

She glared, and with a sharp turn, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the room, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the bickering that had just taken place.

For a moment, neither you nor Sunghoon spoke. He stood there, still reeling from the argument, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You swallowed the last bite of your meal, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you glanced up at him.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “that was fun.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on the floor, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “For what?”

“For all of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the door where his mother and cousin had exited. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m used to it. Your mom’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sunghoon muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, humorless smile.

A beat of silence passed between you, the tension slowly dissolving now that the storm had passed. But there was still something unspoken lingering in the air, something that felt heavier than the drama with his mother.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “So… what now?”

Sunghoon hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no playful banter. Just the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “But I do know one thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone firm, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what she says. No matter what anyone says.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Sunghoon stood by the edge of your hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room as the dim light from the ceiling flickered slightly. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and frustration, but there was an edge of something softer, something unreadable, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or get defensive at your latest jab.

"Anyways, aren't you the heir?" You muttered, the words slipping out casually as you fiddled with the blanket, your tone attempting to sound neutral. But deep down, you knew exactly what you were doing. Trying to reason with Mrs. Park—despite her endless insults—wasn’t out of some newfound respect for her. No, this was a survival tactic. Sunghoon might equal trouble, but his mother? She was the gateway to all those fat cheques. You knew better than to entirely burn that bridge, even if it was hanging by a thread.

Sunghoon raised a brow at you, clearly not expecting the sudden change in direction. "You think she's worried about me?" he scoffed, almost incredulous.

You shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his gaze for too long. "I just think… maybe she's concerned about your future," you muttered, your words laced with an attempt to seem logical, though your true motive lay elsewhere. You tugged the hospital blanket tighter around your legs, which still ached from the accident. A small price to pay for someone like him smashing into you.

He leaned against the wall, his stance casual but his expression anything but. "Future?" Sunghoon repeated, almost bitterly. He huffed before muttering under his breath, "I'm a racer."

You nearly choked on your own breath at that. A racer. The very notion of it was absurd, especially given how he ended up here with you in the hospital in the first place.

"No wonder she's worried." The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice barely audible, but loud enough for him to catch. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye, noticing how his expression morphed from mild irritation to downright disbelief.

“What do you mean, ‘no wonder she’s worried’?” He demanded, straightening up, arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you, like you’d just accused him of being some criminal mastermind.

You didn’t even try to stifle the small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, Sunghoon. Let’s be real for a second. You're not exactly... the best driver." You gestured lazily towards your leg, which was propped up in a cast. “Even on a motorbike, you managed to get my leg broken.”

He let out a deep sigh, frustration evident in the way he rolled his eyes, muttering, “Shut up,” under his breath, though the edges of his lips twitched upwards for a second. He hated that you had a point. But there was no real venom in his words, just mild annoyance, the kind that came from knowing someone had you cornered.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze drifting from you to the small bouquet of flowers on the side table, then back to you. His posture screamed discomfort, as if he wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to his own vulnerability. After a long pause, he finally asked the question you’d been dodging for a while now, his voice dipping into something almost concerned. “But why were you drunk, though? I mean, they found alcohol in your tests that day."

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly waved it off, eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze. "I just had a bad day, okay?" The words came out a little too quickly, a little too defensive, and you knew it wasn’t the full story. But the last thing you wanted was to dive into your own mess, especially not with him.

Sunghoon didn’t push further, his gaze softening slightly, but he wasn't one to leave a conversation dangling for too long. “Why were you speeding, though?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow in return. If he was going to dig into your mess, you had every right to poke at his.

The corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he chuckled, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. You knew something was up. Sunghoon never got nervous. Not like this.

"Well..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting away from you, unable to maintain eye contact for too long.

“Well?" You pressed, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for whatever ridiculous excuse he had to offer.

Sunghoon let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "My dad saw me riding," he muttered. "So I was kinda in a hurry."

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "That’s it?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. "Your dad saw you riding, and that made you speed? You didn't even bother to stop when you crashed into me?”

He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze, but he shrugged helplessly. "I didn’t see you, okay? I was too busy trying to avoid him."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, sinking back into your pillows with a sigh. “That's it? And here I thought you were doing drug deals or something.”

The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable, though you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation had turned out to be. For someone who was supposedly the heir to a powerful corporation, Sunghoon had a way of complicating the most straightforward situations.

He blinked at you in disbelief, the tips of his ears turning red. "What? Drug dealing? Really?" he muttered, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the bed frame, clearly not impressed by your comment. But his reaction only made you grin wider.

You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean, with how secretive you’ve been acting, who could blame me for assuming the worst?”

Sunghoon huffed, shaking his head in mild exasperation, though the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. "Trust me, my life is complicated enough without any of that.”

“Complicated, huh?” you echoed, your gaze drifting toward him. His posture had relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of frustration hanging between the two of you. You could tell there was more to the story, more that he wasn’t saying.

But you weren’t one to push, not when you had your own secrets buried deep.

You let the conversation die down after that, the room filled with a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sunghoon stayed by your side, despite everything, leaning against the frame of your bed as his eyes softened, watching you finish your meal with quiet focus. And for a moment, the tension between you eased, like the storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile calm.

But even in the silence, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures—the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the bedpost, the way his gaze lingered a little too long on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something between you two, a line that neither of you wanted to cross, yet both kept flirting with.

And for the first time, the thought of it didn't scare you.

THE NEXT MORNING,

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The monotonous hum of the machines, the occasional beep from the heart monitor, and the muted footsteps of nurses outside became the background symphony of your stay. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your body stiff from yet another restless night, and as your vision adjusted, the familiar dull ache in your leg grounded you back into the reality you’d been living for the past few days.

BUT TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

As you shifted slightly, careful not to agitate the cast on your leg, your gaze fell to the chair beside your bed. There he was—Park Sunghoon, slouched in the chair with his head resting against the armrest, his mouth slightly parted as soft, steady breaths escaped his lips. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach while the other rested close to yours, mere inches from the side of your bed. The sight was enough to make your breath hitch.

He’d stayed. Again.

For days, he had made this hospital room his second home, despite the biting remarks and the cold distance that had defined your relationship thus far. As if it was some kind of duty he couldn’t escape, some obligation he had to fulfill for the sake of his reputation or his family. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. There’s no way he actually cares.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, especially in moments like this, when his face was stripped of its usual bravado, his guard completely down. He looked… peaceful. Innocent, even.

“If I didn’t know you were doing this for your reputation,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper, “I would’ve thought you loved me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and laced with something unspoken, something you weren’t quite ready to confront. You didn’t mean for him to hear it—he was asleep, after all—but there was a strange comfort in voicing the thought aloud, even if only to yourself.

You found yourself leaning a little closer, the distance between your bed and the chair barely enough to separate you two. Your fingers moved almost of their own accord, hesitating at first, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch, soft despite the cold exterior he often portrayed. Your heart gave a nervous flutter as your finger ghosted over the delicate curve of his cheek, down to the bridge of his nose, and finally stopping at his lips.

Your breath caught as you stared at them—soft, slightly parted, and so close. There was something about this moment that felt dangerously intimate, a line you weren’t sure you should be crossing. But before you could pull away, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm, halting your retreat.

Your heart stilled, the world suddenly reduced to the quiet space between the two of you. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, before his sleepy gaze focused on you, still hazy with the remnants of sleep. His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, but not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you from escaping.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with confusion but also curiosity, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.

Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to diffuse the tension suddenly filling the room. "There was a mosquito," you blurted out, your voice barely steady, attempting to sound casual as you tugged on your wrist, but he didn’t let go.

His brow arched in suspicion, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "A mosquito… on my lips?” he questioned, the incredulity in his tone barely masked by amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair, his hand still holding yours, and in a fluid motion, he was leaning over the side of the bed, closer—much closer—than he had any right to be.

The proximity was suffocating. You could feel his breath fan across your face, warm and steady, each exhale sending a fresh wave of heat across your skin. His dark eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were locked onto yours, and for a split second, you forgot how to breathe. The space between you was so small, so intimate, you could practically hear the rapid beat of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your face flushed crimson, the heat crawling up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something far worse than tracing his face. You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert, every muscle tensing under his intense gaze. "There… was something in my eye," you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as you finally pulled your hand away from his grip, your fingers trembling slightly as they found refuge behind your palms. You could feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up, your hands covering your face as if that could somehow hide the fact that you were blushing furiously.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by your flustered state. He stood there for a moment longer, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head lazily, as if the moment that just passed was nothing more than a casual conversation.

But you knew better. There was something unspoken between you two, something that neither of you were ready to admit, but it lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

"Something in your eye, huh?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with a casual familiarity that sent another wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding most of your face as you mumbled, "Shut up."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the tension in the air eased, replaced by something lighter, something teasing but… comfortable.

But even as he turned away, walking towards the window to stretch his legs, the ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to Sunghoon’s presence by your side than just reputation.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily as the midday sun spilled golden light into the hospital room, brightening the sterile white space that had become your temporary home. You sat on the edge of the bed, the nurse’s soft, encouraging voice still echoing in your ears after she had just removed your cast. The air felt electric with anticipation; you could finally walk again!

Sunghoon hovered by your side, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied you. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, but the seriousness behind it was unmistakable. You nodded enthusiastically, your heart racing with excitement. It felt like a monumental moment—like the first step of many to reclaiming your independence.

With the adrenaline coursing through you, you stood up, a determined grin stretching across your face. But as you took your first step, everything shifted dramatically. Your foot wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, hitting the floor with a thud that echoed around the room.

“Ugh!” you groaned, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights.

Sunghoon rushed forward, worry etched across his features, but before he could say anything, Wonyoung and Hanni burst into laughter, their giggles ringing like chimes through the room.

“Oh my god! Did you really just fall?” Hanni wheezed, nearly doubling over as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Looks like someone needs a little more practice!” Wonyoung added, her laughter infectious as she bent down to help you up, her hands extending towards you.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at yourself as they pulled you back to your feet. “Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

As they waved goodbye, still chuckling, Sunghoon remained behind, a bemused expression on his face. “That was quite the entrance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a playful glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” you retorted, trying to brush off your embarrassment as you plopped back onto the bed, sulking a little. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“Come on, you can’t let a little tumble discourage you!” Sunghoon grinned, stepping closer with a theatrical flourish. “I, Park Sunghoon, will be your walking coach! Let’s do this!” He mimicked a sports announcer, waving his arms as if hyping up a crowd. “And by the end of this session, you will be the champion of walking!”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “I don’t need a coach. I just need to not fall again.”

“Too late for that! You’ve already set the bar pretty low,” he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But don’t worry; I’ll help you reach new heights, or at least keep you from faceplanting again.”

With that, he extended his hand towards you, a gesture of encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering as you met his gaze, but the absurdity of the situation was too much to resist. Taking a deep breath, you grasped his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Okay, Mr. Walking Coach. Show me the way,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He positioned himself next to you, his grip firm yet gentle. “First lesson: Keep your center of gravity low. Think like a ninja! Light on your feet!”

You couldn’t help but snort at his ridiculousness, the tension of your earlier fall dissipating as you stood next to him. “Ninja? Really? You think I’m going to be stealthy when I can barely stand?”

“Exactly! You’re going to be a stealthy ninja who, like a graceful gazelle, glides across the floor!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing dramatically as he took a step back to give you space.

With his comedic antics distracting you from your nerves, you took a tentative step forward, wobbling a bit but managing to keep your balance. “See? Look at me! I’m practically a gazelle!” you proclaimed with mock bravado, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Gorgeous! Absolutely majestic!” Sunghoon exclaimed, feigning applause as you took another step. “But you know, a gazelle might want to avoid falling on its face. You should really work on that.”

You shot him a glare, but a smile broke through your facade. “You’re such an idiot.”

“That’s why I’m here!” he laughed, inching closer again, still holding your hand to steady you. “Now, let’s go for round two. This time, no falling!”

With a deep breath, you focused on your balance, your heart racing not just from the thrill of standing but from the way his warm hand felt enveloping yours. You took another step, then another, Sunghoon’s encouraging words ringing in your ears, his steady presence anchoring you.

But with every shaky movement, reality set in. You were acutely aware of the gulf between the two of you—the wealth and expectations that surrounded his life, the disparity that loomed like a shadow over this moment of laughter and lightness. He was an heir, bound for greatness, while you felt like a mere accident in his world.

“Just a few more steps,” he encouraged, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he sensed your hesitation. “You’re doing great!”

With his support, you managed to make a few shaky strides, laughter bubbling up with each unsteady movement. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk out of here after all,” you joked, feeling lighter with each step.

“See? I told you! You’re going to be my ninja walking prodigy!” he laughed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But as the moment drew on, a bittersweet realization sank in. Once you were well enough to leave, his part in your story would fade into the background like a forgotten dream. You could already picture it—a world where he resumed his life, his responsibilities, leaving you behind like a chapter closed.

Yet here you were, the two of you intertwined in this moment, laughing and learning how to walk again, and for a fleeting second, you wished it could last just a little bit longer.

THE DAY HAD FINALLY COME,

THE ONE YOU DREADED MORE THAN ANYTHING.

Weeks had passed, and despite all the mental notes you made to remind yourself that this was temporary, you couldn’t shake the attachment you’d developed to Sunghoon. Maybe it was the routine, maybe it was the fact that he had been there every step of the way while you healed, or maybe, it was something else entirely—something more dangerous.

You watched from a distance as Sunghoon handled your final hospital bill. The cold sterility of the hospital didn’t bother you as much as the thought of walking out of it without him by your side. He paid the fees like he had promised from the start, his sleek credit card effortlessly handling the expenses that you knew would have financially crippled you otherwise.

You tried to convince yourself that this attachment, this gnawing feeling of loss before he even left, was simply because you had spent too much time with him. After all, you practically lived together for months. But even telling yourself that over and over again didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes, the prickling of tears that threatened to spill.

You took a deep breath and wiped them away quickly, just as you saw him walking towards you, his tall figure cutting through the hospital corridor with ease. His face was calm as usual, though his eyes held a quietness that made your chest tighten. You forced a smile, the same one you always gave him, but this time, it carried a weight of sadness you couldn’t shake.

At least Mrs. Park wasn’t here. You couldn’t imagine how much worse you’d feel with her scrutinizing every little move, every interaction, like she was tallying it up in some invisible ledger. But in this quiet space, where it was just you and Sunghoon, you started to believe that maybe… just maybe, he was worth more than the money she flaunted, more than the reputation you helped him protect.

He smiled back at you, but even that felt distant, as if the finality of this moment weighed on him too. His hand rested casually on your shoulder, the same way it had for the past few weeks, a gesture of familiarity that was once just for show in front of others, but now… now it felt different.

As you walked out of the hospital together, the flashing of cameras and the swarm of paparazzi waiting outside hit you like a tidal wave. They were here, of course they were. The media had been all over this—your fake relationship, the story of his girlfriend who nursed him back to health after an accident. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that the only reason you were here was because of a fractured leg caused by that same accident. It had all been to protect him from public backlash, to clean up his image, to shield him from the criticism that would have followed.

But now, as his hand lingered on your shoulder longer than necessary, as he guided you through the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fake at all. Not anymore.

The car ride back was filled with a silence that felt almost suffocating. You stared out of the window, watching the city blur by, your heart heavy with the realization that this was it. Your leg had healed, the bills were paid, and now Sunghoon was going to disappear from your life just as quickly as he had entered it.

You sighed, the sadness in your chest growing. This was it. The end of whatever this was, of whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.

The car came to a stop at a quiet street, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. It wasn’t your home, not really—just the rented apartment you could barely afford. But it was where you were headed, and it was the place where Sunghoon would say goodbye.

You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped your lips, filled with an aching sadness that even you couldn’t fully comprehend. It felt almost comedic, like the setup for some bad joke. The rich boy, the poor girl, the fake relationship—they always ended like this, right?

“You seem to not enjoy getting better,” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, his words light, almost teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to hide your emotions anymore. What was the point? “How could I enjoy it when it meant you would go away?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, before you had a chance to stop them.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. The soft hum of the engine faded into the background as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to understand the weight of your words.

And then, in one swift movement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll always be there,” he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Wherever you are, in bad shape or sick, I’ll be there.”

“Why?” You barely recognized your own voice, so soft, so vulnerable, as if you were afraid of the answer.

His lips were so close now, his breath fanning across your skin, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, when you stayed frozen in place, his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a kiss, just the softest touch, like a promise not yet fully spoken.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Even when you get sick, I’ll be there. Waiting for you… to get well soon.”

His words were like a balm to your aching heart, but also a dagger to the fear you’d been holding inside. You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—relief, confusion, frustration, but above all, hope.

And just like that, everything between you shifted.

© senascoop | tumblr

Through Their Eyes ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Summary: lando and yn’s relationship through other people’s eyes

𝄞 ln x reader 𓇢𓆸

𝄞 fluff 𓇢𓆸

masterlist ☾☼

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

carlos

carlos had known lando since he was nineteen. being teammates with him made carlos realise that they had a lot of common interests, and their sense of humour matched, and in the blink of an eye, lando had become one of carlos' best friends. there wasn't a day that went by without carlos or lando talking to each other, and there wasn't a day that went by without the two learning something new about each other.

carlos prided himself on the fact that he could read lando pretty well. y/n was lando's age and had joined mclaren as part of their hospitality intern. she was not supposed to have much interaction with the drivers, especially considering that she was an intern. her main jobs on some days was to make coffee runs.

fortunately, the coffee runs were what brought lando and y/n closer.

"coffee for you, mr sainz, and coffee for you, mr norris," she had said when she put two cups down in front of them.

carlos had watched as lando was about to make a joke but seemed lost as he stared at the woman and then back at the cup, and back at the woman.

he decided to be a good friend in that moment and save the awestruck boy, "unfortunately, lando doesn't have coffee. he only likes milk. he's still a little boy,"

y/n had laughed, and carlos had watched again with a smirk as lando stared at her with the biggest smile on his face. "i'll be back with a glass of milk then,"

it had become a running joke between the three of them, and soon she had started accompanying them to races as well. in the two years that she had interned with mclaren, she had spoken to almost driver on the grid, and carlos had watched how y/n and lando had slowly become friends. though, friends would be a more appropriate word instead of saying 'lando followed her around and just stood behind her, lost in his daydreams while she spoke to the drivers'.

carlos had watched how lando was always including her in conversations where she stood near the wall, how he pushed her to give her opinion. he had watched how lando slowly helped her build her confidence as she began to become more sure of herself and her abilities.

carlos had also watched how she was always the first one to tell lando that he had done a good job. she sat with him whenever he reviewed all the places he went wrong and had to be better at. she helped him understand the right places for making jokes, and the kind of jokes. he had watched how y/n had slowly helped build lando's confidence.

carlos and lando had a similar humour, but he found very quickly that lando and y/n's humour were exactly the same. they had inside jokes and eyes that laughed every time they looked at each other. they had soft touches and fingers that always grasped the air in the end.

the night of one of the races, when people had left, and only a few were remaining, carlos had been looking for lando to tell him about the golfing range that they could try out during the two weekends they had free. he had walked around looking his friend, even calling out his name. eventually, he found him sitting on the curb of the track with y/n.

they had their masks off, and were sitting close to each other. considering that they were the only two people around, carlos had not reminded the two to wear their masks.

the two had been laughing and giggling and leaning, and carlos walked a little closer to listen to what they were talking about.

"what'cha gonna do for the next two weeks?" lando had asked. it was quiet, and they were quieter, but carlos could still hear them.

"actually, i've been so excited to tell you about it! so, you know how i joined mclaren as an intern, and well, i'm still at a beginner level because i told you that i didn't want to do this forever?" she had seemed excited.

lando had only nodded, still staring at her. it made carlos wonder if lando was actually listening to what was being said.

"so, i've been doing some research, because i finally figured out what i'm going to do with my life. my parents only let me do this because i was interested in formula one, and i wanted a break after high school. though, admittedly, the break was supposed to be just a gap year, ended up being two-three years, but that's fine-"

y/n was cut off, because lando had finally gotten the courage and kissed her. carlos' mouth fell open. lando had confided in him about his crush on y/n, but carlos knew long before that. hell, carlos had known from the very first moment possible.

she had kissed him back, and carlos turned around with a smile on his face as he gave them some privacy.

just as he was leaving, he heard y/n's voice sounding heartbroken, and stopped short.

"lan, i'm going back to university. that's what i wanted to tell you."

"what?"

"i was talking to the drivers the other day about their childhood and what they faced, what you went through. max with his dad, lewis with the bullying, all of that. i realised then that i wanted to study child psychology. i want to be a child psychologist."

"oh. so, when are you leaving?"

"i gave my resignation letter this morning. i found a good university in london too. i applied a while back, and i got in."

"you got in."

"i got in, lan!" she was trying to be excited, carlos knew.

"that's amazing, y/n, congratulations,"

carlos turned around to peek, just a little bit, and saw the two embracing. he watched as lando tried to hide his tears, and y/n, who couldn't stop smiling. he watched as lando found his eyes, and carlos didn't know what to do in that moment.

"it doesn't have to change anything. i mean, i know i won't be there for race weekends and at the mtc and stuff, but i'm here for you." y/n said.

the two pulled back. y/n frowned at the tears on lando's face, and gently wiped them off. carlos feared what was going to happen to their friendship now.

"and, i mean, if the kiss wasn't a fluke, i'd like it again. and maybe every time i see you next?" y/n said, smiling, hoping, and carlos sighed in relief. yeah, the kids were going to be okay.

he could hear lando laughing as he walked back inside. lando was going to marry y/n, carlos could bet his life on it.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

daniel

when daniel had joined mclaren, there was one thing that he saw and was sure of right from the first day: no one could handle lando norris like y/n y/l/n.

he had spoken to her, and was good acquaintances with her. he knew that she had been working with mclaren for a year. lando and y/n seemed to be better friends than lando and carlos were, and that was a tough duo to break.

daniel felt awkward with lando at first. the two had barely anything in common, and combine it with their ten year age gap, it felt almost impossible to bond with the boy over something. both of them felt awkward at first, and both of them knew it.

y/n was perceptive, though, daniel had to agree. she had forced lando and daniel into a room and gave them an hour. that did wonders for the new teammates, because by the end of it, they had become so much more comfortable with each other and just couldn't stop laughing.

that was when daniel started noticing more about lando and y/n's friendship. the way that she was always the first one there to congratulate him, and the last person he saw before he left the garage for a race. the way that he always looked for her, even when he was working.

at first, daniel couldn't understand the impact that a young 20 year old woman could have on a young 20 year old man. their lives were just starting, yet somehow, with them, it felt like their lives had reached the stage of contentment with each other.

when lando first launched quadrant, daniel had watched how y/n had surprised him with wearing the merch and proudly showing it off. he had watched and smiled at how lando had gotten so excited, he had picked her up as he cheered, "you're wearing quadrant! you're wearing my merch!"

she was there for all of the races at first, in the mclaren uniform. daniel had watched how she would talk to him before every race. daniel didn't know what they were talking about, but it always had a laugh and it always ended up with a hug. he honestly thought that y/n was a witch, with the way she could calm down the hyperactive boy. no one that daniel had seen had that effect on lando the way y/n did.

and then, after a point, y/n stopped coming to races. and, daniel wondered if lando and her had had a falling out. he didn't know if he should approach his teammate about it, because it could be a sensitive topic.

two races gone by, and y/n hadn't come. lando had looked upset during those weekends, and he always disappeared right before the race and right after. after one particular race, daniel decided to suck it up and ask.

"why doesn't y/n come anymore?" he blurted out. it wasn't the way he wanted to go about it.

lando smiled softly, and daniel wasn't sure what that smile meant, "she quit. she went back to studying. goes to a university in london."

daniel didn't know that.

"are you guys still in touch?" daniel tried to be as casual as possible, but he wasn't sure if he was doing a good job.

lando's smile got bigger, and daniel took it as a good sign, "yeah, we're in touch. we talk before and after races, and pretty much any time that we're free,"

"that's good to hear," the conversation had ended there.

daniel now knew what his teammate did before and after races when he disappeared.

the silverstone race was when he had finally seen y/n again. lando hadn't seen her yet, and y/n had looked jittery. spotting her, daniel approached her.

"hey, i haven't seen you in so long!" daniel exclaimed.

the two hugged briefly, "oh my god, it's so good to see you! i've just been so busy with uni. finally a race that i could attend,"

"missed us, did you?" daniel teased.

"so so so much," y/n said, and the two laughed.

daniel watched from over y/n's head as lando, who had initially been talking to one of his mechanics pause and turn around, as if he had heard her laugh. daniel continued his conversation with y/n, while also watching lando's reaction. he was looking around, a frown on his face. if daniel had to compare lando's reaction to something, it would be to a dog who could suddenly sniff his favourite treat from somewhere.

just as y/n was about to say something, daniel watched lando finally spotting her in her ln4 merch, before practically screaming, "y/n!"

y/n turned, her eyes lighting up, and lando ran from the other side, dodging people. daniel took a few steps back, wanting to give the two friends some space.

lando's arms had immediately wrapped around her waist, and he picked her up. his face was buried in her neck, and all he said was her name. okay, friends definitely did not hug like that.

pulling back from the hug, lando kissed her. daniel's mouth fell open in shock. y/n had kissed him back, before she pulled away, laughing. lando put her down on the floor again, and pressed kisses all over her face, whispering in between, "you're here, you're here, you're actually here, i'm so happy right now,"

noticing a cameraman approaching, daniel softly said, "cameras, guys,"

taking a deep breath, lando took a step back, folding his arms, "thanks, dan,"

"no problem. now, wanna tell me what's going on here?" his teasing tone only made the two grin bigger.

"we started dating my last night in mclaren," y/n said softly.

"i bet lando cried. finally kissed a girl, didn't you?"

"i did actually cry," lando said, and the three laughed.

kyle, lando's mechanic called out, and daniel bid goodbyes to lando and y/n. he turned heading back, looking back just once to see lando's arm across y/n's shoulders, and y/n's arm circling his waist as they walked to where kyle was.

daniel hadn't seen lando look that happy since y/n had stopped coming for races. something about him had changed. he looked more confident and pleased. he looked as if he could hold the world on his shoulders if he wanted to.

his confidence was seen on the track as well. despite losing two places, lando was happier than most, and daniel knew that just the presence of y/n could have that effect on him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max f

max remembered the day lando had called him, excited to tell him about a girl he had met and how carlos, she, and lando had joked around, and how beautiful her laugh was.

he remembered the blush on lando's cheeks and how excited he was. he denied liking her at that time, but no one ever called their best friend to talk about a woman for forty five minutes just to later claim that he didn't have a crush on her.

max had been apprehensive of the woman at first. lando was new to formula one, and he was bound to get famous. from what lando had told max, she was an intern, the same age as them. lando was a trusting fellow, and max felt the need to look out for his friend.

the first time lando had introduced y/n and max to each other, the two were just friends. though, the first meeting proved that max had no reason to be worried. y/n was quick with her witty responses like lando always was. she put up a good fight every time. their banter was entertaining, and y/n knew just how to keep lando on his toes.

they understood each other quite well too. max remembered when after a particularly bad race, the two were on a facetime call, where lando was explaining all that he could have done better, and max giving his inputs. their conversation had been interrupted when a knock on lando's hotel room was heard.

"might be carlos," lando had mumbled, before leaving max on his bed, staring at the ceiling. max could still hear everything, though.

"carlos, i don't feel like-" he heard lando's voice cut off.

"surprise!" a woman's voice, y/n's, was heard.

"what are you doing here?" lando had asked.

"well, i read somewhere that cookies and brownies fixed everything. but, i couldn't find enough ingredients for one particular thing, so i made brookies!" her voice was louder, and max assumed that she had entered the room.

suddenly he saw her face pop up on the phone, "hi max!"

"hey, y/n!" max waved at her.

"you baked me something?"

