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hoonstrology · 15 hours ago

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HASLDJALSKJDKAS THE PICTURE PLEASE IM DEAD!!! 😭

♯┆ after the cameras flash. ─── 김선우

"meet me at my door while it's still open."

꒰ pairing ꒱⠀⠀kim sunoo x fem!reader.

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀the glitter and glamour of modeling has always been sunoo's life. he dreamt of it, and he finally got it. but when the runway starts becoming too much like his home, you take it upon yourself to give him what he needs. but he realizes that the trade off isn't worth it— not when it's a life without you.

꒰ word count ꒱⠀⠀9.1k words.

꒰ genres ꒱⠀⠀model!sunoo. smut. lovers to exes, exes to lovers, break up, angst, fluff and comfort at the end. ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀this is fucking filthy. meandom!sunoo, sub!reader. model!sunoo. verbal fighting, a little manhandling. unprotected p in v (zon't zo it.), angry sex, rough sex. dirty talking, impact play, dumbification, degradation, implied oral (f. receiving.), swearing, pet names. not proofread. lmk if i missed anything!

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀first time writing smut and i went insane. blame kim sunoo. huge shoutout to @zerocoded for helping me out and giving me tips. 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 if you have drabble/fic requests for other members, send them to my ask!

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 & 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 .ᐟ

KIM SUNOO ALWAYS KNEW HE WAS BUILT FOR THE LIFE OF MONEY AND FAME. he loved each flash of the camera, relished in the attention of the press, and happily posed when a fan asks for a photo in the streets.

shouting stylists, barely-paid interns running around, 14-hour trips overseas— what was considered chaos for an average person was peace to him. home, even. from photoshoots to the runway, he loved every single moment under the limelight.

but none of that ever mattered to you, his greatest supporter.

he was just a young adult with plans far too complex for him to fully commit to, but you understood him, nodded at his passion, fueled him to think bigger, grow brighter.

you, who always adored him, who never failed to remind him what he was capable of.

he credits you for the success he has now– you were to the one to kickstart it, after all. armed with the camera app and a dream, the both of you made it work.

you had the eye for his best angles, and you were adamant on directing how he should pose– what would make his legs look longer, what background would emphasize the texture of his jacket. you talked him through it and sunoo would retort that his 700 instagram followers wouldn't care if there was a hair out of place, but he'd fix it and follow your advice anyway.

through a balance of luck and hard work, one post blew up.

normal consumers and fashion connoisseurs alike recognized the talent, the visual your boyfriend had to offer. before he knew it, he managed to get a commercial modeling offer— just a small clothing brand, but it was the start of something big.

over the course of three years, offers from independent clothing brands turned into offers from fashion houses whose names you can't pronounce– not even with sunoo patiently teaching you. the 700 instagram followers grew past a few million. the online ootd videos he once filmed with you became commercials, his face and body littered across billboards and social media ads.

you were with him every step of the way. arms always open for a warm hug when he came home tired, lending a helping hand when he's going through a slump, even offering to help him relax during nights where he'd be needy for your body but too exhausted to move.

from big milestones of buying the penthouse unit he's always dreamt of, to quiet losses when he got turned down in a casting call, you spent every single with him, letting him know that you're always gonna be proud of him, and stand with him, no matter what.

at the time, he was so happy— and he thought you were too.

you've always been the quieter one in your relationship, and maybe that's why the relationship worked so well. people around you claimed you two were perfect for each other. he brought the excitement you thought you didn't need in your life, and you mellowed out his bright and dramatic energy by providing him a safe space to rest and come home to.

"provided." sunoo corrected his inner thoughts out loud in the middle of stirring his coffee, suddenly remembering that he wasn't the person who you got to indulge in your warmth. not anymore.

in relationships, the first fight is just that— the first. it's a normal thing that relationships go through with some people even encouraging it because it marks the true beginning of a meaningful connection to one's partner, but that's a lie to sunoo.

a fucking paradox.

it's can't be the first and last— that doesn't make sense.

he gave you everything he could, but maybe everything wasn't what you needed. maybe the bright flashes of the camera blinded his eyes to the way you would frown when he picked up a call in the middle of the night, leaving you to finish the k-drama by yourself.

maybe the tight clothes they gave him numbed his skin from your needy touch and squeezes, brushing your kisses off with a sweet but tired 'good night' due his tiresome day, leaving you feeling neglected and lonely in the bed you shared.

maybe the confidence he had in his looks lead him to ignore the talks about yours when people found out that the kim sunoo has a girlfriend; one that was undeserving, plain looking, and far too normal for a rising model like him.

no matter how much he denied the break up, his brain will always manage to give him an HD photo of how it was before and how it is now, like it already knew you were slipping away before his heart caught on.

the bubbles in his lukewarm coffee settled around the rim and his reflection stared back at him from the liquid abyss— mocking him and making him recall how it all started boiling over.

you were sat on the couch, arms crossed over your chest when he came home from a twelve-hour long shoot day. he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to you and bask in your presence, so when you flinched away from his touch, he raised a brow.

"what's your deal?" he asked, irritated from being denied.

"sun... i waited all night." you sighed, palms rubbing on your arms up and down while trying to contain the disappointment in your voice.

"and?"

you stared at your boyfriend of three years, still in the heels and prada dress he gifted you for the same occasion he evidently forgot planning. you were in disbelief, especially more irritated by the nonchalance in his tone.

your stilettos made a sharp noise against the tiled as you stomped up, trying to control the distraught you felt while you took off your jewelry, trying your best to hold in the tears prickling at your eyes.

"darling.. what are you doing?" he sighs, voice laced with contempt before holding on your hand. you shook it off with a grunt, turning your back to him to forcefully wipe the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek and throwing the earrings down the glass table with a shrill clank.

"i prepared so much.. fucking took my time and got pretty for you..." you sniffed, turning to him with glassy orbs, eyes rimmed red from holding back your tears. "only to be stood up and get talked to like this? when you're the one who forgot?" you whisper, index finger harshly pressing on his chest.

"i got so much work today, it must have passed my mind. i'm sorry, darling. i'll make it up to you." he hummed, holding both wrists and pulling you to him to cage you in his arms, still wearing that calm smile which heightened the sadness settling in your heart.

"sun, tonight was supposed to be the night you make it up to me. for all the times you messed up before." you sighed, shoulders deflated in defeat as you stayed still against him.

his scent, his body's heat, the mere aura that radiated him calmed your anger in ways inexplicable by logic— he just had that effect on you, and you detested yourself for giving in to him so quickly.

sunoo, not having it with the lack of warmth, guided your hands around his torso, pressing a kiss on the soft curve of your jaw. "i know, sweetheart. i'm sorry. work was just so crazy. forgive me, mm?" he whispers softly this time, plump lips pressing down the column of your neck, now bare from the string of expensive pearls.

"i'll still make it up to you tonight, and tomorrow too. i'll clear my schedule for you." he muttered the words in between wet sounds of his lips smacking against your skin, licking the faint redness starting to form under the precise nips of his teeth.

you let out a gasp, mewling his name out as your palms found purchase on his waist, trying to fight the instinctive urge to tilt your neck, but you do so anyway and sunoo smirked, licking a stripe across your pulse point before trailing the kisses back up to the shell of your ear. "be a good girl for me and jump."

you already knew what that meant.

his hands rested behind your upper thighs and you jumped, legs wrapping around his hips, the same plump lips nipping at your neck earlier now finding comfort tangled up against your own in a wet, messy kiss while he walked to the bedroom.

your expensive dress was discarded to a corner of the room, his shirt was somewhere along there too, and he couldn't care for the painful strain in his pants because tonight he was going to make sure you forgot all his shortcomings, determined to have nothing else but his name leaving your lips.

a month later, it came.

quiet and peaceful.

unexpected.

it was supposed to be okay. things have become relatively normal since that night. no fights before and no fights since. sunoo made sure to stay on top of the promises he made, declined certain projects, or informed you beforehand if it was too big for him to cancel.

it was progress, but there's only so much that can happen in a month.

and if shame allowed you to admit it out loud, you started to believe the nameless, faceless nobodies online— maybe you were too plain for sunoo. he deserved someone who can accept his success, not someone who dulled out his shine.

so you made your decision.

you called for sunoo in the middle of an online briefing about the next season's runway show somewhere in europe, and he couldn't be happier to have a valid reason to ditch it.

he tapped on his thigh, gesturing you to sit on his lap like you always did, but you chose to sit on the bed beside him, making him raise an eyebrow. "is something wrong, love?"

you took a deep breath before pursing your lips. "i just.. can't do this, sun." you started, your hands pressing on your knees in discomfort.

sunoo paused, the words not quite registering to him yet.

"what do you mean?"

"this. i can't do this anymore." you mumbled, hands vaguely gesturing to the space between your bodies.

"darling... are you— are you breaking up with me?" he asked, voice low and trembling, moving to kneel in front of you, frantically looking into your eyes like he thinks you're lying and can somehow find the truth behind it if you looked at him too.

your relationship has always been serene. yes, you've had arguments but they've always been done in good faith. the only actual fight you've had, if you could even call it a fight, was a month ago and it got resolved just as quickly as it came.

neither of you ever have ever brought up the damning words. no offers of a break up, not even threats of it, so to say he was taken aback was an understatement.

he thought you were happy. he thought he made you happy. so why are you leaving? it had to be a badly done joke, but it didn't prevent tears from leaving his eyes nonetheless.

"my sun, don't cry..." the steady stream of tears rolling down his cheeks make your heart want to collapse in on itself, and the affectionate nickname you reserved for him only made sunoo's tears roll out faster.

you turned away. you had to. because you knew looking at his tearful face would have you giving in to the soft and quiet appeals.

"y/n... my darling. please. please don't do this." he pleaded. "please? what do you need? i-i'll cancel anything the next month. i'll make it up to you, sweetheart. please, just.. don't—" he breathes out, voice cracking at the last word. "—don't leave me."

his forehead rested against your knee and you took a deep breath, running your fingers gently through the back of his tresses. "no, sunoo. you worked hard for this.. you can't throw it away for me."

"but i want to!" he cried as he looked up, eyes glossy from tears.

