hyvneluv

[hyvneluv]

The Things We Never Said

Hyunjin x Reader

Tags: 18+ (minors DNI), heavy emotional angst, rejection, heartbreak, sexual content (soft & rough, mirror sex, aftercare, etc.), swearing, crying, pining, miscommunication, Slow burn, angst, friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 9k

Summary: You’d been in love with Hyunjin for years, always stuck somewhere between friendship and almost. When you finally confessed, he rejected you—and then tried to pretend nothing happened. You did your best to move on, even let someone else in… until Hyunjin realized too late that he loved you too. Now he’s at your door in the rain, desperate for a second chance—and you don’t know if your heart is ready to break all over again.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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You met Hyunjin the summer after high school ended.

He was loud. That was the first thing you noticed. He laughed with his whole chest, talked with his hands, and never seemed to run out of things to say, even when no one was listening. You’d been dragged to a bonfire by your childhood friend, Jiyeon, and suddenly there he was—sitting cross-legged in the grass with his hair tied up and his head tilted back as he tried to balance a beer can on his forehead.

You didn’t say much to him that night. But he noticed you. You knew, because he kept trying to make you laugh.

He succeeded, a little. And then again. And again.

And by the end of the night, when Jiyeon shouted, “We’re getting ramen after this, let’s go!” and you instinctively began to gather your things, Hyunjin turned to you and said, “You’re coming too, right?”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. Just a smile. A light in his voice.

And somehow, without even realizing it, you became part of the group.

He was the kind of person who pulled people in without trying. Messy and ridiculous and disarmingly soft around the edges. He made the quiet ones talk. Made the serious ones laugh. And you—he made you feel like maybe it wasn’t so bad, being seen.

You became friends slowly. Not all at once, not in that immediate, magnetic way some people describe. It was more like… a comfort you grew used to. Like warm socks in winter. Like the sound of the microwave at 2am.

You sat next to him at game nights. He always offered you the last slice of pizza, even when he obviously wanted it. He texted you the dumbest memes at 3am. Brought you coffee without asking what you liked. He just guessed. He was right.

He remembered things you didn’t expect anyone to remember—your cousin’s name, your pet peeves, the exact date you said you were dreading a dentist appointment.

You never let yourself overthink it.

He was like that with everyone.

It didn’t mean anything.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But then came the long drives.

The ones where you sat shotgun, feet on the dash, window cracked open, his playlist humming low between the silence. The ones where he’d ask questions like, “Do you think people always know when they’re falling for someone?” with a weird little smile, and you’d pretend it didn’t send your heart into overdrive.

You didn’t know when it happened. When liking him stopped being a quiet crush and became a permanent ache under your ribs.

But by the time you realized it, it was already too late.

It didn’t happen all at once, but looking back, you could see the moment things started to shift.

It was a Wednesday. Rainy. One of those days where everything felt half-slow and half-noisy, like the world couldn’t decide if it wanted to rest or scream. You had been late to dinner—group dinner, as usual. Everyone had already ordered. Someone had stolen your usual seat.

Without missing a beat, Hyunjin scooted over, patted the bench beside him, and said, “Sit here.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. It wasn’t even that significant. But when you sat, when your knee pressed against his, and he didn’t move an inch—you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

His shoulder bumped yours every time he laughed. You felt it in your bones.

And when he leaned down to whisper something only meant for you—something stupid and irrelevant about the waiter’s mustache—you laughed too loudly, too quickly, just to distract yourself from how warm his breath felt against your cheek.

Jiyeon gave you a look. The kind that said oh.

You didn’t want to talk about it.

From then on, everything became sharp-edged.

Every car ride. Every lazy afternoon curled on his couch. Every group hangout that ended with the two of you lingering after everyone else left.

You stopped seeing your friends. You started seeing him.

You memorized the way his fingers looked when he was focused—thumb tucked under his chin, brows drawn. The way he fidgeted when he was nervous, like during that open mic night when his leg wouldn’t stop bouncing. The way he whispered your name when you drifted off during late movies, like it meant more than just waking you up.

You knew it didn’t. Not to him.

But it was starting to mean everything to you.

You tried to tell yourself it would pass.

You tried to flirt with someone else at Jiyeon’s party—a guy who was sweet and cute and definitely into you. But then you caught Hyunjin watching from the kitchen, eyebrows slightly furrowed, his cup clutched too tightly in his hand.

Later that night, when the guy asked for your number, you hesitated.

And Hyunjin—who hadn’t spoken a word about it—offered to walk you home.

You let him. Of course you did.

And as you walked side by side in silence, your jacket tucked beneath his arm like a second thought, you wondered what it would be like to reach over. To grab his hand. To say it out loud, right then.

But you didn’t.

Because you were still scared of the answer.

⸻

The moment came two weeks later.

Another rooftop, another night, another group hangout gone late. Everyone had gone back downstairs. Only you and Hyunjin remained, curled under a blanket, half-drunk, half-exhausted, watching the city blink in soft, slow pulses.

You felt full and empty all at once.

And then he said, “You’ve been quiet lately. Like… inside-your-head quiet.”

You blinked. “Have I?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You do that when something’s eating you.”

You laughed softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“To me, yeah.”

And just like that, the words pushed up your throat like they’d been waiting.

“I like you.”

It came out too fast. Too raw. You didn’t look at him when you said it. You stared at the skyline like it could save you.

He went still beside you.

You felt it. The pause. The absence.

Then—

“…Don’t.”

Silence. Loud silence.

Your heart crumpled in real time.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say it,” he said softly. “Please.”

You turned then. Looked him in the face.

He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t mocking you. Just… heartbroken in a way that made no sense.

“I didn’t want this to change anything,” he whispered.

You laughed once. Just a breath. Just enough to keep from crying.

“Well,” you said. “Too late for that.”

—

You didn’t cry that night.

Not when he reached for your hand and you pulled away.

Not when you stood up too fast and nearly tripped over the blanket.

Not when he said your name like he didn’t know how to say anything else. Like it could still fix it.

You just left.

You went down the stairs and out the door and didn’t stop walking until the city swallowed the rooftop behind you. And when you got home, you showered like you were trying to wash it off. The rooftop, the night, the words. Him.

You climbed into bed in a pair of socks that didn’t match and stared at the ceiling until your eyes stopped burning.

And even then, you didn’t cry.

You just hurt.

You thought maybe he’d give you space.

That he’d let the silence stretch between you until it thinned into distance—polite, painful, but necessary. That was what people did when they didn’t feel the same, wasn’t it? They stepped back. Gave you room to breathe. To grieve.

But Hyunjin didn’t.

The very next morning, he texted you like nothing happened.

hyunjin:

“u up?”

hyunjin:

“wanna get coffee before you go to class?”

hyunjin:

“or not. either way i hope you slept okay.”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you wanted to be dramatic—but because you didn’t know how to be normal around him anymore.

Because nothing felt normal.

That weekend, you saw him again—against your better judgment. Jiyeon had begged you to come to their little movie night, the usual group, just “lowkey and chill.” She’d even promised to make your favorite dumplings.

You told yourself you could handle it.

You were wrong.

He looked up the second you walked in. Said your name with that same soft inflection, like the last three days hadn’t shattered you. Like your confession had been a dream and not a detonation.

You sat on the far end of the couch. He noticed. Didn’t say anything.

Halfway through the movie, he leaned over the armrest and whispered, “You okay?”

You didn’t turn.

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled at the TV screen and hoped no one could see how tightly your hands were clenched in your lap.

⸻

You tried to pull away.

Not just from Hyunjin—but from everything. The group chat, the hangouts, the drop-by visits. You skipped brunches. You started sitting in new spots during class. You made yourself busy with things that didn’t include him.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

But instead of leaving you alone, he chased harder.

He started showing up in ways he never had before. More texts. More “hey, haven’t seen you in a while” messages in the group. Random pictures sent to you privately—funny signs, cats that looked like yours, memes he used to tag you in without asking.

He still made you coffee sometimes. Left it at your door with a note that said nothing more than “You still like oat milk, right?”

It broke you.

Not because he was cruel. But because he was still kind. Because his version of “normal” made it impossible for you to move on.

⸻

Jiyeon called you one night after another canceled invite.

“You okay?”

You paused. Then, “Yeah. Just been tired.”

“You and Hyunjin haven’t talked.”

“I know.”

There was a quiet moment.

Then she said, softly, “You know he thinks everything’s fine, right? That he didn’t break anything.”

You didn’t know how to answer that.

So you didn’t.

—

You made it twelve days.

Twelve days of answering texts with forced emojis.

Twelve days of dodging hangouts, rerouting your walk to class, pretending you weren’t constantly bracing for the next time he’d show up.

You were holding yourself together with duct tape and denial—and Hyunjin kept peeling it off with every well-meaning smile, every gesture that used to feel like comfort and now felt like cruelty.

So when Jiyeon’s birthday rolled around, you told yourself you could survive it.

One night. One dinner. You could smile for a few hours, eat some cake, laugh at a few jokes, and go home.

But then he sat next to you. And that was the beginning of the end.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Walked in with that warm, open energy that had once made you feel safe and now just made your heart twist the wrong way. He saw you across the table, grinned like nothing was wrong, and dropped into the empty seat beside you like it belonged to him.

“Hey,” he said, nudging your shoulder. “You look nice.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

You forced a tight smile. “Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “Haven’t seen you all week. You ghosted me again.”

Again.

Like it was a joke. Like it was cute.

You blinked down at your plate. Your heart was pounding. He kept going.

“You still mad at me?” he teased gently. “Come on. I know I’m annoying, but I’m not that bad.”

You laughed. Not because it was funny.

Because something inside you snapped.

You stood up.

He blinked at you, confused, one hand reaching slightly like he thought you might fall. “Wait—”

“I need some air.”

You didn’t look at him as you walked out.

The street was quiet. Cold. A relief.

You leaned against the wall of the restaurant and closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not now. Not because of him.

But then the door creaked open behind you, and you knew.

Of course he followed.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Did I… did I do something?”

You turned, finally. Looked him in the face.

And you couldn’t do it anymore.

“I told you I liked you,” you said, voice cracking. “And you rejected me. Which—I get it, okay? That’s fine. You didn’t owe me anything.”

“…I never meant to—”

“But then you kept showing up,” you went on, too fast now, too full. “You kept texting, kept smiling, kept acting like nothing changed. Like it didn’t wreck me to be around you.”

He went still.

“I needed space, Hyunjin. I needed time. But you—you just kept being you. And that made it worse.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said finally.

“You could’ve let me go.”

The silence between you was unbearable.

You took a step back.

“I’m not mad at you,” you whispered. “But I can’t be your friend right now. I’m sorry.”

And then you left him standing there, under the soft glow of the restaurant lights, with nothing but the echo of your voice and the pieces you hadn’t been able to hold onto anymore.

—

He didn’t text the next day.

Or the one after.