"uh huh. your flight isn't till nine, and i thought that i could help you pack since you're terrible at it, and max, you and me could listen to music and dance around and eat brookies!"

they had done exactly that, y/n and lando trying their best to include max in all their conversations as well. they jumped around, laughed, and ate brookies throughout. max yelled at lando to save some for him, but lando had pretended to not hear, and then y/n had promised to make more for him. lando was smiling again, and even though max knew that he still felt bitter about the race, it had distracted him.

it was silent for a few seconds, only the music playing, when max checked what was going on. he stopped himself from saying anything when he saw lando and y/n locked in a hug. his face was buried in her neck, and her fingers were in his hair. max didn't know what either of them were saying, but lando had a tight grip on her, his knuckles turning white, and y/n just held him.

max knew their relationship would change soon.

and it had.

after the two had gotten together, lando began coming to london more often, even if it was to spend time with y/n. he invited y/n everywhere, whether they went for quadrant shoots, or meeting new people for new business partnerships.

she would come with her textbooks and her laptop, insisting on studying while they did their thing. for the most part, she did study. during the plane ride to wherever they were going, lando and y/n would sit side by side, sharing wired earphones, listening to music while y/n studied. lando would usually stare at her, or play with her hair. during shoots, y/n would be just as enthusiastic as lando, always pushing him for new ideas.

she trusted him insanely too. any time he would drive at a speed that even scared him, max had seen the way y/n would be carefree, throwing her arms in the air and enjoying the wind.

y/n would even help out with designing lando's helmets. the two had a connection that max didn't understand that well. they brought out the best in each other and knew just how to handle the worst too.

max had seen lando more worried about whether y/n had eaten during exam season than he generally was about himself. max had seen lando care for something other than racing and quadrant. it was new and refreshing, and max knew it was a forever kind of deal.

it always was a forever kind of deal with lando and y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

alex and george

alex and george had sort-of grown up with lando. they had raced each other in f2, and had become quick friends. lando used to look upto alex and george, and the boys knew about it.

they had known lando well when he was a young boy, had seen the way he drove, the way he acted, the way he was in general. they had seen his cocky attitude, and as much of a show he put up in front of the media, they knew that he looked upto almost driver that were on the grid as he tried to make a place for himself in between them.

they had seen how low his confidence was, despite being outgoing and getting along with almost everyone he met. he had been their topic of conversation many times, with the two trying to figure out how they could be there for their friend.

it had helped that lando had found a true friend in carlos, and then daniel. it had changed lando, a positive change that both, alex and george were incredibly happy to see. he still blamed himself after races, but carlos, a veteran, reassuring lando had had a greater effect than george and alex. the two men understood why. they had the same amount of experience in formula one as lando, so trying to convince him that he had done a good job wasn't as effective.

lando had really changed, though, after he met y/n. y/n was outgoing, like lando, and she could talk a mile a minute. she seemed to really give max competition when it came to yapping. but, the best thing that she ever did was make lando smile more often. george and alex were grateful for that.

y/n had a way of correcting lando or telling him new information without making him feel dumb. george and alex knew how insecure lando was for never finishing his schooling, unlike oscar. it was a shock to alex and george when lando told them random facts throughout the day. it was a good kind of shock, but a shock nonetheless. they knew almost immediately that it was the work of y/n.

lando had always been humble. online, he was arrogant. but, he knew what he needed to work on, he knew everything he could about his, and he always wanted to know more. george and alex had often teased him about leaving the last on saturdays after the qualifying session.

but, y/n had stayed with him, had encouraged him, and had showed him that even if he failed, he was still good enough. y/n showed him that even if he lost ten positions, he was still good enough as a driver, and as a racer. he deserved to be in f1, something that a lot of people, including george and alex agreed on.

over the years, lando had gotten good at saying what was expected of him. it was often things that he would go and directly tell people to their faces, but always play it off with the media. lando never forgot to remind alex and george how much he respected them, even if they told them in private. they knew that that was lando's way of making sure that they knew he was being sincere.

the world didn't understand it as much, and the media loved to twist all of their words. so, y/n helped him understand. and, y/n helped him grow. and, even though lando was always a good person, y/n made him better everyday.

alex and george often spoke about the difference five years, six years had made in lando. and they could agree that lando was still the same person, but just a little more grown up and a little more focused. it was his own doing, with some help from y/n.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

max v

padel with lando was one of his favourite things to do. lando was competitive, and he made jokes, and he was arrogant and deprecating, and somehow all of it just fit well.

they had a weekend free before the next race, and what better way could there have been than to participate in another sport with the same person who was the contender for the world driver's championship?

they had played for hours, and after the two had completely exhausted themselves, lando invited max over to his apartment for lunch. agreeing, max texted kelly about his lunch plans with lando, and the two drove to lando's apartment their individual cars.

parking, the two went up the elevator, laughing and giggling and gossiping on their way over. just as lando was about to unlock his front door, he paused and turned to max.

"my girlfriend is a little mad at me right now. i kinda paid off part of her university tuition and i didn't tell her, and now she found out, and i'm basically-"

"-fucked. you're basically fucked."

lando opened his mouth to retaliate, but agreed with max. he was fucked.

unlocking the door, lando called out, "babe, we're home!"

y/n appeared from the hallway, "hi, max! how was padel?"

max watched as lando moved towards her with his arms open, almost like a routine of when he comes back home, but y/n dodged his hands and stepped away. lando looked like a puppy who had gotten kicked, and as much as max wanted to laugh at the expression, he did feel a little bad for his friend.

"hey! um, padel was good. i beat lando, 5 games out of 8," he said.

y/n laughed, "that's wonderful. i'll get your lunch set up, so why don't you relax?"

she still hadn't said a word to lando, and as she turned to head towards the kitchen, he watched as lando followed her like a dog on a leash.

max settled on the couch, and tilted his head back, closing his eyes. he tried not to listen, to not eavesdrop on his friend's very private conversation. but they were loud, so technically, it wasn't his fault.

"baby, i'm sorry, i was trying to help!" lando's urgent voice could be heard. he was speaking softly, but in the quiet house, it was still loud enough for max to hear.

"helping means washing the dishes or getting me supplies for my exams! helping does not mean paying off my tuition!" y/n's hushed whisper came next. she was angry.

"but, why can't i just pay for the tuition? i've got the money, you and i are going to end up married anyways! what's mine is yours!" max had to admit, this was probably the first time he had heard lando so sure on marrying someone.

"exactly! you've got the money. not me. lando, i need to be able to survive on my own, and my tuition is my problem. not yours."

"you are surviving on your own! just 'cause i'm here doesn't mean that you can't lean on me for stuff!"

max heard y/n let out a groan of frustration, "i'm not as rich as you are, lando. i'm not a celebrity or a model, i don't have the money. i'm studying to be a child psychologist. this is my future, and my college, including my tuition fees, is my responsibility."

"yeah, well, you are my future. so, you're my responsibility, and that includes your college and your tuition fees and literally everything else in the world." max smiled. maybe lando would not have to sleep on the couch tonight.

it was quiet for a few seconds, the only sound came from the sizzling of the pan.

"darling, i'm sorry i paid your tuition fees without asking or telling you first. you were stressed out about it the other day, and you were telling me how you would have to take extra shifts at the diner, and i just thought that if i have the money for it, why can't i just get rid of that stress of yours? i really just wanted to help, nothing else." lando's voice was soft, and max strained his ears to listen.

"i feel like i'm taking advantage of you," y/n whispered softly. why were they talking so quietly? max couldn't hear a thing properly.

"advantage of me? love, no. you deserve so much more than what i can offer you. i hate that i have to be away for so long because of my job, but you've never complained and you've always supported me. sometimes i'm scared that i'm not showing you just how much i love you,"

"that's why you paid off my tuition. 'cause you wanted to prove that you love me, but you couldn't figure out how to open your mouth and say it to me,"

lando laughed. that was a good sign. it was silent again. maybe they were hugging? max wished he had a visual as well. and some popcorn.

"forgive me?" lando asked softly.

"only if you have ramen with me tonight, and watch tangled with me again,"

he expected lando to groan. he had listened to lando rant about how the movie was ingrained in his brain and how the songs were stuck in his head constantly because of his girlfriend's obsession with the movie.

"deal. i love you," lando said.

"i love you more,"

"not possible,"

"watch me,"

max smiled. lando was not sleeping on the couch tonight, that's for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

oscar

there was time before the first practice race was supposed to start. oscar sat on his side of the garage, but was quickly getting bored. the mechanics and the race engineers were talking and discussing, and oscar really tried to listen to them and participate in the conversation, but all he wanted to do was go out and drive.

sighing, oscar decided to find lando. if there was anyone who could distract him, it was lando. moving over to his garage, oscar looked for lando, and found him standing with his race engineer, will. the two were in deep conversation about something. lando's shoulders were tense, and his fingers were digging into his arms as he had them crossed across his chest.

oscar sighed. he probably shouldn't disturb him, then. it looked like they were talking about something important, and it's not like oscar had anything specific in mind when he came to find lando. he just wanted a distraction and laugh about something, anything.

just as he turned to go back to his side of the garage again, oscar saw y/n. he smiled, and was about to walk over to her so that he could at least strike a conversation with her.

oscar and y/n were good friends. they had a lot of similar interests and often spoke or hung out outside of lando. lily and y/n also got along really well, and that was just another pro in his list.

just as he was about to go talk to y/n, he stopped short, as he watched her open her bag and rummage through it. the paddock pass was hanging from her neck, and the orange cap she wore almost made her invisible to the media.

finally pulling out, what he assumed was a fan, he watched as y/n weaved her way through the crowd and stood behind lando, who was still in a deep conversation with will.

oscar worried for a second. he knew lando well, and he knew y/n well. he knew that lando hated to be disturbed when he was working or when he was focused on something, especially if it was related to improving his performance. he also knew that while y/n always meant well, sometimes, she couldn't figure out the right timings for things. while oscar knew that lando would not yell at her or anything, he still worried that lando would accidentally say something in the heat of the moment that he would regret later, but it would inevitably hurt y/n. she was sensitive and she felt too much for everyone. he didn't want y/n to be hurt.

he stayed still, though. he wasn't sure if it was his place to interfere. it wasn't his relationship, and he was friends with both of them. so, he stayed where he was, and he watched.

he watched as y/n stood behind lando. he watched as will noticed her, smiling just slightly, before turning his attention back to lando. he watched as lando didn't seem to notice that.

he moved a little closer, just so he could make out a little bit of what they were saying.

he watched as y/n started fanning lando, a mischievous grin on her face. he watched as lando's shoulders sagged in relief from the cool air, and then watched him tense up. he watched as lando turned around, wanting to find out where the cool air was coming from, and was met with y/n and her fan.

the couple were laughing now, and lando hooked an arm around her waist and trapped her against him. oscar could see both of y/n's arms against lando's chest as she leaned back to look at him, her hand still clutching the fan.

he watched as the two spoke, far too softly for oscar to hear them. but he saw the smiles on their faces, and the love in their eyes. the fans called him oscar "heart eyes" piastri whenever he looked at lando. if the fans saw lando and y/n right now, "heart eyes" would be an understatement.

he watched as lando pressed a kiss to her lips, and he watched as y/n tucked herself against his chest. he watched as lando and will got back to their conversation. lando's hands were running up and down her back, and oscar watched as lando's shoulders relaxed, and how he wasn't grinding his teeth anymore, and how all the tension that he seemed to keep in his body almost all the time melted away.

in that moment, oscar realised that the things he knew about his teammate/friend and his friend, they knew it better. they knew each other better, and they were stronger like that.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

i may have messed up the timeline a bit somewhere in the start. but, this is one of my favourites that i've ever written! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

127 😝

𝓡𝗨𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗥, 𝕲𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗣 ❳ 𑁍 𓄹 𝙿𝚂𝙷 ; 𝙻𝙷𝚂

概括 › 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ﹕─┈ AESPA has a collaboration with ENHYPEN… Only this time, it’s not with MiLA.

﹟ 𝘄𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝘀 ፡ ፡ lots of talk about shipping idols romantically, but take not that i don’t actually support the idea of it, nor is this supposed to reflect their actual relationships irl

part i. | part ii.

RUMOURS AND GOSSIP WERE A STAPLE OF THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY. But more often than not, it left one wondering: What was a lie? What was the truth?

Mila would never know everything for sure. What she did know, however, was that something very interesting was going on with PR at SM and HYBE at the moment. Otherwise, there was no reason for them to pair the Aespa girls with anyone other Mila and Kiara for TikToks — that is, considering the influx of dating rumours that surfaced at the beginning of 2023.

And yet, here Mila was, standing on the side as she watched Karina and Winter film TikToks with Heeseung and Sunghoon for both respective groups’ new title tracks.

Mila titled her head as they filmed. Indeed, it was a very surreal image to look at…

Why pair Karina-eonnie with Heeseungie-oppa of all people? she thought.

It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with them filming a TikTok together. But after the shipping incident that blew up all over social media, Mila assumed the companies would have avoided pairing the two up for anything in order to avoid dating scandals. So why take the risk?

And why am I here?

Mila looked around, lips puckered. Everyone was occupied with filming the TikTok that she might as well not have been there at all. In fact, she herself didn’t even know why she was still standing there. After all, she had already greeted the older girls before the filming commenced — but for some strange reason, as soon as Winter and Karina were called to film the TikTok in a seperate location, Mila mindlessly said she would follow them.

“I’ll come and cheer you on,” Mila had said at the time.

To this, the older girls happily indulged her and allowed Mila to cling off their arms as they walked to the assigned venue together.

In Mila’s mind, it made sense for her to be there so she could be a bridge for the members of the two groups, lest it become awkward between them. But the more Mila stood there, the more she realised that she wasn’t needed at all.

There was a short break for the members as the prepared to film for ‘I’m the Drama’, allowing for the artists to chat among themselves briefly to fill in the gaps. And from Mila’s point of view, they were getting along pretty well without her.

Karina was nodding as she looked up at Heeseung, who was talking about something that was inaudible to Mila because of her distance. Heeseung’s back was facing Mila, so she didn’t get to read his lips. But what he said next must have been amusing, since Karina spared a pretty laugh to his comment, earning a smile from him in return. Mila had to physically fight the urge to get closer and get a better listen — as if there was a string pulling her back by the neck.

No, she internally scolded, You have to respect their privacy.

Mentally congratulating herself for resisting her curisoity, Mila turned her attention to the other pair.

Sunghoon and Winter were an even more curious duo than Heeseung and Karina. Sunghoon was speaking animatedly about something with Winter actively giving her own comments. His time as a Music Bank MC with Wonyoung did him good, seeing as his introverted self couldn’t hold a conversation with a female that wasn’t Mila, Kiara, or Wontoung on first try. Even when Mila and Sunghoon were first getting to know each other, he hadn’t been nearly so talkative. It struck a chord of pride in her heartstrings.

That’s good, Mila thought with a nod. He’s become more confident!

Neither pairs Mila observed were showing much of the awkwardness that Mila had been anticipating. Even though their first introductions were fairly uptight, they had loosened up a lot more. It seemed perhaps Mila was the only one who was worrying over nothing… It seemed the dating rumours weren’t much of a hindrance after all.

Of course, she thought. Why would they be? They’re not even true.

So why was she worrying so much about the possibility of dating rumours?

The cameramen had gotten ready to shoot again, indicating that the small break would be over soon. Mila scratched the top of her head before sighing. I’m overthinking again. Idiot.

Mila plastered a smile on her face as she turned to her manager beside her. “Eonnie, I’ll head off first.”

“Already?” Manager Kim asked, eyes widened in surprise. It was unusual for Mila to leave halfway through anything — especially when it concerned her beloved members. “Didn’t you say you wanted to wait here for them to finish so you could grab lunch together with Sunghoon and Heeseung?”

Mila shook her head and smiled weakly. “My shoes are starting to hurt my feet. I’ll wait for them in the changing rooms.”

Manager Kim hummed and nodded in understanding. “Okay. Get some rest, then. I’ll bring them over once they’re finished.”

Manager Kim patted Mila’s arm gently, exuding a maternal warmth. Mila smiled in return — this time, a little more genuine. She bowed before walking away, ensuring to give proper farewells to the staff who were working hard for the idols. With that, she started to walk off, slightly dragging her feet behind her.

Mila sighed. She felt defeated, and didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was true when people said one’s greatest enemy was the one inside their mind.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

MILA REGRETTED GOING TO THE BATHROOM AS SOON AS SHE GOT THERE. She had only opened the door just the slightest bit, ready to walk inside, when she suddenly heard two voices speaking inside. Mila recognised one of them immediately as one of the boys’ stylists. The other happened to be one of hers.

“Did you see Karina and Winter with Heeseung and Sunghoon earlier?” The boys’ stylist asked. “Their visuals are insane.”

“Right!” Mila’s stylist said. “Especially Karina — she looks like AI, seriously.”

There was immediate agreement from the boys’ stylist and the two continued to fawn over the beautiful members of Aespa. It was harmless, and Mila found herself smiling at the well-earned praise that her friends were receiving.

But of course, it didn’t stop there.

“You know, I was thinking,” the boys’ stylist began, “don’t you think Karina and Heeseung look really good together?”

Mila froze.

“Really?” Mila’s stylist asked. There was a small silence before she hummed in agreement. “Actually now that you think about it… They kinda do.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” The boys’ stylist exclaimed excitedly. “As soon as I saw them standing side by side I was like, ‘Wah, that’s a power couple right there.’”

Mila’s stylist made an uncertain noise. “I don’t know— Heeseung and Mila are so cute together, though.”

Mila didn’t cry, but she would admit she was touched by her stylist’s words. You’re my favourite from now on!

Unfortunately, the boys’ stylist didn’t seem to agree.

“I don’t know— they’re cute and all… But for some reason I feel like he would be into older girls? You know, someone more chic elegant. Karina would be perfect,” she reasoned.

As much as Mila hated to admit it, the boys’ stylist did have a point — Heeseung did seem a lot like someone to be into older females, considering the amount of Noona fans he had shamelessly flirted with… But still! Mila could be elegant and chic, too, if she wanted — it was just not the image that was commonly associated with her.

The boys stylist then hummed thoughtfully. “Do you think there’s a chance for something to happen between them? I mean, they didn’t know each other before, but now that they’re filming together…”

Mila let the bathroom door shut, not wanting to listen to any more of what they had to say.

These kind of speculative whispers weren’t new to Mila. The entertainment industry was full of it. Idols like her were often the talk of the town — for better or for worse. But while Mila had learnt to let baseless words remain exactly that, it was one thing to hear about herself, and another to hear about her men with someone else. And from staff who actually worked with her, nonetheless!

The Enhypen staff witnessed firsthand the level of intimacy between Mila and the boys — on a daily basis, at that. The makeup artists and stylists learnt to expect Mila sleeping soundly on one of their laps in the changing rooms. The cameramen had developed a sixth sense for when they needed to turn the camera away in order to avoid capturing her having her cheeks being pecked or caressed by one of them. And the managers had become professionals at damage control when the boys got too rowdy while bickering for Mila’s attention.

Mila sighed. Now she was not only feeling terrible for being wary of her own friends being involved in scandals with her men, she was also feeling like a complete ‘pick me’ for thinking of all the ways it made no sense for people to ship them with anyone but herself.

When did I become so petty? Mila thought bitterly. She practically stomped her way to the next closest bathroom. How annoying. I was having such a good day today, too...

It was like history was repeating itself. She was practically reliving the memory of the Aespa and Enhypen shipping incident earlier this year — only this time, it was in the flesh. And just like before, it was really bringing out the ugliest side of her.

Thankfully, by the time Mila returned to the girls’ changing room, she was glad to find that she managed to find her happy place again, thereby escaping all the negative thoughts that were plaguing her. (This was, in part, thanks to a Snickers bar she purchased from a vending machine on the way back. Truly, no one was themself when they were hungry.)

Kiara was sprawled out on one of the lounges when she walked inside, snacking on a sausage stick while scrolling mindlessly on her phone. Seeing the younger female, Kiara immediately asked about the TikTok filming.

“How was it?” Kiara asked after swallowing her mouthful of food.

Mila hummed absentmindedly. “Good,” she said. “They should be finishing up soon.”

Kiara raised her eyebrows as she took another bite of her sausage snack. “You didn’t wait for them?”

Mila shrugged and took a seat next to Kiara. “I didn’t need to be there.” Kiara looked at Mila sceptically, sensing that she wasn’t quite telling the entire story. Mila took a packet of chips from the middle of the table and changed the subject. “Where did all these come from?”

Kiara scratched her eyebrow. “Manager Seo brought them,” she said, “and he told me to tell you not to overdo it with the snacks, and eat a proper meal.”

Mila let out a little laugh. “Okay, okay…” Mila opened the packet and brought a chip to her mouth. “Tastes good.”

Mila smiled and pretended nothing was wrong. As such Kiara pretended it was true. It was for the best. After all, the people who would be able to comfort Mila the most in this situation wasn’t her. And so, both girls continued eating in silence — letting the younger believe in her own white lie.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

“WHERE DID MILA GO?”

Sunghoon and Heeseung had just bid goodbye to Karina and Winter after a successful filming, ready to be greeted by Mila’s warm smile and congratulations, after standing on the sideline waiting for them to finish. However, their dreams were cut short when they arrived at her previous spot only to find she was no longer there.

“She said her feet were hurting,” Manager Kim said, “so she went to wait inside the changing room.”

“She did?” Sunghoon asked. He whipped out his phone, trying to find a text from her that she was feeling ill. However, there was nothing there. He frowned.

“Did she look like she was in a lot of pain?” Heeseung’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

Manager Kim laughed and shook her head. “No, she just seemed really tired. Otherwise, she definitely would have stayed for the rest of the shoot — you know how she is.”

Indeed, Sunghoon and Heeseung knew exactly what kind of person she was. And she wasn’t the type to leave without a word. Call it their Mila senses, but they had a nagging suspicion that something was going on with their precious girlfriend.

“That’s okay,” Heeseung replied. “You said she was in the girls’ changing room, right? Me and Sunghoon can go pick her up — you should go get lunch. You worked hard today.”

Knowing how stubborn the boys could be, Manager Kim agreed to their suggestion. With that, the older woman left. As soon as she was out of sigh, the two young men looked at each other, before sharing the same exact goal.

When they arrived at the girls’ changing room, Mila was lying down on the couch, supporting her head with her outfit jacket. She was typing something away on her phone and didn’t notice the two’s arrival until Sunghoon walked up behind her and placed a gentle hand on top of her head. She looked up with a confused expression. But after seeing Heeseung’s and Sunghoon’s faces, she immediately broke out into smile and stood from her seat.

“You’re finished?” Mila asked cheerily. “How did it go?”

Heeseung nodded, sparing a small smile as he patted her head. “It went okay. Were you waiting long?”

Mila shook her head vigorously. “Not at all.” She then smiled up at Sunghoon and Heeseung, before linking their arms. “Should we get some food now?”

“Before that— How are your feet?” Sunghoon asked. “Manager Kim told us they were sore.”

“Huh?” Mila looked down at her feet, which were still in the same shoes that she claimed to hurt her. She had completely forgotten about the lie she had told her manager before now. Mila “oh”ed awkwardly. “Well… They’re not hurting at the moment?”

Mila blinked as Sunghoon and Heeseung gave her knowing stares. They didn’t buy her excuse at all, and it showed. Of course they knew something was wrong — they knew her better than anyone else. Even if Mila pretended to be fine, they had seen her pretend enough to be able to tell.

Sunghoon walked past Mila and took a seat on the couch. He leaned forward, with his elbows on his thighs and his fingers intertwined. “Sit down.”

Mila sighed and did as he said, taking a seat next to him, with Heeseung sitting down on her right. She looked down at the floor, her eyes trained on a random spot in the carpet beneath her feet, which she hadn’t even noticed until now. Heeseung sighed on her right.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, using the back of his hand to gently caressing her cheek. “What’s bothering you?”

“Was it about the TikTok?” Sunghoon asked. He placed a hand on her thigh and gave it a slight squeeze, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to read her expression.

Mila sighed. She supposed it was useless to try and run away from the problem, especially when the two of them were determined to get answers from her. She grabbed Sunghoon’s hand and fiddled with his fingers absent-mindedly.

“It wasn’t that— well, not entirely,” Mila replied, causing Sunghoon to frown. “I’m glad you guys were getting along with my friends… So it didn’t bother me you guys were filming a TikTok together. But as I was walking by the bathroom, I overheard some of our stylists talking about how good you guys would look as couples…”

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchanged glances. From what they knew, careless gossip like that in a public space by their staff shouldn’t have even been allowed: If their own staff were saying things like that, it would cause a huge problem. This time, they happened to be overheard by Mila — but imagine how much worse it would be if someone who didn’t know the truth were to use the stylist’s proximity to Enhypen to justify a dating rumour.

They would have to talk to the managers about this later. But for now, they focused entirely on their baby, and what was bothering her.

Mila sighed, subconsciously pouting her lips as she sulked. “I guess I was just jealous that after it gets posted, all I’ll be seeing and hearing for the next few months is people saying how good you guys look together. Or even worse, people thinking that you’re already together.”

Heeseung hummed in understanding. “That’s only natural, baby,” he said gently, bringing her closer to him so he could press a kiss to her temple. “I’d be upset too if I kept hearing people talking about how good you look dating someone that wasn’t us…”

Sunghoon could definitely agree to that. Mila had yet to have a dating speculation as major as the Enhypen boys and Aespa shipping incident — but she was still the Milana Bai, K-pop’s Princess. There was no shortage of romantic ships that she had become involved with for even sharing eye contact with someone. Those were already enough to strike a nerve in Sunghoon — he couldn’t imagine if she was involved in something like Heeseung was with Karina earlier in the year.

“But you do know we love you, right?” Heeseung asked.

Mila looked up at him and nodded fervently. “Of course! I know that.” She smiled brightly. “So don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. After all — I know the truth.”

Sunghoon smiled proudly, his vampire fang flashing. He placed a finger under Mila’s chin and turned her head to face him, before leaning in for a short but sweet kiss to her soft lips. Sunghoon hummed as he briefly swiped his tongue across her lips, tasting a bit of her peach-flavoured gloss. Mila giggled as she leant away, only for Sunghoon to bring her back using a grip to the back of her neck.

“One more,” he mumbled against her lips, his eyelids fluttering shut as he swiped his tongue out for another taste. “You taste so good…”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” Heeseung reached behind Mila and gently pushed Sunghoon’s shoulder away, before pulling Mila to his chest. “We were meant to get lunch, not eat her,” he joked while laughing.

Heeseung looked down at Mila and placed a kiss to her nose, giggling at the way it scrunched, making her look like a bunny when paired with her round, innocent eyes. He couldn’t resist the urge anymore and grabbed her face in his large, warm palms, before pecking every inch of skin available.

“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “Love you so much…”

Mila giggled at the affectionate attack. When Heeseung was done, Sunghoon nuzzled his face into her neck, placing a loving peck against her pulse. “I’m all yours. So don’t worry, okay?” He placed another lasting kiss to the corner her lips. “Love you,” he whispered. “My princess...”

Mila hummed pleasantly, resting her head against Sunghoon’s to rub her cheek against his. “Love you too. Both of you.”

After the two men showered Mila in enough affection and care to get her mind off what she heard earlier, they carefully questioned her about the exact words of the stylists she had overheard earlier. Needless to say, the next time the boys saw her, they went above and beyond to (not so) subtly show her just how wrong she had been about what she had said.

If anyone noticed the way Heeseung and Sunghoon suddenly dialled up their affection with Mila whenever the stylist was around — doting on Mila every second, with their honeyed gazes; talking in a sweet tone to her as they called her their “baby” and “princess”; and constantly spoiling her with warm hugs and pecks to the cheek and forehead — they didn’t say a word about it in front of them. But one day, when Mila went to the bathroom, she was happy to hear the same voice that claimed Karina and Heeseung to be a ‘power couple’ singing a completely different tune from before.

“When I think about it… Mila looks better with the two of them than anyone else I can think of,” the stylist said. “I ship it.”

TAGLiST ! @lanamoonroh @3amstarlight @nikitopia @one16core @onlyuyu @xinikons @clar-iii @shinrjj @nee-issaire @elizalabs3 @lol6sposts @cyberpunksunwoo @woonkies @alaezasmystery235 @haechansbbg @jiyeons-closet @wonsctz @euniceruiz11 @curly-fr13s

divider by v6que !

►DANCING WITH THE DEVIL #004: Prelude [Sunghoon.]

Abstract: Eight years have passed since you betrayed Park Sunghoon, leaving his fate shrouded in uncertainty. You thought you'd left that world behind, but the serial killings in the capital city —which bore a haunting resemblance to that in your past—pulled you right back into the shadows you once escaped. What began as a quest to prove your worth soon unraveled into something far more sinister: a labyrinthine network of power, deceit, and danger hidden beneath a veneer of opulence.Now, amidst the grandeur of a castle steeped in blood-soaked tradition, you find yourself, once again, entangled with Sunghoon—a ghost from your past whose motives remain as inscrutable as ever. The stakes are now higher, the games deadlier, and survival feels like chasing a mirage. As you navigate a web of twisted rituals and deadly alliances, the tension between you and Sunghoon ignites once again.But this time, the game is different. With whispers of betrayal and lingering wounds threatening to consume you both, you must decide if trust is a risk worth taking—because in doing so, you are not just exposing the truths they've hidden, but also the feelings you’ve fought so hard to suppress and bury.

Parts ‣ #001 | ‣ #002 | ‣ #003 | ‣ #004: Prelude | ‣ #004: Finale

Genre: vampire!sunghoon | horror | thriller | fantasy | romance (or is it? 😋)||| wc: ~31.7k

Featuring: Anton from Riize. [ PSA! ] There's also a Jaeyun here -- this is actually Enhypen Jake lol. Soz, no one fits the role that Jaeyun has in here better than Dark Blood Jake so I plead you guys to just go along and imagine that the Jake in Part 1-3 and Jaeyun in this Part are two different people ((who happen to look alike)) HAHAH

Warnings: blood; violence; injuries (some are self-inflicted); suggestiveness (some are forced); mentions of crimes (missing persons, murder, serial killings); manipulation; toxicity; trauma.

A/N: A re-upload since my initial one got comm-labeled 💀

© 2024 interlunium-opus. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize, post or translate anywhere.

— i

You have never for once thought you were safe from his clutches—not after he vanished; not after you’ve moved to the Big City and left it all behind; and not even after 8 full years had passed without any hint of him and his kind terrorising your life.

But 8 years was indeed a long time—long enough to make you almost want to believe that it was all just a fever dream especially when your traumatic memories have now been reduced to dubious patchwork of images in your mind. 

Until, that is, the odd happenings cropping up around the city in recent months began to bear an eerie resemblance to those from 8 years ago.