"well don't." you replied with finality, jaws clenched as you stared back with an blank expression. "this is for the best."

you tried to say something about how you couldn't handle secondhand fame, and how you weren't built to accompany a star as bright as him, a stray tear leaving your eyes in the middle of speaking, but everything else had already been a fog.

you left without looking back and for the first time in years, sunoo experienced what it's like to be in your shoes: to sleep with the other side of the bed cold, still open, still waiting for the other's presence.

he tried to go to work at first, ignoring the questions of nosy makeup artists and stylists about how his eyelids looked so puffy and how he looked like he hasn't been taking care of himself. but the longer he did it, the more burn-out he got. nothing really changed, but somehow everything did too.

you took that time to move out of the shared space, special trinkets thrown into a bag, clothes roughly discarded and thrown into your luggage, grabbing whatever you can during the hours he was away.

leaving so coldly was unlike you, but you knew better than to have another conversation with sunoo. you knew you didn't have the self-control for it with every fiber in your being telling you that you're only yourself when you're with him, so you had to be.

when you turned around one last time to see the space you're gonna be leaving behind, guilt began wrapping around your heart like an expensive, but suffocating silk scarf.

you'd be lying if you said that the relationship wasn't eating away at you. but it would be an even bigger lie to say you didn't have doubts of second thoughts about wanting to leave sunoo. so you walked to the kitchen, pouring your heart into the final note and sticking it on the fridge.

"take care of yourself, my sun. i'll always be watching, and i will always be proud of you. i love you— forever."

"stop it, sunoo. regretting it won't make her come back." he chuckled bitterly to himself as he read the note for the seventh day in a row, the undrinken coffee cup getting discarded in the sink as he trudged towards the bathroom.

he splashed his face with cold water and sighed softly at what greeted him in the mirror— he looked like shit, that much was true. then, his eyes caught the sorry sight of a single toothbrush in the cup. he stared at it like if he looked hard enough, maybe your baby pink brush would appear beside it.

maybe you would appear beside him.

but no such thing happened, and he shook his head, laughing hollowly for starting to grow delusional.

but how could he not? everywhere he went, he was reminded of your absence.

there were no socks stuck in between the cushions of the couch when he watched tv. his bed didn't feel warm when he tried taking a nap. the kitchen cupboards were missing the ugly coffee mugs, and the dining room table was missing the fake succulents you were insistent on adding because 'it brings life back to the place'.

the pain that kept him in a slump for the past week was morphing into restlessness, and it didn't help that every step he took in his home evoked your memory in vivid images.

so in his mission of forgetting you and 'taking care of himself', he decided that today would be the day he goes out. he slid the door of his closet open and in it, he was reminded, yet again, of how much he truly lost. half of the wardrobe was empty, much like the rest of this cursed apartment.

it stared at him like your abandonment— a physical representation of how empty he felt with his other half gone.

ignoring the pang in his chest, he listened to the metal hooks of the velvet-lined hangers scrape against the pole as he pushed through them fervently to find a sweater until his eyes caught something of yours that made his hands freeze mid-air.

a white shirt. the same one you loved to use when you made breakfast after a night of love making. the same one he'd fuck you in again on top of the kitchen counter. the memories, lewd, heartwarming, or both, came to him with each piece of your clothes he came across.

in a blink of an eye, he had a pile of the clothes you left on the floor. still smelling half like you, and half like his perfume that you 'borrowed' so often.

he knows he shouldn't break no-contact

you haven't contacted him since you left, and he hasn't found the courage to be the first to reach out. but he didn't want the clothes to go to waste. these had sentimental value to you, and some of this would surely be important.

at least, that's how he convinced himself as he typed away at his phone.

to: sweetheart. — hey. can you come pick up your clothes? i'll leave them by the main door.

not even a minute in, and your reply came like you were waiting for a message. like you were waiting for his message.

from: sweetheart. — on my way.

the doors creaked open just a few hours later. sunoo heard it from the safety of his room, and he knew you were here. "sun?" you called out, one foot through the threshold like you're unsure. like your body didn't know whether this space was still yours.

the text was so cold and detached. it was only proper that you come here as soon as you can to finally rid him of whatever traces you left behind that he obviously didn't want.

"come in." his voice echoed from what used to be your shared bedroom. you stepped through and locked the door behind you, eyes scanning the living area to see no clothes in sight— so you headed to the source of his voice and there, you found sunoo sat on the bed.

looking small, tired, yet still folding your clothes with carefulness because it was the last thing tying this place—him—to you.

you leaned against the door's frame, faking a smile while crossing your arms over your chest. "haven't seen you do that since junior year."

"how could i when you never let me touch the laundry." he whispered, voice balmy as he laid the cream white polo on the box, the corner of his lips tugging up as the memory of you and a compression wrap around his sprained ankle flashed in his mind. "told me you'd kill me before i die slipping on laundry detergent again."

"that'd be a stupid way to die." you replied with a shrug and a more genuine smile, walking closer to him. not quite touching, but enough to feel the little warmth that radiated from his body. "and you're folding it wrong, sun. the sleeves go inside before anything els—"

"let me do this for you." he says, reaching for your arm and returning it to your side. he stubbornly resumed but kept your tip in mind, flattening the fabric with his palm before carefully folding it over itself while pursing his lip, nibbling on the lower one.

"can.. can you call me that again?"

"sun?"

"no. the other one. my favorite. in the way you said it.. before."

"my sun?" you whispered, his body doing a light bounce as you scoot closer, taking the folded clothes and keeping it safe in the beige box. he smiled at the sound, taking the last piece of cloth in his hands, the genuine curve in his lips turning into an unreadable melancholic expression in an instant.

you couldn't quite tell whether it was made in longing for what you once had, or in sorrow for how it ended. possibly in mourning— because he knows that the last jean has been folded, and once it's settled in the box, his days moving forward will be exact replicas of the past week he spent without your presence.

he apprehensively put the final piece down with into the box and you stood to pick it up, feet quickly carrying you up and away as if it knew how heavy the hair was getting inside.

behind you, sunoo followed in quiet but seemingly sure footsteps.

he stood tall, proud, body tilted to one side as he leaned on the wall with a shoulder, hands deep in his pocket. his eyes drop from your face to your hand, and he feels his chest clenching tighter with each step you took closer to the door. his fear is coming true.

stop it, sunoo. do something. anything.

"are you that desperate to leave me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper yet still somehow booming in your ears— somehow still managing to carry through the decorated navy blue walls, reaching you, and managing to rattle your bones and wrap around your muscles like an audible paralyzing agent.

your hand felt clammy around the cool metal, the other straining from the weak hold you had on the heavy box but you tightened your fingers around the flimsy container.

you're here to pick up your clothes, that's it.

your heart knew as much as your mind did that staying here would only stir the pot, and when sunoo took a step forward, they practically rung like loud sirens inside you, telling you to pick up your feet and run— but your body stood in place, only tensing up again when his voice broke the deafening silence.

"answer me, sweetheart. please." sunoo came out as a desperate croak, now merely inches behind you. his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm, possessive, yet gentle in tugging at it in hopes that the tugs he gave would be enough to let you know he didn't want this—you, leaving—but your grip on the knob was unyielding, and sunoo found answer in that.

you weren't just desperate to leave, you were determined.

his fingers only tightened around you, the pain enough to have you letting go. "sunoo." you called, voice soft and measured, trying to shake him off but he turns you around in one smooth flip, leaning down to come face to face with you.

the thud of the box echoed against the tall glass windows of the penthouse as its contents pooled around both your feet, but you couldn't care for it. not when sunoo's persistent on cracking your resolve, chipping away at it each time you inhaled his infuriatingly familiar scent of floral and musk.

your body moved itself, neck craning as you turn your head to the side but his hands snap forward, reaching for your jaw to turn your head to him. the movement was so brash it made you whimper.

the fluff of his freshly dyed jet black hair fell over his face yet you still felt the intensity of the eyes hiding behind them. "if you don't want me anymore, say it to my face." the words rolled off his tongue like a thinly veiled threat while his eyes looked into yours, carefully studying.

you willed to stay poker-faced because a deep part of yourself knew that a single misstep, a single misspoken word, even a single crack in your voice would be detected and correctly read as a lie. "sunoo, it's.. not—"

"then what is it?" he asked, brows drawn together as his fingers press deeper against the softness of your cheeks like it would somehow guide the words he wanted to hear out of you, but kept mum, brows downturned when you finally gained the courage to return his gaze.

sunoo prides himself in being able to read you well—too well—and the look you gave him, tired and empty, just fueled the quiet storm that's been brewing inside since your absence.

"don't act like this isn't hard for me too." you sighed, prying the hold he has on your face, though that did nothing more than make the situation worse. he opted to lock you between the door and his taller frame, palms pressed against the wood with both arms square on the side of your head, fox-like eyes growing darker when you refused to indulge him with an answer.

"then. what. is. it." sunoo enunciates each word, voice low, face inching closer to yours after every pause. you pursed your lips, back firmly pressed against the wooden door but he only kept coming closer and closer, invading your space like it's his— like it's still his. your hands pressed on his firm chest, putting an arm's length of much needed distance between your bodies.

sunoo took a few more steps back with arms held up, jaws clenched and lips quirked up in sarcasm as he sauntered to the loveseat, half-sitting on its armrest before running his fingers through his dark hair, a gruff noise leaving his lips that sounded like something between a laugh and a scoff as he's left to deal with the pain of your physical rejection.

"it's too much. too much. like i told you, everything got overwhelming for me." you started, bringing a hand up to press on your temples. "your schedule, y-your lifestyle— god, they were calling me a plain jane, sun." you let out a grunt in exasperation, eyes picking up from the floor to stare at the slouched figure across the room.

plain jane? his woman? his y/n? he has never heard of such nonsense.

"who's they?" he asked with quiet intensity, eyebrows contorted together in irritation.

"your fans, sunoo. people. i don't know— i don't care anymore." you were tired. so tired, and weary, and exhausted of having to justify your decision because it started to feel like you were also convincing yourself that it was enough of a reason to leave him.

"they're strangers to me, to us, sweetheart." sunoo sighed from his spot, holding himself back from rolling his eyes at the lame excuse.

"i know, but the words don't hurt any less!"

when your voice came out, it was sharper, piecing, laced with poison and the undeniable fear of having your feelings out and bare, all vulnerable in front of your ever-adored ex boyfriend— and it made the two of you freeze.

the clock ticked and the city, floors below the large apartment, thrummed in ignorance of the tension that hung between former lovers— one tired and wanting to escape, the other still desperately holding on.