For the first time in weeks, your phone stayed silent—no morning messages, no dumb inside jokes, no pictures of dogs in sunglasses or bad street poetry. You thought it would feel like relief.

It didn’t. It felt like absence.

Like a door finally closing after weeks of creaking on its hinges.

And part of you wanted to pry it open again—just to make sure he was still there. Still existing in the same world, breathing the same air. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You had meant what you said.

You couldn’t be his friend. Not like this.

The group chat slowed without you.

Or maybe you just stopped checking. Muted it. Let the messages pile up without opening them. Jiyeon texted once or twice—“are you okay?” and “you don’t have to explain, just letting you know I’m here”—but even she understood.

You weren’t ready to talk. Not about it. Not about him.

You weren’t even sure what about him meant anymore.

It had been easier when you were just friends. Easier to joke, to sit close, to share blankets and drinks and late-night walks without wondering if it meant something.

Now you couldn’t look at your favorite coffee shop without remembering how he used to order your drink before you got there.

Couldn’t listen to certain songs without hearing the way he hummed under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening.

Couldn’t step onto the rooftop without your chest tightening like it was still holding the echo of your confession.

⸻

Hyunjin didn’t come looking for you.

Not at first.

You heard from Jiyeon that he was “laying low.” That he’d been quieter, less involved, skipping a few hangouts here and there. He wasn’t himself, she said.

You wanted to tell her neither were you.

But what good would it do?

The damage was already done. And unlike him, you couldn’t keep pretending you hadn’t bled for it.

One week later, you ran into him.

Not dramatically—not on a rainy street or in a dark hallway—but in line at the grocery store, both of you clutching baskets filled with microwave meals and snacks you didn’t need.

You saw him before he saw you.

And for a moment, you thought about leaving your cart and walking out.

But he turned.

He blinked. Paused. Said your name like a question.

“Hey.”

You swallowed. “Hey.”

It was awful.

Awkward in a way that made your skin itch. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, looked down at your basket like it was easier than looking at your face.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

You could’ve lied. You should’ve.

But you shrugged. “I’ve been better.”

Something in his face twisted.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. No preamble. No smile.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t trust yourself to.

Because hearing it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t pull the broken pieces back together or rewrite the moment on the rooftop or un-crack the parts of you that had already started healing from the silence.

All it did was ache.

Even after that quiet moment at the grocery store, even after his eyes followed you all the way to the exit like he still had something left to say. You didn’t reach out.

Because missing you wasn’t the same as wanting you.

And you were done trying to read between lines he wasn’t brave enough to cross.

So, you made yourself move on.

Not out of spite, but out of survival.

You said yes to more invitations, even if it meant sitting in circles he’d never touched. You started spending time with people who didn’t already know your story—or worse, the part where your story had ended.

You met a boy named Minho through your literature elective. He made snide comments about every poem you read in class, and sometimes he offered you half of his protein bar even when you didn’t ask.

He was safe. He didn’t look at you like he remembered every time your heart had cracked open.

He didn’t remind you of anything.

You went for coffee once. Then again. He made you laugh.

It didn’t make your heart race.

But it made the ache dull.

And that was enough.

⸻

Jiyeon noticed the change in you before you did.

“You’re glowing,” she teased one night as the two of you walked home from a dinner that didn’t include Hyunjin for the first time in months.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious,” she grinned. “It’s like… you’re coming back to life a little.”

You smiled softly. You didn’t say it, but you felt it too.

The quiet felt less suffocating.

Your chest didn’t tighten every time you heard his name.

You weren’t happy—not all the way. But you weren’t drowning anymore.

That was something.

You saw Hyunjin again two weeks later. Unplanned. At a gallery opening hosted by a mutual friend.

He was standing by the window with a drink in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize.

He looked… different.

Tired, maybe. Older somehow. Like he’d finally started carrying the weight you’d been dragging alone.

You tried not to look at him. Tried harder not to feel anything. But the moment he saw you—really saw you—his whole body shifted.

He excused himself from the conversation and made his way over before you had time to turn.

“Hey.”

You stared at him for a long beat. “Hey.”

“I heard about your reading,” he said, a little breathless. “Jiyeon said you’re submitting that short story to the contest next month.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thought I’d give it a shot.”

His smile was proud, but his eyes were careful. “That’s… really cool. You always talked about writing more.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Because yeah, you did.

And he used to be the person you shared your rough drafts with.

You sipped your drink.

He hesitated. Then, “Can we talk?”

You blinked. “We are talking.”

“No, I mean… actually talk. About everything. About what I did—or didn’t do. I know I hurt you.”

You exhaled through your nose. “You didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I did anyway.”

He paused.

“I didn’t say what you needed to hear that night. Not because I didn’t care, but because I panicked. I thought if I said it wrong, I’d lose you completely.”

You laughed, bitter. “Newsflash.”

“I know,” he said again. Quiet. “I didn’t know how to be honest with you without breaking something. And then I broke it anyway.”

There was a beat of silence between you.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And for the first time, you saw guilt.

Not just regret. Not just nostalgia.

Real guilt. Like he finally understood what it meant to be the one who got to walk away clean.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve let you go when you asked me to. I should’ve respected the space you needed. I thought staying close meant I still mattered to you.”

“You did,” you whispered. “But it hurt too much.”

“I get that now.”

You nodded.

“I’m not asking to fix things,” he added. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But I wanted you to know—I see it. Everything I ignored. And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t reach for him, didn’t tell him it was okay.

Because it wasn’t. Not really.

But hearing it? It helped.

—

You kept seeing Minho.

Not often. Not seriously. But enough.

Enough to make people start asking. Enough to let the idea hang in the air—like a question you were never quite ready to answer.

He was calm where Hyunjin had been chaotic.

Confident without being loud.

Sharp-tongued, but thoughtful when it counted.

You didn’t burn for him, not in the way you had for Hyunjin.

But that was the point, wasn’t it?

Minho made it easy to breathe. Easy to exist without constantly trying to guess what came next.

And for a while, that was enough.

You started smiling again. Real ones.

You stopped checking your phone for messages that never came.

Stopped wondering what Hyunjin was doing on a Friday night or who he was laughing with or if he ever thought about the rooftop and the way you’d looked at him like you had something left to lose.

You stopped bleeding, even if you still bruised.

And when Minho asked if you wanted to get dinner—just the two of you this time—you said yes.

Because you wanted to try.

Even if your heart still twitched at the sound of someone else’s name.

⸻

You didn’t mean for Hyunjin to find out about Minho that way.

But the world was small, and the friend group smaller.

He saw you across the quad one day—Minho beside you, walking close, laughing low at something you said. You didn’t notice Hyunjin sitting on the low wall by the fountain, earbuds in but music off, eyes catching on you like a hook in water.

You didn’t see the way he stilled.

Didn’t see the way his jaw clenched when Minho leaned in to adjust the strap of your bag.

Didn’t hear the breath he held until it burned.

But later that night, you got a message.

[10:03 PM] Hyunjin: so it’s real? you and him?

You stared at it for a long time.

Your fingers hovered over the screen. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

[10:09 PM] You: I’m trying to move on.

No reply came.

Not that night. Not the next day.

But Jiyeon texted you the morning after: Did something happen with Hyunjin? He was weird today. Like really weird.

You didn’t answer.

Because you knew exactly what happened.

—

Hyunjin didn’t understand it.

Not at first.

He thought the ache in his chest was guilt. Maybe even jealousy in the shallow way—like possessiveness, like territorial instinct. The kind of pang you feel when someone you used to be close with starts laughing a little too freely without you.

But it wasn’t that.

It was something deeper. Wilder.

More like grief.

Because you weren’t just someone anymore.

You weren’t even his almost.

You were someone else’s maybe.

And that was what shattered him.

Because when you left, he missed the way you looked at him. Missed your laugh, your stupid overthinking texts, the way you always brought him snacks when he forgot to eat. He missed your presence.

But now—now he missed your possibility.

Now he missed what he never let himself want.

He started spiraling quietly.

He didn’t bring you up. Not to anyone. Not even Jiyeon.

But he was short-tempered, restless. Said no to hangouts, stayed up too late doing nothing, stared at half-written texts he never sent.

He kept seeing you in crowded rooms—never alone, always glowing a little too much beside someone else.

Minho touched you gently. Laughed easily. Didn’t flinch when your arm brushed his.

And Hyunjin hated it.

Because Minho hadn’t hesitated.

Minho didn’t push you away and then regret it after.

Minho got to hold the part of you that Hyunjin threw away out of fear.

It took him two weeks to admit it to himself.

Not just the feelings. But the failure.

He hadn’t been confused. He’d been a coward.

He let you fall while he stood on the edge, too afraid to jump.

And now someone else was learning all the soft, sacred pieces of you he never deserved.

—

You weren’t expecting anyone that night.

It was raining. The kind of rain that didn’t come with thunder—just a quiet, steady fall that wrapped the city in soft gray noise. You had a hoodie on, socks mismatched, fingers curled around a mug of tea gone cold on your desk.

Your phone lit up twice—one from Minho, one from Jiyeon—but you didn’t open either.

Some nights were like this. Still on the surface, but storming underneath.

You didn’t think anything of the knock at your door.

Just a neighbor, maybe. A package. Maybe Jiyeon needing to vent.

But when you opened it—

Your whole body froze.

There he was.

Hyunjin.

Soaked to the bone, hood pushed back, hair dripping onto the collar of his jacket. His eyes looked darker than usual—not angry, not cold.

Just… raw.

Like he hadn’t slept.

Like he hadn’t smiled in days.

You couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t even move.

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

His voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges.

“Just—can you let me talk? Please.”

You stepped back.

Barely. A breath of space.

And he took it like it was a lifeline.

He stood in your entryway dripping water onto your rug, shivering slightly, looking around like it was all unfamiliar.

But you both knew it wasn’t.

“You’re still drinking that chamomile stuff,” he murmured, eyes catching the mug on your desk. “I always hated the way it smelled.”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t tell him you started drinking it more after he stopped texting you.

Didn’t tell him Minho liked it. Said it suited you.

Hyunjin swallowed. “I’ve been an idiot.”

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t mean the usual kind of idiot,” he added quickly. “I mean… the kind who gets handed something rare—something real—and is too scared to hold onto it.”

Your throat tightened.

“I told myself I didn’t want to risk losing you,” he went on. “But I lost you anyway, didn’t I?”

You said nothing.

Because the pain was still there. The crack. The weight. The memory of the rooftop and the way his silence felt like your own body turning against you.

“I saw you with Minho,” he admitted, eyes searching yours now. “And it hurt. God, it fucking hurt. Not because he did anything wrong—he didn’t. He’s good to you. I could see it. That’s what scared me.”

You looked down.

He took a step closer.

“Because I realized I didn’t want you to move on,” he whispered. “Not from me.”

A breath caught in your chest.

“I wanted to be the one who made you laugh like that. The one who made you feel seen. But I gave that up, didn’t I? I gave it up because I was too much of a coward to admit I loved you.”