“You sure about this?” Anton’s voice cut through your thoughts as the van pulled to a stop near an abandoned alley. Your colleague’s expression was tight, his concern unmistakable. You didn’t look up, eyes fixed on the heatmap glowing on your laptop screen—a web of red nodes clustering around several locations with grey nodes showing your predicted ones.

You’d spent months perfecting this quantitative model and simulation, and this little incursion into the field was a risk you were willing to take to prove it worked, “this district is the next likeliest place. Just a glimmer of evidence from here can really set the whole ‘drug epidemic’ story down the drain.”

“I didn’t mean the location,” Anton sighed, “I meant about you being the bait. You don’t have to take things this far. What if, like they say the serial killings are just the product of yet another drug epidemic? It checks out—youth, homeless, poor, dubious backgro—"

“Then I’ll come out of this little project unscathed,” you cut him, “and you can say ‘I told you so.”

“And if you’re right?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. If you were right and it wasn’t just a drug epidemic, then it is indeed something far worse. Something beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Something you’d hoped never to face again for it was the very reason that had once brought you so close to death.

"then I get to say I told you so," you replied, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach your eyes. You, of all people, knew if what you suspected was indeed true and something goes wrong tonight then you might not actually make it out alive.

Steeling yourself, you stepped out of the van, pulling your coat tighter against the night’s chill. With a final glance at Anton and the rest of the unofficial team, you gave a curt nod—a silent signal that the plan was in motion.

Truthfully, you’d never planned to get involved in this case—or any case for that matter. You were just a data analyst, seconded to the Ministry of Justice to modernize their outdated systems. It was supposed to be a safe, back-office job. But fate had other plans.

When the first odd killings started cropping up, you’d recognized the signs immediately. The patterns were unmistakable—just like the ones from eight years ago. Still, you stayed quiet, trusting the experts to handle it. This was the capital city, after all—surely, the investigators here wouldn’t fall victim to the same manipulation and incompetence as your small town had before.

But you were wrong.

Just like how authorities back then easily latched onto a convenient red herring, the Criminal Investigations Department here, dismissed the deaths as nothing more than a string of drug-related incident. And that was when you decided to take matters into your own hands. The sloppy slashing on the victims’ necks to hide bite marks, the feral attacks perfectly timed with rising homelessness and drug abuse—it was all too deliberate. Someone was definitely orchestrating this. Someone who knew how to exploit public sentiment and navigate around the intricacies of public policies to mask their crimes.

The Criminal Investigations Department didn’t believe you of course. You could have all the data in the world and use the most expensive software to churn your model and still all they see is just another desk jockey—naive, out of touch, and blind to the so-called realities of the field.

And so, here you were, about to test your model in this so-called field that they held in such high regard.

You stepped deeper into the alley. All sounds from faraway city had disappeared by then—filling the empty maze with eerie silence. Shadows stretched and folded over you, growing heavier with every step. Then, behind you, the faint echo of footsteps began.

You tightened your grip on the dagger hidden in your sleeve.

Making yourself the bait tonight was a calculated risk, just like every other part of your plan. If the pattern in your simulation was correct—and that the culprit were really bloodsuckers—the scent of fresh blood would draw them straight to you.

So with swift resolute movements you quickly pricked your finger against the blade, just enough for a bead of crimson to well up. The shift was immediate. The air grew heavy, the faint echo of footsteps reached your ears, and the lights above flickered, one by one.

Anxiety clawed at the edges of your resolve, threatening to boil over. But you pushed it down—there was no room for error or stalling. You had to keep moving, to reach the junction as planned. The junction wasn't just any random spot; it had been chosen carefully. Its CCTV placements made it ideal for monitoring, and your team was supposed to be stationed at key points, ready to act if anything went wrong. Timing was everything because if you didn’t make it before someone—or something—caught you, the entire operation could fall apart.

Except when you reached the junction and rounded the corner, you didn't see any signals from your team. You looked at the other end, also none. Fuck, you thought, the dread coiling tight in your chest. If your backup wasn’t here, then you might really be alone—in the middle of a potential serial killer’s or bloodsucker hunting ground.

But there was no time or room for fear. So with sharp fluid movements, you pulled the gun from your holster, cocking it in one swift motion as you turned sharply, ready to fire at whatever might be following you. Except, there was nothing. Only an alley stretching out, empty and undisturbed.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips. Maybe it had been your own footsteps echoing after all. You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, scanning every shadow one last time before reaching for your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen, ready to fire off a message to the team demanding their whereabouts.

Then suddenly, there was a blur of movements but just as you looked up, a gloved hand clamped your mouth, yanking you backward, causing you to drop your gun. You kicked, twisting violently in his grasp, but it was like trying to break free from iron. Another hand gripped your waist, lifting you off the ground before slamming you into a cold brick wall.

The next thing you knew the attacker pressed his forearm hard against your throat, cutting off your air and blurring your visions. Panic clawed at your chest as you thrashed harder, but even through the haze, you saw his eyes—glowing faintly in the darkness, flickering like embers of a dying fire.

For a split second, something passed through them. Recognition? Realization?

Whatever it was, you didn't spend any longer to ponder about it. Instead, you seized the moment of his momentary lapse, jabbing the dagger you concealed up until now, into his hand. He hissed, the sound unnatural and guttural, releasing you just enough for you to stumble free.

But then you saw it as you looked up: the way the wound on his hand was already healing, the flesh stitching itself together before your very eyes.

Not human.

You were correct, after all.

Then a sudden bloodcurdling scream tore through the alley, sharp and bone-chilling. Your head whipped toward the sound, the shock of it stealing your focus for a single, crucial moment. When you turned back, the assailant was already sprinting into the shadows, his pace unnaturally swift.

Cursing under your breath, you bolted after him, refusing to lose sight. But no matter how hard you pushed, he was faster—inhumanly fast in fact. He darted around a corner, but when you reached it, it was a dead-end and he was gone, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.

"What?" you muttered, bewildered, your breathing ragged as your eyes darted around, scanning the area for any hidden doors or passages. There were none.

Your phone suddenly buzzed; it was Anton. When you answered, his voice spilled out, panicked and strained—a contrast to his usual soft-spoken calm, “y/n! Please tell me you’re okay. Please tell me you’re—”

“Anton, I’m fine,” you cut him off, your voice tight.

“Fuck.” Anton cursed—a rare slip. “One of the agents found a body. Said it was bloodless. I thought- I-”

“Where?” you demanded sharply. "Okay, I'll see you there."

You spun on your heels, already halfway to bolting, when an odd crunch under your shoe froze you in place. The sound echoed unnaturally in the suffocating silence of the alley, sharp and out of place. It was something metallic that glinted faintly in the dim light.

Slowly, cautiously, you bent down and picked it up.

It was a brooch, heavy and ornate, its craftsmanship disturbingly perfect.

Your fingers traced the coat of arms etched into the metal: a spiked crown loomed at the top, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised like sentinels. Between them rested a shield, and at its very center, encased in intricate filigree, was a ruby—a dark, smoldering gem that glowed faintly as though alive. It pulsed, dim and irregular, like the heartbeat of something ancient and unspeakable. Beneath the crest, the words were etched in a precise, unnerving script:

"In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your breath caught, your chest tightening with a visceral, unnameable dread. The ruby seemed to grow warmer against your skin, the faint light flickering as if responding to the fear blooming inside you.

That was when it hit you.

You’d seen this crest before. The realization struck like a blow, dredging up something long buried—a truth you had fought to forget.

No. It couldn’t be. Your mind grasped for another explanation, anything but the one clawing its way to the surface. But the brooch felt heavier in your palm, its ruby pulsing faintly, as if mocking your denial.

A rush of memories broke through the floodgates, sharp and disjointed flashes that cut through your resolve: bloodied lips, the metallic taste of iron, a pained gaze—and the weight of betrayal pressing into your chest.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a curse.

— ii

“Told you it would work,” you nudged Anton as you headed towards the meeting room where you were supposed to meet the Detective Chief Inspector.

“It made a ‘work’ out of you too,” Anton replied begrudgingly, clicking his tongue as his eyes trace the bruise on your neck and the cuts on your hand.

“I’d say it’s worth it,” you shrugged, looking awfully calm and happy for someone who had a brush with death just last night.

True, you got berated by your boss for acting recklessly on your own and putting your life in line but it was all worth it, you thought. Afterall not only did you manage to put a question mark on the current narrative but in doing so, you have also forced the Criminal Investigations Department to take you and your work seriously. After months of being treated lightly and as a joke, you couldn’t help but feel triumphant to see the Detective Chief Superintendent personally walking to your office this morning — requesting assistance on how his department can utilise the model you had built.

“Well let’s hope the Detective they send for me this time isn’t another boomer or misogynist as the rest of the lot has been,” Anton handed you the photocopies he had made, wishing you luck as he held the door of the meeting room open for you. You quickly set up the meeting room, turning on your laptop while setting the copies and relevant files neatly in the middle of the table.

You hadn’t slept all night but this was the most energised you have felt in months. In fact, so absorbed you were, you didn’t notice the figure at first. Your focus was on the documents, your pen tapping lightly against the table as you scanned line after line of text.

It wasn’t until the faintest flicker of movement passed beyond the glass walls of the meeting room that you looked up. At first, it was just a shadow—a fleeting outline that barely registered. Then, step by step, it came into focus.

Broad shoulders and a rigid stance that carried an effortless authority. Thick raven-black hair that caught the light like polished obsidian. Pale skin that seemed almost luminous under the sterile lights.

Your pen stilled in your hands, fingers unconsciously tightening around it as the door clicked open.

The scent hit you first—woodsy and citrusy. That cologne. The one you knew too well. It swept over you with a cruel familiarity, twisting your stomach as memories clawed at the edges of your mind, sharp and unwelcome.

You didn’t need to see his face to know.

And yet, when he stepped inside, bowing slightly—polite in a way that felt almost mocking—it still made your breath catch. By the time he straightened, your heart had already plummeted.

“Park Sunghoon,” you croaked, almost reflexively, your voice barely above a whisper. The name tasted bitter on your tongue, dredged up from a place you had tried to bury.

His gaze sharpened, dark eyes sweeping over you with clinical precision before his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk. His hand moved smoothly, locking the door behind him with a soft click that echoed far too loudly in the confined space.

“I don’t think we need introductions, then?” he drawled, his voice low and silken, every word laced with amusement.

Your hand moved instinctively to your back pocket, fingers fumbling for the dagger you always carried.

“Looking for this?" he asked nonchalantly as he pulled something out from his coat. It was a dagger – your dagger from last night. Before you could react, he flicked his wrist, sending it spinning through the air. It landed with a sharp thud, piercing through the stack of files in front of you. The deliberate impact echoed through the room, loud and accusatory.

“Don’t bother,” he said, his tone dismissive but firm. “You know you can’t kill me.”

You swallowed thickly, but forced your lips to curl into a dry, humorless smile. “Killing me here, in a glass-walled meeting room?” you asked, leaning casually back against the table as if you weren’t seconds from bolting. “That’d be messy, don’t you think? Hundreds of employees just outside. You’d need a whole army of PR vampires—or whatever you guys have—to cover it up.”

His smirk was slow, deliberate, like he enjoyed your attempt at bravado. “Even if my fury for you ran that deep,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice sharpening as you straightened, your fingers subtly curling into fists at your sides.

“Because someone has been causing havoc,” he said, his voice dropping to something colder. “And it turns out that someone is you. No surprise there—you’ve always been a thorn.”

You scoffed, “for a thorn you sure are taking your time eliminating me. Lingering feelings?”

His lips curved into another smirk, this one sharper, more dangerous. “You tell me,” he said, gesturing lazily toward your pocket. “You could’ve handed my crest over to the investigators. Why didn’t you?”

Your breath caught, realization dawning. He was right. The crest you’d kept instead of handing over to the Criminal Investigations Department—why hadn’t you? You’d lied to them, and for what?

“That’s not—”

“I’m not interested to hear your excuses actually,” Sunghoon interrupted smoothly, “let me just say if I want to kill you, I would have—be it yesterday or before. I’m letting you live because I need something from you. Your expertise.”

He fished out a file from his briefcase and slid it across the table towards you, “I’ve heard of the model you built. I think it’s brilliant.” His tone was casual, almost complimentary, but his eyes gleamed with something colder. “I have some additional data. It will definitely enhance your model. There is however a catch—whatever you find goes back to me. Not to your boss, not to the department. Just me.”

Your eyes flitted suspiciously from the file to him, “why would I do that? For all I know you’re just trying to mess the investigations up.”

“I mean you guys are already fumbling the investigations as it is," he scoffed. "Look. You, of all people, know that the authorities are powerless against my kind. If they meddle further, they’ll just get caught in the crossfire and make a bigger mess. Deadlier mess.”

“How do I know that you’re not behind it all?” you shot back, the accusation sharp. “It all clicks. You being here. You meddling in the investigations.”

His patience visibly thinned, his expression hardening. “If you hadn’t been messing around last night, that poor woman wouldn’t have been preyed upon,” he said, his tone like a blade. “Do you see it now? the implications of your tampering—of any human tampering?”

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in: it was your fault. Your little game at baiting the undead last nigth had apparently led to the death of an innocent, “I wasn’t—”

“Save your guilt,” he snapped, his voice slicing through your stammered excuse. “I don’t have time for it. What I need is for your department to stop trampling through this mess so I can finish the job.”

You glared at him, still reeling. “Why do you need my model then? Don’t vampires have… superpowers or something? Shouldn’t you be able to track them down faster?”

His expression darkened, and for the first time, you saw something close to frustration in his eyes. “If it were that simple, you wouldn't even need to construct a quantitative model out of it.” he muttered. “Look, our worlds are not that different. We are scattered and fragmented but the more powerful you are, the more you blend in. The ones you have here is not like the usual. This is a network, vast and insidious, weaving itself into your world so deeply that even I can’t see where it begins or ends. They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies. This is why I can’t just go to someone or outsource it to a company to ask them to aid me in this—you never know who’s with who anymore, mortal or not.”

“And yet you trust me?”

“Trust? that’s rich coming from you,” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with thinly veiled derision, as though he’d accidentally stepped on something unpleasant. “No I don’t trust you and I don’t need to. I need you to be useful, to be good. That’s your only insurance right now.”

“Actually you know what? you don’t have a choice,” he said, his voice unnervingly calm, as though he had already decided the conversation was over. “You can either help me clean up the mess you’ve started, or watch it spiral into something far beyond your control.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. The door clicked softly behind him as he left, leaving the faint echo of his words and the sharp scent of him—woodsy and citrusy, painfully familiar—lingering in the room.

It struck you then—how much he had changed. He was the same physically, but something about him felt far more oppressive now, his presence pressing down like a shadow too large to escape. His broad shoulders carried a weight that seemed heavier than before, not burdened, but deliberate—like the world bent itself to him, not the other way around. There was also a quiet gravity to his presence now, like a storm that hadn’t yet decided when to break.

In fact, even the smallest movements felt so charged and calculated. The tilt of his head, slight but purposeful, carried an air of disdain that cut deeper than any raised voice. His gaze was no less piercing than you remembered, but where it once burned with an intensity that sought to subdue, now it chilled—deliberate and calculating.

Now that you think about, he might not even be a storm looking for release—he was a tempest waiting to destroy.

You staggered backward, the sharp edges of the table behind you digging painfully into your spine, grounding you as the realization settled like a stone in your chest. Time hadn’t softened him; it had stripped him bare, refined him into something terrifying. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was inevitable.

— iii

You couldn’t decide who was more foolish at this point—yourself, for agreeing to work with Sunghoon despite the nightmare he’d put you through eight years ago, or Sunghoon, for still not carrying out whatever vengeance he had surely plotted for you during all that time. While you should be grateful for the latter, you can never put the thought aside–not with Sunghoon at least.

“If you’re done, email it to me immediately,” Sunghoon muttered without looking up, his eyes glued to the screen of his iPad.

As unbelievable as it sound, this had become your normal 5-9 now, churning additional data from Sunghoon and refine your code—all the while he lounge at your office, waiting for you to finish like a headmaster. Or a vulture.

You tore your gaze from him, frowning at the heatmap on your laptop. You’d expected his “additional data” to sharpen your model, maybe even tie up some loose ends. Instead, the trends you’d been working on became a tangled mess—sporadic points, clusters dissolving into chaos. “It’s messier now, thanks to your data,” you grumbled, sneaking a suspicious glance his way. “You’re not just feeding me duds to throw me off, are you?”

Without a word, Sunghoon rose from the couch and strolled over. It took everything in you not to flinch as your fight-or-flight instincts are still hardwired to react whenever he was near.

Oblivious to your unease, he leaned down to take the mouse from your hand, his cold presence making you shift uncomfortably in your chair. The cursor hovered over a dense cluster of points as he swiped through something on his iPad. “Actually, it’s perfect. Send this over.”

“This is perfect?” you scoffed in disbelief before you found your eyes involuntarily shifting to his iPad screen nearby where rows of profiles stared back at you—some with ominous red slashes across their faces.

“They’re people I’ve exterminated,” he said flatly as if reading your mind before you could form the question.

“I wasn—" your mouth went dry. “Exterminated?”

“Don’t worry,” he said nonchalantly as he snatched the iPad back. “They’re not human.”

You hit send just as he moved toward the door, speaking into his phone. “I think there are some new leads. Yes, I’ll take the car.”

“Hey—” you called out, hoping to pry more, but he was already out of your office. You lingered for a moment, the uneasy silence filling the space he left behind. Though you hated dwelling on him, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something different about Sunghoon—something colder, more detached, even by his standards. He felt hollow—as if this was just a shell of the man who had haunted you eight years ago.

But then again, did it really matter, you shrugged the thought off, at least he hadn’t killed you yet.

You grabbed your coat and followed him, catching up just as he reached a sleek black Benz idling at the curb. “If this is related to the case, I should go too,” you said firmly. “We’re working together, after all.”

He stopped mid-step, turning to face you. For a moment, the barest flicker of amusement crossed his face, gone so quickly you almost doubted it had been there.

“Working together?” he repeated, his tone laced with derision. “Look, this isn’t a partnership,” he said, his voice cool and detached. “You’re not my equal. You’re a tool—a useful one, for now—but a tool all the same. Don’t get confused.”

You bristled, heat rising to your cheeks. “You—”

But before you could finish, he slipped into the car and shut the door in your face.

“—prick,” you muttered under your breath.

That should have been your cue to drop it. To turn back and call it a day. But that would be very unlike of you.

Undeterred, or challenged rather, you quickly flagged a cab nearby, sliding into the backseat. “Follow that car,” you instructed, your voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through you. “But keep some distance. He has eyes at the back of his head...” your voice trailed, grimacing at the memory of Sunghoon and his arrogance. Probably the only thing unchanged, you thought as you sink back into the seat.

The drive began uneventfully, Sunghoon’s car weaving through familiar streets of the central business district—all skyscrapers and corporate logos. You watched intently, expecting him to stop near one of the clusters your heatmap had predicted. But then he took an unexpected turn—away from downtown and into unfamiliar territory.

“Where’s he going?” you mumbled, staring out the window. Instead of decaying alleyways or abandoned districts—the usual spots you were tracking—the car rolled through rows of pristine streets where luxury cars were neatly parked outside glittering buildings. This wasn’t the kind of place you would associate with the victims of the recent serial killings—or with him, in fact. With the 1%, celebrities and socialites perhaps, but not him.

“Your guy just got out,” the driver called, jolting you from your thoughts.

Sure enough, Sunghoon had exited the car. But it wasn’t the Sunghoon you’d followed all evening. He was wearing a tailored tuxedo now, his raven hair swept back in a way that made him look effortlessly polished, like he belonged on the cover of a magazine. While others flashed passes to the doorman to gain entry into the towering, shard-like skyscraper, Sunghoon merely nodded—and the door opened for him, as if the place were his.

You stared, dumbfounded. A party? A date? You thought for a split second, even considering turning the car back around. Perhaps, he really wasn’t pursuing any leads tonight and you’re just being a nosy stalker.

“Miss, I’m not your personal chauffeur so if you can get off now—”

“You know what, I’ll pay you extra,” you said, handing the driver a wad of cash. “Wait for me here—I just need to confirm some things.”

“I’m not—” he started, but his protest died the moment you waved another wad of cash. He sighed, exasperated. “Fine. Ten minutes.”

“Deal,” you muttered, slipping out of the car and immediately regretting it. Clad in your office attire, you stuck out like a sore thumb as elegantly dressed guests brushed past you, the scent of expensive perfume lingering in the air.

The towering skyscraper ahead loomed like a beacon of opulence and exclusivity, its glass facade reflecting the city lights in dazzling patterns. The entrance buzzed with high society chatter—sweeping gowns, tailored suits, and muted conversations that felt worlds apart from your reality. Whoever was hosting this wasn’t just powerful—they were untouchable.

You tried to blend in, keeping your head low as you slipped into the flow of guests. But before you reached the doors, a burly security guard stepped into your path.

“Pass?”

“I—uh,” you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “I’m with Park Sunghoon,” you lied, willing your voice to sound composed. “I’m his personal assistant,” you added, forcing yourself not to gag, “and he left his phone so I’m here to deliver it back to him.”

The guard’s suspicion was immediate. He squinted at you, then glanced at his colleague. “Wait here,” he said curtly, retreating to his desk and picking up the phone. As he made the call, his shifting expressions told you everything you needed to know—your story wasn’t holding up.

Before you could quietly slip away however, you felt the sudden grip of two guards seizing your arms from behind.

“Lord Park says he doesn’t know you,” the first guard returned, his smug expression practically oozing satisfaction. “Nor does he have a personal assistant. He has also requested that we report you to the nearest station for attempted trespassing. If you’ll follow—”

His voice faded into the background as panic set in. Your mind raced, adrenaline surging as you desperately tried to think of a way out. Perhaps show my work ID, you thought, but that won’t be ethical. Perhaps give them a kick, you pondered, come on, what’s a kick going to do against 2 buff guards.

“y/n?”

The voice cut through the noise like a lifeline, warm and familiar, yet so painfully out of place in a setting like this.

You turned sharply, and your breath caught.

There, standing in front of you, was someone you barely recognized.

“Sunoo?” you blurted, blinking as if your brain needed time to process what you were seeing.

Gone were the oversized hoodies and worn-out sneakers. The Sunoo before you now was practically dripping in luxury—a designer suit tailored to perfection, sleek leather loafers, and a watch you were pretty sure cost more than your apartment. His hair was immaculately styled, his face radiating the kind of confidence and wealth that turned heads.

“It is you!” he exclaimed, a broad grin splitting his face, softening his features to the Sunoo you remembered from eight years ago. Your best friend, Kim Sunoo.

You wanted to revel in the reunion, to cling to the warmth of familiarity, but the weight of the moment sank into you like a stone. Slowly, it dawned on you how ominous it all was—how Sunghoon and Sunoo could now be tied so closely. You remembered the tension between them eight years ago all too well, the lengths you went to keep them apart. The bargain you had struck with Sunghoon just so he’d leave him alone.

And yet, here they were, looking as though they were cut from the same cloth.

“Let her go. She’s with me,” Sunoo snapped at the guards, his grin vanishing in an instant, replaced by an expression of sharp disdain. The shift was jarring, his tone unrecognizable—cutting, cold, and entirely unlike him.

— iv

“Wine?”

Sunoo gestured at the uniformed staff pushing a gleaming silver cart toward you. The plates were stacked high with decadent hors d'oeuvres, and some accompanying bottles of wines that looked like it cost three times more than your monthly rent.

You shook your head, watching as Sunoo casually reached for his third glass. “You used to hated drinking,” you muttered.

“Well, the world I live in now is different—" he smirked, “—so are my tastes."

Before you could respond, Sunoo grabbed you by the side of your arms, swivelling you toward the floor-to-ceiling window which overlooked the grand hall below. "Take a good look, y/n. This is the upper echeleons of society."

Your gaze fell on the scene below: a vast, glittering ballroom with a massive crystal chandelier casting golden light over an impeccably dressed crowd. Designer gowns swept the marble floor, and tuxedos gleamed under the light. Waiters glided like shadows, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres.

“What is this place?” you asked, dragging your eyes back to him.

“It’s the Charity Gala of the year,” Sunoo said, his voice filled with a casual air you didn’t quite believe. “Officially, it’s a fundraiser for disaster relief in Southeast Asia. Unofficially—” he took a deliberate sip from his glass, his fourth, though he still seemed unbelievably sober, “—it’s a playground for the 1%. A chance to flaunt their wealth, rub shoulders with the powerful, and make backroom deals over overpriced wine.” He raised his glass in mock celebration. “Welcome to their world, y/n. The air up here is great.”

Your stomach twisted as you tried to reconcile this version of Sunoo with the one you’d once known. But before you could dwell on it, your wandering gaze caught something that made your blood run cold.

Park Sunghoon.

He was in the center of the ballroom, effortlessly commanding attention without seeking it. His raven-black hair was swept back, his tailored suit flawless, and a glass of wine rested lightly in his hand. But it wasn’t his appearance that made you freeze—it was the way he seemed to own the room, as though every person there unconsciously revolved around him. He moved through the crowd with an ease that was almost unsettling, exchanging words with men in expensive suits and women draped in jewels.

This wasn’t the Sunghoon you remembered. Back then, he was distant, deliberately anti-social, and disdainful of any social niceties when in a crowd. Now, he was polished, poised, and completely in his element—like a diplomat or a politician.

And yet, what truly froze you wasn’t his transformation. It was his gaze—for when he looked up, his eyes found yours in chilling precision. As if he knew you were there; as if he knew you had been staring.

Shit, you drew back instinctively, trying to stay away from his line of sight.

“y/n?” Sunoo’s voice jolted you out of your spiralling thoughts. “You said you were here because of someone is it?”

You forced a laugh, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, someone I know left some stuff with me, so I was going to return it. But, apparently, I needed a pass.”

“Who is it? I’ll help you find them,” Sunoo offered, clearly oblivious to the tension rolling off you.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, waving him off. “I just got a text—they said they don’t need it anymore. I’ll just head out—”

“Go back? Are you kidding me?” Sunoo interrupted, his hand gripping yours as he started to drag you across the room. “Come on, y/n. There’s no way I’m letting you miss this opportunity. You’re practically at the nexus of power and privilege. Everyone who is anyone is in here. I’ll introduce you to some top brass. Permanent secretaries, directors—you name it. I’m pretty sure they’d love to meet someone as sharp as you. You deserve to climb the ladder faster.”

“Sunoo, I—just give me a minute,” you stammered, trying to stall.

But Sunoo was already weaving you through the glittering crowd, his excitement palpable as he introduced you to people whose names blurred together in your head. Your nerves prickled with every passing moment, the hum of conversations swelling louder, pressing in on you. Then, one of them—an ex-politician—broke through your haze.

“Oh! You said you’re from the Ministry of Justice? Then you must know—” His words trailed off as his gaze shifted, scanning the room.

When he turned back, the crowd parted just enough to reveal Sunghoon, standing tall and composed, clinking his glass with a man who radiated power and authority.

Your heart plummeted and instinctively you shrank back, hoping the dim lighting would shield you. But then Sunoo's grip tightened around your hand, a sudden and unwelcome anchor.

“Sunoo, just let go—” you wrenched your hand away, perhaps a little too roughly, for he looked at you all confused as if you had struck him. "Sorry," you stammered, your voice low and frantic, “—bathroom.” Before he could even say anything, you had already turned on your heel, letting yourself get swallowed by the crowd. Except instead of reprieve, the air grew heavier with every step, the clinking of glasses and muted laughter morphing into a sinister undercurrent. The wine in their hands seemed darker, richer, almost like blood under the golden lights.

Finally, you found a door and without even sparing another second, you slipped out, closing the door behind you. You pressed your back against the cool surface of the door, exhaling shakily as you fought to steady yourself. The chill of the corridor was a stark contrast to the stifling opulence you’d just escaped, yet the unease clung to you like a second skin. Even here, away from the crowd, you couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were still watching, waiting.

“Thought I smelled something that didn’t belong—"

You froze, turning to find yourself surrounded by a group of men—three to be exact. At first glance, they looked as though they had stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine, all chiseled features and effortless grace. But there was something off about them. Their beauty was uncanny, a little too perfect, too symmetrical—like sculptures that had come to life but had missed the soul that should have animated them.

Yet, it wasn’t their appearance that sent shivers racing down your spine—it was the way they moved. They encircled you with slow, deliberate steps, each movement fluid, almost predatory, like Hyenas.

Your pulse quickened as the weight of their gazes bore down on you.

“Yeah, this one probably weaseled her way in,” the other one murmured, giving you a once-over that made your skin crawl, “journalist? fangirl?”

“Maybe it’s one of those waitresses again,” the other one scoffed, “remember how someone stole a dress and paraded around as a socialite during last year’s gala?”

“Ah- right,” the first one drew closer, “well, guess what? We are feeling very generous tonight and would like to give you a personal private tour. How's that?”

You evaded his hand just as he was about to wrap it over your shoulder, only to bump into the other who had closed in from the other side, his hand seizing yours like talons, “she’s warm.”

You yanked your arm free, retreating instinctively, only to collide with the cold, unyielding wall behind you.

“Actually, the wines weren’t cutting it,” the third one said, turning to his companions, who exchanged knowing grins, as though sharing a thought without needing words, “—but you,” he continued, his gaze snapping back to you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, “might just do.”