"three years. three fucking years, and all it took were stupid trolls on the internet to ruin this relationship i took so much care of." he scoffed in disbelief, standing up straight to look to you.

sunoo's snarky tone only furthered your temper, raising an eyebrow at your ex boyfriend. "took so much care of? sunoo, do you hear yourself?" you chuckled in disbelief. "don't blame them. you were also a part of this! you neglected me. not the people i don't care for, but you."

your fingers pointed at him in accusation and sunoo shot you a glare entirely different from the ones he used to give when you took the last piece of pastry or bit on his arm too hard— no, this one was genuine in its irritation.

"me? darling—" his slender fingers ran through his hair, tongue poking against his inner cheek with a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. "i give you everything you want, even things you feel too shy to ask for. the clothes, the jewelry, the fancy k—"

"and what about dates, huh?" you cut him off, looked at him in defiance and sunoo struggled to keep still, now pacing back and forth across the living room like he didn't know whether being closer to you calmed him down or whether it furthered the pain clawing at his insides.

seeing the arrogant smirk get wiped from his face only emboldens you to continue, a sick part of the pride you tucked away so deep finally coming out with each rhetorical question, even counting your fingers just to prove your point.

"what about all the times you forgot about your promises, hm? or when you constantly broke our no-phone rule? or when you'd refuse to touch me because posing for the cameras is more important than your damn girlfriend?"

you paused for a moment, chest rising and falling as you tried to control yourself but the more you thought about it, the angrier you got, and the words escaped your lips before you could even contain the venom mixed in them.

"those trolls, no matter how annoying they are, are correct. you need someone who could keep up with the glitz and glamour of your life, and maybe i need someone who could keep up with the calm of mine." you spat out out the last words, face blank but inwardly proud that your voice didn't shake.

letting everything out was supposed to calm you down, but unease began settling in your bones like the quiet gracing the space. no one spoke. only your heavy breathing and soft buzz of the elevator down the hall. you expected him to snap back, to retort something equally as smart or as sharp— but the silence persisted, and you began to want him to say something, anything in return.

instead, sunoo looked at you, stood up straight with the type of composure that asked, no, commanded your full attention. his face was blank for the most part, only the mild spasm on the muscle of his forearm while he stared.

despite his silence, you sensed it. you physically felt it. this was not defeat, nor was this resignation. it's just the calm before the storm.

in the rational part of his mind, he knows you only said what you did in overwhelm. that those were just words weaponized against him to fling pain, the same hurt you've been quietly enduring while he focused on his career— but rationality left him the same day you did, and the remaining sense he had to feel empathy for you died the moment you implied needing another man.

the mere thought of having another replacing his spot in your life irked him like nothing else. he earned that spot, he fought for it, he bared himself to you so you'd know he's deserving of it, and yet you had the audacity to think that he won't devote himself into becoming what you need?

the internal dialogue drowned him, pushing his body forward and springing him into action— three big strides across the living room, big hands pinning your shoulders to the door. his jaw was tightly clenched and his voice came out thin and raspy.

"say that again, sweetheart. i fucking dare you."

your lips parted, but nothing came out. not when you felt like your heart was pounding in your throat, eyes wide and afeared as they stayed glued to sunoo's. his orbs flickered with something wild, something ravenous but patient enough to lie low in anticipation of your next mistake.

he didn't move— not yet. neither did you.

his breathing was loud. labored. his nostrils were flaring with each intake of air like it was the only fuel to his strength. the muscles of his jaw were clenched tight with his lips pursed into a straight line, urging it to remain shut because he knows only a pathetic pleading for you to stay will ensue if dares part it.

his grip on you is tight, too. just a small press away from bruising. but his eyes—his gaze—though barely visibly from the thick lashes, was the thing that truly kept you from moving. you couldn't do anything but witness how his eyes dropped to your lips, up to the evident flush in your cheeks, the irregular rise of your chest when your breath hitched after he leaned just a hair's width towards you.

the gulps you made weren't muffled by the silence either, and sunoo found delight in knowing that no matter how many you took, it wouldn't help hydrate your throat. it wouldn't let you bark back.

still, you stubbornly tried to talk your way out— to tell him that you didn't mean it. that you weren't thinking when you talked, but it all came out as a whimper when his fingers dragged lazy shaped on your collarbone.

the air is starting to change, or maybe it already had. you can't tell whether it suffocated or exhilarated you, but somehow, along the way, your thighs started rubbing together and your skin was starting to thrum with a wave of warmth each time your heart beat.

you're a fool to think that you could walk away, to think that he wouldn't notice but sunoo did. he always does. your whimper had his lips curling into a sick, satisfied grin, drunk in power as he got the confirmation he needed from the pathetic sound you made.

you could reject him, hurt him with your words, or torture him with your lack of it— but your body said enough.

in a flash, you're in his arms, legs wrapped tightly around his waist while his supported you from your ass, squeezing the soft flesh, nails digging so deep you can feel it even through your shorts.

"s-sun.." you whimpered again, palms pressing against his nape to keep you from falling. "shut up." he spat, landing a quick slap on the clothed behind before letting you fall to the couch with a soft 'hmpf', slotting himself between your legs to keep it spread.

"this what it's about? my sweetheart being touch deprived?" he leaned down until your foreheads touched, his palm finding rest on your waist and giving it a gentle squeeze contrasting to the darkness behind his laughter. "if you wanted to have a better fuck, you could've just asked me."

"n-no, i meant—" his palm began traveling further down to your covered heat, fingers toying across the stitches of your shorts right above your heat, which had you biting down on your lower lip to muffle your moan.

"what did you mean, mm?" he raised an eyebrow, speaking in a mocking voice as he rubbed your clothed cunt using two fingers, a deep laugh leaving his lips when thin strings of wetness follow his fingers as he pulls them away. "because your body is telling me something else. you're fucking soaked through your shorts, dirty girl." in one swift movement, he tugged them down, leaving your lower half barely covered.

just like the clothes you abandoned, he folded you in half, but this time, it wasn't done in gentleness— his palms were rough and gripping as they pushed your knees towards your shoulder.

"keep 'em there." he ordered, and you couldn't find it in you to disobey.

contrary to what everyone thought, your boyfriend isn't the passive man he's pictured to be. yes, people found him cute and he was soft-spoken, but he knew what he liked— and what he liked, he made sure he got.

that translated into your sex life too. he's a domineering man in bed, but a soft one. always asking if you liked what he was doing, always reveling in pleasuring you, and always made sure to put your needs above his, intent on listening to your body's every whim and need.

but this man... this isn't sunoo.

you were watching the sweet, soft boy you've loved devolve into something else entirely— consumed by fury, hurt, and jealousy of a hypothetical man threatening to take his place in his sweetheart's life.

if the angry bulge visible from his grey sweatpants were anything to go by, he's consumed by the physical need to claim you as his, too. again, and again, and again.

this time, he was getting what he wanted. by hook or by crook.

his middle finger dragged up and down your slit, spreading your arousal inside and making a dark stain of a stripe appear on the thin fabric. his smile grew wicked as he ghosted his fingers on the translucent cloth right above your clit and proceeded to drag small circles around it, not quite putting pressure where you needed him the most.

you gripped on the back of your knees, his name dying in your throat and getting replaced by a sharp gasp when his palm struck down your barely clothed core, and your reaction to it was all the confirmation he needed to enact his cruelty, validated in letting out his pent up frustration on your body.

"fuck, needy baby left my hand all messy and we aren't even starting yet." he whistled as he looked at the dull shine on his hand, opting to dry it out by smacking them along your inner thighs repeatedly, earning loud whines from you.

without any warning, sunoo's finger hooked on the center of your ruined underwear and pulled it aside, pushing two past your fluttering hole. "see— fuck, you can take my cock now." he grunted, the veins on his forearm prominent as he curled his fingers. "but i'm being so nice for prepping you, right?"

you could only nod and sunoo clicked his tongue in disapproval, pulling his hand out to land another punishing slap on your cunt, the wet sound of skin getting smacked filling the room. "you answer me when i ask you, sweetheart."

"mhh— yes! yes, fuck, so nice." you whined, legs trembling once he pushes his fingers back in and he relished in the squelching sounds it made, heart full of pride as he sees your eyes half lidded and already glazed over.

"that's right. i'm so nice to you, see?" he purred, thumb rubbing quick circles around your swollen clit as his free hand moved to cup your breast through your top, giving it a quick slap before soothing it with a squeeze, jaw tensing when he feels you clench around his fingers.

"dirty fuckin' whore. can't believe you like this." he impatiently pushed his own undergarments down with one hand, the fabric pooling around his knees he ripped the flimsy underwear from your legs.

your hands resumed its hold on the back of your knees while sunoo stroked his cock with one hand, the tip of it red and angry while leaking precum, dropping down on your already messy cunt. he spread your puffy lips apart with two fingers, biting his lip at the visual.

"look, baby. your poor hole is crying without me in it." he mocked, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest to see your cheeks flush, empty hole pulsing around nothing. "and you have the fucking nerve to leave me here? by myself?" he asked, landing a hard smack straight between your thighs.

"sunoo.. sun, please!" you cried out pleading, sinking further into the couch.

"please what?"

"touch... m-me." you whispered, voice trailing off. his eyebrow rose for a moment, deep in thought before lifting you up to make you switch places. he sat on the couch, manspread with a fist still around his leaking hardness while he made you stand before him, knees wobbly with arousal dripping down your inner thigh.

"take everything off." he said, leaning back against the plush cushion as he watched you throw your shirt and bra off.

you feel so exposed, so used, and your skin is starting to feel far too sticky and warm under his hawk-like gaze, but you can't care for it when your body is fueled by the depravity of watching him stroke his cock— slow and measured like he was relishing your humiliation.

"sunoo, enough of this— please. i want you."

he tapped on his thigh and you immediately moved to straddle him but before you can even reach for his length, his palm met the skin of your exposed chest and the impact had you keening.

"no touching." he sternly spoke before offering you two fingers. "if you want me so bad, you'll take what you can get."

the same hand moved in between his thigh and you bite your lip at the ridiculousness of the implication but your brain is too fuzzy, too driven by the need to be filled so you sink yourself down on his fingers while the thing that you need gets stroked by his own hands.

sunoo smirks at the pathetic sight in front of him— you, desperately bouncing on two fingers while letting out soft mewls about how it's not enough.

"is it not? like how i'm not enough?" he spoke with venom, angling his fingers inside you that pitched your moans higher. "n-no.. you are— just... nnh– i need you! need your cock, baby, please!"

"hmm. i don't know about that, darling. something about needing someone else.. what was that? you needed someone to match your calm?" sarcastic, hurt feigned by his sadism, he let go of his cock to land more blows on the side of your jiggling mounds, the pain making you bounce faster.