The silence rang loud.

Too loud.

You blinked, voice breaking. “Loved?”

His face crumpled—gently, like he was unraveling all at once.

“Love,” he corrected. “I love you. Present tense.”

A pause.

And then, softer:

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to take me back. But if there’s even a piece of you that still feels something… I had to come. I had to try. Because if I lose you forever without telling you how I feel, I won’t survive it.”

You stared at him. At the boy who once shattered your heart and then stood there hoping you’d pretend it never happened.

Only now, he wasn’t asking you to pretend.

He was asking you to believe him.

To believe this mattered. To believe you mattered.

Even after everything.

You stood there trembling.

His words echoed through the room, too loud and too soft all at once. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears were already sliding down your face—slow, silent, uninvited. You didn’t even try to stop them.

You didn’t know what to say.

Because you had wanted this. You had dreamed of this.

And now that it was here, it didn’t feel real.

Your fingers clenched at your sides.

You still loved him. God, you loved him so much it hurt.

That was the problem. That had always been the problem.

You had never stopped.

You turned away before he could see your face break completely. Your voice came out thin.

“Your clothes are soaked. You’re gonna get sick.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

You went to your drawer and pulled out a hoodie—his, ironically, one he’d left at your place months ago and probably forgotten. You hadn’t. You wore it once when the world felt especially heavy.

You walked back and handed it to him, not meeting his eyes.

“There’s towels in the bathroom,” you mumbled. “You can dry off in there.”

He hesitated. Then nodded, quiet. “Thanks.”

You didn’t say anything else.

—

The rain got heavier.

It pounded against your windows, against the balcony outside your room. The whole apartment felt suspended in that stormy cocoon—like time had been paused by the sky itself.

You stood by your bed, arms around yourself, chest aching.

How many times had you imagined this moment?

How many times had you told yourself it would never come?

And now he was here.

In your bathroom. Wearing the hoodie you used to cry in. Telling you he loved you.

Your knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.

When he stepped out again, hair damp but drying, hoodie slung over his frame like it still belonged to him, he looked… softer.

Not small. Just real.

Your gaze lifted. Locked with his.

Neither of you spoke.

But something shifted.

In the stretch of silence. In the sound of the storm. In the space between your heart and his.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right. Like he wanted to give you every chance to step back.

You didn’t. You didn’t move an inch.

Not even when he reached out, thumb brushing just under your eye to catch a tear you hadn’t noticed was still falling.

“Still hurts?” he whispered.

You nodded. A breath.

“Me too.”

Then—

His hand slid to your jaw, gentle, reverent.

And he kissed you.

It wasn’t hungry or desperate.

It was slow. Careful. Terrified.

Like he was asking.

Please. Let me back in.

And you— You let him.

Because your heart had never been Minho’s.

Because you never stopped waiting for this.

For Hyunjin.

For this kiss.

For him.

His lips moved like he was afraid to touch you fully.

Not because he didn’t want to—because he did, you could feel it, the trembling in his fingers, the way his breath stuttered against your cheek—but because he was terrified of breaking you again.

And maybe he already had.

Maybe you were already in pieces, just standing there, letting him kiss you.

But your hands found his hoodie, your fingers curling tight into the fabric at his chest, and you tilted your head into him, letting the kiss deepen. Just slightly. Just enough.

He gasped when you kissed back.

A sound so full of relief, you nearly choked on it.

His arms came around you in a rush then, like he’d been holding back every instinct for weeks and couldn’t anymore—like he was suddenly starving and you were the only thing that could fill him.

You clung to him just as desperately.

It was messy. It was soaked in heartbreak. It tasted like too much and not enough.

He kissed you like he was scared this would be the last time.

And maybe it would be, if you didn’t speak now.

You broke the kiss with a trembling breath, forehead pressed to his, his hands still cradling your face.

Your voice cracked.

“I waited for you.”

His whole body stilled.

“I waited, and you didn’t come.”

“God,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You were crying again. Quiet. Angry at yourself for still loving him. Angry at him for giving you this only after you’d shattered trying to forget.

“I couldn’t even look at Minho without thinking of you,” you said. “I tried. I wanted to move on. But you—” your voice broke, “you were everywhere.”

Hyunjin’s eyes opened. Bloodshot. Glistening.

“You should hate me,” he said. “I hate me.”

“Then why didn’t you just say yes?” you asked, choking on it. “On that rooftop. Why did you make me beg for a rejection?”

“I was scared,” he confessed, so broken it hurt to hear. “You were real. You were everything. I didn’t know how to be the person who deserved you.”

“Then why now?” you whispered. “Why come back?”

He brushed his thumb over your cheek again, voice shaking.

“Because I couldn’t breathe without you. I thought I could live with letting you go, but I couldn’t. I tried. I tried so hard. But seeing you with him—” he swallowed hard—“I lost my mind. Not because of jealousy. Because I knew he could give you what I threw away.”

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

You leaned into him, both of you trembling.

And then his mouth was on yours again—more desperate this time, more raw, like the floodgates had broken and neither of you knew how to stop.

His hands cupped your face, then tangled in your hair.

Yours slid under the hoodie, fingers curling into his shirt like he’d disappear if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

It wasn’t about sex.

It wasn’t even about comfort.

It was grief.

It was love.

It was apology.

And it was need.

You kissed like you were trying to put all the broken pieces back in each other.

And for a moment, maybe you did.

—

The next morning, the world was hushed.

Golden light streamed through the blinds, soft and warm, like the universe was trying to offer you a gentle landing after the storm.

Hyunjin was still asleep on your couch, one arm draped over his eyes, the borrowed hoodie rising and falling with each breath. He looked peaceful. Tired. Like someone who had cried himself to sleep in someone else’s arms.

Because he had.

And you… you were wide awake.

Your heart felt like a tender bruise. Not aching in the same sharp way it used to, but sore with memory. With love. With everything you still hadn’t unpacked.

And there was still one thing you had to do.

You sat in the café before Minho arrived, nursing a coffee you barely touched. Your hands were cold, even with the cup between them.

He spotted you from the door, gave you a soft, tired smile.

He already knew.

Minho sat down across from you like it wasn’t the end of something. He didn’t even make you start.

“You let him in.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, then looked out the window for a long moment.

“I figured it would happen,” he said, tone light, but not careless. “He had that look in his eyes when he saw us. Like someone waking up too late.”

“I never tried to use you,” you whispered. “I promise. I just… didn’t want to keep bleeding over him forever.”

“I know.”

Silence stretched. Comfortable. Sad.

“I liked you,” he said. “A lot. Still do, in a way. But I could never get to the place he had in you. You looked at me and I always saw him sitting behind your eyes.”

Tears welled again. You didn’t want to cry—not for this. Not for hurting someone who didn’t deserve it.

But Minho smiled.

“I’m not mad. Heartbreak’s messy. And I’d rather lose like this than keep you with me when your heart’s still somewhere else.”

You blinked, stunned.

“You’re kind of perfect,” you muttered, wiping a tear.

Minho grinned. “Don’t forget it.”

And just like that, he stood, patted your head, and said goodbye.

⸻

Hyunjin waited until you were ready.

For a week, he gave you space. Checked in gently. No pressure. Just warmth. Just patience.

And then— He asked if he could take you out. On a real date.

You stared at the message for a long time before smiling.

Yes.

It was an easy answer.

He took you to the planetarium.

It was quiet, empty enough that your footsteps echoed as you walked side by side into the main observatory dome. The room was dark, filled with a slow-spinning map of the stars across the curved ceiling. Everything glowed faintly blue and silver.

You stood there in the dark, hand brushing against his.

He turned to you with a soft smile. “When I was a kid, I used to think people became stars when they died.”

You looked at him, heart full.

“I think people are stars,” you said. “We just don’t always shine the same.”

He stared at you, eyes wide, something fragile flickering behind them.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered.

You reached for his hand fully this time. “So are you.”

He kissed you under a sky of constellations, hand on your waist, lips soft and sure. There was no rush, no storm.

Just you. And him.

And something whole blooming between you.

You didn’t say it out loud that night, but you felt it so deeply it poured out of you anyway—through your smile, your kiss, your laughter, your joy.

You were smitten.

So in love it made your chest ache in the best way.

He looked at you like he was seeing the stars for the first time.

And for the first time in a long time…

You felt complete.

—

The special moments started small.

A look that lingered too long.

A touch that lasted a heartbeat more than it should.

A silence that simmered.

You noticed it the second time he kissed you.

The night after the planetarium, when he walked you home again and kissed you outside your door like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. You had your hands tangled in the front of his coat, half on your tiptoes, the warmth of his breath brushing against your lips even after the kiss ended.

You’d pulled away first. Barely.

And he’d looked at you like that—like his control was fraying.

“I should go,” he murmured, but he didn’t move.

Your fingers had clenched tighter in his coat.

So close. So warm. So real.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your voice too soft, too unsure. “Probably.”

He kissed you again anyway. Deeper this time.

It kept happening.

Little moments that crackled with heat.

Moments that made your skin tingle and your thoughts spiral.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ear and let his fingers trail just a little too long against your jaw.

You’d lie on your couch watching a movie and realize his thumb was drawing slow circles into the back of your hand without even thinking about it.

He’d lean in to whisper something and you’d feel his breath on your neck, and your body would ache.

You never said it.

But he felt it too.

You could see it in the way his jaw tightened when you wore shorts around him. The way he looked away fast, and then looked back, like he couldn’t stop himself. The way his fingers would twitch in his lap like they were remembering the shape of your hips.

Neither of you pushed it.

It was careful. Respectful.

But it burned.

⸻

One night, you ended up at his place after dinner. Nothing dramatic. Just takeout, music, the glow of his living room lamp.

You were in one of his hoodies again. Legs folded on his couch.

He was beside you, thigh pressed to yours, half-laughing at a story you told about Minho getting kicked out of a bookstore for sneezing too dramatically.

And then the laughter faded.

And there was quiet.

And you were looking at each other.

His smile softened. Melted.

“I love you,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“I know,” you whispered, heart stuttering.

He reached for you, one hand brushing your knee, then your hip, then your waist. His fingers curled there like they belonged.

“I think about you all the time,” he murmured. “Not just like this. I mean… everything. I think about waking up beside you. Cooking with you. Fighting over what movie to watch. I think about what it would be like to make love to someone I actually care about.”

Your breath caught.

You could feel your pulse in your throat.

“And I think about touching you,” he added, voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should. Sometimes it drives me crazy.”

You swallowed hard. “Hyunjin…”

His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot against your lips.

“I don’t wanna rush you. I don’t want to fuck this up. But… if you ever want me, really want me—”

“I do,” you whispered. “I do.”

He kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t soft.

It was hot and aching and honest.

A kiss that shook the air out of your lungs, that made you whimper into his mouth.

A kiss that told you he had been waiting.

His hand slid under the hem of your hoodie—slow, careful, worshipful. You felt his palm press against the bare skin of your lower back, and your entire body lit up.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, legs shifting to straddle him without thinking.