“You guys are messing with the wrong person,” you spat, feigning confidence despite the tremor in your voice. “I’m with Park—Lord Park, and he won’t take too kindly to a bunch of lower beings harassing his guest.”

“Oh, Lord Park,” the first one sneered, leaning in closer, his breath cold against your ear. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if one of his toys went missing.”

Laughter rippled between them, dark and taunting, and your stomach churned.

“You guys better piss off before—before I—” you broke off, your fumbling hands grazed something cool and solid behind you—a decorative vase perched precariously on a ledge. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and hurled it to the floor. The porcelain shattered with a deafening crash, the sound ricocheting through the corridor like a gunshot.

The distraction worked and the men recoiled for a split second—just enough for you to twist free and bolt.

You didn’t think. You didn’t look back. You just ran, your heels clicking frantically against the marble floor, heart pounding in rhythm with your steps. Their shouts grew fainter as you darted through the twisting hallways, rounding the corner when—slam.

You barrelled straight into something—or rather, someone.

The impact sent you stumbling back, but a strong hand shot out, steadying you with an iron grip. Dread pooled in your stomach as your gaze lifted, meeting a pair of dark piercing eyes.

It wasn’t one of them.

It was Sunghoon.

And frankly, you didn't know which one was worse.

He glanced past you to the commotion down the hall, then back to your flushed, panicked face. His eyes meeting yours in such inscrutable and cold way that it was entirely possible to you that he had sent those three men down your way.

“Lord Park,” one of the men murmured, their voices dropping into something that sounded both reverent and fearful. The shift in their demeanor was immediate. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something closer to submission. They exchanged glances, their earlier bravado crumbling under the weight of his command.

“Didn’t she say she is with me?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet but lethal, each word laced with venom. His tone was flat, almost disinterested, but the menace beneath it was unmistakable, “and you guys still had the audacity to mess with what’s mine?”

The words hit you like a cold wind, cutting through your defenses. You didn’t flinch outwardly, but inside, you recoiled—the weight of his casual claim felt heavier than it had any right to be. While the possessiveness in his tone unsettled you, what struck harder was the irony: how the very lie you’d spun to escape trouble was now your lifeline. Worse still, it was being wielded by the one who was being taken advantage of.

“Of course not,” one of them stammered, his words spilling out in a frantic rush.

“We’d never dare,” another muttered, bowing his head slightly as if the act alone might spare him from further scrutiny.

The three men backed away, their movements stiff and deliberate, muttering apologies that barely reached the air before they vanished into the shadows.

The hallway emptied as quickly as it had filled, leaving only you and Sunghoon behind. But as the men disappeared into the shadows, the oppressive weight of their presence was replaced by something just as stifling—Sunghoon’s gaze, dark and commanding, boring into you like a spotlight, leaving no room for escape.

You instinctively tried to yank your arm free from his grasp, but his grip was vice-like—firm and unrelenting. “Let go,” you demanded, your voice steady.

“You’re the one who said you’re with me, aren’t you?” he countered, his brow lifting in mocking amusement. “Let’s go then.”

“Sunghoon—” you began to protest, but his hold tightened as he dragged you down the corridor. His pace was deliberate, each step unhurried, but there was no mistaking the force in his pull. Before you could fully processed it, the elevator doors slid shut behind you, sealing the two of you in a tense, suffocating silence.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of emotion, the words hitting like a slap. “You don’t belong here.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of his words sharp and deliberate. “Thank you for stating the obvious,” you shot back sharply. “You, on the other hand, look like you belong. Almost didn’t recognize you with all the mushy act. Maturing at last? Bit late for your age, don’t you think?”

His brow arched, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Careful,” he said, his voice deceptively calm, “with that much interest, I might start thinking you missed me.”

The elevator dinged, and you expected him to release you. Instead, his grip only tightened as he pulled you across the lobby.

“Sunghoon—where are we—” you protested, your voice rising, drawing the attention of a few onlookers. “Sunghoon, let me go—let me—”

“You brought this on yourself, y/n,” he interrupted, his voice cutting clean through your panic. The dread hit you fully as you saw his Benz from earlier pull up to the curb. “You need to be taught a hard lesson—” he said, his tone dark, ominous, his grip tightening with every resistance from you, “—then maybe next time, you’ll think twice before running your mouth so carelessly.”

With unsettling ease, he opened the car door, shoving you unceremoniously into the backseat. You barely had time to twist toward the exit before he stepped into the doorway, his frame filling the space, blocking any chance of escape. Before you could shove him away, his hand moved as if he’d anticipated it—catching yours mid-motion with startling precision. The swiftness of it stole your breath, his grip unrelenting as it pinned your arm in place. The harder you tried to pull free, the more his hold seemed to tighten—like a quicksand—rendering you completely immobile with an ease that sent a cold shiver racing down your spine.

“Take her home,” Sunghoon ordered towards his driver curtly, his voice sharp and devoid of patience, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I can go home on my own,” you snapped.

“I’m sure you can,” he replied, his tone calm but razor-sharp. “But you won’t. Not after the havoc you wreaked earlier, with people you shouldn’t have.”

“But they—”

“—won’t let you go that easily. That's for certain.” he finished for you, his voice dropping low, slicing through your protest. His grip on your arm tightened one last time before he threw it back, the motion sending you off balance, your palms hitting the seat behind you to steady yourself.

Leaning into the open doorway, his eyes pinned you in place, his voice quiet but venomous. “He’ll take you home,” he muttered darkly, “or you’ll just never see home ever again.”

And with that, he slammed the door shut before walking back to the tower, the sound reverberating like the final nail in a coffin. No chance to argue. No chance to escape.

— v

Things settled back into a strained rhythm after that evening at the Charity Gala, though Sunghoon had stopped lingering. He would appear occasionally, dropping off new data without a word, then vanish as swiftly as he came. You told yourself it was better this way. His presence was, afterall, suffocating—a storm cloud hovering just out of reach. But no matter how hard you tried to bury the thoughts, the elephant in the room loomed larger with every passing moment of silence: Why had he let you live this long?

You knew Sunghoon hadn’t forgiven your betrayal. And yet, here you were—alive, breathing, and watching the shadows too closely because of him. Perhaps this was his punishment for you—making the guilt gnaw you from inside and driving you to the brink of insanity.

Then, one day, an invitation came out of nowhere.

The oxblood-coloured envelope was thick and weighty, its golden wax seal embossed with an unfamiliar crest that glinted under the light like a silent threat. You stared at it for a long moment before picking it up, turning it over in your hands.

“Wait—” Anton’s voice broke through your thoughts as he leaned over your desk, wide-eyed. “Is that—?”

“What?” you asked warily, still staring at the envelope as if it might bite.

“Noctis Imperium,” Anton breathed, his tone reverent.

You frowned. “Noctis what now?”

Anton looked at you like you’d just admitted you didn’t know how to breathe. “Noctis Imperium. It’s an exclusive retreat for the 1% — total luxury and opulence somewhere in the Montes Obscuri—you know the mountain range you can’t even find on google map? Point is, It’s completely exclusive. Totally off the grid. No cameras, no leaks, no nothing. Just power brokers, decision-makers, and untouchables all in one place.”

“Sounds pretentious,” you scoffed, breaking the seal.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the walls might be listening. “People call it a modern-day Bohemian Grove but... darker. Rumor has it that the deals made there don’t just change industries—they change entire nations.”

You shook your head dismissively as you pulled out the invitation. The embossed gold lettering shimmered faintly in the light:

To Our Chosen Few, The Noctis Imperium convenes soon, A place where maps end and silence consumes. Beneath the shadow of the Blood Moon, shapers and wielders come forge their runes. This is not a request, nor a courtesy—it is an acknowledgment of your place among those who command the currents of power. Your passage has been arranged. You will be expected.

“I’m a data analyst, not a billionaire,” you muttered, “perhaps they mailed it to the wrong room- ah—" your fingers brushed a small note tucked inside which read ‘From: Sunoo.’ “Well, perks of having connections, right?”

“Who cares?” Anton said, waving it off. “If I were you, I’d go. Network the hell out of it. Who knows? You might end up running this whole city someday.”

“To be honest, I’d probably die before I even get promoted,” you deadpanned, “My Reaper is just around the corner anyway—" you muttered nonchalantly. It was a casual claim, thrown carelessly into the air in reference to Sunghoon, but one that would echo with far more weight than you could possibly realize at that point in time.

The day passed in a blur, yet the envelope lingered in the recesses of your mind, a nagging presence you couldn’t quite shake. It resurfaced sharply at the end of the day, your steps faltering when the security guard stopped you just as you were about to leave the office.

“Madam, sorry to bother you, but did you receive your invitation?”

“Excuse me?”

“The red envelope, ma’am. There were only two sent to this building—one for you and one for the gentleman. I was told that it is very important that you receive and read it.”

“Yes. I got—" you halted, “—wait, the gentleman? Which one?”

The guard nodded. “The one who’s been visiting you. Mr. Park, I believe.”

Your stomach twisted. Sunghoon.

You mumbled a distracted thanks.

Of course, he is also invited.

The thought continued to gnaw at you afterwards, echoing in your mind as you climbed into the waiting cab. Your invitation had came from Sunoo but now that you knew Sunghoon, too, had been invited reframed everything. It meant that the Noctis Imperium wasn’t just any retreat of shallow opulence. In fact, the words in the letter, which you have dismissed as being far too pretentious and unnecessarily cryptic, now carried a weight that felt unnervingly and ominously real.

Had he always been part of this? Your mind flashed to him at the party, the ease with which he’d navigated the room, the smiles, the warmth—a performance so seamless it made your skin crawl. He very much look like he belonged.

You sank into the back of the cab, pulling out your laptop and flipping it open. You couldn’t shake the unease now that you look at the simulation your model had churned. The data—the tangled mess of trends and points you’d been staring at for weeks—felt like it was hiding something, just out of reach.

Sunghoon’s words from weeks ago echoed faintly in your mind: “They’re embedded in your systems. In your policies.”

“What if it’s a team effort?” you murmured to yourself as you pull up your coding window, inserting several data and refining the code to allow for some different sets of filtering. This time,  one layer of noise dropped. Another filter, another layer gone.

Slowly, patterns emerged where there had been none. The suspects—every single one—had histories that aligned: mental institutionalization, retrenchment, depression diagnoses. All of which conveniently could serve as motives behind drug abuse and the sudden violence as a byproduct of such addiction. The victims on the other hand were from the bottom rung of society – the homeless, the poor, the invisible – people whose deaths wouldn’t have made dent and wouldn’t have been fought for.

If it is a team effort and that they’re embedded in every sector, you pondered toggling with the filters, then the demand and supply can be carefully managed.

Eight years ago, a similar pattern emerged in your little town—but it was confined to a pureblood and a couple of strays.  But this? This was larger. It was a system beneath the system. An empire operating in shadows. Or perhaps, you thought, it's a collusion of system that straddle both worlds.

You sunk back into your seat, your head spinning as you realised the gravity of the situation if indeed true. Outside, the city blurred past, its twinkling lights reflected across glass and metal surfaces like fleeting stars. The golden seal of the invitation caught your eye where it lay in your bag, gleaming faintly. As if it was beckoning you.

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. In another life—one with stability, comfort, and certainty—you might have left that envelope unopened, dismissed it as someone else’s game. But that wasn’t your life, was it? Not anymore.

Not since Sunghoon's returned at least. For since his reappearance, your days had become a delicate balancing act, every step more precarious than the last, every shadow in corner felt more ominous by the passing day. With your data pointing toward something vast and insidious, the invitation felt less like a trap and more like an opportunity. Reckless? Yes. But what choice did you have? This was a chance to get closer to the truth, to the root of the tangled chaos that had consumed your life.

The seal gleamed as the cab pulled at a traffic stop—a quiet and unyielding challenge.

Your resolve solidified in that moment.

By the time the cab pulled up to your apartment, you had already submitted your leave request: two weeks, no questions asked. Moving on autopilot, you packed a small bag—your laptop, backups of the data, and whatever else you thought you might need.

You didn’t know if you were walking into a trap or uncovering the truth. But either way, you were determined to find out. You were, afterall, already walking a tightrope as it is.

— vi

True enough, the farther the drive went, the more foreboding the journey became. An hour and a half in, the landscape had transformed into an endless expanse of towering ancient trees. The sun, so bright when you’d left the city, was nowhere to be found—as though you’d been transported into a realm of perpetual darkness.

You glanced at your phone, hoping in vain that you'd a get a signal. Nothing. Nada. But then it wasn't like the signal would have helped, Google Maps showed you that your destination is buried in middle of an unbroken expanse of green—no landmarks, no markings, not even a hint of civilization.

Anton wasn’t exaggerating, you thought, unease coiling tighter in your chest. It's one thing for the retreat to be shrouded in so much secrecy; but another for it to actually be able to evade global mapping systems entirely.

“We’re here, Madam,” the driver announced as the car turned into a gated lawn. Through the dense canopy of ancient trees, you caught glimpses of something massive looming in the distance. Its spires pierced the sky, clawing out from the forested expanse like talons.

“A manor?”

“A castle, Madam,” the driver corrected, the car’s tires crunching over the gravel path. “One of the few left. Very highly protected.”

The path wound sharply uphill, twisting like a serpent as it climbed higher into the forested slope. Ancient wrought-iron torches lined the way, their uneven intervals casting flickering pools of golden light that danced across the shadows of the towering trees. With each turn, more of the castle came into view, unraveling piece by piece. Its gothic silhouette loomed larger with every moment, the sheer size of it making the air seem heavier, as though the structure itself demanded reverence. "I can see why," you sighed, in complete awe.

By the time the car reached the final bend, the forest opened up completely, revealing the castle in all its glory. Perched atop the hill like a sentinel, its massive stone walls seemed to rise endlessly into the sky, adorned with spires and arches that looked almost alive in their intricacy. The grandeur of it was otherworldly, a masterpiece of both architecture and menace.

By the time the car slowed to a stop before the entrance, the sun had fully set—its descent perfectly timed, as if orchestrated to embody the very essence of the Noctis Imperium which aptly translated as 'The Empire of Shadows'. You checked back the agenda and true enough, every events were set to start once the sun sets.

“Madam y/n,” a pair of what looked like a maid and a butler, judging from the uniform, greeted you. “Please come with us, we have been assigned to you. We shall show you around and show you to your suite.”

As you followed the maid, you swallowed thickly, your steps faltering at the sight before you. The castle loomed larger up close, its presence more imposing and ominous than you had imagined. Crimson light seeped through the towering windows, bathing the weathered stone in an eerie glow, as though the building itself pulsed with a forbidden life force. At the grand entrance, blood-red flowers coiled up the walls, their tendrils creeping toward the arched doorway like veins, giving the unsettling impression that the castle was bleeding from within. The effect was grotesque yet mesmerizing, made even more chilling by the gargoyles crouched on the jagged edges of the roof, their wretched expressions seemingly serve as a warning.

As you ventured deeper into the castle, the emptiness and stillness seemed to press heavier around you, yet the unsettling sensation of being watched clung to you like a second skin. Faces in oil paintings—pale, sharp-featured men and women—appeared to shift in the corner of your vision, their painted eyes tracking your every move with unnerving precision. Shadows lingered in the corners, seeming to stir with faint, unnatural movement, and more than once, you swore you heard footsteps trailing behind you. But each time you turned, you found nothing but darkness pooling at your heels.

“Madam y/n,” the maid interrupted your thoughts as they stopped at the farthest corner of the fifth floor, “this will be your suite.”

She pushed open the massive double doors, revealing a room so grand it could have swallowed your entire apartment twice over. The space was opulent yet cold—ancient but well-kept. Rich, crimson drapes framed the tall windows, shielding the suite from whatever darkness lurked outside. The bed was enormous, its carved wooden posts supporting a canopy of deep velvet that seemed to absorb all light. The furniture—ornate dressers, armchairs, and a writing desk—looked like it had been plucked straight from a century long past.

Despite the beauty and grandiosity, the room was no less comforting than the dark corridors outside as it felt both untouched and meticulously staged—like a theater set waiting for its players to arrive.

“Madam,” the maid’s voice drew your attention. She moved to a dresser near the far wall and opened its doors, revealing a collection that left your mouth slightly agape. “These are from Mr. Kim Sunoo,” she explained, gesturing gracefully at the contents. “He has prepared a selection of designers for you to choose from. One for each evening.”

Designer gowns of every color and cut hung delicately, their fabrics shimmering faintly in the dim light. Silks, chiffons, and velvets, all rich and lush, stitched with gold and silver threads. Each one looked painstakingly curated, designed to command attention. A far cry from the practical wardrobe you were used to.

Far from being delighted and spoiled for choice however – the uneasiness you feel only grew. This did not felt like hospitality.

It felt like preparation.

— vii

You stood hestiantly in front of the Hall of Ascendancy—the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You had considered skipping tonight’s welcome dinner altogether—after all, unlike everyone, you weren’t exactly here to mingle and shake hands with elites. But, given the circumstances, skipping would only attract unwanted attention and you weren’t about to make waves before you had a clearer understanding of what you were truly stepping into.

You stared at your reflection in a nearby polished surface, taking in the sleek black suede long-sleeved gown you had chosen for tonight. Its asymmetrical cut was understated but elegant—one shoulder covered, the other left bare, the smooth fabric dipping to reveal your collarbone. The golden phoenix embellishments—one over the shoulder and the other delicately positioned just above the curve of your chest following the neckline—shimmered faintly under the low light, resting on the rich fabric as if they were alive. It was a dress that does not scream for attention, but one that still whispered sophistication.

Just as you stood there, caught between hesitation and obligation, a butler appeared at your side, pushing a cart laden with Venetian masks. He glanced at you briefly, his expression polite but unreadable. “It’s tradition Madam,” he said, his voice smooth and practiced, beckoning you to pick any one of the masks. “Everyone is supposed to be equals once inside. The masks ensure that no one stands above the others, no titles, no status. Simply anonymity.”

Guests ahead of you eagerly snatched the most ornate masks—studded with jewels, embroidered in gold filigree, some even fashioned with feathers that curved skyward. You, by contrast, reached for the most unassuming one: a black Colombina Venetian mask with faded bronze detailing. It blended into the shadows, almost disappearing entirely. Just as you preferred.

As you step into the Hall of Ascendancy, the irony of its name strikes you almost as sharply as the chilling ambiance. The term, which typically conjures visions of rising to heights of glory and light, is subverted here into something far more sinister. Instead of ascending into brilliance, the hall seems to draw all who enter into a descent into shadow.

Above, towering Gothic arches stretch upward, but rather than reaching a grand zenith, they dissolve into darkness, the ceiling lost to an enveloping blackness. This architectural feat creates the disquieting illusion of an upside-down ascendancy, as if the very structure aims to pull the heavens down into the abyss.

The hall is dimly lit by countless candles clustered along its length, their glow insufficient to penetrate the upper shadows but adequate to cast a ghostly light on the faces of the masked guests. Each mask, elaborately crafted and grotesquely beautiful, appears almost spectral under the flickering candlelight. The play of light and shadows however twisted their features, turning what might be considered majestic into something distinctly macabre.

In this realm of reversed ascendancy, the guests move like phantoms against a backdrop of dark stone and darker shadows, their whispers echoing off the walls as if sharing secrets with the ancient stones. Their movement—gliding soundlessly in pairs, every step perfectly in rhythm with the eerie strains of the orchestra—makes your skin crawl.

They were too graceful. Too perfect.

You tried not to stare, reminding yourself that some among them might be bloodsuckers. But that was precisely the most unsettling part—you wouldn't know who. Everyone was perfectly hidden behind elaborate gowns and crisp suits, their expressions meticulously concealed behind eerie Venetian masks.

“y/n!”

The voice was familiar, bright—an anchor in this dizzying sea of masked spectre.

Sunoo.

You spotted him, his pale skin glimmering under the faint light, the grin behind his own half mask unmistakeable. He waved enthusiastically, threading through the crowd as though they weren’t even there. You lifted your hand, returning his wave, moving instinctively toward him.

But then—

The music swelled, deep and rhythmic, and soon the crowd, too, shifted. Pairs began to form, bodies turning in fluid precision. The crowd twisted and folded in on itself, the movements impossibly synchronized, cutting through the hall like tides.

Sunoo’s figure vanished, swallowed by the waves dancing guests.

“Sunoo?” you called, your voice dissolving into the music. You pushed forward but the crowd grew tighter. Dark gowns spun like shadows, masks turned toward you in quick, darting glances—just enough to unnerve you, just enough to make you feel watched. You tried to move away but like tidal wave, the dancing guests surged and swirled around you as if all conspiring to keep you tethered where you were.

Then—

A hand seized yours.

Before you could react, you were pulled sharply into the crowd, your body spun until you collided with someone—chest to chest. An arm snaked around your waist, strong and unyielding, holding you in place as the waltz swept you into its current.

“I’m sorry, I’m not—”

The words died in your throat. You recognized this grip—talon-like and suffocating, an iron cage clasping your ribs. The broad shoulders pressing against you and the sharp jawline cutting like stone beneath the Golden of the Colombina Venetian mask, were unmistakably familiar. And those eyes—the penetrating, intense gaze that seemed to probe the depths of your mind—left no room for doubt.

Park Sunghoon.

Of course, it was him. It was always him, you thought bitterly.

“Of course, it’s you,” you muttered, vivid memories starting to surge to the forefront of your mind—that of eight years ago during the Winter Ball when his grip had been just as unforgiving, his presence just as inescapable, and the proximity just as suffocating. It felt as though no time had passed at all.

His head tilted menacingly, the golden venetian mask he wore catching the flicker of candlelight. “—likewise, it is always you,” he murmured, his voice was quiet but edged with something darker.

The room, the people, the music—all of it faded to nothing. It was just you and him again, caught in a silent war that neither of you dared name. The waltz pulled you into its current, and Sunghoon led you with an ease that only reminded you how effortlessly he always took control.

“I told you to stay away,” he said softly, though there was no kindness in the words—just quiet steel.

“And I told you I don’t take orders,” you shot back, forcing steadiness into your voice despite the way his presence pressed against you, suffocating and all-encompassing. His proximity, the unyielding strength in his hold, stirred memories you had buried too deep to ignore. “Besides, I didn’t come here uninvited.”

“You let yourself be invited into a lion’s den,” he scoffed, the sound barely audible above the swell of violins.

“I trumped the rat maze you set for me eight years ago, didn’t I?" you retorted, "clearly, survival is my forte.”

His fingers curled tighter around your waist, vice-like against your ribs. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who led this dance. “Take your penchant for mind games elsewhere, y/n. This isn’t a playpen—it’s a gladiator ring.”

“You should be the one taking your mind games elsewhere, Sunghoon. I know your game, so if you’re thinking of orchestrating everything around me just to play the savior—don’t bother,” you hissed. “Just come as you are. If you’re here for vengeance, then do it. Stop being cold one second and trying to save me the next.”

The music swelled again, a crescendo that made the floor seem to tremble beneath your feet. His fingers dug into your side—almost punishing—as though your words struck deeper than you expect it would.

As the piece surged toward its thunderous finale, Sunghoon’s hand shifted, guiding you into a sharp turn. But as you spun, the momentum of the movement carried you further than intended—too far for his grasp to reclaim you. The music fractured into a new, chaotic melody, the dancers around you shifting like tides in time with the change.

Before you could regain your balance, another hand caught yours, pulling you into the rhythm of the new dance. The hold was gentler this time, firm but reassuring, a stark contrast to the suffocating grip you’d just escaped. The voice that followed cut through the stifling tension, light and teasing.

“Sorry about that. You looked like you needed rescuing.”

You turned sharply, blinking up at the man who’d swept you to the edge of the room. He was slightly shorter than Sunghoon, his build lean and lithe. Where Sunghoon exuded impenetrable strength, this man moved with a kind of devil-may-care ease as though he thrived on chaos without ever letting it touch him. His blonde hair fell in deliberate disarray, a tousled mess that only added to the impression that nothing in this world—rules, expectations, or danger—could weigh him down.

His half-jester mask concealed the upper half of his face, but the smirk pulling at his lips was impossible to miss. It was wide, sharp, and full of boyish charm, a grin that danced the line between amusement and provocation. The silver lip ring he wore at the centre of his lower lip only enhanced the air of mischief he seemed to carry effortlessly.

“Jaeyun,” he introduced, his voice smooth but carrying the kind of playfulness that made you wonder if he ever took anything seriously. Spinning you out of the crowd with a dancer’s grace, he watched you closely, the weight of his gaze hidden beneath the mask, yet still palpable. His grip was steady but not imposing, the veins on his hands prominent, betraying a strength that seemed out of place with his disarming demeanor.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he continued smoothly, his tone casual but edged with intrigue. There was something both playful and calculated about him, as though every word he spoke carried a double meaning.

“That is probably because I’m not part of the 1%. Just someone invited out of favour,” you shrugged and eased up, thinking how anywhere was better than being near Sunghoon and right now in this man’s arms, you felt oddly at ease.

His golden brow arched beneath the mask, a playful smirk curling his lips. “No one here gets invited without a reason, my lady. You’re meant to be here.”

“Trust me,” you said drily, “I’m no one important, so you’ve picked the wrong girl to waltz with. I can’t help you worm your way to any position.”

He chuckled, “well, that makes two of us. I’m no one important either. Just a nepo baby bouncing between industries like a particularly well-dressed pinball.”

The laugh that escaped you was unguarded, the first real one that night.

“I don’t think I can last much longer tonight,” you admitted quietly, glancing back at the sea of masked faces and swirling gowns. “Do you think there’s a way to sneak out of here?”

He chuckled, as though he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Skipping the speech? Bold choice. I approve.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t let a maid or butler catch you—they’ll just escort you back in. But I know a way. I’ll help you escape to your chamber.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the dark swirl of dancers in the center of the room. Somewhere in that tide of velvet and masks, you knew Sunghoon was watching.

“Lead the way,” you muttered, straightening your mask and steeling yourself against the lingering shiver of Sunghoon’s presence.

Jaeyun offered his arm with a wink. “Smart choice. Follow me.”

He led you deftly through the swirling mass of dancers, weaving in and out of the crowd as though he’d done this a hundred times before. You kept your hand in his, letting him pull you along, grateful for the escape—even if part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this castle had eyes everywhere.

The towering figures in elaborate cloaks and Venetian masks seemed to loom larger as you passed, their heads turning ever so slightly in your direction, as though they knew your intentions. You forced yourself to look ahead, Jaeyun’s golden hair your only anchor amidst the sea of elaborate gowns and flickering shadows.

At last, he pushed open a discreet side door, ushering you into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The muffled strains of the orchestra faded slightly, replaced by the faint hum of silence. The walls here were stone, the flickering sconces spaced farther apart, casting deep pools of darkness.

“There,” he said, finally letting go of your hand and gesturing down the hall. “This leads back toward the guest wings. No one’ll bother you this way—no guards, no butlers.”

You glanced at him warily, still catching your breath. “And how do you know all of this?”

Jaeyun flashed that mischievous smile, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of something too knowing. “I have my ways,” he teased, tapping the edge of his mask. “I’m a bit of an expert at slipping out unnoticed.”

You folded your arms, trying to read him. He didn’t feel like the others—those unsettling, predatory guests whose masked faces all seemed to tilt as you passed. Compared to Sunghoon’s towering, fortress-like presence, Jaeyun was the opposite—light, sharp, and unpredictable. If Sunghoon was a storm, heavy with inevitability, Jaeyun was the wind, playful and untethered, ready to shift direction at any moment.

“You’re not leading me into another lion’s den, are you?” you asked flatly. Trust is afterall not something you hand out very freely.

He chuckled. “No lions here. Maybe a few rats, but you’ll be fine.” He tilted his head toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll keep watch to make sure no one follows.”

You hesitated, searching his expression one last time, but his grin was steady, his posture relaxed—like someone who lived for mischief but wasn’t cruel enough to throw you into a pit for fun.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, stepping back into the shadows near the door. “And don’t get lost—these halls have a habit of playing tricks. It's not called the Corridors of Treachery for nothing.”

You shot him one last glance before hurrying down the corridor, the faint sound of your heels against the stone floor echoing back at you. The hallway stretched longer than you’d expected, the shadows creeping in at the edges of your vision, distorting the path. Doors lined the hallway on either side, their carved handles gleaming faintly in the dim light, inviting and forbidding all at once.

You reached for the nearest door, desperate to find a way back to your chambers. It creaked open slowly, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness. Nope, you thought as you closed the door and opened the one next to it.

This time, the door opened to a vast, empty dining hall, its long table draped in crimson cloth, the chairs eerily vacant as though waiting for unseen occupants. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, though no wind stirred the air. You slammed the door shut, your breath catching, the eerie stillness pressing against your chest.

Your heart raced as you tried another handle, and another, each opening up to various types of rooms but not to the North Wing. You reached the end of the corridor, desperation creeping into your movements. But when the door opened, your stomach twisted. The staircase from the first door now stood before you again.

No, that's not possible. You turned sharply, your gaze darting down the corridor. You were certain the staircase had been at the other end of the hall, far from here. Yet here it was, unmoved, defying logic.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thought aside and moved to the next door, your steps hurried. The knob twisted reluctantly under your grip, creaking open to reveal something entirely different. The air shifted, heavier now, the dim light casting elongated shadows across the floor. The scent of dust and aged paper filled your senses.