"but you're fucking yourself on my fingers like a pathetic bitch in heat— all without apology." he venomously spat, running a tongue over his lower lip.

"'m sorry! 'm sorry, baby.. p-please." you babbled, thighs burning yet his degrading words only urged you ride faster. his fingers, though good, was not nearly enough compared to the fill you know you'll get with the real thing. "ah! need your cock.. mmh— 'm sorry. please—"

he pulled his fingers away, holding his length up before tipping his chin towards it. "show me how sorry you are, sweetheart." you moved with quickness to straddle him properly, hands resting on his broad shoulders before you sink yourself down, mouth making a small 'o' as his cock stretches you out inch by inch.

you can't do anything but babble thanks yous and sorries as you move up and down on his length, nails digging down on sunoo's fair skin. "don't need your apologies. i said show me, slut." he hissed, pushing the same sticky fingers still coated in your arousal past your lips yet you continue to muffle your words and whimpers against them.

the room is filled with the sound of your wet slobbering against the digits pressing down on your tongue, wet skin slapping slapping and sunoo's breathy sighs. "just like that.. my good girl." he holds one hand on your waist, head thrown against the backrest of the couch as your tightness clamp down on him.

it isn't long before the familiar heat in the pit of your stomach starts feeling like it's too hot, walls pulsing repeatedly against sunoo's length. "c..cuh—" you choked against his fingers and he chuckles, taking the fingers wet with your saliva to your clit to rub on it harshly.

"what's that? is my sweet girl cumming so soon?" the thrill of the threat hiding behind his sweet voice has you screaming his name out loud, your upper body falling on top of his as you rode your high, hips bucking forward.

he rubbed your back soothingly, flashing you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "can't have that, can we? i haven't had my fill yet." he pouts, large hands gripping on your ass before smacking it again.

your body was still trembling from the previous orgasm when he manhandled you until you're face down on the couch, settling behind you. "sun.. mmh— w-wait—"

"are you that selfish, sweetheart? for three years, i've been so good at taking care of you." he hisses as he stroked his wet cock, running the head up and down your wetness, purposefully pressing it on the swell of your clit. "putting you first," a smack on your plump ass to emphasize his words, caressing the red handprint beginning to form. "and you can't even wait for me to finish." and another one on the neglected cheek.

he's slapping at your ass, the back of your thighs, even at your spent cunt until you're crying his name and it does nothing but make his eyes grow darker, anger still clouding his head to think properly. "gonna take what's mine. what's always been mine." he muttered, grabbing his length by the base before slipping back inside your gummy walls.

he gripped on your hips, thrusts punishing and frantic as he chased his high while peppering wet kisses along your shoulder blade. "you hear that, love?" he pants. "poor cunt's sucking me in, ha— all f'me.. like your body knows you need me." you give him a breathless nod, tears leaving your eyes from overstimulation.

"shit— can't let anybody have this." the fingers digging down on your skin is sure to leave bruises tomorrow, along with the blooming marks he left along your nape and shoulder. "tell me, love. whose hole is this, hm?"

your voice came out raw and pinched as you whimpered his name and sunoo grabbed your at your chest, giving your perky bud a gentle pinch. "louder. let me know who's making you feel good." he pulled out just until the head is left inside before pounding his hips into you again, desperate to hear more of your broken moans.

"s-sunoo!" you cried as loud as you can, frail body getting knocked forward with each powerful thrust. "damn fucking right." he growled. "think anyone else can have you like this? all fucked out and dumb?" he grabbed at your hair roughly, tugging on it as he whispered even more depravities against the shell of your ear.

"mmh— sun, i'm—" your fingers clawed at the linen couch as you feel another high approaching hard and fast, the knot in your stomach feeling too tight and painful to bear but sunoo's uncompromising, still merciless and insistent on chasing after his own.

"don't, hnn.. fuck— be a good girl, sweetheart. be a good for me, y-yeah?" he let go of your hair and replaced it with just as tight of a hold on your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.

your cheek pressed against the couch, eyes rolled to the back of your head while you whimpered and babbled nonsense, even more tears slipping down your sweat-ridden skin as you let go screaming his name.

your trembling figure triggered sunoo's own orgasm, hips pressed into your ass as he buried himself to the hilt, letting out an airy groan of your name and shuddering as he painted your walls white. sunoo quickly pulled out of your spent hole, lips twitched up in satisfaction as he watched your mixed juices leak out of you.

the pride soon turned into a sense of responsibility as you hoarsely called out for him again and he pressed a kiss on the base of your nape. "wait a bit, my darling." your body gave out without his hold, upper body propped up on the sofa for support, letting out a quiet whine when sunoo's warm body pulled away from yours.

he came back to carefully wipe you down with a wet towel, his other hand brushing your hair off of your skin that glimmered with sweat under the dim lighting. "i'm sorry, love. i think i went a little too much on you. i'll set up a bath for us, okay?" he frowned, pressing apologetic kisses all over your back.

you managed to giggle even in your broken state, holding out a hand. "no.. wan' bed." you croaked out and he just gave you a smile, easily picking you up princess style and carrying you to the bedroom while pressing even more kisses across your face.

somewhere along the travel, your body gave in to drowsiness and sunoo just laid you on your side of the bed, slipping his shirt on your body before covering you with the thick duvet.

he laid beside you with his arms securely around your waist, a smile—genuine and wide—pasted on his lips as he watched you sleep.

the sunlight peeked through the curtains that were barely drawn shut, leaving warmth on sunoo's skin that made him smile in his subconscious. his arms sleepily reached forward but when it fell on nothing but the cotton satin of the sheets, his eyes shot wide open.

your side of the bed was barely warm and when he looked around, there were no signs of you.

was he was mistaken? was last night not a testimony of the fact that you two still loved each other? or was it just your bodies speaking before your mind could think? did you wake up and decide that it was just purely sex and not a physical confession of how much he needed you back?

sunoo rubbed the sleep off his face, brows knitted as he pushed himself off of the bed to face yet another painful day. as soon as the bedroom door opened, the smell of freshly brewed coffee invaded his nostrils.

his heart spiked, almost tripping on his own feet as he ran down the hallway to see you sat in the living room, legs crossed with nothing but his shirt on, quietly sipping on coffee from a white mug.

"sweetheart." he whispered, breathless, with an arm pressed against the wall for support.

"hey, sun. had some of your coffee, hope you don't mind." you muttered shyly.

"like i give a fuck about the damn coffee." he muttered, quickly stepping towards you and kneeling down on the rug on both knees, hugging your legs and resting his head atop your thighs. you just chuckled solemnly, running your fingers through his bedhead.

"don't you have some shoot to go to today, mister?"

"are we really going to do that movie cliche of exes ignoring the elephant in the room after they fuck?" he huffed from below you, moving to sit beside you on the couch, taking the mug and laying it on the glass table.

you had to bite back a chuckle, rolling your eyes at him. "i don't know what you want me to say. last night was good, if that's what you're truly asking."

"yeah like i didn't already know that by how fucked out you were." he snorted, rolling his eyes at you in mock before pulling you on his lap, hands slipping under the shirt to caress your bare skin. "i just want to talk about us, sweetheart."

you stared at him for a moment, lower lip caught between your teeth, pondering whether it would be okay to bare yourself, your heart, to him again.

"i guess i just want to say i'm sorry. in hindsight, what i did was brash but.. i don't know. i got really overwhelmed. so i left, but i realized that i should have just asked for space instead." you smiled, small and just a little bit forced.

"my sweetheart." he frowned, raising a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "no space, and especially no break-up. you could've talked to me about those lame internet trolls. if i knew everything was eating up at you from the inside then i would've—"

"you would've left your dream behind. and i don't want that." you finished his sentence, poking at his soft cheeks. "the runway, the shoots... that's you, sunoo. i knew it even when i was just your friend. i can't take being a star away from you."

"take a look around, y/n. take a look at me." he sighed in exasperation, fingers jabbing at his own chest. "i look miserable without you. you're the reason why i shine. the reason why i do so well! it's only because i have an amazing woman i come home to." he whispered, pulling you down to press a soft kiss on your coffee tinted lips.

the sounds that escaped your lips was sinful and sunoo licked your lower lip before pulling away. "i don't give a fuck about what people say, i'll even post you on my socials if you finally allow it." he grinned, trailing his lips down to your neck.

you pursed your lips and leaned back to restrain both him and yourself before he can leave even more bruises on your skin. you gave him a stern look, arms protectively crossed over your chest. "sun, i'm serious."

sunoo's face dropped, clicking his tongue as he rubbed on his forehead. "darling, i am too. i've had enough of this, i'll retire early— hell, i'll burn all the contracts i have right now, sweetheart. just don't spend another day away from me, hm?"

you can't find the strength to deny him when he looks up at you with the ends of his brow pointed down, hands even pressed together as he pleads. when you roll your eyes and sit on him with your full weight, the brightness returned to sunoo's smile.

"sweetheart?" he whispered, pressing a kiss on your temple. you hummed as a reply and sunoo shifted a little underneath you, voice shy and a little strained. "did you mean it?"

"mean what?"

"that you liked what happened last night?" you froze in your spot, the beats of your heart pricking up at the reminder of what happened right on top of the very couch you're sat on.

"it was... a welcomed change." you reply softly, suddenly becoming shy. you hide your face in his neck and sunoo's giggle reverberates, hands trailing down to pat on your still tender asscheeks.

"that's noted, then. i can fuck you like that whenever you want, and you don't need to break up with me beforehand." he teased and you smacked him across the chest, flushed face sinking further in between his neck and shoulders.

"i kid, sweetheart. but can you promise not to do that again?" he leaned back against the plush material, enough to see your face again. his hands lovingly caressed your cheek and you nod. "i promise."

he kissed your lips briefly and returned your face where it once was, his fingers running up and down your back to soothe you. no cheesy lines, no 'i love you's, no distinct confirmation that you're back together, but you're both settled, knowing what the promise meant.

it's oddly comforting how the two of you can easily go back into your old routines, how the pain of spending a week apart could easily be forgotten once you're held in his arms and spoiled with multiple kisses.

you suppose that's the charm of finding your person. you can withstand having to share parts of him to the cameras and to the rest of to the world, because you know that in it, he brings with himself a part of you— the only part he refuses to let go in the name of love.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀ haha so i think i kinda went insane on the smut scene. idk why i thought i could tackle make up sex for my first time writing smut but it's definitely a fun exercise! ALSO meandom!sunoo lovers rise and show yourselves. i need girls who see The Vision on my side. LOL.