You needed him.

Not just physically.

Fully.

And for the first time, you saw it in his eyes—how much he needed you too.

His breath trembled against your lips as he kissed you, deeper now—slow and searching, like he was committing you to memory.

You straddled his lap, knees tucked against the couch cushions, hoodie sliding up your thighs as his hands gripped your waist like he’d dreamt of this a thousand times and still couldn’t believe it was real.

Your hips tilted into him and god, he groaned—low, guttural, like the sound had been ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispered against your mouth.

You kissed him harder, dizzy with how much you wanted him. With how long you’d ached for this exact feeling—his hands on you, his mouth devouring you like he was starving.

“I’ve wanted this,” you breathed, forehead pressed to his. “Hyunjin, I’ve wanted you so bad—”

He surged up, catching your lips again, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other slid under your hoodie—warm palm pressing flat against your bare back. His touch burned, delicate and firm at once, like he didn’t know whether to cherish you or ruin you.

Maybe both.

You rolled your hips into him again and he lost it—his grip on you tightening, his mouth trailing fire down your jaw to your throat.

“Let me take you to my bed,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Please. I need to see you—all of you.”

You nodded, breathless. “Take me.”

You barely made it to the room.

He kissed you the whole way there, backing you into the doorway, pulling your hoodie over your head and moaning when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

“Holy shit, baby…”

His hands roamed, reverent, worshipful—fingers trembling slightly as he cupped your breasts, kissed your collarbone, trailed down your ribs like he wanted to map every inch of you.

You undressed him too, slow and needy. Shirt first. Then pants. You couldn’t stop touching him—his lean lines, the muscles under smooth skin, the way his breath caught when your hands slid below his waistband.

And when you finally reached the bed, he laid you down so gently, like you were something precious. Then he hovered over you, eyes locked to yours, full of heat and vulnerability.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, voice cracked. “So fucking beautiful.”

You pulled him down into another kiss, and then—

His hand slipped between your thighs.

He touched you slowly at first, lips brushing your cheek as his fingers slid through your folds, testing, teasing—until your hips bucked and you whimpered his name.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered. “You’ve been like this for me all night, haven’t you?”

“Longer,” you gasped. “Weeks. Months.”

He cursed under his breath and slipped two fingers inside you, curling just right, dragging moans out of you before you could stop them.

“Hyunjin, please—”

He kissed your temple. “I got you.”

And then he was lining up, breathing hard, pushing in slow.

Your back arched.

He filled you completely.

Deep and thick and hot and perfect.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Only feel.

He groaned into your neck, holding himself still for a second while your body adjusted.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped. “Fuck—so warm. I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Move,” you begged. “Please, Hyunjin—”

And he did.

He fucked you like a man unraveling.

Deep strokes, slow at first—but with every sound you made, every time you gasped his name or dug your nails into his back—he got rougher. Desperate. Unhinged.

“Been dreaming about this,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Fantasizing about being inside you, hearing you moan for me—mine, baby, you’re mine—”

“Yes,” you choked out. “I’m yours. God, I’m yours.”

That snapped something in him.

He grabbed your thighs, threw them over his shoulders, and started pounding.

You cried out—head tilted back, fingers clawing at the sheets, the rhythm obscene, filthy, delicious.

“You take me so well,” he groaned, driving in harder. “Look at you, fucking trembling—this is what we were meant for.”

You were gone. Ruined. Drenched in sweat and tears and love.

It was everything.

The heartbreak. The longing. The second chance. All of it crashed into this moment—two people finding each other again in the most primal, vulnerable way.

And when you came, you screamed.

Tears streaming, thighs shaking, sobbing his name.

He followed seconds later, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you, his body curling around yours, trembling.

⸻

After, he didn’t move for a long time.

He just held you. Tight. Like you were the center of his universe.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing hair from your face.

You nodded, still breathless. “I think you just ruined me for anyone else.”

He smiled—soft, shy, proud.

“Good,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “Because I’m not letting you go again.”

You’d barely caught your breath.

Still tangled in the sheets, your chest rising and falling with each slow inhale, skin flushed and sticky with sweat. Hyunjin was quiet beside you—his fingers tracing lazy lines over your bare back, lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your jaw.

“I should clean you up,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and hoarse and wrecked from all the moaning.

You smiled, dazed. “I’m not sure I can stand.”

His laugh was quiet. Tender. “Then I’ll carry you.”

And he did—arms under your thighs and back, cradling you to his chest like you were fragile. Like he wanted to take care of every part of you.

The bathroom was warm. Dim. Steamy from the shower he turned on.

You sat on the counter while he grabbed a warm towel, gently wiping between your legs with a tenderness that made you melt all over again. His hair was a mess, his chest peppered with bite marks, but his eyes never left yours—soft and so full of something it made your chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, cupping his cheek. “I’m more than okay.”

He leaned into your touch, lips brushing your palm—and that’s when it changed.

His hand slid to your thigh, slow and deliberate.

His eyes flicked down. Then up. Then to the mirror behind you.

“Look at you,” he said softly. “You’re fucking glowing.”

You felt it, too.

The heat between your legs rising again.

The tension sparking all over your body.

“Hyunjin…”

He didn’t kiss you this time. Not at first.

He turned you around.

Gently. Slowly. Until your palms were pressed flat against the cool marble counter, your back arched just slightly, and your eyes locked to his through the reflection.

He stood behind you, hands running down your arms, then your sides, then gripping your hips from behind.

The mirror caught everything.

Your parted lips. Your flushed skin. The way your thighs clenched at the way he looked at you.

“You’re so fucking sexy like this,” he murmured into your ear, grinding against your ass with a low groan. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You whimpered. “Then show me.”

And he did.

You felt him again—hard, hot, thick—pressing into your entrance, slow and unbearable, until he was buried deep inside you once more.

Your mouth dropped open. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

And the mirror made it so much worse.

You could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his lip curled when he pulled back and slammed in again—your body jolting forward, your eyes fluttering shut as your moan echoed off the tile walls.

“Open your eyes,” he growled, fucking into you harder now. “Watch.”

And when you did—

You saw it all.

The way his body curved into yours.

The way your tits bounced with every thrust.

The way his jaw clenched, desperate, possessive, lost in you.

“You look so good like this,” he groaned. “Letting me fuck you in front of a mirror like a filthy little angel.”

You moaned. “Hyunjin—fuck—”

He reached around to grab your throat, just enough pressure to tilt your chin up—forcing you to hold the eye contact, to see the mess he was making of you.

“You love this,” he hissed. “Being ruined like this. Being mine.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I love you—Hyunjin, I love you so much—”

That shattered him.

He bent over you, caged you in with his arms, and pounded harder—deeper—his teeth scraping against your neck, his moans falling ragged against your ear.

“I love you too,” he choked. “I’m so in love with you—fuck, baby, I can’t hold back—”

Your body clenched. Your thighs trembled.

And when you came this time, you saw yourself unravel.

You watched the moment your face broke apart in the mirror—watched Hyunjin��s eyes lock to yours as he fucked you through it, whispering your name like a prayer as he came inside you again, deep and pulsing and perfect.

You collapsed against the counter, boneless and spent. He held you up, breathing hard, his chest pressed to your back as he kissed your shoulder softly.

“You wreck me,” he whispered.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good,” you breathed. “Because I’m not done wrecking you either.”

After the second round, your body was jelly.

Warm, aching, full of him—so full of him you could still feel the echo of his thrusts hours later.

Hyunjin carried you back to bed, wet towel slung over his shoulder, your skin freshly cleaned but your cheeks still flushed, your lips swollen from all the kissing. He tucked you into the sheets like you were sacred, brushing damp strands of hair from your face, placing the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

You curled into his chest, and for the first time in forever, your body truly relaxed.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered, stroking your spine with featherlight fingers.

You shook your head, half-asleep. “You made me feel everything.”

His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer until you were tangled up in him again, your cheek pressed over his heartbeat.

He nuzzled into your hair. “Thinking back, I was so scared you wouldn’t let me in.”

“I almost didn’t,” you murmured, drowsy. “You really fucked up, Hyunjin.”

“I know,” he said, his voice low with guilt. “I was a coward. I thought pushing you away would protect me from messing it up, but I ended up hurting you worse. Hurting myself too.”

You shifted just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft and open now. No walls. No distance.

“I never stopped loving you,” you said quietly.

His lips parted. “Even when I broke your heart?”

“Especially then,” you whispered.

The weight of that landed hard between you—and then he was kissing you again. Soft and slow, all emotion. No rush, no hunger this time. Just pure devotion. You moaned into it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hovered over you, chest to chest, lips to lips.

He kissed your nose. Your eyelids. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. He worshipped every inch like he was making up for lost time.

“You’re my everything,” he murmured. “I never want to be without you again.”

“Then don’t be,” you said. “I’m yours. Always.”

⸻

Spring came slowly that year.

The trees bloomed in soft pinks and pale greens, and everything felt like it was waking up again. You too.

It had been three months since that rainy night. Three months since Hyunjin stood in your doorway with his heart on his sleeve and yours clenched in his hands. Since you let him in—into your apartment, your bed, your life.

And now?

You were his.

Not in the possessive way he used to fear, but in the gentle, deliberate way that felt real. Solid. Like something that had been growing quietly beneath the surface all along, just waiting for the right season to bloom.

“Here,” Hyunjin said, setting a cup of tea on your desk as you buried yourself in editing your thesis. “Made it just the way you like it.”

You blinked up at him, smiling. “You’re spoiling me.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “You deserve it.”

He meant it. Every word. You could see it in his eyes now—no hesitation, no deflection. Just warmth. Confidence. Love.

Sometimes, you caught him staring when he thought you wouldn’t notice. His chin resting on his hand, gaze soft and open. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here, his. Like he was trying to memorize your face a hundred different ways.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you teased one night, sprawled on his couch with popcorn in your lap and your feet in his.

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said simply. “Still not over it.”

⸻

Your friend group got used to the change quickly.

Jiyeon called you “disgustingly cute” with a fake gag, but kept smiling after. Minho never said much—just gave Hyunjin a knowing look whenever they passed by each other and nodded once, like they had an understanding. No bad blood. Just quiet grace.

And the sex?

Still toe-curling. Still addictive.

But now it came with pillow talk. Inside jokes. Morning kisses and shared playlists. Him dancing you around the kitchen with pancake batter on your nose, hands on your hips, forehead against yours.

It came with safety. Intimacy. The kind of closeness that felt earned.

You’d been through every version of heartache with Hyunjin.

And now you were building every version of healing.

⸻

He took you on a picnic for your six-month anniversary.

Cherry blossoms in full bloom, a checkered blanket under the trees, his sketchbook in his lap as he tried to draw you mid-laugh—messy and imperfect, but so full of love.

“You know,” he said, glancing over the top of the page, “I used to be scared I’d ruin us if I ever crossed the line.”

You reached for his hand. “And now?”