“A library?” you murmured, the word barely audible as your curiosity overrode caution. Towering bookshelves rose around you, their rows packed with cracked leather bindings. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint creak of wood beneath your steps. You ventured further in, but a sudden sound stopped you cold—footsteps. Voices.

“I swear I saw someone—” a maid’s voice, soft but tense, carried through the corridor outside.

“No one would be stupid enough to use this corridor,” an older, irritated butler replied. “Still, we’ll get in trouble if someone’s unaccounted for in the Hall. You check the doors on that side. I’ll take this one—”

Panic shot through you as Jaeyun’s warning echoed in your mind: Don’t let them catch you. They’ll just drag you back. Before you could think, you had already shut the door behind you, bolting it as quietly as possible. The prospect of locking yourself in an unfamiliar room was unsettling, but the thought of being dragged back into the Hall was enough to root you in place.

Stepping back into the dim room, your fingers brushed against a nearby oil lamp. You hesitated only for a moment before taking it, the soft glow pushing back the shadows around you. A new thought flickered in your mind: perhaps this was exactly where you needed to be because if there were any place to find answers, it would be in a library.

And so you turned to the towering shelves, your eyes already skimming the spines of the books. Most of the books were likely ancient with their cracked spines etched with unfamiliar symbols and faded runes.

And then, something caught your attention.

There, in the middle of the farthest shelf, tucked between larger tomes, was a book entitled The Annals of Kings. Its spine was cracked with age, the title barely visible in faded gold lettering. Perhaps this can tell me more about the owner of the castle, you thought, carefully taking it out and flipping open the cover. At first, the book seemed to be a meticulously detailed chronicle of royal bloodlines—family trees stretching back to eras long forgotten, with unfamiliar crests and names etched in bold, precise script. "Weird," you find yourself whispering as one particular page had burnt marks precisely over some members of the House. As you flipped further, your breath hitch when your eyes read the word 'Purebloods' in the 3rd chapter. You remembered Sunghoon had once talked about a 'Pureblood' to refer to one of them.

You read on, setting the book down on a nearby table:

In the earliest epochs of human civilization, the Purebloods did not linger in the shadows—they ruled openly, their supernatural gifts woven seamlessly into the fabric of leadership. To mortals, their superhuman abilities appeared as divine providence, unparalleled intelligence, or sheer physical prowess. Kingdoms flourished under their command, their strength ensuring stability and their cunning guiding progress. Mortals, though inferior, were the lifeblood of the empire in every sense—figuratively and literally. They served not only as a source of sustenance but as indispensable tools in the expansion and maintenance of vampiric rule. By draining mortals to the brink of death, Purebloods could create Strays: undead beings stripped of humanity and intelligence, reduced to feral creatures driven solely by hunger and instinct. These mindless abominations, incapable of fear or betrayal, became perfect instruments of war. By contrast, Spoilbloods were created with precision and strategic intent. Only mortals of exceptional strength, intellect, or loyalty were chosen—sifted from the mortals and meticulously groomed. The transformation involved an agonizing process: near-fatal blood loss followed by the infusion of Pureblood blood. The result was a new kin—impure yet indispensable. Retaining their human intellect and experience, Spoilbloods became tethered to their Pureblood creators through an unbreakable bond. They served as advisors, enforcers, and agents, wielding their knowledge of mortal affairs to further their master’s dominion. Their dual nature made them invaluable, bridging the gap between humanity and the Purebloods’ reign, and solidifying the Purebloods’ control over mortal realms. But as the empire grew, so too did ambition and recklessness. The turning of mortals, once deliberate and controlled, became indiscriminate. Strays, bred in overwhelming numbers, escaped their creators’ control, wreaking havoc even within vampiric strongholds. Spoilbloods, no longer chosen for their value, were created in excess, leading to insubordination and infighting. The tools that had forged an empire became the seeds of its collapse. Strays, unleashed without thought, ravaged lands indiscriminately. Spoilbloods, embittered by their tainted status, turned on their masters, allying with mortals or seeking power for themselves. And mortals, emboldened by the chaos, rose in rebellion, wielding fire and steel against their oppressors. What followed was the Great Sundering—a cataclysmic collapse of the Shadow Reign. Purebloods who had once ruled openly were forced to retreat into obscurity, their ambitions tempered by the need for secrecy. Now, the Purebloods operate from the shadows, manipulating mortals and maintaining their dominion through whispers and unseen influence. Yet the lessons of the past remain unlearned, for ambition stirs once more. The tools that once brought empires to ruin may yet be repurposed in the pursuit of a legacy reborn—

The sound of a doorknob turning shattered your concentration, your heart nearly leaping out of your ribcage. “See? It’s locked—” the butler’s voice, the one from earlier, filtered through, sharp with irritation. “No one is here. Let’s go now before we’re the ones getting searched for.”

You exhaled shakily, bracing yourself against the table as your pulse thundered in your ears. I need to go. Quickly, you shut the book, its weight feeling heavier now, as though it carried more than history—something darker, something alive. You wanted to read more, to uncover the truths buried in its pages, but lingering wasn’t an option. And carrying a book about vampire history through this castle felt like begging for trouble.

Your gaze fell to your gown, and in a moment of desperation, you slipped the book into the narrow space between your corset and dress. The edges dug into your ribs uncomfortably, but it would have to do.

Unbolting the door with painstaking caution, you cracked it open just enough to peek into the hallway. Clear. You slipped into the corridor, moving as quickly as you dared. One door, then another—each led to rooms you’d already seen, as though the corridor itself conspired against you, bending and twisting your sense of direction.

"I swear if—" you groaned in frustation as you twisted the doorknob next to the lopsided sconce, half expecting it to open into a room you had seen but this time, as if the corridor has had enough of torturing you, it opened to the North Wing, the one you had passed through to get to your room.

Relief surged through you, propelling your legs forward. You darted down the hall, your steps unsteady, nearly stumbling as your door came into view. Throwing yourself inside, you slammed it shut, bolting it with trembling hands. Leaning heavily against the door, your chest heaved, each gasp scraping against the pressure of the book pressed tightly to your ribs, making every breath feel like a chore.

With a frustrated sigh, you reached for the zipper of your gown, tugging it down just enough to free the stolen volume. The moment felt almost triumphant—until—

“Fuck—what the heck, Park Sunghoon?!”

Your own voice rang out, sharp and panicked, as you froze.

There he was. Sitting on your bed like he owned it, leaning back lazily with his arms sprawled behind him. His hands pressed into the mattress to prop himself up, his posture infuriatingly casual, like he’d been waiting for hours. One leg stretched out, the other bent loosely at the knee.

His golden Venetian mask sat perched atop his head, as though he’d lazily shoved it out of the way. The ornate design, with its sharp angles and eerie elegance, looked less menacing up there—but you’d almost prefer it over his uncovered face. At least the mask didn’t smirk. That infuriating curve of his lips, brimming with amusement, made you want to throw something at him. But more annoying than that was his gaze: how it lingered—too long—on your corseted torso where the gown had slipped slightly from your shoulders. Your cheeks flamed, flustered, as you hastily tugged your dress back together, zipping it up in one swift, jerky motion. You clutched the fabric tightly over your chest, as though it could shield you from the weight of his gaze.

“Calm down,” he drawled, his voice low and almost teasing. “You had a corset on. It’s not like you were only in your br—”

“Shut it," you snapped.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened, but the amusement in his expression gave way to something sharper as his eyes dropped to the book still clutched in your hands.

“Instead of worrying about your dignity,” he said, his tone suddenly edged with steel, “you might want to worry about the implication of stealing that.”

“It’s just a book,” you muttered, though you knew better.

He tilted his head, the casual air around him darkening. “Just a book? That’s a very important book, and people would kill to lay their hands on it—humans especially. And if the nonhumans find out that a human had stolen it…” He let the words hang, the unspoken consequence thickening the silence.

You swallowed hard, suspicion flaring despite his warning. “perhaps you’re just saying that to stop me from learning what’s inside.”

He rose fluidly from the bed, moving closer with that same languid grace that unnerved you, “Actually, you know what..." his voice was calm, almost mocking, as he advanced toward you. He didn’t stop, his deliberate steps forcing you to retreat until your back hit the door, "Go ahead. Read it from cover to cover. Then maybe you’ll finally understand how foolish you had been to throw yourself here—and perhaps…”

His tone sharpened as his hand slid up the curve of your waist, his fingers curling against your ribs with a vicelike grip. The pressure pinned you harder against the door, leaving no room to escape. You had almost forgotten how paralyzing his beauty could be up close—how each sharp line of his face seemed crafted with unnerving precision. But it wasn’t just his features; it was his gaze.

There, in the scant inches between you, his eyes burned with an intensity that made you hold your breath. It wasn’t the probing look you’d grown used to, the one that seemed to sift through your thoughts for answers. No, this was something else. This gaze demanded. It didn’t seek to uncover the depth of your mind; it sought to make you reveal it willingly.

And then, fleeting but unmistakable, you caught the way his eyes flitted downward—down to your lips—before returning to your eyes. It was brief, the kind of glance you could almost convince yourself didn’t happen, but the air between you felt thicker for it, alive with unspoken tension.

“—learn a thing or two about not trusting anyone here,” he finished, his voice like the brush of a blade against your throat.

The door clicked open softly behind you, and his hand released you just as suddenly as it had held you. Before you could process the shift, something cold pressed into your palm. It was your dagger—the one he impaled on your stacks of files with just weeks ago.

“I’d keep that knife on me at all times if I were you,” he murmured, breath ghosting your ear. “And maybe sleep with one eye open. You’ve made quite the impression tonight—and I’m not just talking about me.”

It was only then did you notice the small charm dangling from the hilt of your dagger—a ruby crest, unmistakably his. It swayed gently, a silent signature that felt more mocking than reassuring. The crimson gem glinted wickedly in the dim light, its gleam as taunting and inescapable as the smirk that now lingered, unbidden, in your thoughts.

— viii

The second night reconvened in an entirely different space. Unlike the grandeur of the Hall of Ascendancy, tonight’s venue stretched seamlessly into a vast conservatory. But this wasn’t just any conservatory—it was a towering mansion of glass and steel, an architectural marvel that seemed almost alive under the full moon, which hung high above.

The guests were already assembled by the time you arrived, their attire more elaborate than ever. Velvet gowns flowed like liquid shadows, and cloaks billowed with every calculated step. Masks adorned with jewels, feathers, and gilded filigree glinted in the broken light, their ornate designs blurring the line between beauty and monstrosity.

But tonight, something felt different.

Their movements, slower and more deliberate, carried an unsettling weight. The laughter that echoed through the towering space was sharper, colder, its brittle edges slicing through the charged silence.

They no longer looked like nobles. Their presence felt predatory, their glances sharp and calculating, their steps echoing with a primal rhythm. After what you’d learned yesterday, you no longer saw them as elegant courtiers.

Your burgundy gown did little to comfort you, its sheer cape trailing behind as you moved through the crowd. The beads shimmered under the moonlight like droplets of blood, an omen you couldn’t ignore. The dagger in your garter weighed heavier than ever, its promise sharp against your thigh.

At the far end of the room, the soft murmur of voices fell silent when the host stepped onto a raised platform, his usual playful energy somewhat tempered by the atmosphere. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the host spread his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. “Or perhaps I should say hunters and prey.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, low and knowing.

“As per tradition, tonight we hunt. We test not just our skill but our resolve,” he continued, his tone light but his words laden with a weight that made your stomach churn. “Our prey tonight will be scattered across the grounds. Cunning and elusive, just as they always have been. You know the rules. The one with the highest count by sunrise… wins.”

The crowd stirred, their masked faces tilting in eerie anticipation.

“Hunting?” you whispered, dread curling through you – dread that no one seems to share. “Of course,” you thought to yourself, “it’s normal rich people bloodsport. Deplorable.”

“Word of advice?”

You jumped, surprised, spinning to face the owner of the voice. It was Jaeyun. Despite wearing an ominous half Plague Doctor mask this time, you could easily recognise those piercing in the middle of his lips and the playful voice. He leaned closer, whispering,  “—don’t think of just sitting around and laying low.”

Your brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“This is more than just your usual ‘rich-people bloodsport’. The real prize lay beyond rabbits, bison, herrons-” Jaeyun said smoothly, a casual drawl lacing his words.

You shook your head, disbelieving, “forget it. I’m not interested in getting first place in killing innocent animals.”

“Trust me, it’s not just about coming up at the top,” he muttered ominously before his lips widened into the usual playful grin. “That aside…” he beckoned subtly, nudging you to glance toward the far end of the room, “I can never tell if you two are lovers or enemies, but there’s something there. He’s been staring for ages.”

You turned, following his line of sight, and felt your pulse stutter.

Sunghoon.

He stood at the far side of the glasshouse, his tall figure cutting through the crowd like a shadow. But even the mask couldn’t conceal the intensity of his stare—sharp, piercing, locked directly onto you.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it lingering far too heavily on your shoulders.

“Careful,” Jaeyun murmured, his grin turning faintly wolfish, “you might end up being the one he hunts tonight instead of a bison.”

Before you could respond, a bell rang and darkness consumed the glasshouse. “You have until sun down,” you hear the host announce, amusement evident, “eternal glory awaits those who makes it. Happy hunting.”

There was something ominous about the way he emphasizes the words but before you could process them further, you feel a hand on yours, soft but insistent. “Madam, it’s me,” you recognised the voice, it was one of those maids who served you breakfast this morning, “please follow me. I am to take you to your respective position.”

Before you could resist, she slipped a blindfold over your eyes and led you outside. The cold night air bit at your skin, your pulse quickening with every step. When the blindfold came off, you were near a shed, and  a shotgun was thrusted into your hands.

The bell tolled again, its echo swallowed by the night, and almost immediately, gunshots rang out, shattering the stillness. Manic laughter followed—sharp, jagged, and unhinged, like a predator’s glee.

You’d always been competitive, but killing innocent animals had never been your sport. As the Maid stepped away, a thought struck you. Without hesitation, you grabbed her arm, realizing you could easily disguise yourself—especially since the mask you wore among the guests would conceal your identity.

“Trade clothes with me," you said urgently, "please. It's a bit too heavy for hunting, don't you think?" you lied.

The maid looked hesitant at first but eventually agreed after you promised her some reward as long as she finds you afterward. You two ducked inside the shed and traded clothes.

The maid's uniform was simple and nondescript, just a black velvet dress that hugged the figure modestly with its high neckline framed by delicate white lace and long sleeves that gathered slightly at the shoulders with a matching lace at the cuffs. It was the perfect attire for hiding in plain sight. Or running, should you need to.

You muttered a thanks as she took her leave but just as you were buttoning yours, you heard noises—footsteps, closer now, and the sharp bark of a laugh that set your teeth on edge. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as you crept toward the narrow window.

Outside, in the clearing beyond, stood the tall man whose obnoxious laugh had always filled the hall whenever you guys gather. His mask hung crooked on his face, barely concealing the manic grin beneath it. He cocked his rifle toward the shadows, his movements deliberate, his laughter trailing like the howl of a wolf on the hunt. Then he fired indiscriminately.

A rabbit fell first, its small body tumbling lifelessly into the frost-tipped grass. Then an eagle, a deer—anything that dared move. He chuckled to himself, carelessly slinging the dead rabbit over his shoulder as another figure emerged from the shadows.

“You’re hoarding everything,” the newcomer whined. He wore a double-faced mask—one side smiling, the other weeping—and his movements were unnervingly fluid, almost inhuman. “You’ve really got to leave some for us poor uncivilized folk. It’s not like we can afford to go hunting every week.”

The tall man turned with an arrogant shrug, his grin widening. “Well, some people are just meant to stay at the top.”

Before he could say more, the masked figure vanished—gone, like smoke dissipating into the night.

And then he was behind him.

You barely suppressed a gasp as the double-faced figure reappeared, silent and sudden, sinking his fangs deep into the tall man’s neck. There wasn’t even time for a scream—just a gurgled choke as the man’s body went limp, his rifle falling uselessly to the ground. The tall man’s once boisterous laughter was silenced forever.

You staggered back, horror twisting in your gut, bile rising in your throat. The realization hit you like ice—this wasn’t just a hunt. It was a literal bloodsport and you were part of the pecking order, a prey for a specific kind of predator.

You had to flee now.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you darted out of the shed, the shadows of the garden swallowing you whole. Thorny rose bushes clawed at your skirt as you weaved through the rows, their petals dark as ink beneath the full moon. Then you heard it—a low, muffled protest. A man’s voice, weak and disbelieving. You froze, crouching behind the tangled branches, peering through a narrow clearing.

“You bastard—” the man on the ground croaked as he laid in a pool of his own blood. The bile rose in your throat as his voice cracked with desperate rage, “—they were right, you shouldn’t have lived.”

Another man suddenly stepped into the frame with unhurried ease, exuding an air of cold authority. Then with utter ruthlessness, brought his shoe down onto the bleeding man's face, tilting it toward your direction. The lifeless eyes locked onto yours, wide and unblinking, fangs bared in a final expression of fury—frozen in death.

“Why do you have to bleed that much?” the man above him muttered, his tone detached and annoyed. “It’s getting all over my trousers.”

Your breath caught. You knew that voice. That smooth, unbothered and utterly unforgiving voice.

Park Sunghoon.

He stood over the lifeless body, unnervingly casual, shaking his shoes to remove the last traces of blood, as though he’d swatted a fly instead of taken a life.

Your chest tightened. You should have known—he was a vampire after all which means he must have also been taking part in this brutal, predatory game. But seeing it like this, the casual ruthlessness in his every move, made the realization cut deeper than you’d ever prepared for.

Then, his head snapped up.

Fuck, you thought as you drew back instinctively, he knew.

You stifled a gasp, turning on your heel to bolt the other way—only to collide with something solid. Someone.

Sunghoon.

Before you could react, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, effortlessly stilling the blade you had instinctively raised between you. But it wasn’t the pain in your wrist that made your blood ran cold. It was the expression in his eyes. Cold. Calculating. It occured to you that if he could kill his own kind so easily and so remorselessly – killing you would be child’s play especially given the bad blood between you too.

“I should have known—" you said scornfully. Each word spitted out like venom, “you’re just like them.”

“I never said I was any different,” he replied smoothly, his brows arching with disinterested amusement, as though your accusation was a mild inconvenience. “Your words imply you thought otherwise though. I’m touched. But game’s over y/n, let’s stop beating around the—”

Before he could continue, the sharp twang of a bowstring shattered the silence. An arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself in the stone fountain between you with a thud.

“Not the most gentlemanly, is it?”

Both of you turned sharply.

Jaeyun stood at the edge of the clearing, a bow in hand, a smirk painted across his face. His plague doctor mask gleam rather luminously in the moonlight. “Attacking a lone woman? That’s very low of you, Lord Park. But then again, the bar has been in hell when it comes to you—"

Another arrow zipped through the air but Sunghoon caught it mid-flight, snapping the shaft with an almost irritated flick of his wrist. Before he could react further, however, Jaeyun fired again. This time, the arrow struck true, embedding itself into Sunghoon’s upper arm. While pulling his bowstring taut for another hit, Jaeyun tilted his head sharply in your direction, the motion clear and deliberate: run.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted toward the castle, your dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Behind you, the sound of movement—fast, deliberate, and unnervingly close—cut through the night, followed by the sharp crack of something violent. But you didn’t look back.

You tore through the rose garden, through the labyrinth of shadowed corridors, until the heavy castle doors loomed before you. They slammed shut behind you with a deafening boom, the echo resounding like a gunshot in the empty hall. Only then did you pause, chest heaving, your pulse a frantic rhythm beneath your skin.

As you force yourself to make your way through the series of hallways, dread rose with every step when you realised you had stepped into the Corridors of Treachery—its narrow, winding passages and endless series of identical doors looming ominously before you.

“Fuck,” you muttered defeatedly as you tried door after door, only to find yourself circling back to the same rooms you had already seen. It was as though the castle itself conspired to trap you within its labyrinth.

At this rate, he’d find you.

Then finally, one door opened to a different room. Relief surged through you—until you saw where you’d ended up. The library.

You groaned in frustration, about to turn back but then realised that perhaps this was exactly where you should be. You quickly shut the door behind you as you recalled the host mentioning how tonight's event was tradition. If it was tradition, then there had to be something written about it.

Grabbing the nearest lamp, you scanned the shelves for books that details about traditions or perhaps rituals, reading the titles aloud in a voice that is barely above a whisper: "The Blood Wars. The Vitae Manifesto. Of Reigns and Conquests. The Obsidian Testament. The Silent Prophecy—"

You froze. Backtracking, your fingers traced over one title. The Obsidian Testament.

“This—” you murmured, cutting yourself off as you freed the book from its resting place. You remembered a reference to this particular book yesterday, though the page had been burnt—intentionally, it seemed, as though someone had tried to erase all traces of its existence.

The words from The Annals of Kings surfaced in your mind like a whisper from the grave:  “The Obsidian Testament is no book—it is a hunger that feeds. Blood begets blood, and its truths are carved in the ruin of those who sought them.”

The Obsidian Testament felt heavier than you expected, its weight solid and unyielding, as if the book itself resisted being opened. The leather cover, cracked and brittle with age, was uneven beneath your fingertips. At first, you thought it was some widespread leather cracks, but no—there was something more deliberate about it. The surface felt etched, uneven ridges forming patterns you couldn’t quite discern under the flickering lamplight. But there was no time to linger.

Hurriedly, you flipped through the first few pages, your breath quickening as you searched for any explanation for the night’s macabre events but the first few pages only offered you macabre drawings of human, sigils and strange incantations.

There must be something, you thought desperately as you turned the brittle pages. The parchment crackled under your touch, the oppressive silence pressing in around you. Then, finally, something legible:

The Pureblood lineage, though unparalleled in strength, is not immune to the decay that plagues all empires. Bloodlines can weaken. Houses can fall.  To maintain the purity and continuation of our kind, vigilance is required. The survival of the Pureblood lineage is not merely a matter of existence but the continuation of perfection itself. The weak may breed indiscriminately, but the strong—the Purebloods—must refine and preserve their population with precision.

“Sounds like something straight out of a supremacist manifesto,” you murmured, but your words faltered as your eyes fell to the next few lines:

—what remains hidden knowledge, however, is that the act of turning a mortal into a Spoilblood, while widely practiced, harbors a purpose far greater than is openly acknowledged. The Reaping—is a truth reserved for the most exalted among us, a secret rite that transcends the mundane utility of turning. It is the keystone of power, a ritual that restores the Pureblood’s supremacy, binding mortality to perfection beneath the crimson glow of a blood moon. If, during a blood moon, a pureblood binds their hundredth Spoilblood, renewal grants power anew—

Just then you thought you saw movements outside the window. You peered through an opening, seeing three figures striding toward the castle, weapons glinting in the moonlight—a bat, a sickle, a scythe. The air grew heavy with the unmistakable promise of bloodshed.

You shoved the book back onto the shelf, your pulse hammering against your chest. Keeping to the shadows, you slipped back into the hall, trying every door possible. At last, one opened to a new hallway, but as you moved to leave, muffled cries stopped you.

“I’ll give you my wealth—my land—please!” The man’s voice was frantic, his words tumbling over each other in desperation. Looming over him were the 3 masked men from earlier, their choice of masks as macabre as the weapon in their hands

“Well, look who it is—the Actor,” the one in the Bauta Venetian mask said ,as he pushed the pleading man’s mask aside to reveal his face.

“Too bad,” sneered the one with the Baphomet mask, squatting beside him. “We’ve got too many pretty faces already. Shall we feast instead?”

“Sounds good to me. All that caviar and wine probably makes his blood taste divine.” The one in the clown mask pressed the edge of his scythe against the man’s neck. “Besides, he’s not good enough for the Reaping—not enough wealth and influence.”

The man’s protests fell on deaf ears, dissolving into guttural choking as the three figures descended upon him in a brutal, efficient frenzy. You turned away, bile rising in your throat, the wet, tearing sounds behind you digging into your mind like jagged glass.

Desperate to focus elsewhere, your gaze landed on the nearest window. The silver glow of the full moon spilled through it, freezing you in place as fragments of memory jolted through your mind, unbidden and sharp. Words from The Obsidian Testament rang like a broken radio—disjointed, warped. "When the full moon wanes, the blood moon will rise, and with it, chaos shall reign." The line clung to your thoughts, twisting with Anton’s offhand remark just a week ago: "There’s a Blood Moon this month," he’d said casually, as if it were a trivial astrological event.

The realisation struck you like a lightning bolt. Tonight's bloodsport wasn't simply for entertainment nor indulgence. It was preparation—an offering—for something far more insidious.

This wasn't just a game.

This was the prelude to a Reaping.

You needed to move—fast. The sickening sounds of their feeding still echoed down the corridor, making your skin crawl. Keeping low, you slipped past the door left ajar earlier and darted into the dimly lit hall, your footsteps light and deliberate. Ahead, a smaller door leading to the servants’ passage came into view.

You shoved it open, slipping through and climbing the spiral staircase two steps at a time, your breath quick and shallow. Then you heard it—the clatter of heavy footsteps below, sharp and deliberate. Looking down, your eyes locked with one of the men from earlier—the one in the Bauta mask. He stood at the base of the stairs, his head tilted, his expression unreadable beneath the eerie mask.

“Thought I sensed a weasel snooping around,” he called mockingly, his tone dripping with sinister amusement. “You’re mine, then.”

Panic surged. Fuck. You slammed the door shut behind you, twisting the lock just as he reached it, sprinting into what looked like a gallery of a statues. But everywhere you looked there were no exit in sight, just statues looming in eerie stillness, their solemn faces twisted as though mourning what was to come.

Behind you, the door crashed open, and his relentless footsteps followed, their sound reverberating through the empty space.

Desperation clawed at you as you slid behind one of the statues, your chest heaving, eyes darting around for an exit. Still none in sight. Your grip tightened around the dagger in your hand, its cool weight grounding you. The heart, you thought as your mind raced back to everything you’d read about vampires yesterday. That was their weak point.

But as your gaze flicked between the trembling dagger in your hand and the figure still prowling the gallery, searching for you, doubt seeped in like an unwelcome shadow. His towering build, his inhuman speed, his strength—there was no way you could overpower him.

Your eyes darted back to the blade, the calculated risk forming in your mind the only option left. Steeling yourself, you drew the blade across your thigh, wincing as the sharp pain flared and blood welled up in angry streaks which summoned him almost immediately. “Gotcha—" he sneered, as he closed the distance in one smooth unsettling motion, his grin stretching unnaturally wide, fangs bared in predatory triumph.

You let him topple you, his weight crashing down with bruising force. As you’d anticipated, his head dipped straight to your thigh, drawn to the fresh cut rather than your neck. His grip tightened, his breath sharp and ragged against your skin.

It was the opening you needed.

With a surge of determination, you drove the blade into his chest from his back, straight into his heart. A guttural hiss tore from his throat as his body convulsed, staggering back violently. Blood soaked his shirt as he clawed at the weapon embedded in his chest. He ripped it free with a snarl, flinging it aside like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. “You filthy wench,” he spat venomously, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood.

You didn’t wait. Scrambling to your feet, you grabbed the dagger he had thrown near you and darted back out to where you came from, sprinting into the corridor at the other end instead which led to a hallway lined with mirrors, their warped reflections casting eerie, shifting shadows. You sprinted aimlessly, your only thought to escape. But just as the end of the hallway came into view, something heavy wrenched you backward with inhuman strength. A hand clamped over your mouth, muffling your terrified cry. It can’t end like this, your mind screamed, desperation clawing at the edges of your sanity but no matter how hard you thrashed, it was futile and the next thing you knew, you were hurled into a small, confined space with the sound of the door clicking shut behind you sealing your fate.

Your back slammed against what felt like a cupboard, the hard surface digging painfully into your spine. The body pinning you in place was unyielding—a solid wall of muscle that absorbed your frantic shoves and kicks without faltering.

“Calm down, calm—” a familiar voice whispered, but with adrenaline fuelling your struggle, terror overrode recognition.

“y/n, calm the fuck down—it’s me, Sunghoon.”

Your movements stilled instantly, your chest heaving with ragged breaths. He flipped a hidden switch near the door, his face was set in frustration, though there was no malice in his eyes, “if you don’t stop struggling, they will find you—“

You looked at him, confused but suspicious. This was, afterall, still Sunghoon—a Pureblood who had killed another of his own tonight, and possibly Jaeyun as well. You were naturally next.

“Look,” he hissed, his tone edged with exasperation. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities, remember?” His voice shifted then, quieter, almost coaxing. “I’m going to uncover your mouth, but only if you promise to stop fighting me—at least while we’re in here.”

Your heart pounded, your instincts screaming to resist, but grudgingly, you nodded. If he wanted you dead, he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of dragging you here.

His hand dropped from your mouth, but before you could fully process what was happening, his arm moved behind you, sliding firmly along the curve of your back. With unsettling ease, he lifted you and settled you on top of the cupboard—the motion fluid and controlled, as though you weighed nothing.

Suddenly, he bit into his wrist, the blood welling instantly. “Sunghoon—what the hell—”

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one fluid movement, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he positioned himself intimately between your legs, his hand sliding up your thigh with deliberate intent, the fabric of your dress gathering beneath his fingers.