�� taglist — @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss

#── feedback ✦ atcf

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hoonstrology · 15 hours ago

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♯┆ERROR 404 .ᐟ word limit reached. [ 박성훈 ]

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

꒰ pairing ꒱⠀⠀park sunghoon x fem!reader.

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

꒰ contains ꒱⠀⠀18.3k words.⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

masterlist. ┆ epilogue series.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. send feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥♡

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday.

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.

shit.

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment.

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined.

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do.

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd.

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it.

menthol pain relief patches.

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.”

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction.

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them.

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book.

park sunghoon.

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—”

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head.

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye.

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door.

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak.

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—”

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them.

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket.

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—”

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides.

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon.

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.”

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes.

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.”

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?”

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?”

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.”

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless.

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off.

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy.

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t.

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography.

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home.

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji.

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom.

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face.

he does it like it’s routine— because it is.

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet.

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head.

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face.

“sunghoon!”

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend.

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon.

everyone else but you.

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side.

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes.

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing.

three weeks.

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence.

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease.

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light.

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time.

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway.

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand.

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you.

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom.

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you.

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon.

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours.

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture.

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)”

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up.

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?”

they nod. “the one we did before break.”

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief.

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug.

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him.

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.”

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter.

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this?

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general.

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.

and it does. it still does.

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it.

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?”

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that… just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin.

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold.

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken.

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?”

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?”

“hm. no. why?”

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?”

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away.

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there.

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!”

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe?

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D

he glanced at his watch. fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier.

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one.

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde.

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee.

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”

“sunghoon, that was my brother.”

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.”

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.

“drive, big guy.”

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.

he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.”

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo.

it’s familiar.

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo.

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war.

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back.

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away.

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb.

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become.

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs.

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first.

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly.

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?”

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”

“like what?”

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to.

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again.

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :) to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :)

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you.

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence.

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?”

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.”

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”

“don’t lie to me, angel.”

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?”

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?”

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song, especially the confession part! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

#1666 notes rahhhhhh #angel numbers < 3 #will never not say thank you for supporting my first fic like this ueueueueue

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hoonstrology · 17 hours ago

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accountability post: if my husband!jay fic goes past 10k words i'm making a dedicated banner for him.

#── ✦ yan yaps !

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hoonstrology · 21 hours ago

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💬 ⋮ SENDER UNKNOWN ── ⌞ EN─ ⌝

a social media au quadrilogy for enhypen's hyung line.

SENDER UNKNOWN ✦ four best friends. four unknown numbers. four interesting love stories that come to life under peculiar coincidences, and even more peculiar conversations.

꒰ contains: ꒱⠀⠀non-idol!enhypen x fem!reader. social media!au. college!au. romance. fluff. comedy. specified ones to be added per chapter. ✮ featuring: idol cameos tba! ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀swearing. inappropriate jokes. threats of violence. just men being boys. poor attempts at humor. usage of faceclaims as muses for reader. specified ones to be added per chapter. ignore timestamps & typos !

꒰ NOTE! ꒱ each chapter/member will probably have between 10-20 chapters of their own. taglist will be carried for every member in this series! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡

✦ 𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 ── fun facts .ᐟ

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀jake is a chill guy trying to live a chill life but his little bubble of comfort is popped when a number he doesn't recognize starts texting him. no introductions, no explanations— just weird and obscure fun facts from a bizarrely cute stranger.

𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗝𝗔𝗞𝗘'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘.

✦ 𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 ── panic dial .ᐟ

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀a year ago, heeseung wrote jake’s number on a club wall in a drunken stupor. when jake retaliates by pasting his number on a random bathroom door in their university, he must deal with the chaos that comes from a schoolmate in need.

𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.

✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 ── anon alert .ᐟ

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀sunghoon received a text from an unfamiliar number anonymously tipping him to his girlfriend’s cheating ways. it would have been helpful— except for the fact that sunghoon is single as fuck. but that won’t stop him from playing along anyway.

𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.

✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 ── diary entry .ᐟ

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀in a fit of jealousy of his friends who found love through their text-mates, jay wrote his number on a paper airplane. he wasn’t expecting someone to actually see it, and he certainly wasn’t expecting the receiver to start treating his number like their personal diary.

𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗝𝗔𝗬'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀i swore to myself i'd only write jake's but i had so many ideas in the wip chamber that i decided to tweak them for this series anyway for my 1k milestone ! would love to get feedback via asks / replies ! 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

⌗ perm taglist (open) — @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping

⌗ sender unknown taglist (open) — @sourkiki @chuhees @jun2ki @seyoungiesleeps @sunooselle @sagemuras @kyanmeai @atashiboba @offnexnam @i-peachesandstrawberries @bbsantc @wonuziex @annovaz @blueluvies @jvngw0nlvr @haechology @firstclassjaylee @raavenarmy-blog @neozon3nha @toastmenace @sucrosxi @heeseungissm @milza12 @slylyspookybarbarian @ohmysionnzies @rairaiblog @lveegsoi @hoonieplz @aloveminsalade

#── 【┘】 queued.ᐟ

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hoonstrology · 1 day ago

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this was fucked up in the hottest way possible. the reminders. the taunting. the camera feed and the photos of other men? oh i #needhim BADDDDD.

Sweet Surveillance

Sunoo x Fem!Reader | Beautiful Obsession

THE PRELUDE── He's soft-spoken, all gentle glances and polite smiles. The kind of neighbor who always seems to be there when you need him— or.. even when you don't.

Caution: slight NSFW MDNI. dark romance · obsessive love masked as care · possessive “sweetheart” energy · toxic protectiveness · delusional attachment · soft boy facade · gaslight · gatekeep wc: 7.4k ⤷ Dark Romance Series

Your new apartment is quiet in a way that isn't peaceful.

It’s the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. The kind that clings to the corners of the ceiling and hums just beneath the lights. You’ve only been here a few days, and already you’ve learned that it has a particular silence—one that feels just slightly occupied. Not loud. Not sinister. Just... present.

The walls are too thin. The halls too narrow. Everything echoes too easily. You hear your own footsteps more than anyone else’s.

But there is someone else.

A presence across the hall. Unit 4B.

You caught his name in passing—on a delivery left by mistake at your door. Kim Sunoo printed in clean, careful handwriting on a beige label. You were tempted to knock and return it. But when you leaned close, you heard music inside. Faint. Rhythmic. Too soft to name, but enough to keep you from intruding.

That was the first time.

The second was in the stairwell—he passed you on the landing without a word. AirPods tucked into his ears. Hoodie pulled up tight. His hair was pale, almost gold in the right light, and fell just below his brows, which were sharp and unreadable. His gaze didn’t land on you. Didn’t even glance. He stepped past you like you were smoke.

It wasn’t rude, exactly.

But it didn’t sit right either.

You told yourself it was fine. Some people are just like that. Quiet. Private. Focused. And really, it didn’t matter. You weren’t here to make friends. The apartment was temporary. A pit stop in a messy, uncharted part of your life. No expectations. No drama. No attachments.

Still… he stayed in your mind longer than he should have.

There was something unusual about him—something too put-together for a place like this. You’d seen him leave once in the early morning, dressed all in black with a long coat draped over his arm. He looked expensive. Almost misplaced. Like he belonged somewhere colder, cleaner, and far more beautiful than this peeling-walled building with the flickering hall lights.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But of course, you did.

It happens on a Thursday.

You’ve just come back from a grocery run, key already in hand, paper bags cutting into your palms. You’re flushed from the stairs, slightly sweaty, frustrated at yourself for not making two trips. And then—

His door opens.

You freeze instinctively. Something about the timing, the precision of it, hits wrong. You don’t mean to look. You really don’t. But he steps out like something pulled by a string. Controlled. Intentional.

His hoodie is down this time.

You take in the soft blonde hair, pale and fine like silk, tucked behind a silver earring. His skin is pale, but not dull—it glows. Reflects light like the inside of a seashell. And then—finally—he glances your way.

It’s not dramatic. Not sharp.

Just a glance.

But this time, it lands.

His eyes are a soft brown. Not icy, not distant like you'd imagined. There’s no smirk. No twitch of amusement or recognition. He just looks at you for a moment. Like someone seeing a painting they forgot they already knew.

And then, almost imperceptibly—he nods.

You nod back. A little startled. A little breathless.

He steps past you again, this time slower. He smells like something clean. Tea, maybe. Or linen. Something soft. The scent drifts after him.

You’re still standing in front of your door long after he’s gone.

That night, you leave your window open.

The wind is sharp but soft. The kind that plays with your curtains instead of ripping them off the rod. You lie in bed with your sheets tangled around your legs, watching the streetlights flicker. The air smells like rain.

And for no reason at all, you think of him.

Of his gaze. His posture. The way he looked at you like nothing at all—and somehow made you want to be something.

You close your eyes, annoyed at yourself.

It’s nothing.

You don’t even know him.

But something about the building feels different after that.

It’s not obvious. Not something you could prove or explain. But you feel it. In your bones. In your skin. You start keeping your front door double-locked, even when you’re home. Not because you feel unsafe exactly… just because you feel noticed.

Watched.

Sometimes, walking through the hallway, you get the faintest prickle across the back of your neck. Like someone just looked away. Like someone was there, and isn’t anymore.

It should bother you more than it does.

But weirdly—it makes you feel less alone.

The fourth time you see him, it’s you who speaks first.

You’re both coming up the stairs, opposite directions. He’s ahead of you, but pauses on the landing like he hears your steps behind him. He turns slightly as you catch up. No hoodie today. Just a sweater, charcoal gray and soft at the sleeves. His collarbones peek just slightly above the neckline.

“Hey,” you say, a little breathless. “I think I’ve seen you more than my own friends this week.”

He blinks at you.

For a second, you think he might ignore it. That he’s going to keep walking, maybe nod again, maybe give you that unreadable flicker of acknowledgment and nothing else.

But then something shifts.

He smiles. It’s small. Barely there. But the change is so immediate it stuns you.

His voice is soft. Smoother than it has any right to be.

“I guess that makes us neighbors now,” he says. “Does that mean I should say hi properly?”

He extends a hand. You take it without thinking. His palm is warm.

“Sunoo,” he says gently. “I live in 4B.”

“I know,” you say before you can stop yourself.

His smile twitches at the corners.

“I figured.”

And that’s the moment—right there.