He smiled. “Now I’m scared I’ll never be able to love anyone the way I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. Soft. Sure. Smitten.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because you’ll never have to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Guys 🥹 I think I fell in love with Hyunjin all over again!!! And lord knows I TESTED myself with the amount of fluff a d emotions in this lmao.. anyway guys, we are hitting 1k soon and I’m so excited! 😭❤️ its been 3 months of writing back to back and there’s already so many fics in the masterlist! Thanks for all the support, love you guys!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[hyvneluv]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (22,8k words)

Author's note: I suggest reading this with an open heart and let it take you places ♡

Chris Bang Shares the Sweetest Surprise: “My Baby Girl’s Getting Married” July 14, 2024 — by Peter Han. Rock legend Chris Bang, frontman of the iconic ‘90s band Bang Theory, shocked fans this weekend—not with a surprise single, but with something far more personal: his daughter Tigerlily is engaged. The 47-year-old musician shared the news on his private Instagram, posting a rare father-daughter photo with the caption: “She used to hold my hand crossing the street, now she’s holding someone else’s. My baby girl’s getting married. God help him.” The post quickly went viral as fans poured in their congratulations (and nostalgia), remembering Tigerlily as the tiny girl who used to appear backstage during Bang Theory’s heyday. Sources close to the family say Chris has known about the engagement for months and has been "surprisingly chill" about it—though insiders claim he gave Julian, the lucky fiancé, “the talk” every overprotective dad dreams of delivering. “He’s proud,” said a longtime friend of the singer. “Even if he grumbles a lot, you can tell he’s thrilled for her.” Tigerlily, an illustrator and low-key darling of the city's creative scene, has kept the relationship mostly private. The engagement ring, however, is anything but. Fans spotted the vintage cut diamond a few weeks back—sparking early speculation that something big was coming. As for wedding details? Chris joked in an interview last month, “I’ll be there in a tux, crying into my whiskey.” We wouldn’t expect anything less.

-

The sun filters gently through the windows of the little bakery-slash-café Tigerlily picked for the cake tasting, its soft golden glow casting a peaceful warmth over the morning. You're perched beside her at a small round table near the corner, notebooks open, samples of cake laid out like precious little treasures on delicate porcelain plates.

It’s surreal, watching her like this—flipping through pages of catering options, seriously contemplating between lavender shortbread cookies and chocolate-dipped biscotti for the wedding favors. She’s focused, her brow furrowed slightly, her pen tapping her chin.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease, breaking off a corner of sponge cake to taste.

She glances at you, mock-offended. “Of course I am. This is the cake. The most important cake I’ll ever have.”

You laugh softly, and she smiles, biting into a piece of vanilla almond before shaking her head. “Not this one. Too sweet.”

You nod, agreeing. “The buttercream’s nice though.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she says, scribbling a little star next to it in her notebook.

The morning rolls on like that—cake tastings, discussions about savory vs. sweet hors d’oeuvres, the pros and cons of giving out mini olive oil bottles as favors. Eventually, the two of you take a break, coffees in hand, sitting outside the shop under the early spring sun.

Tigerlily leans back in her chair and studies you for a moment, sipping her latte. “You’re glowing.”

You raise a brow, pretending not to know what she’s talking about. “It’s the buttercream.”

She squints at you, unconvinced. “No. It’s something else. You’re… happy. Like, really happy. Did something happen?”

You offer her a vague smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just enjoying today.”

Tigerlily gives you a look that says she knows you better than that, but she doesn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, I like it. You look like someone who just remembered what it feels like to be a little selfish with your joy.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Maybe I am.”

She bumps her shoulder against yours. “Good. Keep doing that.”

You glance at her, your heart warm. “And you keep remembering that your wedding cake is supposed to make you happy.”

She laughs, and just like that, the moment folds itself gently back into the rhythm of the day—the two of you turning back to menus and ribbon swatches, sipping coffee in the sun, wrapped in the easy intimacy of mothers and daughters, quietly grateful for how love, in all its forms, continues to find its way back to you.

Back home, the sun has dipped behind the hills, casting a warm golden hue through the kitchen windows. The scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil fills the air, mingling with the sound of music playing in the background. You’re chopping tomatoes while Tigerlily stirs something in the pan, humming to the music, her movements fluid and light.

There’s something peaceful about this moment. The simple rhythm of cooking side by side, the way your conversation flows in and out of silence so easily—like waves, effortless and familiar.

“You know,” Tigerlily starts as she grates cheese over a bowl, “I love when we do this. Just the two of us in the kitchen. Feels like home.”

You smile, sliding the chopped tomatoes into a bowl. “It is home.”

She glances at you, a soft look in her eyes. “You’ve seemed… happier lately.”

You raise a brow. “You said that earlier.”

“I know,” she says, turning back to the stove, “but now I can really see it. The way you move, the way you talk—it’s like there’s a little spark in you again.”

You pause, stirring the basil into the sauce, trying not to smile. “Maybe I’m just excited about your wedding.”

Tigerlily grins, not buying it. “Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with a certain someone...?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I think something—or someone—is making you happy.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… does he make you feel good?”

Your hands slow as you stir. You glance up at her, thoughtful. “I guess... yeah.”

Tigerlily nods, her voice gentle. “Then I think that’s enough. For now.”

You reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like you used to when she was a little girl. “You’re wise beyond your years.”

“Thank you. I get it from my mom,” she says with a smirk.

There’s a knock on the door just as you’re draining the pasta, steam rising up in curls. You glance toward the front of the house, wiping your hands on a towel.

“That must be Julian,” Tigerlily says, already untying her apron. “Can you check the sauce for a second?”

“On it,” you call after her, giving the pot a little stir as you hear the front door open.

But instead of the familiar laughter or a fiancé’s greeting, there’s a pause. Then you hear Tigerlily’s voice float back, tinged with surprise, “Oh. Hi.”

You lean around the doorway just in time to see her stepping aside, revealing Hyunjin standing at the door. He’s holding a brown cardboard box. His white shirt clings faintly from the warmth outside, sleeves rolled up, and he looks as casual as ever—until his eyes find you.

“I just came by to drop this off,” he says, lifting the box a little. “Your pottery piece. It’s done. I figured I’d bring it over before I forgot.”

Your lips pull into a smile without you even realizing it. “That’s really kind of you.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you. And then, casually, with the slyest little smile tugging at her lips, she says, “Well, Hyunjin. Since you’re here… why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Hyunjin looks at her, then at you—his eyes searching for an answer in yours. You give him a subtle nod, soft and encouraging. He smiles, just a hint shy, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be this lucky. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

Tigerlily beams, already heading back into the kitchen. “Hope you like pasta.”

You take a step toward him, meeting him halfway to take the box from his hands. Your fingers brush briefly. “Thank you. For bringing this.”

His voice dips low as he smiles, “I figured you’d want to see how beautiful it turned out.”

You raise an eyebrow, playful. “The pottery or the delivery guy?”

Hyunjin chuckles, slow and warm. “Both, I hope.”

And you’re smiling again—because how could you not?

-

The three of you settle around the dining table, plates filled with steaming pasta and roasted vegetables. The mood is light, cozy, laughter from the kitchen trailing into the soft hum of music playing from the speaker in the corner.

Tigerlily reaches for the cardboard box Hyunjin had placed on the table earlier. “Is this it?” she asks, already opening the lid.

You nod, twirling your fork. “Don’t expect too much.”

But when she pulls out the finished plate, her eyes go wide with delight. “Wait—this is actually beautiful! Mom, you made this?”

“She did,” Hyunjin says proudly, his voice warm. “First try too.”

Tigerlily turns to you, mouth parted in disbelief. “When did you even make this?”

Hyunjin answers before you can. “A few days ago. In my studio.”

There’s a glint in his eye, a teasing edge to his grin as he throws a quick wink your way. “She was… very committed. Focused. Hands-on.”

You nearly choke on your wine at the innuendo hidden in his voice, shooting him a warning look. He only smirks deeper, clearly enjoying himself.

Tigerlily squints suspiciously between the two of you. “Wait. What kind of pottery class was this exactly—?”

A knock at the door cuts her off.

“That must be Julian,” she says, hopping up from her chair and leaving the room.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Hyunjin leans in slightly, his fingers brushing yours under the table before gently, confidently, slipping into your hand. The warmth of his palm is grounding, calming.

You glance at him, heart skipping as he quietly says, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You hear the front door open, Tigerlily’s bright laugh greeting Julian as they come inside. And still, under the table, Hyunjin doesn’t let go.

Julian’s eyes widen the moment he sees Hyunjin sitting at the table. “Oh! I didn’t know our best man joining dinner tonight.”

Hyunjin rises slightly from his seat, giving Julian a quick hug. “I was lured in with the smell of pasta.”

Julian chuckles and teases, “And by my girlfriend's mom, apparently?”

You shake your head and give Julian a playful glare. “Julian, please, just sit down,” you tell him.

The food is warm and comforting, and conversation flows easily. Most of it stays light—talk of flower arrangements, DJ options, the pros and cons of buffets versus plated dinners. Julian and Tigerlily finish each other’s sentences more than once, making you smile. You feel Hyunjin’s thumb brush gently along your palm under the table. It’s barely noticeable, but grounding.

Then, somewhere between the second glass of wine and the tiramisu being passed around, Tigerlily turns to you. “Hey, Mom… what was your wedding like?”

You pause, surprised by the question.

Tigerlily shrugs. “You never really talk about it. I mean… you and Dad. Did you do a big thing?”

You exchange a quick glance with Hyunjin before shaking your head. “No. No big thing.”

Julian tilts his head, curious now too. “Really?”

You smile faintly, brushing your fingers around the rim of your glass. “Chris and I got married on a whim. It was… spontaneous. We were both young and in love and reckless. He was on tour. We were somewhere in between cities—I don’t even remember where exactly—and we just decided to do it.”

Tigerlily blinks. “Just like that?”

“We found this little church. We had a very small, quiet ceremony. No guests. No dress. Just the two of us, the band members and a couple of strangers as witnesses.”

There’s a quiet that falls over the table. Not heavy, just thoughtful. You hesitate a little before glancing at Hyunjin, unsure of how he might take hearing all this. Would he think you were careless? Impulsive? Too much of the past still tangled in you?

But he’s already looking at you and he’s smiling. Soft. Warm. Reassuring. Then you feel it—his fingers wrap gently around yours beneath the table, giving your hand a tender squeeze. It tells you everything you need to hear. That he sees you. That your past doesn’t scare him. That he’s still here.

Tigerlily breaks the silence with a gentle sigh. “That’s kinda romantic though.”

Julian laughs and nods. “Very rock-n-roll.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just continues to hold your hand quietly, letting his thumb trace slow, soothing lines across your skin.

The night eventually comes to an end and you send everyone on their way out of your house. Tigerlily gives you a warm hug followed by a kiss to your cheek and Julian takes his turn next.

“Dinner was perfect,” he says. “Thank you again.”