“Hey—” you stammered, heat flushing your cheeks as you instinctively tried to stop him. But the protest died in your throat when you saw what he was doing—his bloodied wrist pressed against your wound, his movements steady, precise. The smear of crimson over your skin was deliberate, purposeful, and the air between you seemed to thrum with unspoken tension.

“This will mask the scent,” he murmured, his voice low and almost detached, though his eyes flickered briefly to meet yours. You were just about to ease up when without warning, his other hand had slid up your waist, his fingers splaying possessively over your lower back. Before you could reach, he pulled you flush against him with unsettling ease.

“Sunghoon, st—"

“We’re running out of time,” he cut you off, his tone sharp but tinged with something unfamiliar—urgency, almost pleading—something you’d never imagined him capable of. “You just have to trust me on this.”

But before you could even respond, Sunghoon had slammed his lips against yours. They were soft—unexpectedly so—but his movements were anything but. Fierce and unrelenting, the kiss carried a desperation that felt almost feral, as though the very act was a lifeline he was determined to seize.

You struggled against the onslaught, your hands pushing at his chest, but his grip over your waist tightened, anchoring you to him like a shield. Then the door burst open and his intent—his strategy—became clear to you. His body shifted instantly, fully shielding yours from view as his hand hooked firmly under your thigh, steadying you and sealing the ruse with unnerving precision.

Reluctantly, you played along, your hands faltering as his weight pressed against you, quashing any remaining space between your bodies. Your dress shifted dangerously high as his body leaned into yours, the act deliberate and unyielding. While every instinct screamed at you to shove him away, you forced yourself to stay still, to let the illusion hold—for now.

But then you felt his lips adeptly part yours—deepening the kiss in a way you were never prepared—stealing every breath and muffling every protests. The hard planes of his chest pressed against yours, the beat of his heart—or the echo of yours, you couldn't tell—pulsating in tandem with your own. The dresser creaked in protest, the faint sound barely registering above the storm of your senses.

Time itself seemed to bend, stretching each second unbearably long. Every sensation overwhelmed you—the heat radiating from his closeness, the weight of his touch, the faint creak of the dresser beneath you. It all blurred together, threatening to drown you in its intensity. But then his wandering hands jolted you out of the haze, yanking you sharply back into the present. In a swift, instinctive motion, you wrenched yourself from his embrace. "St-stop..." your breath coming in short, uneven gasps, "—they're... already gone."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you struggled to steady your racing pulse. The stinging sensation on your lips serving as a persistent reminder of the scorching passion that had nearly consumed you. His kiss, like a brand, had left its mark.

Sunghoon stilled, his chest rising and falling, though you knew better—vampires didn’t tire. His jaw tensed, the sharp line of his profile shadowed as he turned slightly away.

“Right. Of course,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual, as if trying to gather himself. His usual calm façade was intact, but you noticed the faintest flicker—a barely-there crack in his composure, “—it worked. That’s all that matters.”

You exhaled shakily, unable to look at him, your own pulse thrumming wildly against your ribs. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you tried to compose yourself, “we can’t just make out everytime there’s footsteps.”

He nodded absently, but midway, his brows arched as if you’d said something illuminating. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Come with me—”

“No—” You dug your heels in as he gripped your wrist—not roughly, but with enough firmness to tell you resistance was pointless. You give in, reluctantly letting let him pull you along, his pace deliberate but measured, as if he were navigating a trap you couldn’t yet see. Through a discreet side passage—a door you hadn’t noticed earlier—he led you to an ornate chamber, hidden away from the guest suites. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a room so grand it felt frozen in time: dark velvet drapery pooling on the floor, an unlit fireplace, and a sprawling canopy bed swathed in deep red fabric.

“This is your idea of a safe haven? Your room?” you scoffed as Sunghoon bolted the door shut behind him. With swift movements, he shrugged off his cloak and undid his buttons, feeling hot – though whether it was from all the running or memories from the earlier kiss, only he knew.

You backed away instinctively, unsettled by his casual ease, his shirt hanging open just enough to reveal glimpses of his sculpted chest, the memory of his touch still fresh, an unwelcome echo that made your skin prickle.

“Sunghoon, what are you doing? You’re not suggesting-“

“—unless you want to—” he smirked, tousling his well-kept hair with a deliberate flick. “Relax. I’m joking. Ease up.”

He leaned casually against the edge of the bed, his smirk deepening. “This really is the safest place. Firstly, it’s my room. Secondly, after seeing the way we ‘made out’ in that closet, naturally, they’d assume we’d escalate things here. You know… where we’d be up all night, tangled in—”

“Right! I get it-“ you interjected, cheeks blazing, “still though – this is your room. I’m supposed to let myself be locked with you for the whole night? This evening is as much of a bloodsport to you as it is to them.”

He sighed, “look, if trust is too much to ask, I’ll ask for your clear-headed logic then y/n. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be. But tonight, I’ve been saving you instead.”

“That’s the suspicious part, why did you save me then?”

The air was heavy. The silence felt like it dragged on for too long.

“I know what Noctis Imperium really is Sunghoon so if you want my trust then you must answer me honestly,” you tone was firm.

Sunghoon tilted his head lazily, his lips curving ever so faintly, “Oh? Do you now?”

You ignored the sardonic edge in his tone and pressed on. “It’s a Reaping, isn’t it?” the word dropped like a blade between you, heavy and damning. “The bloodsport? That’s just the opening act. It weeds out the unworthy—leaves only the best standing. The strongest. The smartest. The richest. And they’re the ones who get turned. It’s systematic.”

His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“This event coincides with a blood moon which is due sometime this month—that’s very specific. If you guys wanted bloodsport, it didn’t even have to align,” you continued, stepping closer, “and clearly it isn’t just about sick entertainment is it? It’s about expansion—physically and financially.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you turned to meet his gaze, your voice daring and unyielding. “If you want me to trust you tonight, then tell me—why are you here? For a Reaping as well?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression. A fleeting shadow of recognition—or understanding—but it vanished as quickly as it came. His smirk didn’t return, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, “sounds like you have done your homework-“

“That’s not an answer,” you cut off.

“Fine. If it will get you to shut up tonight, I’ll entertain you,” he plopped himself on the bed, hands braced behind him, “I had my suspicions about this... place,” he admitted, his tone calm but laced with something heavier, darker. “But a Reaping? That’s far-fetched. The Reaping is after all shunned and is not widespread knowledge,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “it’s forbidden—archaic. Lost and buried for a reason.”

“Apparently not,” you shot back, “because I read a book on it in the library so you being here can either mean you’re part of this ring or someone is.”

“You’re smart enough to find this place and unearth a rather dark history and practice by my kind—” he spoke with a quiet, almost resigned tone, “but can't see just how absurd it'd be for me to play detective with you and ask you to run your simulation for me if all I wanted was to attend a ritual I am supposedly to have been part of?”

For a moment, your gaze faltered—not out of fear, but something closer to embarrassment. “Then why are you here?” you demanded, suspicion still sharp in your voice. His explanation didn’t erase your doubts—not yet.

“I’m kind of like you,” his voice is calm, “except I’m not just playing detective. I’m here to root out the deviants  among us. I don’t just cover foul plays up – I follow the trail and remove the troublemakers.”

You stared into his gaze a little longer, letting the silence simmer, trying to search if there is any faltering – if he was lying. But it is hard to tell with him.

“Not the answer you’re looking for?” he raised his brows – challenging and proud, “that’s entirely your fault for jumping into conclusions when it comes to me.”

“Well it’s not like you were the most forthcoming anyway,” you grumbled back, “you keep people in the dark and then say cryptic shit. You brought it unto yourself.”

He shrugged, “if you say so. The point is, if what you say is true then the odds are stacked against us.”

“us?” you echoed, incredulous, “Just a few days ago, you said I was nothing more than a tool. What’s changed? Can’t survive on your fangs alone?”

He scoffed, his smirk sharpening. “If it helps you sleep at night, then let’s just say it makes the two of us.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Now, can you set your blade down and ease up?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling heavily. Finally, you let out a sharp breath. “Fine. For now. But don’t mistake this for trust.”

His smirk deepened faintly, though his gaze remained steady. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

— ix

They said the third night was set to be a respite. But by now, you knew better. You knew their sick way of twisting words.

As you stood outside the Hall of Reckoning, your fists clenched tightly at your sides, the full weight of the night before bore down on you. The bloodsport, the laughter, the violence—it wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t chance. It was a gladiator ring.

The realization sat heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You had no illusions about the outcome: the deck was stacked, and you were playing with cards designed to fail. But it was too late to run. Far too late.

“What about the masks?” you asked as you approached the butler usually manning the mask cart.

“No longer needed, Madam,” he replied smoothly, pushing the door open.

The Hall of Reckoning. At first glance, the name seemed almost merciful—a place where justice might be sought, where those who endured could demand retribution for their suffering.

But the irony revealed itself immediately. For the mortals, there could be no reckoning. Survival in the bloodsport had made them complicit in its savagery, their hands stained with the violence they had been forced to commit. This hall, for all its grandeur, wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a monument to their sins.

Every detail in the room seemed to echo that truth. Murals stretched across the vaulted ceiling, vivid and grotesque in their depiction of Dante’s seven circles of hell. Around the room, statues stood like solemn judges—angels with shattered wings, warriors frozen mid-fall, veiled damsels cloaked in grief. Their hollow eyes seemed to follow every movement, bearing silent witness to the carnage both endured and inflicted.

This wasn’t a Hall of Reckoning meant to absolve. It was designed to haunt.

The proof lay in the faces of the remaining guests. Unlike before, only a quarter of them had made it here, their masks removed for the first time. It was painfully clear now who among them were human for trepidation clung to their pale, drawn faces, their hollow gazes—stark contrast to the air of haughtiness and confidence that most displayed during the first day.

And then, there were the vampires. At least by the looks of it for their beauty was unparalleled, ethereal almost, as if they’d been carved from marble to perfection. But that perfection was unnerving, cold, their smiles charming yet faintly menacing in certain light. They moved with an unnatural grace, each step calculated and precise. Their eyes, ageless and predatory, gleamed like polished glass, betraying nothing but an unwavering hunger that lingered beneath their elegant façades.

Together, the humans and vampires painted a stark contrast: the fragility of mortality set against the eerie permanence of the immortal.

You were still absorbing the scene when a hand grasped yours, the touch firm yet deliberate, calculated.

Startled, you turned sharply, only to find yourself face-to-face with a man bowing slightly as he pressed a light kiss to your knuckles. “My Lady,” he murmured, his voice smooth and infuriatingly charming.  He straightened, and the wide playful grin that stretched across his face was unmistakable. The glint of a lip ring under the soft glow of the chandeliers sealed his identity.

“Jaeyun,” you muttered, his name slipping out like a reflex.

Unmasked, his face was even more disarming than you’d imagined. His features were sharp—his cheekbones high and his jawline so clean it seemed almost sculpted. Yet there was a boyishness to him, a devil-may-care charm that softened the harsh lines, making him look approachable in a way that felt both alluring and dangerous.

That grin of his was impossible to ignore. His lips, fuller and more expressive than you remembered, curled just slightly as if he were privy to a joke no one else was in on. The lip ring only added to his allure, a small but significant detail that gave him an edge, an irreverent flair.

He tilted his head, his golden hair catching the faint light, and for a moment, he seemed to drink in your surprise. His gaze was playful, mischievous, daring you to react. Where Sunghoon exuded stormy gravitas, with every movement deliberate and weighted, Jaeyun felt like a gust of wind—unpredictable, fleeting, and impossible to pin down.

Before you could react, you felt another presence—familiar, cold, and steady. A hand slid to the small of your back then over your waist, firm and commanding as it pulled you away from Jaeyun.

“You’ve had enough of his company,” Sunghoon said, his voice cutting through the din with icy precision. His tone was low but laced with a chill that sent a ripple through the air, “he’s just a vermin.”

Jaeyun’s grin widened, deliberately slow, as he released you, his movements deliberate and mocking. “Ah, or so I hear about last night,” he replied smoothly. His lip curled in amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunghoon. “Apologies. Just a formality, of course. I’d never dare touch what you’ve claimed, Lord Park.”

Your breath caught, mortified. You knew exactly what Jaeyun was implying.

“No, we’re not— we didn’t—" you tried to clarify, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened, cutting off your words as he turned you sharply, his hand firm on your waist as he steered you away.

“Excuse you,” you exclaimed, stumbling slightly as he wheeled you toward the table. His jaw was set, a shadow of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Without a word, he pulled out a chair and practically pushed you into it, his actions possessive and territorial.

He snatched the plaque bearing Jaeyun’s name from the table and thrust it at a passing butler. “Find this bastard another seat,” he ordered coldly.

Before the butler could even take a step, Sunghoon dropped into the chair beside you—Jaeyun’s chair. His hand rested lightly on the table, fingers drumming in a rhythm that felt calculated, as though he was staking his claim with every deliberate tap.

“Just because you two have some bad blood doesn’t mean I should be the collateral damage,” you huffed, crossing your arms in defiance. “At least you didn’t kill him.”

“I should have,” Sunghoon’s gaze remained fixed on Jaeyun, his expression darkening. “You should stop letting him talk to you,” he said, his tone sharp. “He’s poison wrapped in silk. It doesn’t matter how harmless he seems—he’ll ruin you just the same.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, your voice low but challenging. “Sunghoon, you’re just as suspicious as everyone else.”

His head snapped toward you, the storm in his gaze faltering. For a brief moment, something softer flickered across his features—something almost tender. His shoulders eased as he seemed to struggle for words.

“It’s not—” he began, his voice quieter, but his unfinished sentence hung in the air, swallowed by the sudden shift in the room.

“Welcome,” the host’s voice rang out, smooth and practiced, drawing all attention to the front of the room. He stepped forward, his grin too wide to be sincere. “After all the fun yesterday,” he drawled, his words dripping with theatrical flair, “tonight will just be purely a celebration. Unending feast and fireworks.”

The room shifted uneasily, the faint clink of glassware underscoring the uncomfortable silence.

“As I’ve reassured you all—what happened last night is not your fault,” the host continued, his grin widening to something almost maniacal. His gaze swept over the room like a predator scanning for weakness.

The words hung in the air, their implication sinking in like lead. The humans, especially, seemed to shrink into their seats, their faces pale and drawn, haunted by memories of the previous night.

“Greed,” the host continued, his voice both rich and biting, “is a poisonous thing. And with stakes so high, we understand when one must act… out of self-preservation.”

Your breath caught at his choice of words. Slowly, your gaze swept the hall, catching subtle tremors in the crowd—the twitch of a hand, the widening of eyes before they schooled back into forced calm. A woman in crimson sat frozen, her glass of wine untouched. Nearby, a man swallowed hard, his fingers gripping his fork like a lifeline. It struck you then: these people must have seen—or done—unspeakable things last night. Survival had come at a cost, and their faces betrayed that cost in every taut line and shadowed expression.

“Rest assured,” the host added, his tone lightening into something almost whimsical, yet no less sinister. “Our discretion is ironclad. Whatever happens here… stays here.”

The words slithered through the air like smoke, a chill rippling in their wake. It was meant to be reassurance but you knew better—it was a warning, one that is thinly veiled in polished charm.

For a moment, the room remained frozen, the silence taut with unspoken apprehension. Then, the faint clink of glassware broke the stillness—a subtle signal that sent ripples through the crowd. The guests shifted in their seats, some reaching hesitantly for their utensils, others masking their unease behind stiff smiles and murmured conversation.

You glanced down at the table before you as the quiet ceremony of dining began. The elaborate spread was a grotesque spectacle, the kind of decadence that bordered on parody. Platters overflowed with fleshy cuts of meat, dripping in dark wine sauces that shimmered like blood under the chandeliers. Fruits glistened like polished jewels, their vibrant colors almost too vivid to be real. Desserts spun from delicate sugar glimmered with an unnatural brilliance.

The clinking of forks and knives against fine china grated against your nerves. It wasn’t the sound of sustenance—it was a performance, a ritual of excess that felt grotesque in its mockery. You shifted uneasily in your seat, unable to quell the nausea roiling in your stomach. This wasn’t a feast for survivors. It was a celebration for predators.

“y/n,” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the oppressive din, low and quiet, his breath ghosting against your ear, “meet me in the library once the firework starts.”

You turned, but he was already gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of his cologne—a mix of wood and bergamot that lingered in the air, equal parts hypnotizing and suffocating.

Time dragged after that, the air in the hall thick with unspoken tension. Each moment stretched unbearably as the chatter around you ebbed and flowed, the underlying unease never quite dissipating. When the first explosion of light burst across the night sky, you slipped away unnoticed, your footsteps soft amidst the murmurs of awe and raised glasses.

The Corridors of Treachery felt colder, quieter as you made your way to the library. Once, these endless stretches of identical doors and twisting hallways had felt alive—ever-shifting, as though the castle itself sought to mislead and ensnare. But now, their tricks no longer held sway over you. After several visits, you had unraveled their secrets, piecing together the intricate design that made chaos into order.

The corridor was more than a labyrinth; they were a calculated test. A clever combination of architectural illusion, psychological distortion, and mathematical precision, that tests not just one’s preserverance—but also the mind. The patterns embedded in the walls required focus to decipher: sconces positioned slightly off-center, cracks in the stone tiles forming faint lines that pointed toward the correct path, even the rhythmic shifts in echo that whispered of direction. It wasn’t enough to simply try door after door—one needed intellect and restraint to navigate the maze. If approached in a state of heightened fear, the corridors became a prison. Anxiety clouded judgment, turned every door into a dead end, and every turn into an endless loop. But you’d learned to steady yourself, to let logic and observation guide your steps rather than emotion.

Now, your movements were purposeful, almost effortless. Three lefts, a right, pause at the second door. The sequence was etched into your mind, the once-treacherous maze reduced to a solvable equation. Without hesitation, you pushed open the heavy library door.

The room stretched before you, towering shelves disappearing into the shadows. The faint scent of aged parchment and leather hung in the air as you lit your oil lamp, its flickering glow barely cutting through the darkness.

Sunghoon, however, wasn’t there.

Figures, you sighed, trailing your fingers along the shelves, half out of habit, half out of frustration. Why did he even—

A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, sharp and biting. The lamp hissed and went dark, plunging you into thick silence. You stilled, your heart leaping into your throat as darkness swallowed you whole.

Moonlight spilled through the tall, arched windows, faint and ethereal. The shadows danced in its glow, painting the room in shifting silver and gray. You fumbled for the small flint striker embedder near the base of the oil lamp, about to twist it when a glimmer among the books caught your eye—faint but unmistakable.

You stilled, the lamp momentarily forgotten as you stepped closer towards the book in the shelf. It wasn’t just the sheen of the leather—it was something deliberate, something hidden. Your fingers brushed the spine, its texture rough and cold. It was The Obsidian Testament—the one you picked out yesterday—but beneath the gilded letters were faint Latin scrawls, curling like veins across the surface like an incantation. You didn’t remember them being there yesterday.

You pulled the book free, its weight heavier than it should have been, like it carried more than just words within its pages.

As you turned it over in your hands, you can feel the roughness in the surface— something you noticed yesterday but didn’t press on. It didn't feel like wear and tear. It was faintly raised but textured in a way that felt deliberate, though the design was invisible to the naked eye. You held it closer to the window, letting the silver light of the moon spill across its surface.

And then you saw it.

Slowly, like ink blooming through parchment, a faint, silvery glow materialised. Ominously scrawled in faint, curling script were words you could barely decipher:"The blood of the pure seals the bond. The moon bears witness."

Beneath it, a coat of arms emerged—hidden from sight, lying dormant until called forth by the moonlight. A spiked crown sat atop the shield, flanked by a raven and a wolf poised as sentinels. Intricate designs framed the emblem, with the motto etched beneath it: "In shadows, we endure. In blood, we rise."

Your blood turned cold. You knew that coat of arms.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, the realization hitting you like a thunderclap. It was his crest—the same one he often wore on his lapel.

“Took you long enough,” a low voice drawled, making you jump. You whirled, your heart pounding as a figure emerged from the shadows near the door. For a moment, you thought it was Sunghoon but as he stepped into the faint glow of moonlight, the features were unmistakably Jaeyun’s.

“What do you mean?” you demanded, taking a step back toward the table. Unease curled in your chest.

He scoffed, looking mildly offended as he stepped closer. The way the moonlight caught his face accentuated the sharpness of his grin—mischievous, yes, but laced with something colder. “Why do you look so scared of me now? Sunghoon should be the one you’re wary of. Ah, of course, he did save you, didn’t he?”

Before you could react, he vanished—only to reappear beside you, one hand braced against the table as he leaned down, head tilted coyly. Another vampire, you thought.

“Ever considered that saving you serves him more than it serves you? Perhaps he might even be saving you for himself.”

You stiffened, refusing to let his words take root. “And what about you? You’ve been dropping crumbs here and there for me—” you countered sharply. “Nothing is ever free—not from the likes of you.”

Jaeyun’s lips quirked, amused. “You sound just like one of us, y/n. You would make a great addition,” he drawled. “I’m helping because well, you’re not my enemy and I hate inflicting collateral damage.”

“And your enemy is?”

“Sunghoon. Or rather, royal purebloods like him. Someone who has a legacy to reclaim,” he said with a singsong edge. “They represent the dark ages—the rigid hierarchy of power that exalted purity above all else, splintering us with its toxic elitism.”

“Are you not a pureblood?”

“No. I’m a halfblood—borne out of a Pureblood and a Spoilblood.” His tone turned casual, but there was a slight edge to it. “Practically blasphemy to those supremacists. Think of it like a noble bedding their servant.”

The admission hung in the air, bitter and heavy. But you knew better than to simply lap up his words, “and yet you’re here? Toasting and laughing as if you belong.”

His grin faltered just slightly, a flicker of something darker flashing across his face before he masked it with his usual nonchalance. “I’m here because time has changed. We, here, are no longer bound by such hierarchical concept of power—”

He unfurled his hand, and another book materialised. You recognised it immediately—The Annals of Kings, the book you’d pocketed the other day, “—but nothing stays buried forever. Blood, as they say, runs thicker than water.”

Your frown deepened as you stepped closer, your eyes scanning the page he’d flipped open. It was the family tree—the same one you’d seen before, with several members’ pictures burnt out, their identities erased.

“The Annals of Kings usually purges the disgraced from history,” Jaeyun said, his tone casual but laced with intrigue.

Your gaze drifted lower, catching on a footnote you hadn’t noticed before. It detailed how, after the kingdom fell, forbidden books like the Obsidian Testament were uncovered and destroyed. But one line stopped you cold: “Rumor has it the royal bloodline survived through a single son, then eight years old, whose charred remains were never found.”

Your eyes shifted to the Obsidian Testament on the table, the coat of arms seem to glow brighter, its presence now feeling impossibly heavy.

“Who do you think that son grew up to be?” Jaeyun asked softly, his voice a dark thread weaving through your spiralling thoughts.

Your throat tightened. His words gnawed at you, each syllable fitting too neatly into the doubts you were already trying to suppress about Sunghoon. But Jaeyun wasn’t someone you could trust—not completely. His grin felt like a trap disguised as an invitation. Trying to seem unfazed, you retorted, “And your point is?”

“That you should know your enemies,” he said, stepping closer, his presence suffocating. “The Reaping holds immense significance for someone like him—symbolically and physically.” His lips curled into a bitter smile. “The current shadow reign is fracturing, and if someone like him—a figure with such legacy—steps forward to challenge it, everything could come crashing down."

“He is, after all—” Jaeyun suddenly appeared behind you, his long fingers curling around both of your arms like claws. He turned you sharply toward the window, forcing you to look outside.

Below, the rose garden was alive with movements, figures clashing in a violent blur. Your breath hitched as a body crumpled near the fountain, blood pooling beneath it. Then, through the shifting shadows, Sunghoon stepped into view, his chest heaving, a bloodied sword in hand. His expression was cold, detached, as he surveyed the carnage.

“—notorious for being bloodthirsty,” Jaeyun finished, his tone dripping with venom.

“You're not su—” you called out but when you turned, he was already gone, leaving only the echo of his words in your ears.

Before you could process his disappearance, the sharp sound of steel meeting steel cut through the air, pulling your attention sharply back to the garden.

You turned toward the window again, just in time to see Sunghoon locked in battle once more. Two shadows darted around him, their movements impossibly fast—blurs of black against the silver glow of the moonlight. The figures clashed violently, steel colliding in bursts of sparks, the muted sounds barely audible beneath the distant roar of fireworks.

Your breath caught as Sunghoon dodged a strike aimed at his head, his blade moving in a deadly rhythm to fend off one blow after another. The attackers worked in tandem, circling him like wolves hunting their prey.

Almost without realizing it, you followed their movements from one window to the next, each fleeting glimpse quickening your pulse. When you reached the outer hallway near the armory, the scene came into sharp focus.

Sunghoon stood at the center of the rose garden, near the weeping angel statue. The moonlight bathed the scene in stark clarity, illuminating his form as he fended off the taller of the two attackers. The man’s strikes were heavy and relentless, forcing Sunghoon back with every blow.

Then, with a sharp pivot, Sunghoon turned the tide. His blade cleanly plunging into his chest with brutal precision. Blood sprayed across the weeping angel grotesquely as the figure crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

But the danger wasn’t over.

The second attacker appeared from the shadows behind him, silent and deadly, a spear poised to strike.

Given everything you’d pieced together about him—his secrets, his lies, his family—you probably should have let nature run its course. Let him get attacked. Let him fall. Let him bleed.

But you didn’t and apparently, your body had a life of its own as your hands moved before your could catch up, grabbing a bow that had been left discarded near the windowsill. The wood felt foreign and unwieldy in your grip, but you didn’t care. Your fingers fumbled, pulling the string taut, the arrow trembling as you tried to steady your aim.

You weren’t a good shot. You knew that. The arrow might not even strike the man. But it didn’t need to. All it had to do was distract him.

You exhaled sharply, releasing the arrow. It cut through the air, a streak of silver in the darkness. The attacker flinched as the arrow grazed his arm, his blade faltering mid-swing. It was enough.

Sunghoon spun with brutal precision, his sword arcing upward in a deadly sweep. The man barely had time to react before the blade found its mark, cutting him down. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling around him as the garden fell silent once more.

For a moment, Sunghoon stood motionless, the tip of his blade resting in the dirt, as if even he needed a reprieve. Then you saw it—a dark patch blooming on his coat, stark against the pale moonlight. Blood.

Your breath hitched. You couldn’t tell why your chest tightened at the sight, but it did.

He staggered, using his sword for support, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. But before you could call out to him, he vanished—a blur dissolving into the shadowy expanse of the garden below.

“Sunghoon!” you called after him, but the only response was the distant crackle of fading fireworks. Darting from one window to the next, you searched desperately, peering into the garden for any sign of him.

But all you found was stillness.

The gardens were littered with lifeless bodies, their forms grotesque and twisted. Some had fangs bared, their features frozen in feral rage. Others had begun to disintegrate—their flesh sloughing off in patches, bones crumbling into soil as though the earth itself were reclaiming them. That was apparently how vampires die, you realized with a shudder: reverting to their original forms, their unnatural beauty undone, and their once-mighty presence reduced to the frailty of dust and decay.

But more than the remains, it was Sunghoon’s vanishing that disturbed you the most. As you lingered by the window, the night only grew quieter. The shadows betrayed nothing, and the garden below remained hauntingly still.

He won’t die easily, you reassured yourself as you hesitantly step away from the window, eyes still flicking toward the darkened garden as you made your way back to your room, each step heavier than the last. You pushed your door absentmindedly, mind lost in thoughts, why do you care so much, you thought bitterly, trying to distract yourself, he’s not your ally. He is a lying, manipulative-

Except there he was—the very man who haunted your mind—sitting at the foot of your bed.

Battered, bruised, and bloodied, Sunghoon looked nothing like the composed predator you’d grown accustomed to. His back rested against the mattress, his head tilted back in exhaustion, eyes half-lidded as if he barely registered your presence. Blood stained his shirt, his once-pristine collar torn and soaked through. The dark fabric clung to his skin, emphasizing the sharp lines of his frame and the sheer vulnerability of his state.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, unsure whether it was relief or fear tightening your throat.

He didn’t respond immediately, his breathing shallow and uneven. For a fleeting moment, the vulnerability of the scene struck you—this wasn’t the stoic, untouchable figure you’d grown used to. He looked... mortal.

His head shifted slightly, but his gaze didn’t meet yours. “I’m fine,” he muttered hoarsely, frustration lacing his voice. “Just… give me a moment.”

You stepped closer, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Despite everything—the lies, the doubts, the warning signs—you knelt in front of him, hands trembling. “You’re bleeding out, you’re not fine,” you said sharply.

Your eyes dropped to the dark patch spreading across his lower abdomen, fresh blood seeping through the fabric. Panic licked at the edges of your mind as you remembered how his wounds used to heal instantly. “Why isn’t it healing?” you asked, horrified.

“Too much damage for an old body, I guess,” he quipped weakly, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips before he winced.

“But you’re a pureblood,” you blurted – reminded suddenly of what Jaeyun had said earlier, how the Reaping was significant for someone like Sunghoon, not just symbolically but physically. “Never mind,” you said quickly, hoisting his arm over your shoulders. “We need to stop the bleeding. Can you get up?”

“You know,” he rasped, leaning heavily against you, “if you leave me here, I could just… die. Problem solved.”