That flicker in his eyes.

Something shifts behind the softness. Not unkind. Not cruel. But alert. Like a door opening. Like a hook catching something it didn’t expect to find.

Like he just realized something very useful.

You.

—

You wake up to the quiet hum of Sunday morning. Sunlight drips in through the blinds like warm syrup, soft and hazy. The apartment is still unfamiliar, but it’s starting to smell like you now—clean laundry, coconut shampoo, and the faint trace of the incense you lit two nights ago.

You’re barefoot in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. Three polite taps. Not urgent. Not hesitant. Just… intentional.

You tug the oversized cardigan tighter around your waist and glance through the peephole out of habit. A pale blur of blonde hair and porcelain skin waits on the other side. Sunoo.

Your heart hiccups—why is he here?

You open the door slowly, your voice cautious but warm. “Hey?”

He stands there holding a Tupperware container with both hands, like it might break if he shifts his grip even slightly. He’s dressed more casually than usual—just a soft black hoodie and faded jeans, sleeves pushed up to reveal delicate wrists. His hair looks fluffier, less styled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“I realized I never gave you a proper welcome,” he says, almost sheepishly. His tone is different this time—less distant. “I made too much last night.”

You blink. “Oh… wow, thank you. That’s really sweet.”

Sunoo gives a small nod, and his lips pull into something barely resembling a smile—gentle but unreadable. You’re still not sure what to make of him. There’s something about the way he looks at you—steady and unblinking, but not aggressive. Just curious. Studying you like a painting in a museum. Not touching. Not speaking unless you do first.

You shift awkwardly. “Do you want to come in for a second? I was just about to make tea.”

There’s a pause. A pause that shouldn’t feel charged, but somehow does. Then, softly, he says, “Sure.”

He steps inside, his presence subtle but oddly commanding, like he belongs in quiet spaces. You motion toward the kitchen and he follows without a sound, gaze flickering over your books stacked in haphazard piles, the shoes by the door, the crooked frame you haven’t gotten around to fixing yet. He notices everything. You feel it.

As you move to fill the kettle, you catch him watching your hands. Not in a weird way—just… noticing. He doesn’t speak until you ask him what kind of tea he likes.

“Chamomile,” he says. “If you have it.”

You do. You hand him a mug a few minutes later, and when your fingers brush, his flinch is almost imperceptible—like even the smallest touch is a surprise he wasn’t braced for. But then he thanks you with that same velvet voice that doesn’t match his guarded exterior. It throws you a little. Every time.

You sit across from him on the couch with your own tea, knees brushing for the briefest second before you tuck your leg beneath you. He doesn’t fill the silence right away. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it either.

Then finally—

“How are you liking the place so far?”

It’s the first time he’s asked anything about you directly. His voice is low, smooth, the kind of tone that would make you second-guess every bad first impression you had of him.

You shrug, swirling your mug. “It’s good. Still feels new. A little quiet at night.”

Sunoo tilts his head. “That’s not always a bad thing.”

You glance at him. “Sometimes I swear I hear things, though. Not like—creepy stuff. Just weird noises.”

He hums in thought. “Old buildings are like that.”

There’s something careful in the way he says it. And something about how your eyes meet in that moment—something long, quiet, still—makes you look away too quickly. You pretend to be interested in your tea, the steam warming your face, the quiet creak of the floorboards when he shifts slightly beside you.

Eventually, he stands.

“I should let you get back to your morning. Just wanted to drop that off.”

You walk him to the door. “Thanks again, Sunoo.”

And he pauses in the doorway. His expression softens, and this time, the smile is fuller—almost kind.

“I’m right next door,” he says, more gently than he ever has before. “If you ever need anything.”

Then he disappears down the hall.

You close the door slowly, feeling the warmth of his presence still lingering like steam on your skin. There’s a new softness in your chest, but also… a faint prickle between your shoulder blades, like someone had just been standing behind you a little too long.

—

It happens a few days later.

You’re fumbling with your keys and three overloaded grocery bags when one rips at the bottom, cans clattering dramatically across the hallway like rogue marbles. One rolls right up to a familiar pair of black slippers.

You freeze, mid-crouch. Then look up.

Sunoo’s standing there again. No sound of a door opening. No footsteps. Just… him. Silent as always. That unreadable expression hovering on his face, somewhere between concern and mild amusement.

“Need help?” he asks.

There’s a beat of hesitation before you nod. “Yeah, I—thank you. That bag was cheap.”

Without another word, he kneels beside you, scooping up the cans neatly, organizing them as if he’s done this with you a hundred times. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t crowd you either. His movements are graceful, quiet. Controlled.

You catch yourself glancing at his profile again—the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his mouth. He smells faintly like something herbal and warm. His hoodie sleeve rides up again as he moves, and you notice a delicate gold bracelet around his wrist. Thin. Barely visible. But clearly intentional.

You don’t comment on it.

When everything’s back in place, you both rise, and you’re standing closer than you expected to be. His eyes flicker to your mouth, just briefly. Then back to your eyes.

“Thanks again,” you murmur, shifting your weight awkwardly.

Sunoo shakes his head slowly. “You get used to living alone eventually.”

You tilt your head. “You live alone too?”

He nods, but doesn’t elaborate.

You think about asking him more—but instead, you glance toward your apartment.

“You want a drink or something? I have sparkling water.”

He pauses just slightly too long.

“No, but thank you.”

Another polite refusal. But his voice is still smooth, still low, still honeyed. And somehow… still feels like he wants to stay. He just won’t let himself.

You smile softly, almost teasing. “Maybe next time.”

He gives a slight shrug. “Maybe.”

—

It’s late one evening when the lights flicker—twice—before everything goes dark.

You stand frozen in your kitchen, phone flashlight barely cutting through the sudden silence. The building groans under the shift in electricity. You try to laugh it off, but the quiet is too deep, the shadows too thick. That weird feeling creeps up your spine again—that feeling of being seen when you’re not looking.

You open your door and step into the hall, unsure why you even do it.

He’s already there. Just standing by his door.

His silhouette is soft in the dim hallway emergency light, casting strange shapes behind him. He’s in a loose white T-shirt this time, slightly wrinkled, collar loosely stretched. He looks… normal. Domestic. Like someone you could see folding laundry and humming to a record player. Not this strange, ghostlike presence.

“Hey,” you say cautiously. “Is the whole floor out?”

Sunoo nods, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Generator’s slow. It happens sometimes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek. “I hate when it gets this quiet.”

A small beat passes. And then: “Want to sit by my window?” he offers. “It faces the streetlights. Not as dark.”

You blink, startled.

“Yeah,” you say, before you really think it through. “Actually, yeah. That sounds… nice.”

His apartment smells like sandalwood and something subtle and citrusy. The lighting is just enough to see—the soft orange spill of the streetlamps leaking in from the windows, reflecting off the hardwood floors. You sit on the small loveseat by the glass, your knees close again. He sits across from you on the floor, back against the wall, one arm resting on a raised knee.

It’s silent for a while. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.

You take a slow sip of water from the glass he handed you. You glance at the way the glow catches his eyelashes, how long and pretty they are. You wonder how he’s still a mystery, even when he’s right here.

“You always this quiet?” you ask suddenly, voice low.

Sunoo’s eyes lift to meet yours. They’re darker in the low light.

“Only when I’m listening.”

You blink. “Listening to what?”

He shrugs. “People. Things they don’t say.”

You look at him for a moment too long. He doesn’t look away.

You don’t know what to say to that.

—

It’s a week later. You’ve fallen asleep on the couch with a blanket half-draped over you, some documentary still playing in the background. You wake with a start around 2 a.m., skin prickling. That same subtle sense—like something just brushed past your window. Something just off.

You sit up. Listen.

Nothing.

But you don’t fall back asleep.

The next day, you catch Sunoo by the mailboxes. He’s leaning slightly against the wall, typing something on his phone, hoodie sleeves covering his hands. You approach cautiously.

“Hey.”

His head lifts.

“I’ve been getting this weird feeling lately,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, but there’s a note of tension you don’t bother hiding. “Like someone’s watching me. I know it sounds stupid.”

He studies you a second too long.

“It doesn’t sound stupid.”

Your eyes meet. Something in his expression shifts—subtle, but real. He straightens.

“I have extra security cameras. Small ones. Barely visible. I can help you set one up outside your door or inside if you want.”

Your brows lift. “Really?”

He nods. “I’d feel better if you had them.”

You don’t miss the way he says I’d feel better. Not you.

You pause. “Okay… yeah. That might actually make that feeling go away.”

He gives a soft, single nod. And for the first time, when he smiles, it’s not just polite—it’s warm. Almost bashful.

Like maybe this is his way of letting you in.

—

Sunoo arrives at your door the next day with a small toolkit and two slim white camera boxes tucked under his arm. He knocks softly against your door. Almost quiet enough to go unheard.

You open the door before he knocks again.

He’s dressed down again—oversized hoodie, soft sweatpants, hair still a little damp like he just stepped out of a shower. There’s a clean, powdery scent clinging to him. Something soft. Familiar.

“Hope this isn’t a bad time,” he says, already slipping inside without waiting for an answer.

You step aside, watching him set the toolkit down neatly by the shoe rack. His movements are careful, deliberate, and somehow quiet. He doesn’t disturb the space. Just fits into it.

“It’s fine,” you murmur, still caught in the strange gentleness of him. “Thanks for doing this.”

He glances up, his mouth tilting in a small smile. “I said I’d help.”

You trail behind as he crouches by the door, pulling the first camera from its box. He explains softly how it works, where the blind spots are, how the motion alert can ping your phone. His voice is a little more casual now—less like he’s choosing every word, more like he’s talking to you, not just responding.

“Most people ignore this corner,” he says, tapping just above the doorframe. “But it’s where people linger. Especially if they’re unsure.”

“Unsure?” you echo.

He looks at you. “If they’re deciding whether or not to knock.”

There’s a weight to that. A tone you can’t read. You feel it thud low in your chest and try not to show it.

After an hour, the setup is done. Sunoo’s hands brush lightly against yours when he passes you the app login.

“Let me know if anything feels off. I’ll check the footage for you.”

You raise a brow. “What, like my personal tech support now?”

He grins, and it’s the first time you’ve seen it—really seen it. Not the polite curl of lips, but something brighter. Quieter. More real.

“I’m just around,” he says simply.

And he is.

“Just around”

That phrase proves truer than you expect.