You smile, eyes flicking toward Hyunjin, who lingers just behind them. When it’s his turn, you can feel the air shift—your body naturally leaning toward him, instinct ready to close the space for a hug. But you stop yourself. Tigerlily is right there. And you’re not ready. Not just yet.

Hyunjin seems to understand, offering you a simple smile instead as he says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, softer than you meant to.

He turns to walk toward his car, and you watch him go, your chest tightening with each step he takes away.

“Hyunjin,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

He turns, brows slightly lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“I—” You hesitate, then clear your throat. “I need you to help me with something. Inside.”

He tilts his head, confused but nods. “Sure.”

Just as he starts walking back toward you, Tigerlily and Julian pull out of the driveway. She rolls the window down, grinning and waving at you. You lift your hand, wave back. Only when their headlights disappear into the night, do you step back inside and hold the door open for him.

Hyunjin steps in after you. “What can I help you with?”

You close the door behind him and immediately turn on your heel. Without a word, you reach for him and kiss him. His body stills at first, caught off guard—but only for a second. Then he’s kissing you back, his hands catching your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, breath shallow and cheeks flushed, you whisper, “It was just an excuse. I couldn’t— I'm too embarrassed to kiss you in front of Tigerlily. Or Julian.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “So you made me come back inside for that?”

You smile, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”

He chuckles once, low and warm in his chest—and then he’s spinning you around, your back pressing into the door with a soft thud as his body finds yours again. He cups your jaw and leans in, lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Next time, you don’t need an excuse.”

Your back is still pressed against the door, lips tingling from the kiss Hyunjin just stole, when he leans in again, cupping your jaw and kissing you once more—slower this time, like he wants to memorize the feel of your mouth. You respond instinctively, hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Time feels suspended. The only sound is the quiet hum of the night and the soft breaths exchanged between kisses, one melting into another as if neither of you wants to let go just yet. But eventually, you gently press your hands to his chest, letting your forehead rest against his.

“It’s getting late,” you whisper, voice low and reluctant.

He pauses for a second, lips barely brushing yours, before pulling back with a soft chuckle. “So it is,” he mutters, still close, eyes half-lidded with affection. “And I should be a gentleman and go home.”

You laugh, nodding as you slide your hands down to rest at your sides. “That would be the noble thing to do.”

He doesn’t move just yet. Instead, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek as he tucks it gently behind your ear. He holds it there for a second, like he’s framing your face with his gaze alone.

“Goodnight,” he says, softly, as if saying it too loud might break the moment.

“Goodnight,” you echo, your voice just as tender.

He leans in and kisses you again—just once this time. Soft, warm, brief. Then he steps back, slowly pulling himself away like it physically pains him to leave.

You watch him walk out, the door clicking shut behind him. And for a long moment after, you stay where you are, heart full, smile lingering.

-

The bridal shop smells faintly of fresh flowers and fabric softener, and the soft classical music in the background sets a dreamy tone. You sit on a plush ivory chair, sipping on complimentary tea, watching as Tigerlily disappears behind a curtain with a stylist and a few dresses in her arms. You're looking at the shop catalog when Tigerlily pulls back the curtain and steps out in her first gown.

You gasp, mouth hanging open and unable to say anything until a moment later. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say, standing up with a hand over your chest. “You look like a dream.”

She spins slightly, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s nice, right? But I think we can go bigger,” she grins, already cueing the stylist to bring the next one.

The two of you only have one hour and a half to try the dresses and Tigerlily makes a good use of the time by trying everything that suits her style. She slips into the fourth dress with a glimmer in her eyes—and this time, when she steps out, she doesn't say a word.

You inhale sharply. “Oh…”

She stands tall in the mirror, draped in delicate lace and layers of flowing silk. The bodice hugs her perfectly, the train trailing behind her like a soft whisper. She turns toward you, a little breathless herself. “I think this is it,” she says quietly.

You nod, trying not to get emotional. “You look… perfect. Oh, my goodness!”

The stylist hands her a veil, and as soon as it's pinned to her hair, the both of you lock eyes—and tear up.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, wiping at her cheeks, “that’s enough of me for now.”

You laugh. “What do you mean? You’re the bride.”

“Yeah, yeah. But we’ve got time left in our session, and we’re not leaving until you try something on.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. We need to find your dress too. And you’re not showing up to my wedding in some boring beige thing off a department rack. You’re trying on dresses, Mom.”

Before you can protest, the stylist is already leading you to a different rack—sophisticated, elegant evening gowns in rich tones and luxurious fabrics.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter as she zips you into a soft lilac number.

Tigerlily laughs and pulls out her phone. “Hold still,” she says, already dialing.

You hear a familiar voice on the screen. “What’s going on?” Chris’s face pops up, framed by what looks like a dressing room backstage.

“We’re at the bridal shop. Look what I made Mom do,” Tigerlily grins as she turns the camera toward you.

Chris’s eyes widen dramatically. “Whoa. Okay. Okay—hold on, are we sure you’re not the one getting married?”

You roll your eyes, smoothing the fabric down your sides. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. You look—” he whistles low, “—absolutely stunning.”

You feel a small blush creep up your cheeks. “Stop it.”

“She’s trying to upstage me,” Tigerlily deadpans to the phone. “I knew it.”

Chris laughs. “I mean… if anyone could, it’s her. That dress? Ten out of ten.”

You glance at yourself in the mirror and smile softly. “It’s been a while since I wore something like this.”

“You should wear things like that more often,” Chris says through the screen, his voice quieter now. “It suits you.”

And though the moment is playful, there’s a quiet sincerity in his tone—and Tigerlily catches it too. She glances between the two of you, her eyes softening, but she says nothing. “Alright,” she chirps after a beat. “We’re gonna keep playing dress-up, I’ll call you later, Dad.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Bye, stunning mystery woman,” Chris teases as he waves.

You roll your eyes again but can’t stop smiling as the call ends.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, arms crossed as she eyes your reflection. “We’re getting that one.”

By the time the two of you pull up in front of your house, the sky is blushing with the colors of early sunset. You unbuckle your seatbelt, still smiling from the day you've had.

“Thanks for today,” you tell her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grins, reaching into the back seat. “I’ve got something for you.”

You narrow your eyes as she plops a glossy pink box with a silk ribbon into your lap. “What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

You untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside are some fun bachelorette party essentials—mini champagne bottle, a personalized satin robe with your name embroidered on it, a face mask, a little card that says Bride Squad, and a gold foil invitation.

You lift your gaze to her, amused. “Tigerlily.”

She’s already looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I want you to come to the bachelorette party.”

You blink. “No. Absolutely not. That’s your night to go wild with your friends. I’m not—this—look at this,” you hold up the robe, “I’m too old for this.”

“You are not too old,” she says with a huff. “And even if you were, I don’t care. You’re still my best girl. I want you there.”

“Tigerlily, sweetheart, you’re supposed to drink questionable cocktails out of straws shaped like—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence,” she says quickly, then grins. “But yes. And you’re coming.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You should be partying with your bridesmaids, not your mother.”

“I want both,” she insists, wrapping her arms around your shoulder. “Please? It won’t be all chaos, I promise. It’ll be fun, just us girls, nothing crazy. Just come and be part of it. For me, please?”

You sigh, already losing the battle. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

She beams, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That’s the point.”

You look down at the robe in your hands again and let out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll come.”

Tigerlily cheers and hugs you tight, rocking you side to side in her excitement.

As you step out of the car and wave her off, you stand at your front door for a moment, still holding the box. Your smile lingers. The robe, the invite, the day you just had—it all makes you feel like you’re slowly stepping into something new, not just for her, but for yourself, too.

-

Hyunjin’s studio is warm with late afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting soft golden hues over the clay-splattered floor. The two of you are standing at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, aprons on, fingers already dusted in fine powder.

"You know," Hyunjin says, handing you a neatly portioned piece of clay, "we should make something that fits together. Like puzzle mugs."

You raise an eyebrow. "Puzzle mugs?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Like, yours has a little curve and mine has a little bump and they fit together when we put them side by side."

Hyunjin is an artist yet he suggests something silly like this, you can't help but chuckle at it. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I'm not ashamed to admit it,” he says, leaning in to bump his shoulder lightly against yours.

You just smile, settling in at the wheel as he sets up beside you. As you begin shaping your mug, Hyunjin watches you like a hawk—only under the guise of being your personal instructor.

"Your fingers are too tense," he murmurs after a while, stepping behind you.

"I think I'm doing just fine," you say, even though you secretly enjoy it when he helps you.

"Let me help you," he says anyway, his hands gently slipping over yours as he guides the movement. His chest brushes your back, warm and steady, and his voice is low in your ear. "There... see? Perfect."

You’re pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to be close. “You know,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him, “I’m starting to think you just like hovering.”

“What gave it away?” he smirks, not even trying to deny it. Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You try to return to focusing on your mug, but every time you settle back into your work, he finds another excuse to touch—helping you fix the handle, brushing clay from your cheek, nudging your hip with his playfully. And each time, he steals a kiss. A peck on the temple. A brush along your jaw. One, right at the corner of your lips that almost makes you drop your clay.

“Hyunjin,” you warn softly, fighting back a smile.

“What?” he says innocently, grinning like the devil as he presses another kiss to the back of your neck. “I’m just helping.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Exactly,” he says, and finally leans in to steal a proper kiss—gentle, warm, slow. His lips taste faintly of the coffee you shared earlier and his hands settle at your hips like they belong there. When he finally pulls away, you’re both smiling, cheeks flushed, hearts beating just a little faster.

The studio hums with a quiet kind of satisfaction—the kind that comes after creating something with your hands, something just yours. You wipe your hands on your apron and step away from the wheel, wandering toward the shelves that line the studio walls. His latest pieces are perched there—soft-glazed bowls, sculptural vases with rippling textures, experimental forms that look like they’re breathing.

You tilt your head, admiring them, fingers tracing the air just above their surface. “I see that you’ve been busy,” you murmur.

From behind you, you feel the slow, steady presence of Hyunjin as he steps close. Then his arms slip around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. His chest warm against your spine. You smile without even realizing it.

“I had inspiration,” he says into your neck, his voice low, his breath teasing your skin.

You turn your head slightly, your body already reacting to the soft press of his lips just beneath your ear. He places another kiss just under your jaw, then another lower, slower, right where your pulse flutters. Your breath hitches.

“Hyunjin…” you whisper, but it comes out less like a warning and more like a sigh.

“Mhm?” His mouth is still at your neck, smiling against your skin.

You tilt your head a little more—partly to tease, partly because you can’t help it—and he takes it as invitation. One hand stays curled around your waist, the other slides along your hip, and when he finally turns your head toward him, his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. His mouth moves with slow purpose, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to taste every part of you.

When you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his forehead leans against yours and he murmurs, “I could stay like this forever.”

Your hand comes up to rest against his cheek, your thumb brushing the clay-smudged skin there. “We’d have to eat eventually.”