“Not funny,” you gritted out, half-dragging him to the bed. “Besides, too late for that. I’m already in this gladiator ring. You’d just be replaced by someone worse.”

“You’re adapting well,” he drawled, though his voice was strained.

“And you’re not,” you shot back, grimacing as his head thudded lightly against the wooden frame. His sharp intake of breath made your guilt flare. “Sorry,” you muttered, adjusting him with more care, “I’m not used to you being this… human. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

You returned moments later with a first-aid kit. His face was slick with sweat, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—followed your every movement. He leaned back against the headboard, his posture deceptively casual despite the bruises and blood staining his shirt. One leg stretched out along the mattress, while the other was bent at the knee, his foot tucked close to his thigh.

You settled beside his bent leg, placing the kit near his outstretched one for easy access. Shrugging off your sheer cape to free your arms, the fabric pooled beside you, leaving you in the midnight-black velvet dress beneath. The low sweetheart neckline felt far too revealing for your comfort, but practicality took precedence. Ignoring the unease prickling at the back of your mind, you focused on sorting through the kit’s contents with swift precision.

“Baring your shoulders in front of a wounded vampire,” Sunghoon murmured, his lips curving into a faint smirk despite the exhaustion that lined his features. His gaze flicked briefly to your now-bared shoulders. “Reckless.”

“If you had no self-control, like eight years ago, you’d have flung yourself at me cape and all,” you grumbled disinterestedly while tearing open a sterile pad. You didn’t miss the slight twitch of his brow at your words.

“This is going to sound crude,” you continued, gesturing at the blood-soaked fabric covering his lower abdomen, “but you need to take that off.”

He smirked, the expression so maddeningly coy that you were this close to hurling the entire first-aid kit at his face. Only the sight of his injuries stopped you.

“Gladly,” he drawled, his tone light and infuriating, “but I’m far too weak right now. You’ll have to do the honors.”

You scowled. “I know you’re not that weak.”

He leaned back, the movement drawing his bent leg closer to you, his gaze never leaving yours, “your choice.”

Cursing under your breath, you leaned closer and began unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric peeled away, revealing the deep, angry wound slashing across his abdomen. Blood seeped sluggishly, staining his pale skin—but it wasn’t just the injury that caught your attention. Beneath the torn fabric, the sharp lines of his torso stood out, his muscles tense under the faint light.

It was jarring how even battered and shirtless, his broad shoulders and tall frame made him seem larger than life. His physique, though marred by the fresh wounds, seemed to amplify his imposing aura, each flex of muscle a stark reminder of the strength he carried even in his weakest moments. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the gash instead of the sheer dominance his form exuded.

“Hold still,” you muttered, pressing an alcohol-soaked pad against the gash.

He hissed, his knuckles going white as he gripped the sheets. “You could be gentler.”

“Enjoy it,” you said with mock cheer, pressing harder. “Your super-healing isn’t working, so welcome to our reality.”

His exhale was sharp, almost a laugh, though it sounded more like a groan. “Why did they attack you?” you asked, focused on cleaning the wound.

“There’s always a bounty on the head of a pureblood,” he replied dismissively, his tone brushing off the question.

“Especially a pureblood with a reigning ancestry?” you pressed though his expression didn’t shift.

“Does knowing that I have links to old royalty suddenly make me attractive?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You tell me,” you retorted, dabbing the edges of the wound clean before reaching for the gauze. “Apparently the Reaping originated from your family. You knew all about it.”

“I love how distrustful you are of me,” he muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement, “and yet here you are—patching me up, looking rather vulnerable yourself.” His gaze dripped briefly down to your body, as if trying to unsettle you. “I wear my crest openly, y/n. If I wanted to hide my ancestry, I wouldn’t flaunt it, would I? And besides—” a sardonic smirk tugged at his lips, “—if I’d completed my first Reaping ages ago, I wouldn’t be in this pathetic state, relying on a mere mortal to save me.”

“You’re a walking contradiction do you know that?” you muttered, eyes focused on cleaning the remaining dark blood on his gash. “Let’s say you do hate your background that much then why wear the crest around like a badge of honor?”

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate, his voice calm but carrying an edge of practicality. “Because in places like these,” he gestured subtly, “ancestry and purity of blood can mean everything. That crest opens doors that would otherwise be slammed shut. It’s a key, y/n and one I’ve learned to wield to my advantage.”

“You always talk as if you’re not one of them.”

He scoffed weakly, “I’ve killed some of them and they tried to kill me as well—does that look like we are of the same camp?”

Your hands stilled, your gaze lifting to meet his. It was infuriating how his answers were always so maddeningly straightforward—delivered with an air of certainty that made your doubts feel baseless. It wasn’t just irritating—it made you feel stupid, even guilty. Like your suspicions were nothing more than the product of paranoia, blinding you to truths that should be obvious.

“You said you haven’t completed even your first cycle of Reaping—why?”

He leaned back, a sardonic smirk tugging at his lips. “While we’re at it, why don’t you ask how many people I’ve bedded over the centuries I’ve lived?” His voice was laced with mockery, his gaze unrelenting. “You don’t get to ask all the questions, y/n. It takes two to tango.”

Your brows furrowed as you pressed an adhesive bandage over the wound on his abdomen. “Fine. Then you can ask me questions, though I doubt there’s anything interesting you don’t already know.”

His smirk faded, replaced by a sharper edge as his eyes narrowed. “Why did you save me back there?”

You stilled, realizing too late that maybe you shouldn’t have egged him on. His gaze pinned you, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Avoiding his piercing eyes, you grabbed an antiseptic wipe and turned your attention to the shallow cut on his bicep. “Hold still,” you muttered, focusing on dabbing at the wound.

His muscles tensed slightly under your touch. “If you want honesty from me,” he murmured, his tone low and firm, “you’ll need to give me just as much honesty.”

You pressed the pad harder than necessary, drawing a sharp inhale from him. “To make us even,” you answered steadily. “You saved me twice. Now it’s repaid.”

He scoffed, “Of course.”

You shifted closer, careful not to lean too far into his space, though the proximity was unavoidable. Your hands moved to tend to the faint bruises along his jaw, the sharp lines of his face brushing against your fingertips. His skin was cool beneath your touch, but the air between you felt heavy, charged.

Your knees brushed his as you adjusted your position, the small contact enough to make you hyper-aware of how close the two of you were. His shirtless torso, marred by bruises and blood, felt more imposing than vulnerable this close.

You feigned nonchalance, focusing intently on the bruises instead of the weight of his gaze burning into you. The room didn’t help—the soft crackle of the fireplace was casting flickering light across his face, deepening the shadows under his sharp cheekbones and making the moment feel stiflingly intimate.

“You’re awfully quiet suddenly,” he mocked, his tone low and taunting. “Also, why are you avoiding my gaze? You’re not suddenly shy are you? After taking off my—ugh—” He winced as you pressed the antiseptic harder than necessary onto the cut along his cheekbone.

“Isn't it my turn now?” you shot back, your voice sharp and unwavering. “You haven’t answered my question earlier—why haven’t you completed the Reaping?”

He sighed. "Because it’s barbaric,” he said evenly, though a flicker of something darker seeped into his tone. “If you believe a vampire can ever have a moral standing, this would be the closest thing I have to it.”

He paused, his voice dipping lower, laced with bitterness that seemed to surface despite his best efforts, “tying someone to your power for eternity? That’s not dominance—that’s desperation. It’s a legacy I’ve spent centuries trying to outrun—the dark history of which I constantly had to carry over my shoulders, sins of which are thrusted upon me as though I am to pay their penance.”

His tone softened, almost imperceptibly, as he continued. “That’s probably why I’ve allied myself with the Council of Elders for a long time. It started as an act to prove to the world that I am not like what my blood dictates—” his voice dipped, quieter now, as if he was speaking more to himself than to you, “—but now it just feels like a duty. A duty to clean the world after the seeds of chaos that my ancestors have planted—“

Your gaze flicked to his, caught off guard by the quiet rawness in his tone. His eyes were elsewhere, focused on the flickering shadows dancing along the walls—perhaps trying to distract himself, perhaps lost in a memory. The sincerity in his words was equal parts fascinating and infuriating. Infuriating because they felt genuine. Too genuine for someone like him. It’s as if being reduced to this state—a state just a fraction closer to that of a mere mortal—extinguish the cryptic layers he had always put up.

But of course, such a rare moment didn’t last long. His gaze returned to yours, and so did the familiar smirk—lazy, detached and maddening. “Besides, I’ve never seen the need for renewal,” he added lightly, brushing the weight of his previous words aside, “longevity is getting boring anyway. Unless, of course, you’re offering yourself up to be mine. That might make eternity interesting again.”

He leaned forward slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “We could spend centuries being at each other’s throats. Literally.”

“I’d poison my blood first then we both can go down together,” you rolled your eyes, moving on to the huge cut on his eyebrows.

“Just like how you poisoned me 8 years ago?” he said suddenly.

That was it. The elephant in the room. Finally out in the open.

Your hand stilled, a physical testament to the guilt you’d carried for years. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but his stare was inescapable—heavy, suffocating, like it had the weight to crush you on the spot. “I guess the grudge is still there, alright,” you said, your tone brittle with feigned nonchalance, desperate to temper the tension building between you. The isolation, the proximity—it was all suddenly too much. “Then why haven’t you carried out your vengeance?”

“I asked first,” he retorted sharply. Beneath the edge of his voice, though, there was something fragile, almost pleading. “Why did you poison me?”

You hesitated, the truth clawing at the back of your throat. “Because we’re not meant to be,” you finally said, after some hesitation, surprised at yourself for the honesty and depth that you yourself never dared to confront. “We’re too dangerous for each other. Too toxic. It was the only way to break it.”

Sunghoon scoffed, his hand shooting out to capture yours. His grip was firm, startlingly so, yet it lacked malice—gentle in a way that forced your gaze to his. His eyes were unguarded, piercing, the storm within them quieting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Did you ever love me?” he murmured, his voice cracking faintly under the weight of the words.

You froze. The question hit you like a tidal wave, its weight settling deep in your chest. His gaze softened, achingly so, as if the silence cut.

“Did you?” he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it held a sharp edge, as though the answer could either mend or shatter him.

The guilt clawed at you, deeper than ever, threatening to crack the mask you wore. “Hardly matters anymore, does it?” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your best effort. “I ended it in the worst way possible.”

His grip over yours tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as frustration flickered across his face. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted. Rising halfway, he leaned forward, his shadow devouring the faint light as his frame loomed impossibly large over you. The bed dipped under his weight, tilting you toward him as if even the mattress was conspiring to close the gap.

And suddenly, he was too close—towering over you like a shadow you couldn’t escape. You instinctively leaned back, but his free hand braced against the bed beside you, a silent, immovable barrier that kept you locked in place.

You swallowed thickly, realising how utterly compromising the moment was. His sheer size, the commanding breadth of his shoulders, the dominance in the way he loomed over you, left no room for doubt: he could crush you if he wanted to. The sharp lines of his torso, from the broad planes of his chest to the rigid definition of his abdomen, were marked by bruises and wounds that should have humanized him, softened the edge of his dominance—but they didn’t. Even in his weakened state, he radiated sheer power, every ripple of muscle a quiet, unspoken warning that he could break you, overwhelm you, overpower you, without much effort. His grip on you wrist wasn’t painful, but it thrummed with latent power, the kind that made you all too aware of the control he wasn’t even exerting yet.

You hated how easily he made you feel so small. Yet, despite the tightness in your chest and the way his gaze bore into yours with a storm of unspoken emotions, you refused to flinch. Refused to show that he has an effect on you. You knew him—getting you flustered and yield had always been something he thrived on and now, in a set-up that is meant to amplify it, you refused to give him that satisfaction.

“My turn,” you murmured, the words cutting through the silence like a thread pulled too tight. “Did you?” the question wasn’t a slip—it was purposeful, a strike meant to turn the tables.

Except, the joke was probably on you because instead of a response, something in him snapped. His grip on your wrist tightened almost too punishingly and his other hand shot to your jaw, holding you still as his lips crashed against yours.

Your body tensed at the unexpected contact, but his arm had slithered around your back—locking you in place like a steel band—fingers digging into your ribs as if tethering you in place—closer, ever closer—leaving no room to move, no air to breathe, only the suffocating weight of his presence pressing down on you. The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both infuriatingly possessive and unnervingly intimate. His hand, a possessive vice around your nape, tilted your head, allowing him to plunder your mouth with a punishing intensity, his lips slotting against yours with a brutal, consuming force.

You hands clawed at his shoulders, frantically trying to push him off, to break free, but every resistance seemed to ignite a darker hunger within him. With a grunt, he crushed you against him, making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles, the searing heat of his skin branding yours, the unyielding planes of his chest pressing into you, heavy and demanding. Before you could catch your breath, he pressed forward with a brutal force, throwing off your balance and sending you crashing down onto the sheets—his lips never leaving yours as if it was his very lifeline. The world around you spun and you struggled to regain your bearings, but he was relentless, his lips moving with ever greater fervour, forcing your lips apart, his tongue invading your mouth with a forceful, dominant stroke.

The weight of his body pinned you down, heavy and unyielding, his bare skin hot against yours—suffocating and intoxicating all at once. Your breath was coming up in ragged gasps as you struggled against the tide of sensations that threatened to drown you. Like sandcastles against the tide, your resistance crumbled under the unrelenting force of his lips and touch. Your hands, grasping for purchase, clung to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you struggled to anchor yourself, as his tongue plundered your mouth with renewed vigor, claiming every inch, demanding your surrender, refusing to accept anything less.

As you softened under him, his hands glided along your sides, caressing every curve and dip with purposeful precision, setting every nerve alight, while making you feel every plane and contour of his chest and muscles. His taut muscles rippled beneath your touch, a testament to his restrained power. Lost in the tempest of sensations, you barely noticed his his hand creeping higher up your thigh, bunching your dress dangerously high. It was only then did you realised just how far things had escalated. Jerking back to reality, you wedged a hand against his chest, breaking the kiss, and grabbed for his wandering hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But like a raging inferno, Sunghoon was unstoppable, his lips now trailing a scorching path down your neck, leaving a wake of fiery, open-mouthed kisses that seared your skin. "Sunghoon, stop," you gasped, panic lacing your voice as his hand pried yours away and pinned it painfully against the bed. You were utterly powerless then, your movements and strength futile against his onslaught.  For a terrifying moment, you thought he might sink his fangs into your neck, draining you of your lifesource, but instead, he continued to ravage you with his lips and hands—leaving marks and that burned and bruised. It was quickly dawning on you just how far gone Sunghoon was and the prospect of where it was heading terrified you more than getting bitten was. “Sunghoon, please—"  you begged, your voice breaking, and that seemed to have to snap him back to reality for his movements stilled, face hovering inches from yours. The look in his eyes was wild and uncertain, as if he was struggling to reign himself in from crossing a dangerous line.

"I- I’m sorry," he muttered, voice low and hoarse, tinged with something that almost sounded like guilt. He moved off you in one fluid motion, retreating like a shadow, his usual composure slowly slipping back into place. "I shouldn’t have—" He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "— just stay here for the night, okay? It’s safer. I’ll stay watch outside."

You remained frozen, your breathing uneven, your heart pounding in the deafening silence he left behind. The door clicked shut, but the echoes of his presence lingered, searing into you like a brand. Your bruised lips throbbed, the faint crescent-shaped imprints of his nails burned on your skin, and your neck felt alive with the memory of where his lips had lingered. Every mark he left wasn’t just a reminder of him—it was a reminder of what lay beneath the surface: a beast, barely leashed.

And yet, it wasn’t his loss of control that haunted you most. It was the way, in the charged stillness of the moment, you hadn’t fought him. You hadn’t turned away. Some part of you had yielded—not out of weakness, but out of something more dangerous.

The truth gripped you now, unrelenting: it wasn’t just Sunghoon you didn’t trust.

It was yourself.

— x

As foretold, the sun set the following day beneath a blood moon, casting an eerie reddish glow over the fourth evening, which was to be held in the Hall of Glory. As if mirroring your impending doom, the castle had been unnaturally still all day. The familiar footsteps of maids in the hall and the muted clink of silverware being set had disappeared, replaced by an oppressive, almost reverent silence. No maids brought breakfast to your door. No butlers appeared with fresh linens.

The absence wasn’t coincidence—it was tradition. You’d overheard whispers in the days before, half-muttered exchanges between the staff about “the sacred day” when they were to leave the castle as it would be reserved only for the “worthy.” You hadn’t understood the gravity of those words then, but now, under the ominous glow of the blood moon and the oppressive stillness of the castle’s grandeur, it felt like a prelude to slaughter. As if you’d stepped willingly into a gilded abattoir.

Unlike the vast, awe-inspiring spaces of the previous halls, the Hall of Glory was smaller, darker, and far more intimate, as though it were designed to suffocate rather than inspire. Towering columns stood sentinel around the circular chamber, their presence oppressive and unyielding. Between them loomed statues of tragedy: alabaster angels with torn wings, warriors collapsing under unseen burdens, veiled women weeping into gilded boxes clutched reverently in their hands. Each figure radiated its own unique agony, frozen mid-suffering, their despair immortalized in marble—a chilling homage to the 'glory' promised by the hall’s name.

At the center rose a massive stained-glass window, its grotesque designs seeming to shift under scrutiny. The blood moon’s crimson light spilled through, bleeding into the chamber and fracturing into jagged patterns across the polished floor, pooling like spilled wine—or something darker.

Then, as though drawn by the room’s gravity, the host appeared at the grand doorway, his jubilance a stark contrast to the oppressive room. “Welcome, my survivors!” he proclaimed, arms flung wide. “The best part of our tradition has finally arrived! As you can see, the hall is surrounded by statues. If they seem to call to you, perhaps they are. In fact,” he paused for emphasis, “at their base, you’ll find your names, and in their hands lie a gilded box where your prize awaits.”

You followed the rest as they hesitantly approached the statues. Yours, a marble depiction of a woman being hauled away by a man, felt like a cruel joke. A mocking reflection of your predicament, carved in cold, unfeeling stone. Your jaw tightened as you pried open the gilded box at its base, the air in the hall suddenly feeling heavier. Inside lay two pieces of burgundy parchment.

Suppressing the uneasy churn in your stomach, you picked up the closer parchment, revealing a name etched in elegant script: “Jaeyun.”

Nearby, a man’s voice rose, sharp with indignation. “A name?! What the hell are we supposed to do with a name?!”

The host’s laugh cut through the hall like a razor, too bright, too sharp, ricocheting off the oppressive walls. “Of course they’re names,” he drawled, his grin widening to something feral. “They’re the ones who will grant you eternal glory.”

The words settled over you like a vice, their meaning sinking deeper with each passing second. If this was the Reaping, then... The thought trailed off, unfinished but heavy, tugging your gaze upward instinctively where your eyes lock with Jaeyun who was perched casually at the triforium near the stained glass, as if he’d been waiting for you to look. Jaeyun leaned against the edge, his grin splitting his face like a sinister mask, hand lifting in a greeting in an almost maddeningly casual way like a predator toying with its prey. Mocking you without a word.

“—The Reaper," you finished your thought aloud, the title slipping from your lips as if it had been lurking there all along, waiting to be named.

Your throat tightened, but your hands remained steady as you reached for the second parchment. When you flipped it, the name seemed to glare back at you, heavier, crueler. You whispered it aloud, the word sharp on your tongue: “Sunghoon.”

Your gaze darted across the room, where Sunghoon stood at the opposite triforium from Jaeyun. His eyes found yours instantly, dark and inscrutable. No surprise. No panic. Not even a flicker of emotion. Just that infuriatingly calm, unbothered facade that made your skin crawl. Jaeyun’s taunting words from the library echoed in your mind: What if he’s saving you for himself?

“I can see some victors are rather popular this evening,” the host chimed, his clapping hands slicing through the suffocating tension. His smile stretched wider, dripping with theatrical delight. “But fret not! As tradition dictates, the popular ones will be granted five minutes with each of their suitors in this hall—for one final waltz. Serenade them, threaten them, confess your undying love—whatever suits your fancy. But remember—at the end, only one name must be chosen.”

A man nearby let out a hysterical laugh, his voice cracking as it spiralled into something desperate. “You’re insane—this is insane! I’m not doing this!” His words barely finished before he bolted for the door.

Not that he made it far.

In a blur of motion, one of the vampires materialized before him. The creature’s clawed hand plunged into his chest with a sickening crunch, emerging a moment later clutching his pulsating heart. The man crumpled, lifeless, as a fresh scream tore through the air from the woman beside you.

“And that,” the host exclaimed, his voice still so bright and cheerful, “is what becomes of the ungrateful.” He gestured theatrically to the room, as if he’d just delivered a perfectly rehearsed line in a play. “Come now, victors. Look alive. You’ve earned this. Eternal glory is yours to claim.”

Without waiting for a response, the orchestra struck a jarring chord, the music swelling into something both grand and ominous. Above, the vampires descended from their balconies like a wave of predators, their movements too fast to track. They poured into the hall with eerie precision, seizing their chosen humans without ceremony. The room erupted into chaos—screams, cries, and the sound of shattering glass blending into a cacophony that seemed to mock the elegant setting.

“And now the Waltz commences,” the host declared, his voice ringing with perverse joy.

You barely had time to react before strong hands wrapped around your waist, spinning you with a force that nearly knocked you off balance. “Jaeyun,” you said bitterly, as he grabbed your hand, the other already planted possessively on your waist.

“I told you so,” he drawled, his voice smooth but tinged with mockery. “Your savior is your undoing.”

“And you’re not?” you shot back, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened as he began to move, forcing you into the dance. His movements were elegant yet aggressive, dragging you along like a puppet on strings.

“Can’t you see?  I’m the one saving you from him,” he scoffed, exasperated, “don’t tell me his sob story about the his family's sins and the Council of Elders is all it took to sway you—" he clicked his tongue as he spun you around before pulling you back against him, “Can’t you see the double entrende here? he’s not working under the Council of Elders to promote good. It’s completely self-serving – it grants him what is essentially a license to kill vampires. Less powerful purebloods mean fewer threats. It’s all about power, darling.”

You faltered for a moment, his words digging under your skin. “Even if that’s true,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “I’m still being passed from one wolf to another. You’re not exactly an ideal choice either…”

He spun you away from the center, the shadows engulfing you both, “tell you what, after this charade, they’ll give you a chance to escape through the Maze outside the castle. People would run aimlessly through the maze, thinking that it will eventually get them somewhere but it wont. The secret lies in the statues. Their hands are always pointing at the right way.”

You stared at him, trying to see past those unfathomable eyes. “Why are you telling me this? Why help me?”

He murmured, his lips ghosting dangerously close to your ear, “because we have the same goal, albeit in different forms, which is survival. And Sunghoon is the only one staying in our way. He’s playing the long game y/n. Look at him. Look at how he watches you—like a chess piece he hasn’t figured out how to move yet. You think he saved you? Sunghoon doesn’t save people. He removes and collects them, like a relic. That’s how it is with the royal Purebloods—it's always all about control and servitude. He’ll never let anyone be his equal.”

“Still, even if I choose you. It won’t guarantee my safety,” you said adamantly, “you could still end up reaping me.”

“And what for?” he said matter-of-factly, “My mother was reaped and I became a ‘tainted’ child in a world that worships purity. Can you see now? why I hate collateral damage?"

He paused, his gaze piercing. “And frankly, with what I hear about you and him… the Reaping might just be his way to stake his claim on you you—to make you his in every sense. Among other things.” His lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Trust me, you’ll wish he’d killed you instead.”

You wanted to open your mouth, say something defiant, but nothing came. He pressed on, “I know you’re smart and rational so think of me as the lesser evil. I, at least, have no motive to want to reap you specifically and if you choose me at the end—I’ll really let you go because then I know that we are of the same understanding.”

Suddenly you feel his hand creep higher over your back, like a vine reclaiming its hold. His face was inches from yours, and for a fleeting moment, the interplay of shadow and light caught you off guard. Jaeyun’s usual devil-may-care grin—mischievous, boyish—seemed to warp under the flickering half-light. The shadows deepened the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the tilt of his lips more predator than prankster, as though the ease in his expression was a veneer stretched over something far more calculated. The light, faint and fleeting, only accentuated the unsettling duality—a face that could charm or terrify, depending on how you looked at it.

“If you choose Sunghoon however” his voice dipped lower, his head tilting so his breath brushed against your ear, “I’ll take it that you’re no different from him. And trust me—I won’t even let you get past any statues in the maze.”

You barely had the time to process the onslaught of words—teetering confusingly between helpful and threatening—when his hand cupped your face. Gentle yet deliberate, he tipped your chin ever so slightly toward him before pressing his lips languidly on your cheek—the kiss too slow, too deliberate to be mistaken for tenderness. No, it was a warning—a searing brand meant to remind you of the stakes.

He was like a thorny vine—subtle, insidious. The more you moved, the more you were pricked, and if you stayed still, it would creep over you, wrapping tighter until it claimed you entirely.

The heat lingered long after he pulled away, your skin prickling as though it carried the weight of his words. He loosened his grip just enough to spin you away, the force dismissive yet laced with an unsettling possessiveness.

The force sent you stumbling, disoriented, until strong arms caught you mid-motion, halting your fall. You looked up, your breath hitching as Sunghoon’s dark gaze locked onto yours. His presence was grounding, anchoring you in the chaos—but it was suffocating too, a storm restrained just beneath the surface, its weight pressing down on you.

“You look like you had an enjoyable time with the loach,” Sunghoon muttered, bitterness lacing every syllable. His grip tightened slightly on your waist, dragging you closer as the music swelled around you.

“And you look like you’re exactly where you should be,” you shot back, trying to twist out of his grip, “—the Reaping’s poster child. Is that why you saved me so far?” you pressed on, unable to conceal your own bitterness, “because you’re actually saving me for this.”

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you tethered to him. “Would you rather there only be a single name?” he asked coldly, his tone as biting as the frigid air between you. “His?”

“At least he’s honest, Sunghoon,” you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of your frustration. “At least I know where I stand with him. You—” your hand pressed against his chest, a futile attempt to create space as he guided you into a sharp turn. “You twist everything until I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You don’t know what’s real?” His laugh was bitter, humorless, as he spun you again, this time keeping you so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You poisoned me, y/n. You ran from me. You were the one who destroyed what was real.”

The pang of guilt that surged through you was like a knife, but you refused to let it show. “Oh, I see,” you said, mockery dripping from every word. “Killing two birds with one stone, are we? Reclaim your glory and punish me in one fell swoop. Immortality, bound to you for eternity—that’s the perfect revenge for me, isn’t it? You’ve outdone yourself, Park Sunghoon.”

His jaw tightened, his calm facade cracking just slightly. “You think this is about power?” he asked quietly, his voice simmering with frustration. “I’ve lived for centuries and gone through several wars. If I cared about reclaiming anything, I would have done it long ago.”

“So this is about us, is it?” you pressed, your voice trembling with both anger and something rawer. “Punishing me for what I did eight years ago? You knew the Reaping would break me irreparably more than killing me ever could. That’s why you kept me alive—so you could tether me to you, curse me with eternity, all under your control.”

 “You think I want you bound to me just to feed some twisted sense of power?” he scoffed, the bitterness in his tone cutting sharper than any blade. “God, y/n, this isn’t about control.”

“Then what is it about?” you demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like revenge. A power play.”

His jaw clenched, the restraint in his expression cracking further as he took another step toward you. “You think I want revenge? That I want to punish you?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Can’t you see that it’s you that I want?” his voice cracking, “I can’t afford to lose you. Not to him, not to anyone. I’d tear this place apart before I let him have you.”

“I am not yours,” you said bitterly, the words like venom on your tongue. “And you don’t get to play saviour by making me your captive.”

“Captive?” he echoed, the hint of hurt in his voice was subtle but evident. “Sure. Paint me as the villain then—that’s easier, isn’t it? Easier than admitting you’re the one who’s afraid.”

“Afraid?” you scoffed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “Of you?”

“No,” he said sharply, his gaze piercing through you. “Afraid of what you feel. Of what you felt back then, and what you still feel now.”

You flinched as if his words had physically struck you, the momentary crack in your resolve giving him an opening. He stepped closer, his movements calculated as he swept you into a slow, deliberate turn, each step forcing you to follow, leaving you breathless and off balance. “Because if you were really sure,” he murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you wouldn’t need to convince yourself I’m the villain. You wouldn’t be standing here, accusing me of using you, when the truth is you’re just looking for a reason to run.”

Your laugh was hollow, brittle. “You think I’d run from you?”

“I think you’ve been running since the moment we met,” he said simply, his voice cutting through your bravado like a blade. “And I think you’ll keep running until you admit why you poisoned me in the first place.”

He spun you again, his movements sharp and unrelenting, before pulling you back into him, his voice soft but no less cutting. “You knew what we were, what we could’ve been—and you destroyed it. You burned it all to the ground before it could burn you.”

Your fingers curled against his shoulder, nails lightly digging into the fabric, your voice cracking as you hissed, “What you felt for me is not love, Sunghoon. It’s control wrapped in obsession; possession, dressed up as affection.”

He swallowed thickly, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell why—was it because he had called you out, or because your words had cut too deep? The silence between you seemed to stretch, taut and unyielding. His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, sharper, cutting through the air like frost.