You start to notice it. Every time you step into the hallway, he’s already there. Sometimes leaning against the stair rail. Sometimes by the mailbox. Sometimes just… unlocking his door at the same moment you unlock yours.

The first few times, it feels like coincidence. The next few, you wonder if it’s habit. But after a while… it starts to feel deliberate.

Not creepy. Not yet. Just… consistent.

You begin to expect him. Worse—you start looking for him.

Like when you’re carrying a laundry basket and turn the corner—he’s there, pulling open the basement door for you without a word.

Or when you’re stuck balancing your phone between your shoulder and your cheek, keys fumbling at the lock—and he’s suddenly at your side, unlocking it for you with your spare key you didn’t remember giving him.

“Don’t ask how I got it,” he says, voice light, almost teasing.

But he doesn’t smile this time. Just looks at you—really looks—like he’s daring you to question it.

You don’t.

You start hearing him when he’s not there.

You’ll glance over a shoulder while walking home, and his voice will echo: “Always walk the lit way back. Avoid the alley, even if it’s faster.”

You hesitate at your stove, wondering if you left the heat too high, and remember him saying: “You space out when you cook. Be careful.”

You roll over in bed one morning, phone clutched in hand, and see a new notification: Sunoo: You slept late today. Everything okay?

You never told him your schedule. But somehow, he knows it better than you do.

He’s not cold anymore. His voice has started to carry something different—warmth, even affection. He jokes more. Makes small, quiet observations about you, like he’s been studying you this whole time.

“You always chew your bottom lip when you’re concentrating.”

“You play music but never sing along. Why?”

“You only cry when no one’s looking. That’s not very fair to you.”

You stare at him sometimes, wondering how he notices these things. Wondering why no one else ever did. Wondering what it means that you don’t mind.

One night, he lingers in your doorway, the conversation about nothing stretching too long. You lean against the doorframe. He leans against the opposite side. Your arms nearly brush.

He looks at you for a long moment.

“You sleep better when someone else is here, don’t you?”

You feel your breath catch. “What?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just repeats, softer: “You sleep better with company.”

You don’t answer. But he smiles, slow and quiet, like you just said yes anyway.

—

It’s not sudden—just... natural.

One day he’s watching a movie with you on your tiny couch, and the next he’s reaching into your cabinet for a mug like it’s his own. He knows which shelf you keep your honey on. Which drawer hides the lighters for your candles. You never told him, but he always finds what he’s looking for.

You should mind. You think you should mind.

But instead, you just glance up from your spot on the couch, legs tucked under you, and ask softly, “Are you staying long?”

He shrugs, pouring tea into two mismatched mugs. “You tell me.”

And somehow, that feels fair.

Then on one Saturday night, after an exhausting grocery run. You’re in the lobby balancing too many bags, shoulders sore, when a stranger steps up beside you.

Tall. Sharp jaw. Pretty eyes. He glances at your arms and smiles.

“You need help with those?”

You hesitate, surprised. “Um. Sure—thank you.”

He takes a few bags, easy as anything. Smiles again, more open this time. “I’m new here. Top floor. Guess we’re neighbors?”

You nod slowly, still trying to place him. New is odd. You usually hear about new tenants from the lady down the hall—Mrs. Cho with her binoculars and permanently cracked door. But maybe he’s just quiet.

The elevator dings open. He gestures for you to go in first.

Just before the doors slide shut, a voice cuts through the air.

“Hold it.”

You freeze.

A hand catches the door. And then he’s there.

Sunoo.

He steps in without a word, eyes scanning the bags, the stranger, then—slowly—you. The air shifts.

The other man clears his throat. “I was just helping—”

“She’s good,” Sunoo interrupts. His tone is polite. Pleasant. Deceptively calm.

But there’s something in his eyes. Something dark and unreadable.

You watch his jaw tighten. The ride up is silent. When the elevator stops at your floor, the stranger offers a half-wave and disappears toward the opposite end of the hallway.

You don’t look back. Not until Sunoo speaks behind you, voice low.

“You always trust strangers like that?”

You bristle. “He was just being nice.”

Sunoo laughs once, hollow. “You think people are nice for free?”

You turn to face him. “What’s your problem?”

His gaze finds yours. Steady. Burning.

“He looked at you too long.”

Your breath catches. The silence between you thickens, pulling taut like a string between two magnets.

“…And so what if he did?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Sunoo’s expression doesn’t change. But his eyes soften—just a touch.

“Then he should learn when to stop.”

After that, things get blurry.

Sunoo doesn’t just show up—he stays. Some nights, he falls asleep on your couch with the TV still murmuring low. Some mornings, he’s already in your kitchen making coffee before your alarm even goes off.

You stop asking how he got in.

Maybe you like it. Maybe you need it.

He never makes a move. Not really. Just stays close. Too close.

You feel him behind you when you’re washing dishes, his arm brushing yours as he reaches for the towel.

You feel his breath near your ear when he leans over to whisper something—some meaningless comment—but his voice always lingers longer than it should.

And sometimes... you catch yourself leaning back.

Just to feel it again.

One night, you post something to your story—something small. A drink on a patio. The corner of your knee. Just ambiance. Nothing telling.

But the second it goes up, your phone buzzes.

Sunoo: You’re not home.

You freeze.

And then: Who’s with you?

Your heart stutters.

Another message follows: Don’t lie.

You stare at the screen. Not knowing what to say. Not knowing if it’s fear you feel… or something more dangerous. Something warmer.

The kind of thrill you don’t admit to.

You type, slowly: “A friend.”

Three dots.

Then: Is it someone who looks at you too long again?

You catch yourself smiling at your phone slightly before shutting it off.

You hadn’t even been gone that long.

Just a few hours. One drink. Maybe two.

Enough to let the warmth linger in your limbs as you step out of the rideshare and walk the short distance to your apartment building. The night air is cool against your skin, and you feel it in that sensitive space behind your knees and the dip of your collarbone. You pull your coat tighter, heels soft against the pavement.

There’s a calm in your chest tonight. A looseness. For once, you don’t feel eyes on your back.

Not until you round the corner and see him.

Sunoo.

Sitting quietly just outside his apartment, crouched by his door like he’d just finished doing something with his hands—adjusting something, maybe, or fixing something no one asked him to fix.

But when he sees you, he stands slowly.

No surprise in his face. No sheepish excuse. Like he knew you’d come back just then. Like he’d been waiting.

Your footsteps falter. “Hey.”

His eyes flicker over you—coat still half-open, lips glossed with the sheen of wine, hair slightly mussed from the wind. And that’s the moment you realize how you must look through his eyes.

Not messy. Just… undone.

His gaze doesn’t linger long enough to be disrespectful. Just long enough to make your breath hitch.

“You were out late,” he says, voice soft. A low honey-slick sound that makes your spine straighten without meaning to.

You shrug one shoulder, lips quirking. “So are you.”

He glances at his watch, even though he must already know the time. “Was working on something.”

You nod, but don’t move to unlock your door. Not yet.

There’s something about the stillness in the hallway—the hush of it, the hum of late-night heat in the vents—that makes you stay there, standing opposite him under the dim yellow light.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, his head tilting slightly. “Just thought I’d make sure everything was still working.”

“The cameras?”

“Mmhmm.”

You take a step closer, just to pass him really—but his scent catches you off guard. Subtle. Clean. Like cedar and fresh linen. Something domestic and warm.

Something that doesn’t match the cold, pale exterior you first met.

You pause beside him. “You always check them at midnight?”

His lips lift, barely. “You’re more interesting at midnight.”

You blink—caught off guard. A strange flutter deep in your stomach that has nothing to do with the wine.

But when you glance over at him, his face is calm. Expression unreadable. Like maybe you imagined it.

You huff a laugh under your breath. “Well. Glad I could keep your night exciting.”

“You always do,” he says.

Your eyes snap back to his.

But he’s already turning the knob to his own door, opening it slowly. His voice, still soft, drifts over his shoulder as he disappears inside:

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

And then the door clicks shut.

You stand there for a moment longer—coat forgotten, fingers curled around your keys, heat crawling slowly up your neck.

You don’t know when he started calling you that.

But you don’t hate the way it sounds.

—

You’re in the middle of folding laundry when he knocks.

A soft, casual knock—nothing urgent. Like a neighbor asking to borrow sugar. But something in your chest tightens anyway.

You open the door, and he’s there—Sunoo, hoodie sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tool bag in one hand, the other holding a slim black box.

“I forgot one,” he says, lifting the box slightly. “It was still in the packaging when I left.”

Your brows raise. “Another camera?”

“Just a small one. For the back corner of the living room. It fills in the blind spot.”

You blink. “There was a blind spot?”

He gives a small smile, that quiet kind of charming. “There isn’t anymore.”

You step aside without thinking, and he walks in like he’s been here a thousand times. Like your apartment is just an extension of his own.

The camera is tiny—sleek and white like the others, almost invisible once he mounts it near the ceiling. You watch him work, perched on the arm of the couch, towel still wrapped around your damp hair.

He doesn’t talk much today. Just hums a little under his breath, something tuneless but oddly soothing. His movements are efficient, careful. When he finishes, he tests it from his phone, tapping and swiping with focused precision.

“That should do it,” he murmurs. Then he glances at you. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

You wave it off. “It’s fine. Honestly, I forget they’re there.”

He smiles again. “Good.”

And then he’s gone.

Just like that.

You don’t think about it again until hours later—long after the sun’s gone down and the city outside your window has turned quiet and distant.

You’ve showered, dried your hair, changed into your favorite oversized sleep shirt. Your body feels warm and clean and soft as you move through your evening ritual, dimming the lights one by one, flicking on your bedroom lamp. You pass through the living room to grab your phone from the couch—

And you stop.

There.

Above the bookshelf.

A pinpoint of red.

Tiny. Almost imperceptible.

You squint at it. That wasn’t there before.

You step closer, pulse skipping slightly as you tilt your head, following the subtle glow to the source. The new camera. The one he installed today.

Your brows knit together.

You reach for your phone to check the app—just to reassure yourself—but pause halfway.

You remember the way he’d looked at you the other night, voice dipped in sweet molasses.

“You’re more interesting at midnight.”

The way he hadn’t knocked when you got home. He was just there. Waiting.

You remember the comment from last week, about how you always made your tea too strong. You never told him that.

The time he mentioned your favorite pajama set. The one you wear when you think no one’s watching.

Your mouth goes dry.

The red light blinks once.

Just once.

And then stills again.