Hyunjin chuckles, his dimples flashing. “Only if we eat from the couple plates we made.”

You smile, caught in the bubble of this quiet, golden moment, his arms still holding you close. And somehow, even in the silence, you can feel the beat of something new beginning—carefully, naturally, without needing to rush.

Hyunjin's arms are still wrapped around you when he leans in, lips brushing your cheek in a gentle kiss that makes your heart flutter. “Let's go somewhere this weekend,” he murmurs. “Just us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.”

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s already smiling—eyes filled with that kind of mischief and affection that always seems to undo you. You open your mouth to answer, but your thoughts momentarily scatter at the sight of his beautiful face so close to yours, lit with the fading light and warm contentment. You almost forget what you were trying to say.

“I can’t,” you finally manage, with a soft, apologetic laugh. “I have Tigerlily’s bachelorette party this weekend.”

Hyunjin’s smile falters into a playful frown, his brows drawing together. “So… you’re going to have fun without me?”

You nod slowly, teasing. “Exactly.”

He scoffs, mock offended. “What if you meet someone younger and prettier than me?”

You give him a long, dramatic look. “Younger, maybe. But prettier?” You shake your head. “Impossible.”

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, his dimples showing as he grins wide. “You’re so biased.”

“Only a little,” you say, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. “And you have the bachelor's party too, right?”

He hums, then leans his forehead against yours, his voice dipping lower. “Still… I’d rather be alone with you.”

You smile, cupping his jaw. “It’s just for the weekend.”

Hyunjin groans quietly, burying his face into the crook of your neck like a sulking child. “I miss you already.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there. “We’re literally together right now.”

“Not the same,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, just savoring the closeness, the way your body molds into his so naturally. It’s been a long time since you felt this light, this wanted—this adored. And the truth is, you’re starting to miss him already too.

He rests his chin lightly on your shoulder, the curve of his smile brushing against your skin. You place your hands over his, but then slowly turn in his embrace to face him. His eyes are soft, searching. And in that moment, with his face so close, his hands so gentle on your waist, your heart swells—too full, too fast.

“Hyunjin,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “I need to say something.”

He straightens, listening and he holds your gaze, giving you all of his attention.

“These feelings between us…” you take a breath, “they’re strong. Maybe a little too strong sometimes. They make it hard to think clearly.”

His brows knit just slightly, not in worry—just in quiet attention.

You continue, “When I was younger, I rushed into things. I followed my heart blindly because that’s what you do when you’re young, right? But now... I’ve learned. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

His expression softens even more, lips parting slightly as he listens.

“I want to do this right,” you say. “I want to take things slow. I need you to understand that.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods. “I understand,” he says softly.

Your chest loosens with a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And then a smile curves at the corner of his mouth—playful and warm.

“I can do slow,” he says, tilting his head as his thumb brushes lightly along your waist. “But just so you know... I’m still going to kiss you every chance I get.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound, because of course he’d say something like that.

“But only after I ask,” he adds with a wink, “like a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway. Slow, you think. Yes. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still feel like falling.

-

The bachelorette weekend takes you to a vibrant coastal city, the kind that pulses with energy even before the sun sets. Tigerlily books a gorgeous suite for herself, her closest friends, and you—even if you keep joking that you're the designated chaperone.

But she’s not having that. “You’re not my mom tonight,” she says as she tosses a glittery, body-hugging dress onto the bed in front of you. “You’re my hot bestie. Now get changed.”

You laugh, holding up the dress. “You do realize I’m going to need a chiropractor after this.”

“You’ll need a shot, not a chiropractor,” she grins, already pulling on her heels. “Come on. Let’s have fun.”

The club is loud, crowded, and alive. Music throbs through the walls, and the lights flicker in time with your heartbeat. Tigerlily's friends are instantly swept onto the dance floor, but you take your time at the bar, ordering a drink just to ease into the chaos.

As you wait, a man—mid-thirties, maybe younger—leans on the bar beside you. “Let me guess,” he says, eyeing you with a slow smile, “you’re not from around here.”

You arch a brow. “That obvious?”

“In a good way,” he says smoothly. “You’ve got this whole... mysterious elegance thing going on.”

You chuckle, amused but not buying it. “Mysterious elegance, huh?”

Before he can continue, Tigerlily appears at your side like she’s been watching the whole thing. She slides her arm through yours and grins at the guy. “Sorry, she’s taken.”

You sputter a little. “Am I?”

“You are tonight,” she replies without missing a beat, already dragging you back toward the dance floor.

“Was that necessary?” you ask, laughing.

“Absolutely. That man looked like he was about to write you poetry.”

You shake your head, but you're smiling. “I still got it?”

Tigerlily bumps her hip against yours. “You never lost it.”

The two of you dance. And for the first time in a long while, you let go. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, sway to the beat, sip cocktails with sparkly straws, and feel a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years stretch awake. And you realize—you're not just doing this for Tigerlily anymore. You’re doing it for you.

Despite Tigerlily’s words saying that you’re not the chaperone. That tonight, you're just one of the girls. But the second the night winds down and heels start coming off, the music now just a low thump in the background of your ears, your maternal instinct takes over like second nature.

You count heads and then guide swaying bodies down the hallway of the hotel. One by one, you get them to their rooms—someone’s missing a phone, another forgot their keycard—but you manage. You always do.

Tigerlily is last. She's clutching onto your arm, half-laughing, half-mumbling something about how the room keeps spinning. She can barely walk straight, so you wrap an arm around her waist and hold her steady.

"You’re so bossy when you're sober," she slurs, giggling into your shoulder.

"I’m always bossy. Sober or not," you mutter fondly, helping her into the room.

You ease her down onto the bed and begin unlacing her heels. She flops back dramatically with a groan, like the soft sheets have defeated her.

“No sleeping until you drink this,” you say, pressing a cold glass of water to her lips.

She takes a few sips, grumbling. “You're worse than Julian.”

You smile and gently pull a blanket over her. "Duh! I'm your mother."

Once her breathing evens out and you’re sure she’s asleep, you head to the bathroom to wash off the night. The cool water feels good against your flushed cheeks, and by the time you’ve changed into a loose shirt and shorts, your feet are aching, and sleep is calling. Sighing to yourself that you're indeed too old for this.

You slip under the covers beside her. The hotel bed is wide and soft, and for a moment, you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how tonight felt like a glimpse into another life. A little wild. A little young. A little free.

Tigerlily mumbles something in her sleep and shifts closer, curling into your side like she used to as a kid after a nightmare. You smile, gently smoothing her hair.

"My girl’s getting married," you whisper to the dark, a little in awe of it all.

You're just about to doze off when your phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Hyunjin’s name. Your heart does that little skip it always does when it’s him.

You answer quietly, voice soft in the dim hotel room. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, and even through the phone, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you?”

“Not yet,” you whisper, glancing at Tigerlily snoring softly beside you. “I just got into bed.”

“I miss you,” he says without hesitation.

You smile. “You just called me this afternoon.”

“Yeah, and that was already too long ago,” he murmurs. “How was the party?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “Loud. Wild. There was a lot of dancing, a lot of drinking. Oh—and a couple of guys tried to flirt with me at the bar.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—“What?”

You bite your lip, already amused.

Hyunjin groans dramatically. “Were they cute?”

“Hmm… not really my type.”

He scoffs. “So you have a type?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, yes.”

“Let me guess. Tall. Buzzcut hair. Has paint or clay on his hands at all times. Annoyingly charming.”

You grin into the darkness. “Sounds familiar.”

“I can’t believe you let someone else talk to you,” he mutters, pouting so hard you can practically hear it.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m possessive,” he corrects, “and jealous. And currently imagining you in a crowded club looking way too good while I’m stuck thinking about you while everyone else is having fun at Julian’s bachelor party.”

You shake your head, heart fluttering. “You have nothing to worry about. I spent the second half of the night chaperoning drunk girls to their rooms. I’m pretty sure that killed the vibe for everyone.”

He groans again. “Why are you like this? So good. So angelic.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” he says, quieter this time. “You’re kind. You take care of everyone. You have no idea how rare that is.”

There’s a pause. You blink up at the ceiling. “Are you drunk?” you tease, voice softening.

“No,” he says, “Maybe, but also... stupid in love.”

You hold yourself back from smiling but in the next second, you catch yourself doing it on the reflection on the mirror.

“I miss kissing you,” he says suddenly. “I miss the taste of your lips. I keep thinking about it. How long until I get to do that again?”

You go quiet, warmth blooming in your chest, spreading slow and tender. “I miss you too,” you finally say.

He hums. “Do you think about kissing me too?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile to yourself. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Sleep well.”

“I’m imagining it anyway,” he says, smirking through the phone.

“Bye,” you laugh, and hang up before he can say anything else.

You set your phone down, heart beating fast, and lie there in the dark for a long moment—grinning like a teenager, feeling like one too. God, you missed this feeling.

-

The energy is electric in Tigerlily’s suite tonight. The whole room glows under soft, warm lights and the scent of vanilla candles mingles with the sugary sweetness of the cakes piled high on the coffee table. Laughter bounces off the walls as music plays low from a speaker tucked in the corner.

You’re all dressed in matching silk pajamas—rosy blush pink with embroidered initials on the pocket, courtesy of Tigerlily, of course. The fabric is smooth against your skin, the kind of luxury that makes you feel girlish and a little silly, but it’s infectious.

Someone pops another bottle of champagne and the fizz makes everyone cheer. Flutes are constantly being topped up, hands full of chocolate truffles and strawberry cupcakes, and someone just declared it was time for a group selfie with whipped cream on their nose.

Tigerlily is glowing in the middle of it all, a tiara nestled into her soft waves and a sash that reads BRIDE TO BE draped over her shoulder. She looks at you from across the room with her eyes sparkling, and you smile back, shaking your head fondly as you take another sip of your drink.

“Come on, you’re not getting out of this,” one of her friends laughs, dragging you toward the bed where they’re setting up for a game of “Truth or Dare.”

“I thought I was just here to supervise,” you tease, sliding onto the edge of the mattress.

“Not tonight,” Tigerlily grins, sitting next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder. “Tonight, you’re one of the girls.”

You feel warm—not from the champagne, but from the comfort of being surrounded by joy. It’s been a while since you’ve had a night like this.

You narrow your eyes at her and say, “Truth”

A collective gasp and a series of excited giggles erupt from the circle of girls, and one of Tigerlily’s friends—a bold one named Minji—leans forward with a mischievous grin. “Okay then,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Since it’s all girls here and we’re already past tipsy, we want to know—how was the sexual chemistry between you and The Chris Bang?”

The room explodes into shrieks and laughter.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?” you choke out, a flush rising up your neck.

“You picked Truth!” Tigerlily sings, covering her face in secondhand embarrassment.

You laugh, flustered but not backing down. “Are we really doing this?”

“Rules are rules!” someone shouts.

You glance at Tigerlily, who is already groaning into a pillow. “I’m only answering this to scar my daughter for life,” you say dramatically, and everyone howls with laughter.