“Maybe it is,” he murmured, each word deliberate, his brows furrowing as a glint flashed in his eyes—something cold, something you’d never seen before. “Maybe that’s all I am now.” The faint curve of his lips followed, but it wasn’t a smile—it was bitterness made flesh, a weapon unsheathed.

“Fine, y/n.” His voice dropped lower, darker, as though he were sealing a pact. “I’ll be the villain you so desperately need me to be.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, manoeuvring you sharply across the hall. The motion was unrelenting, his grip tightening with a force that felt like it could crush you if he chose. His movements were forceful, almost punishing, the elegance of the waltz tainted by the sheer rawness of his frustration.

“I’ll selfishly take back what you tore from me—what you tore from us—eight years ago,” he continued, his voice low and cutting, each word laced with an accusation that burned. His fingers moved with a slithery precision, curling with just enough force to press you against him, like a marionette in his grasp. His arm, firm and unrelenting, coiled around you like a serpent, each step tethering you closer, suffocating you with its possessiveness.

The curve of his palm seemed to mold perfectly to your body, a gesture that felt both possessive and unnervingly intimate. When he spun you, his hand didn’t falter—it followed the contours of your frame, reclaiming its position with a fluidity that felt inevitable, like gravity itself had shifted in his favour. His grip tightened subtly, fingers splaying just enough to press into the delicate fabric of your gown, branding you in a way that felt both commanding and terrifyingly intimate.

“You tore us apart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something darker, heavier, as though he was drawing from a well of buried pain. His face hovered inches from yours, his breath searing against your skin. “This time, I’ll make sure you can’t end anything. Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The finality in his words hit you like a physical blow, leaving you frozen as he guided you through another step, his movements precise yet devoid of tenderness. The music surged around you, its crescendo mimicking the storm of emotions churning in the air.

And then, as the final note reverberated through the hall, Sunghoon stepped back. His retreat was slow, deliberate, each step like a crumbling facade. His dark eyes burned with an intensity you’d never seen before, emotions swirling just beneath the surface—anger, pain, longing, and something far darker. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, trapped in the gravity of what had just passed between you.

“Now, now,” the host’s voice shattered the silence like breaking glass, his cheerful tone jarring against the tension that lingered in the air. “You know the rules,” he announced, his grin sharp. “Burn the name of the rejected and put the chosen name in the gilded chest.”

Your gaze dropped to the two burgundy parchments in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, you picked up the one with Jaeyun’s name, placing it inside the chest that was meant for the chosen one. The soft click of the lid sealed your choice, a decision made for all to see.

Your gaze instinctively sought Sunghoon in the crowd. His eyes locked with yours for a fleeting second, and in that moment, something flickered across his face—fury, yes, but beneath it, a flash of raw hurt that cut deeper than any words. Then he turned sharply, vanishing into the sea of bodies.

What he didn’t see, what no one would ever see, was how you never burnt the name you rejected—Sunghoon's. You couldn’t.

Instead you folded the parchment with painstaking care, tucking it into the lining of your dress, just over your heart. As though it carried every unspoken word between you.

As if it meant more than you dared to admit.

A/N: No this isn't the end HAHAHAHA told you it was a 40k work so it's actually supposed to be longer but bloody hell apparently tumblr has a 1000 blocks per post limit and it exceeded. So I gotta chop it here. See you in the next one ((i might post it immediately after, or space it out hohoh so let me know what you think about this one)) !

Taglist: @axartia | @my5colours | @elinushka-ka | @nowjillsandwich | @leaderwon | @moniqueovermoney | @ashrocker123 | @seungkwan-s | @hydroyaksha | @ikayyyyyy | @capri-cuntz| @asyleums | @lovialy | @nikikookie | @lunateez | @reithecat | @hocestmundi | tagging those who have explicitly wanted to be tagged eheh apologies if I missed some out :(

"this feels like a fever dream" is kinda cliché but yeah

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍  – 𝟏𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔.𝟐𝐤

⤲ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧...

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

"Don't worry, Hoonie", you say calmly and finally come to stand at Jaeyun's front door, your palms sweating as the excitement and nervousness of the upcoming hour finally gets the best of you, "I'll make sure to keep an eye on him throughout the night. We both won't drink anyway so it won't be that difficult."

Your brother lets out a sigh of defeat when he finally gets himself to accept your words of reassurance regarding his best friend. It's only been a few days since Heeseung's panic attack, but you could tell from Sunghoon's demeanor just how worried he is about him. And you don't blame him in the slightest. You've only ran into Seung once since that night and every time your eyes roamed his face you remembered Hoon's words. "He looks so tired" he had texted you and there was absolutely no other way to describe the current appearance of Lee Heeseung.

You could tell he was trying his best to keep the conversation up, the enthusiasm however leaving his system rather quickly as you guys lost yourself in topics and he became even quieter than before.

However, after a long talk with your older brother you both had decided to try your best to make the upcoming time as easy for the best friend as possible and despite your attempts of cheering up Sunghoon as well, he seemed too effected by it all to even think of anything else.

"I won't be drinking tonight either", he suddenly adds as an afterthought to your words and you just let out a hum of approval, aware that you'll need him to be sober to be of any help but knowing him you're pretty sure he's going to end up a little tipsy – it's Sim Jaeyun's birthday after all.

"Keep me updated yeah? I'll head home after work and get changed so I might be a little late", Hoon mumbles just as Heeseung buzzes you in and after telling him not to worry again, you both say your goodbyes and you finally find yourself standing in front of the boys' front door.

You don't get enough time to mentally prepare yourself to face Lee Heeseung as he swings the door open and appears in front of you with a soft smile on his pretty lips. Usually you're quick to avert your gaze, but after last time, you just can't help but let your eyes roam his handsome face and take in the sight of his breathtaking features.

His big bambi eyes are fixated on you, exhaustion and pain lingering in the usually so warm brown and you hate the way your heart breaks at the realisation of just how much he's been suffering in silence.

Because despite your desperate attempts, you never really stopped caring about him and his well-being. Your love might have never been and won't ever be reciprocated, but you would never want him to actually suffer because no matter what he's done to you, Lee Heeseung is one of the best people you've ever met and maybe that's why your heart is still thrumming in your throat every time you're in his presence.

"Hi, there", he says and steps aside to let you in, "I'm glad you could make it."

For a moment you're left speechless and you don't even know why. Maybe it's the fact the two of you haven't been all alone in over four years or maybe because you catch yourself craving the sound of his voice even more than before, yet either way it takes you a good moment to respond.

"Hey", you breathe and take your shoes off, still feeling his eyes on you as he watches you attentively, "of course. Wouldn't want you to do it all by yourself."

Heeseung just smiles and when you finally look up at him, you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding in when you realise how honest and genuine it is.

You both silently walk into the living room before Heeseung takes your bag and coat from you, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of your thighs for a moment longer than necessary and you hate the way your body instantly starts heating up in response.

"How have you been?"

Your question lingers in the air for a moment and you carefully watch his reactions to your words, only for him to break into a bright smile.

"Better", Seung replies and for the first time in a few days, he's proud of himself for just how true the statement is, "it's been...a week, but I'm okay. Can the Park siblings please stop worrying so much about me?"

Your ears perk up at his rhetorical question and for some reason his abilitiy to read you and your intention this well flusters you a lot more than it should.

"Oh, come on", he suddenly chuckles and runs his bandaged hand through his dark hair, "do you really think I don't know how you two have been thinking of ways to cheer me up and take care of me these past few days? You might be a little more subtle about it but Hoon's always been bad at hiding his concered face."

You attentively listen to him and finally feel yourself get rid of some of the tension in your muscles when he tries to imitate your brother's expressions, furrowing his brows and scrunching his nose with pouted lips just like his best friend.

A chuckle falls past your lips and all you can do is nod in response to his words, knowing he's too attentive not to know your intentions, but from the lightness of his tone you can tell he appreciates it just as much.

"We just care about you a lot", you admit and hope your choice of words doesn't give the wrong signals, since you wouldn't want him to get uncomfortable, "especially Hoonie."

This time Seung starts nodding as he fumbles with his ring clad fingers and you genuinely can't stand the way your eyes hungrily take in the sight of them. Your obsession with his hands has never been healthy and it seems to be worse even if you were convinced you had gotten over it.

"And that means the world to me." He replies calmly and opens his hands for a quick second, exposing the bloody patch on the bandage around his hand to your eyes.

A soft gasp escapes your lips and with worried eyes and absolutely no other thoughts you reach for him to take a proper look at it.

And Heeseung doesn't stop you, even if he should. He definitely shouldn't be enjoying the feeling of your skin against his but after fighting his demons all week, he allows himself to enjoy and savior this for as long as you'll let him. Just this one time.

"When was the last time you changed this?" You ask softly and gently graze the bloody patch in the middle of his palm with your pretty fingers, your fresh set of nails catching Heeseungs attention and he hates his brain for putting mental images of your hands in his hair and his face into his head so quickly.

He's so caught up by the calming feeling of you holding his hand, he actually forgets to respond, his body in an actual trance as comfort and calmness takes over his system from nothing but a single touch of yours.

"Seungie."

Your sudden use of the nickname you had chosen for him almost two decades ago suddenly pulls him back into reality and with big eyes he meets your strong, worry filled gaze.

"This morning", he quickly mumbles and hopes you don't notice the slight blush covering the apples of his cheeks, but he knows his ears are gonna give him away anyway.

"Come on, let me change it again or it'll get infected", you say and subconsciously wrap your fingers around his hand before you pull him into the direction of the bathroom, only letting go once you realise what you've been doing. And as you make him sit down on the edge of the bathtub you wonder why he wasn't the one to pull away from your grip, your head quickly making up possible reasons and you sigh as you push all of them to the farthest corner of your brain.

"You know, you don't have to do this, right?" He mumbles softly and takes in the sight of your pretty side profile as you look for the boys' first aid kit before sitting down in front of him.

"I do", you reply quickly and start unwrapping the old bandage gently, scared of hurting him, "but I want to. Your hands are your biggest treasure, captain."

Your words make him chuckle and a sense of pride fills his chest as he replays them in his head because you've always been the only one to give him this particular feeling.

"You've never called me that", he suddenly mumbles as the realisation hits him and he can't help but love the way it sounds coming from you. It doesn't sound condescending or ridiculing but genuine and honest, filled with pride as if you felt proud of his position on the team he's worked so hard for.

"We only started talking to each other again about two weeks ago, Seungie", you chuckle and throw the dirty bandage away and reach into the kit to clean the deep cut.

Heeseung doesn't respond to that because he doesn't know what to say. You're right, after all. He hasn't talked to you in four years and he's only been captain for about one now, but that doesn't take away any of the excitement in his eyes in response to your words.

"Does it hurt?" You whisper and swallow your tears as you wipe the soaked cotton pad over his wound with care, remembering the way Sunghoon had broken down in front of you once he told you about that night in detail.

"No", Heeseung quickly replies because he knows how worried you are even if you aren't looking at him; he can feel the concern in every single one of your delicate touches.

A beat of silence follows his answer and once you're done, you can't get yourself to actually let go of his hand.

And Seung doesn't pull away either, leaving you wondering what his sudden change in demeanor means, but you don't let yourself fall into those wishful thoughts. Not again. He probably doesn't want to be rude because you helped him, that's it. There's nothing else to it.

And maybe it's a moment of actual weakness or maybe the longing of all those years but you physically can't stop yourself from taking his into both of yours.

You absentmindedly trace the shape of his rings with the tip of your finger, too shy to actually touch his skin and for a moment you allow yourself to get lost in those thoughts you had tried so hard to get rid of.

What if he has changed his mind and isn't opposed to you anymore? What if you're finally mature and old enough for him to recognize you as your own person and more than his best friend's sister? What if he thinks you're attractive now, maybe even pretty?

As the questions in your head start doubling in their numbers, you feel your chest getting tighter once you realise just how much you still like him, throwing away your hard work of the past four years just like that.

Heeseung doesn't move at all, just enjoys the way your touch seems to feel perfect, something he's never felt before. He can tell you've got lost in your thoughts because you usually never touch him and here you are holding into his injured hand with such care yet also certainty, he can't help but gently wrap his fingers around one of your delicate wrists.

The air in the small bathroom is so thick with tension, Heeseung is sure he could easily cut through it with a knife if he tried but for some reason, he doesn't feel uncomfortable. As you stare at your hands, he lets his eyes roam your body for a quick moment, since he's already stared at you enough today but at this point he's stopped blaming himself because there's no way he could physically stop himself from looking at you. Not when you're wearing one of your cute little dresses which barely reaches the mid of your perfect thighs and those god damn tights. The colour compliments your skin tone in the best was possible and he loves how it fits your shape perfectly, like it was made for you and you only. Seung can't even imagine what it would look like on someone else and he doesn't even want to.

You notice his strong gaze on your face after finding your way back into reality and the second you lift your head to look at him, a wave of warmth hits you.

"You're so beautiful."

Three words.

It takes exactly three words for your heart to skip several beats in a row and for a moment you struggle to inhale as those few letters know out every bit of oxygen in your lungs.

Hearing him say what you've been daydreaming about for years, especially when you had just finished internally scolding yourself for your wishful thoughts, has adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Maybe you misheard him or maybe you just heared what you wanted to so badly, so without missing another beat you look at him with parted lips and mumble a soft "sorry?"yet avoiding his gaze like the plague.

You don't know what you expect from him, but in absolutely no universe, not even your delusional one, you're prepared for the sudden feeling of his other hand on your cheek softly guiding your head up to meet his eyes.

Too shocked and overwhelmed by just how perfect his skin feels against yours, you just do as he wants, subconsciously moving further into his touch and with a soft sigh Heeseung pulls his bottom lip between his teeth in the same moment his gaze drop to your parted ones.

"You're such a beautiful girl, princess", he whispers and grazes your bottom lip with his thumb, the action so small yet dizzying, you physically can't get yourself to breathe even if you tried.

And when Heeseung finally notices the expression of shock on your pretty features, he sighs and accepts his defeat. He know he shouldn't have done this. He should have kept those words and touches to himself, save them for the time you might actually want him the way he's been craving and longing for you but after a week of fighting with his thoughts, he simply didn't have the energy left to be as distant as he usually is for your sake.

But when you refuse to move out of his touch, even subconsciously nuzzling your cheek against his palm it takes Seung every bit of self control to not just pull you onto his lap and finally claim you the way he's wanted for years now.

"Don't look at me like that, pretty girl."

His voice is a mere whisper but you hear the despair in every single one of his words, his bambi eyes filled with an expression of...longing, something you had never seen in them before and for some reason it's that particular realisation which finally allows you to breathe again.

"Like what?" You're genuinenly surprised at the stability and actual sense of your response, since you've struggled to find proper words for the past two minutes.

Heeseung doesn't give you enough time to analyse your own reactions as his he suddenly takes your face into both of his hands and never once averts his gaze from your face.

"Like you still want me", his answer hits you like a truck and with an inaudible gasp you try to fill your lungs with oxygen, only to fail miserably.

"You deserve nothing but the best princess, do you hear me? Don't ever settle for those pretty faces who do everything halfheartedly", he begins and cocks his head tot he side with sudden sadness washing over his sharp features, the unexpected change in his expressions splitting your heart in two, "I wish I could be what you deserve but I'm not. And I'm afraid I won't ever be."

You frantically let your eyes roam his face to see if he's as serious as he sounds and there's absolutely no indication of his words being anything but the truth. Heeseung's never been one to lie, not to you anyway, so why are you trying to catch him in one right now, of all moments?

It's been years since the two of you have been this vulnerable with each other and as you wrap your fingers around his wrists to keep his hands on your face, you just look at him with a veil of thick tears blurring your sight.

"But–"

Heeseung smiles and pulls your face even closer to his own, knowing this will be the first and last time he'll allow himself to be like this with you, which is probably why he doesn't hesitate to place the softest kiss on your lips, purposely not giving you enough time to realise what he's doing to make sure you don't reciprocate it because he knows once he gets a proper taste he's going to be addicted and that's the last thing that should happen.

"So perfect", he whispers and actually pulls away, letting go of your warm face with a soft sigh before he wordlessly gets up from his seat on the edge of the bathtub to find an escape in the kicing room knowing you'll need the next few minutes to compose yourself, which will give him enough time to get his shit together.

And as you wordlessly watch him walk away, the safety of his presence and your perfect, yet temporary world slowly starts crumbling down around you and with your brain processing each word, a sudden wave of pain leaves you gasping for air desperately.

Why would he do this to you?

He knows about your feelings for him despite your attempts to hide them even after being rejected by him four years ago, so why would he fuck with your head like this? Talking about not being what you deserve, kissing you and placing the tiniest bit of hope into your palms just to brutally take it away from you again.

In a moment of anger clouding your brain, you aggressively swing the door open, preparing yourself to confront him for messing with you like that because why the fuck can't he just leave you alone? It's not like you'd get over him without him doing all of this anyway, so why is he making this even harder for you?

Maybe he likes to see you suffer and this is just all part of some sick game of his, or maybe he knows he won't ever choose you over his friendship with your brother, a fact so hard to swallow, you feel yourself choking on it each and every time.

Questions, thoughts, as hopeful as they are desperate, as well as anger and confusion fill your head the closer you get to him, not even realising he's made his way to the front door only to be met with the sight of his pretty best friend in his arms.

It hits you right then and there that everything that has just happened simply doesn't matter to him because you've never been and won't ever be an option. At the end of the day you'll always be Sunghoon's younger sister to him before anything else. Nothing else about you matters as much as the relation to your brother and as you try your best to swallow your tears at the sight of Sumin burying her face in Heeseung's neck with giggles and an explanation what she's doing here, you can't help but let your gaze drop to the way he's holding her and that turns out to be the last of his hints for you to get.

Without a word you turn around on your heel and finally reach the somehow comforting four walls of Jongseong's room, closing the door behind you and finally letting go of everything with your hand firmly covering your mouth to hide every single cry from the two people on the other side.

You don't say a single word until Jaeyun comes home from work, welcoming him with a big hug and sad eyes, which he unfortunately quickly catches up on and before you get to reassure him not to worry, he's met with the sight of his best friend's best friend and without saying anything he just shoots you a tight lipped nod.

Once you're all done setting everything up, Jongseong finally walks through the door, bundled up in his thick coat, a beanie and his face hidden by a mask and a pair of sunglasses he pulls you into a tight hug and thanks you for your hard work. Neither of the boys give Sumin a single second of their attention and you can see their lack of enthusiasm about her presence from their cold expressions.

For some reason their reactions and behavior give you a stupid sense of happiness, especially knowing they don't like her at all and you actually happen to be their favorite.

Different than expected your brother manages to be the third one to knock on the door, present and flowers in his hands as he looks at you with exhaustion grazing his features and you quickly avert your gaze to hide your eyes from him, knowing he'll read you even faster than Heeseung and the last thing you want to do is explain your brother why you're as sad as you are.

However once your girls arrive, a little bit later than the boys' team mates, you finally manage to distract yourself and after about an hour you stop looking for Heeseung in the crowd of people, just focusing on your friends and staying close to your brother and his boys as much as possible because you know Sumin won't approach you if you're with them.

It's not that you're still bitter about her words from a few weeks ago, but you're not gonna give her the opportunity to pull something like that ever again, especially knowing Heeseung will probably protect and defend her.

And as soon as your new coworkers and friends make their way into the living room, your brother's best friend basically becomes invisible and you love how you manage to put your whole focus on your own people instead of the ones who haven't done anything but hurt you.

You throw your arms around Jiung's neck with a loud chuckle, actually and genuinely happy about him and Keeho being there because they always end up being the life of a party. And when he refuses to let go of your waist as he half hugs the girls, you move further into his touch, even going as far as placing your hand over his and biting your bottom lip when he shoots you one of his infamous smirks.

It's not like you're trying to make anyone jealous or show Jiung off to anyone, there's absolutely nothing going on between the two of you after all, but for some reason you're craving the validation he's currently providing you with and him not being interested in anything serious just makes it a lot easier as well. You enjoy each other's company, that's it.

And with every single time that guy touches you, Heeseung feels his heart rate pick up its pace, brutally hammering against his rib cage and his vision actually blurring from jealousy. He's never wanted to fight someone as bad as he wants to right in that moment but for some reason he can't get himself to just...look away. After your little moment in the bathroom he's promised himself to never let it get this far again and that's why he let Sumin hug him the way she did, something he usually isn't fond of at all but he knew you'd be the one to push him away if you saw him like that.

He probably won't ever forget the pain in your pretty eyes, the ones who were filled with hope and adoration just a few minutes prior to that moment, but as much as he hates hurting you, he simply didn't have another choice.

That's probably why he can't stop looking at the way Jiung's been hugging you from behind for the past hour, resting his head on your shoulder and even touching your neck every now and then, none of which you seem to mind and if it wasn't one of his best friend's birthdays, he would have left hours ago.

Heeseung knows his brain is purposely punishing him for what he did and said to you in the bathroom but none of that makes any of this easier.

Sumin doesn't stop talking for a single second and after listening to her for the past two hours, Seung's stopped paying attention, his sole focus remaining on you.

After a week so difficult Seung is surprised he's still made it out of his bed, life has finally decided to give him a break as his "best friend" tells him about her early departure because she has to catch a flight in the morning and as soon as he closes the door of her uber, he lets out a loud sigh of relief. It's not like she caused a scene or anything in particular she's done but just her presence (probably even existence) has started to drain him of energy lately and even if he refuses to admit it, Heeseung knows her words and threats played a huge role in his breakdown from a few days ago.

And even if he genuinely understands, he can't help but feel hurt by his friends avoiding his presence when Sumin is by his side, yet at the end of the day there's no one to blame but him and he's more than just aware of it.

That's probably why Heeseung's as excited to get back to the party as he is, knowing he'll finally get to spend some quality time with his boys after not seeing them for a week.

And when the thought of spending time with his friends actually helps him distracting him from you, he basically runs out of the elevator towards the front door, only to be met with you and your little pretty face of a boy toy sitting on the stairs, calmly talking to each other.

You don't seem to notice his presence and neither one of you bother to turn around and see who's just got out of the elevator once its doors have closed behind Heeseung.

He knows he should just leave you two alone and give that guy the chance to finish what he had started at your housewarming party. Heeseung wants to just walk back into his best friend's apartment and continue the party, leave you with him and try his best to forget about you but there's absolutely no rational thought left in his brain as he watches the way Jiung pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear and places his big hand on your neck.

For some reason, however, he can't get himself to move away as soon as his eyes fll on you, reading your body language like it's his mother tongue and quickly noticing all the signs of your personal discomfort. As soon as Heeseung notices Jiung's other hand making its way underneath the skirt of your little dress, he basically chokes on his own spit.

He can't even hear what you're saying when you move out of Jiung's gentle touch, shooting him the sweetest smile ever while you push his hand away from your thigh.

However, Jiung seems a little too comfortable and persistent for Heeseung's liking because for some reason he doesn't seem to get your hint, quickly reaching for your arm and pulling you against his chest, chuckling when you playfully turn your head to avoid his lips.

But Heeseung knows you're not being playful or teasing. One of your hands balled into a tight fists while the other nervously scratches your neck as you try to remain as polite as possible not realising you're being watched by the last person you wanted to see again tonight.

And the longer he watches the two of you, the faster his hearts start hammering against his rib cage, the blood thrumming in his ears and every single thought on his mind vanishing as he makes his way to the two of you and harshly grabs Jiung by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against the wall and easily ignoring your shriek of shock.

"She told you to cut it the fuck off", Heeseung presses through gritted teeth and casually throws your coworker to the floor, eliciting a loud gasp from you and as soon as you realise what's happening you move to help your friend on the floor, only for your brother's best friend to wrap his hand gently around your arm and keep you by his side.

"And I told you not to settle for pretty faces who do everything halfheartedly, didn't I?" His words leave no room for discussion and you don't miss the jealousy oozing from his gaze as he looks at you without missing a beat.

You gulp harshly and try to move out of his firm hold on your arm, the whole situation stressing you out even more than wht had happened earlier today.

"Let me go, Heeseung", you hiss with furrowed your brows and your lips pressed tightly together, feeling proud of yourself for maintaining the eye contact without making your struggles too obvious.

"He hasn't even kissed you yet and tried to get into your pants, Y/N", he suddenly says and you look at him in horror, only then realising just how long he's been watching the two of you.

"Were you watching us, you fucking perv?" Jiung's spits and clmes to stand right behind me with his head held high, absolutely not fazed by the humiliation Heeseung had put him throught just a few minutes ago.

"Yes, because I don't fucking like you and I'd be a fucking bastard if I left you alone with her for too long", Heeseung replies and moves you behind him, covering your sight with his broad shoulders as he looks down on Jiung rather casually.

"Why the fuck do you care? You're just her brother's best friend so know your fucking place." You can't hide the surprise in your expressions as his words reach you and for some reason you actually feel offended for Heeseung, never having had anyone talk to him like this in front of you and as much as you hate him right now, you'd never let anyone disrespect him like that.

"Watch your words, Jiung", you suddenly hiss and come to stand next to Heeseung, only for him to shove you behind his tall frame again without a word.

"I care because I'm pretty sure you didn't tell her why your fucking ex girlfriend broke up with you, or am I wrong?"

And suddenly your ears perk up, thousand question marks popping up in your head as you look at Heeseung's side profile with confusion in your eyes before turning your head to look at Jiung.

"Why would I? That's nobody's business but mine and hers." Jiung replies calmly and confidently and you can't help but wonder how Heeseung knows about this particular topic but most importantly what it is all about.

"What are you talking about, Seungie?" You're careful with your question, purposely not directing it at Jiung because you know your brother's best friend would never lie to you, especially since his knowledge seems to have his blood boiling.

"He gave his ex girlfriend a fucking STD after he cheated on her with the campus whore", he deadpans and never once looks at you but actually stares right into Jiung's soul.

He knows he's supposed to let you indulge in your little crush and get a boyfriend so he can forget about you, but after talking to Sumin about Jiung's ex, who just so happens to be in one of her seminars, he definitely wasn't gonna keep this to himself any longer than necessary. Heeseung was just waiting for a good moment to talk about this with his boys, knowing it'd be better if they approached you with this but knowing he made you uncomfortable and refused to accept your rejection, he just couldn't stop himself anymore.

"What the fuck, Jiung?" You say and don't even try to hide the disgust in your voice, subconsciously holding onto the back of Heeseung's shirt but quickly letting go once you realise.

"It was an accident", Jiung shrugs and rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed about the topic and all of a sudden you feel more than just uncomfortable in his presence and basically dread the upcoming time at work.

"The cheating or the lack of protection?" Heeseung throws back at him without missing a beat and you hate the way you can barely hold in your cheeky grin.

"Fuck this, y'all are lame anyway", your coworker replies casually and turns around, leaving you alone with the one person you've been avoiding all night and as the air slowly fills with this tension again, you wait for the door to fall shut to make sure Jiung's gone before you quickly try to follow him.

The sigh of annoyance falling past your lips as soon as Heeseung's fingers wrap around your arm is basically inevitable. You want to be in his presence but you can't physically bear it; your heart hurts and just thinking about your moment from earlier makes you want to burst into tears and hide forever, the same feeling of shame and humiliation getting the best of you exactly the way it did all those years ago.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Your choice of words, your tone and your lack of eye contact is everything Heeseung needs to know about your current emotional state, but apparently not enough to make him let go.

"I didn't mean to ruin this for you", he sighs and looks at you with nothing but comforting warmth oozing from the brown, "but I just couldn't just let it happen either."

"Yeah, I know. I'm your best friend's fucking sister and that's why you could never let a boy be mean to me, right? My fucking hero", you spit back and hate the way your voice breaks as the whole day finally catches up to you.

It's just been too much. Your moment with him in the bathroom, his words, his constant staring, his actions and words being actual opposites, watching him with Sumin and actually having to carry this facade throughout the whole night has finally worn you out completely.

You don't even feel bad for the tears, nor do you feel guilty.

You're just glad they you finally get to let them go.

"I can't let any fucking boy be mean to my fucking girl, because that's who you are. Yes, you might be Hoon's sister but you're so much more to me than just that." His voice is louder and harsher than you expected and as soon as your brain processes his words, you bite back a bratty response, waiting for him to keep talking.

"You can go and fuck those ugly wannabes but none of them will ever be good enough for you", he whispers and nudges your nose with his own, making you realise just how close he is to you and all of a sudden the air in Jaeyun's apartment building is thicker than anything you've ever experienced.

"I can't let a boy be mean to you because I will actually get myself arrested the next time I see you with a loser like this, do you fucking hear me?"

"Why do you care so much?"

Silence.

Heeseung doesn't say a single word, simply because he can't. How is he supposed to tell you about just how important you are to him when there's a friendship on the line that's saved his life in ways he could never repay even if he tried.

Yet you seem so hopeful. Despite anger and annoyance wavering in your voice and lingering in the soft colour of your eyes, he can tell just how much you want him to say those words.

"I guess that's all I need to know then", you sigh and move out of his firm grip, wiping away your tears quickly, "please stop fucking with me like this. My heart can't take it."

And those are the last words you say to him before you finally reach the front door and leave him standing there with nothing but teary eyes and an aching heart. Yet again.

(A/N: I know I said this would be a little smutty but i kust felt like it didn't match the vibe so it just..got angsty 💀 thank you guys so much for your patience and all the love you've been sending my way, it really is everything to me. feedback and reblogs are appreciated!!!🥺🧸💞)

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