Your breath shudders out of you, not quite fear, not quite anything you can name. Something heavier. Something hotter. You feel it slide down your spine like a slow hand, lingering in places it shouldn’t.

He’s watching.

Not just protecting.

Watching.

And the worst part isn’t that you want to pull the plug or call him or demand answers—

It’s that your thighs press together just slightly as you back into your bedroom, skin tingling with awareness. That your fingertips twitch with something desperate as you flick the bedroom light off. That your lips part, and you glance over your shoulder at the closed bedroom door—

Like maybe you want him to knock.

Like maybe… you want him to see.

It starts with little things.

The way you move through your space—never hurried, never careless. Your towel slips lower when you pass the mirror, and you don’t fix it right away. You stretch a little longer when reaching for the top shelf, angle your body toward the shelf in the living room that you know is in full view.

You start lighting candles at night. Soft flickering pools of gold that cast shadows up your legs, across the bare skin of your collarbone.

And when you dress, you dress for the camera.

Lace. Sheer. Silk.

You don’t touch the app. You never mention it. You never say anything. And that’s what drives him insane.

You see it in the way he looks at you the next time he drops by—supposedly to ask how the new placement’s working.

He doesn’t look at your face first.

His eyes drop—trail over the dip of your tank top, the curve of your hips under thin cotton shorts.

You act like you don’t notice. You tilt your head and smile, sip slowly from your glass of wine.

And when he lingers at your door too long, when his gaze strays again and again to your mouth, you say sweetly, “Night, Sunoo,” and close the door in his face.

The camera blinks red.

The game continues for days.

You wake up, and it’s like your entire apartment is an invisible stage. You walk slower, linger longer, let the silk of your robe slip just a little more off your shoulder. Sometimes you whisper to yourself—sweet little nothing words. Sometimes you moan, soft and breathy when you stretch.

You swear you can feel him on the other end of the lens. Can feel his breath hitch. His pulse stutter.

You don’t know how far it will go. You just know you like it.

One night, after dinner with a friend, you take the long way home.

There’s a breeze through the hallway window, and your heels echo down the corridor as you slow in front of your door. It’s quiet. Calm.

The red light on the new camera is glowing.

Watching.

You smile up at it.

Then, without hesitation, you turn and walk to the door next to yours.

His.

You pause only briefly before reaching for the handle.

It’s unlocked.

The door creaks open softly.

For a split second, all is still. You almost think he’s not home—until he appears suddenly in the hallway, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Wha—what are you—?” he stammers, stepping forward, as if to block you from coming any farther.

“I got curious,” you say calmly, leaning against the doorframe. “Thought I’d stop by.”

He swallows hard. “You… should’ve texted. I—I was just about to go to bed.”

You glance past him, and your gaze catches on a faint blue glow leaking from a door near the back of the apartment. It’s open just a crack.

Your eyes narrow slightly. “What’s in there?”

He stiffens. “It’s nothing. Just my—uh—work setup. You wouldn’t be interested.”

You hum. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“Really, it’s just boring—”

But you’re already walking, slipping past him before he can stop you.

“Wait—!”

You push the door open.

And freeze.

The room is bathed in the soft, eerie blue of monitors. At least four massive screens line the wall, each one displaying a different feed. Different angles.

All from your apartment.

Your living room. Your bedroom. Your kitchen. Your front door.

The footage is live.

Every movement of your body—every breath, every glance, every night spent on the couch in those little shorts—is laid out before you in chilling, intimate detail.

But that’s not all.

Your eyes scan the walls.

Photos.

Dozens of them, printed and pinned in neat rows. Pictures of you—smiling, cooking, asleep. Some are close-ups. Some taken through the window. Some so precise they could’ve only been captured by someone inside.

Your fingers trail lower.

There are other photos.

Men.

Your ex. A coworker. A delivery guy you let in once.

Each has a name.

A short note beneath them.

"Not a threat." “Neutral. Unaware.” “Too familiar. Watched.” “Bad energy. Potential risk.” “Removed.”

Your breath catches. You turn slowly. And he’s standing there, still in the hallway, frozen. The air between you tightens like a wire.

You look at him. Really look at him.

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes wild, lips parted like he’s trying to find a way to lie his way out of it. But he doesn’t speak. Because you’re not scared.

You’re… something else.

You cross the room slowly, gaze locked to his. The screens behind you flicker—one angle showing your bedroom just moments ago, candlelit and intimate.

“You’ve been watching me,” you murmur, voice low.

His breath shakes. “I had to. It wasn’t—it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No?”

“It was just to keep you safe,” he says, quickly. “At first. I just needed to know if anyone got too close. If they—if they looked at you wrong. If they touched you—”

You take another step toward him, close enough now that your fingers brush the front of his hoodie.

He goes still.

You lean in, whisper-soft.

“So you watched.”

His mouth opens. No words come. His breath hitches in his throat.

You trail your fingers up his chest, slow and deliberate. “And what did you see?”

“I— I uh..”

You turn.

“I knew you were obsessed,” you say, tone cool, amused. “But this?”

You laugh softly. “God, this is pathetic.”

His jaw tenses. “You’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m not the one who should be embarrassed,” you murmur, stepping close. “You’ve been watching me like I’m yours…” You leam in, his breath hot on your cheek as you whisper in his ear. “So why not just admit it?”

Something flickers in his eyes. Shame, maybe. Or something darker.

You slowly pull back, brushing past him as you move to walk back down the hall. Your mind is racing. But not in a bad way. You think of all the times he must have seen you cry, dance by yourself in your room, even change.

You laugh to yourself as you reach for his door handle. Twisting it gently and pulling it open to leave.

But then—just as you open it—

SLAM.

His palm hits the door beside your head, slamming it shut with a force that rattles the hinges. Your breath catches.

He doesn’t touch you.

But he’s close.

“You shouldn’t play with things you don’t understand,” he says quietly, voice velvet-smooth.

You turn slowly, eyes meeting his. “Then help me understand.”

There’s a stillness. Thick. Tense. Every breath in the room feels loud.

He exhales once, sharp.

“I couldn’t stop watching,” he says. “I didn’t want to. Every night, I’d tell myself I was protecting you. But then you started—” He swallows hard. “You started bending over slower. You knew. You let me.”

You press your back to the door, lips parting.

“I didn’t just let you,” you whisper. “I wanted you to.”

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides into your hair, mouth crashing into yours—not soft, not tender, but hungry, like he’s starved for something only you can give. His other hand finds your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise.

You pull him closer. You don’t resist. You open your mouth to him. You let him in.

He groans against your lips, like he’s waited years for this. Like the obsession finally broke free of its leash.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, breathless against your neck. “Say it.”

You smile, nails raking down his back.

“Make me.”

He stares at you like you just flipped a switch in him. Like he’s been on the edge of something dark and dangerous for months—and you just gave him permission to fall off the ledge.

And now?

Now there’s no going back.

He kisses you hard—nothing gentle this time. It's fierce and breathless and wild, like he’s trying to brand you with it. His hands grip your waist, dragging you closer until there's no space left, until the heat between you crackles like a live wire.

You gasp against his mouth, and it makes him groan.

“You think I didn’t see it?” he whispers against your skin. “The way you moved for the cameras. The way you undressed like you knew I’d be watching.”

His hand slides up your side, fingers ghosting beneath the hem of your shirt, and you shiver. Your back hits the door as he leans in, lips grazing your jaw.

“You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitches. You nod.

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you whisper, voice unsteady. “I wanted this.”

His mouth finds your neck—pressing slow, heated kisses against the softest part of your skin. One hand holds your thigh, dragging it around his waist, and the other stays firm on your back, keeping you right where he needs you.

“I watched you,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Every night. Pretending you were alone. But I saw everything.”

The confession is twisted. Shameful. And somehow…it thrills you.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. “And now you’re here. At my door. Asking me to make you mine.”

You don't even realize you’re nodding until he smiles—slow, wicked.

“You’re not walking away from this,” he says. “You know that, right?”

Your fingers tighten in his shirt.

“I don’t want to.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it forever. Then—without another word—he lifts you, effortlessly, and you're in his arms, heart pounding, lips tangled again before he carries you down the hallway like he already knows exactly what you need.

When your back hits his sheets, his voice drops low—hungry, reverent.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

He moves over you like he’s memorizing you—every sound, every shift, every gasp that slips past your lips when he pushes deeper inside you. Not just your body, but the way you react to him. The way your breath catches when his hand slides along your waist. The way your nails scrape up his back when he rolls his hips just right. The way your mouth falls open around a moan when he whispers your name like a secret prayer.

“You’re so quiet now,” he murmurs against your throat, his breath hot as he presses a kiss there, slow and lingering. His pace never falters, every thrust controlled, deliberate. “Not calling me pathetic anymore.”

You meet his gaze, eyes glazed, lips parted. “That was before I knew what it felt like.”

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck working as he breathes—barely holding on. “And now?”

You reach up, pulling his face close, your body arching into his. “Now I think I want you to ruin me.”

That breaks something in him.

He exhales hard like you knocked the air from his lungs, like your words gave him permission. Then he’s kissing you again, but slower this time—deeper. With reverence. He holds your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, like he’s finally touching something he spent forever just looking at.

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, grounding him, keeping him exactly where you want him. His rhythm falters for half a second, a low groan catching in his throat as you pull him in even deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice ragged. “Please.”

His forehead drops to yours, breath hot, chest heaving. “Say it again.”

“Don’t stop.”

“You’re mine,” he says it low, trembling against your lips, like a vow. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

And when he starts moving again, it’s different. There’s no more restraint. It’s devotion, obsession, love twisted into something almost violent in how deeply it aches. Like he’s trying to leave proof of himself inside you—something you’ll never be able to forget.

You hold his face in both hands as he loses himself in you, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

Because this— it’s not just sex.

It’s surrender. It’s a promise.

It’s a breaking point neither of you will come back from.

And when you whisper, “If I’m yours… then act like it,”

He breathes out something wrecked and reverent. “You don’t get to say that and walk away tomorrow.”

“I’m not walking away.”

Not this time.

And when he kisses you again—slow and full of hunger—it feels like something dangerous and final has snapped into place. Like you’ve both crossed a line you’ll never undo.

He buries himself in you again, groaning your name against your mouth. And you take it. Every part of him.

Because for the first time, it doesn’t confuse you, scare you, or make you wonder.

It just feels like home.

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tl: @yazmike

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#can you tell i've been in my sunoo brainrot #i hashtag need that right now #THIS WAS SO GOOD #── ✦ libraryanᢉ𐭩

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