You pause for effect, taking a sip of your champagne with a smirk. “Let’s just say… every night was a new adventure and Tigerlily’s dad is a very skilled lover.”

A wave of delighted squeals and gasps ripple through the room.

“OH MY GOD!” Tigerlily yells, throwing the pillow at you while everyone collapses into laughter. “MOM, NO! I didn’t need to hear that!”

You can barely breathe from laughing so hard. “You asked for it!”

Minji claps her hands gleefully. “Best answer of the night. I have no regrets.”

You and Tigerlily are both flustered—her from horror, you from champagne and the sheer chaos of the moment—but the laughter is infectious.

The room softens as the champagne bottles empty and the sugar rush fades into warm, lazy giggles. The lights are dimmed now, casting a golden glow over the suite as everyone lounges on the fluffy rug or leans into the plush pillows scattered across the floor. One of the girls starts playing soft music in the background, and someone else—Juni, you think—sighs dreamily.

“Okay, okay,” she says, tipping her empty glass toward Tigerlily, “before I start crying for real—can we talk about how lucky we are to know this woman?”

A chorus of “yes” follows, and the room starts to glow with something softer than champagne.

They take turns—each of them sharing stories. Some are sweet, like the time Tigerlily stayed up all night helping a friend through a breakup. Some are silly, like the time she tried to impress a guy at a party and ended up slipping on her own drink. And some… are a little wilder.

“She once went skinny dipping once and almost got caught by hotel security,” Minji blurts out.

“MINJI!” Tigerlily yells, lunging for a pillow.

Everyone’s laughing again, and in the middle of it, Tigerlily covers your ears with both hands. “You didn’t hear that,” she says, eyes wide with mock horror.

“Oh, I definitely heard it,” you say, smiling as she pouts and hides her face.

More stories come, even more heartfelt ones. Her friends talk about how fiercely loyal she is, how she’s always been the glue that holds everyone together, how she lights up every room she walks into. And the whole time, you sit there beside her, watching her cheeks flush pink, her eyes glimmering from the emotions threatening to spill over.

At some point, she leans into your side and links her arm with yours. “I love them so much,” she whispers, voice soft and sleepy.

You press a kiss to her temple. “They love you just as much.”

It’s warm, the kind of warmth that settles in your bones. For a second, everything else fades—the wedding, the planning, even Hyunjin—and all that remains is this moment, your daughter surrounded by love, and you sitting right next to her, proud and full-hearted.

-

The suite is quiet once everyone have left. The laughter has faded into soft snore and the occasional rustle of satin against sheets. You and Tigerlily are curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cozy tangle of blankets and the lingering scent of champagne and cake. Her head rests against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow, still tinged with the sleepiness of wine and emotion. She murmurs something incoherent, and you chuckle softly, reaching up to remove the little sparkling tiara still resting askew on her head.

“There,” you whisper, placing it gently on the bedside table. “Queen of the night, now ready to sleep.”

She hums in response, eyes barely open, and you run your fingers gently through her hair, brushing it back from her face the way you used to when she was a child falling asleep in your lap. For a moment, the years blur — she’s no longer the grown woman about to become a bride, but your baby again. Just your little girl.

Then her voice comes again, quieter this time, like a secret unfurling in the dark. “Mom, do you know the real reason I brought you on this trip?” she asks.

You smile, looking down at her. “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

She shifts, propping herself up on an elbow, her eyes glossy now, shimmering in the low light. “Because after you told me how you didn’t even get a real wedding with Dad, I realized… this is your first time too. First time doing all of this. First time experiencing... life.”

You open your mouth to say something, but she’s not done. “I started thinking about how much you missed. You had me when you were barely older than I am now. And while everyone else your age was out discovering the world, you were raising one.”

Her voice cracks, and she blinks fast, but the tears slip out anyway. “You missed a lot, Mom.”

You reach up and gently cup her cheek, brushing a tear away with your thumb. “Maybe. But I also gained more than I ever thought I could.”

She looks at you, really looks, her heart in her throat.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you continue, voice steady despite the lump forming in your chest. “If I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d still choose this life. I’d still choose you. You were never the thing I missed out on — you were the gift. The best one I’ve ever had.”

That’s when she breaks, she buries her face into your chest, arms wrapping around you tightly as her sobs come freely now. Her words are muffled, broken between sniffles and hiccups.

“Thank you,” she cries, “thank you for being my mom. For everything. For always being there.”

You hold her close, your arms strong around her trembling frame, your lips pressed gently to her hair.

“And I thank you,” you whisper, “for being mine. For choosing me back. You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re someone’s wife. Even when you’re old and gray. You’ll always be my little cub… my Tigerlily.”

She cries harder at that, and you let her. You stroke her hair, her back, hold her like you did when she was small and scared of thunderstorms.

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur as you kiss the top of her head.

And in the hush of that hotel room, surrounded by the remnants of a celebration, you feel it — the profound, unshakable bond between mother and daughter. One that no wedding, no passage of time, not even the miles of growing up, can ever change.

-

The taxi pulls away from the curb, and you stand in front of your house, suitcase in hand, the night air brushing cool against your skin. The neighborhood is quiet, the kind of silence that seeps into your bones after a long trip. You unlock the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar hum of home—and the stillness that now feels a little too heavy.

You set your bags down by the door, slipping your shoes off as your gaze sweeps across the dimly lit living room. It should feel comforting to be home, but the silence echoes strangely. Maybe it’s the way the weekend had been so full of life, of laughter, of your daughter’s arms wrapped around you, her voice in your ear. Maybe it’s the realization that her wedding is only a week away. One week until she starts a new chapter—without you at the center of it.

You sigh, about to head to the bedroom when your phone rings. Your heart lifts the moment you see his name on the screen. Hyunjin. You answer with a tired smile. “Hey.”

His voice comes through warm and eager, “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” you say, confused but already softening.

“That’s great,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Because I’m outside.”

“What?” But you’re already moving, already making your way back to the front door, heart kicking in your chest. You pull it open and there he is.

Standing on your porch in the glow of the porch light, hands in the pockets of his coat, smile stretched across his beautiful face. “Hi,” he says, gentle and breathless.

You don’t even think. You throw yourself at him and he catches you with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around you, the kind of embrace that grounds you instantly. Your face buries into the crook of his neck, and you breathe him in — warm and familiar, like something you've been missing without realizing.

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the glow from a single lamp painting the room in soft gold. You’ve traded your travel clothes for something more comfortable, and Hyunjin hasn’t left your side since you walked through the door.

“I brought you something,” he says with a spark in his eyes, reaching for the small box he placed on the coffee table earlier. You tilt your head as he opens it and pulls out two perfectly shaped mugs. The couple mugs you made together in his studio.

You take one gently, brushing your thumb over the glaze. His signature artistic touches are there—little swirling patterns on the handle, the bottom rim etched with a tiny heart. The craftsmanship is beautiful, but it’s the meaning that steals your breath.

“Hyunjin… they’re beautiful.”

He grins. “I know. You’re getting pretty good at this, you know.”

You raise a brow. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re a natural.” He plucks your mug from your hand and places it beside its twin on the kitchen counter. “And I want you to keep them here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs, slipping his arm around your shoulders as he comes back to sit beside you. “Yeah. This is where they belong. With you.”

You blink at him, lips parting. He offers you a sheepish smile, like it’s nothing. But to you, it’s everything. You lean into his warmth, head resting on his shoulder as the steam from the coffee curls in the air between you.

“How was the trip?” he asks softly, his hand running gentle strokes up and down your arm.

You exhale slowly, gaze fixed on the steam rising from your mug. “It was fun. Loud. Chaotic. A little overwhelming.” You chuckle. “Tigerlily made me dance at a club. Can you imagine?”

He smiles into your hair. “I can. And I bet you were stunning.”

You laugh, shaking your head before your voice turns quieter. “But it wasn’t just the party. There was this moment… with Tigerlily. Just us, after everyone left. And in a week… she’s getting married. She’s starting her life.”

Hyunjin listens, pulling you closer, fingers lacing with yours.

“And when I came home… it just hit me. The silence. The shift. Like something changed and I didn’t realize how final it was until I walked in that door.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets you rest against him, his breath steady and grounding. Then he whispers, “It’s okay to feel that. Change is hard. Even good change. But it doesn’t mean you’re losing anything.”

Your throat tightens at that, your eyes stinging again, but not in a bad way.

Hyunjin lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You’re not empty. You’re evolving. And I’ll be here. Through every version.”

You look up at him, heart aching in the best way. “You always know what to say.”

“I just say what I feel,” he says with a soft smile. “And what I feel is... I’m really glad you’re home.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than you need to. “Me too.”

The soft lull of the evening hums in the background—rain patters lightly outside the window, and the room is quiet except for the gentle clink of mugs being set aside. You’re still nestled in Hyunjin’s arms when he tilts your chin up, searching your eyes. His thumb brushes across your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

It starts slow—familiar and warm, like finding something you didn’t know you missed. But the way he presses into you speaks of how much he’s been holding back. You feel it in the way his hand cups the side of your face, in the way his lips part against yours, deeper, more certain.

“I missed you,” he whispers in between kisses. “So much.”

Your breath catches as his mouth moves again, softer now, teasing. “I kept thinking about kissing you like this…” His lips brush against yours again. “Touching you again…” Another kiss, slower this time, more drawn out. “And now I can’t stop.”

It’s dizzying—the way he says it, the way he shows it with every breath, every brush of his hands on your waist, your back, your hips. You clutch the front of his sweater, kissing him back just as fiercely, tasting the longing that matches your own. But as it grows, so does the awareness in your chest—the deep pull of trust, of something safe and real building between you.

You slow the kiss, your hands rising to cup his face, and you look at him—really look at him. His lips are swollen, eyes dark with affection and something more primal, but his expression softens when he sees the look in yours. “Hyunjin,” you breathe out. “Do you… want to stay over tonight?”

A silence settles for a moment, but only because he's searching your face for meaning. Then, the corners of his lips curl up into a gentle, knowing smile. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

He kisses you once more—slow, tender, unhurried now. Like he understands what this means. Like he’s willing to hold it all gently.vAnd in the safety of that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his smile pressed against your lips, you realize—Maybe it’s time. Not to rush. But to let yourself be loved.

-

The rain has settled into a soft rhythm outside your window, a hushed lullaby that fills the silence between you and Hyunjin as you lie tangled together in the quiet of your bedroom. The lights are dim, casting everything in amber warmth, and his body is curved around yours like he’s meant to be there—one arm draped across your waist, his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along your hip. His voice is low and soft when he speaks. “It’s raining.”

You smile, your cheek pressed gently against his chest. “It was raining the night Tigerlily was born,” you murmur, nostalgia coating your words. “The heaviest rain I’ve ever heard. I remember thinking it was the sky weeping with joy.”

Hyunjin hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear as he listens. “Tell me everything,” he says quietly. “Tell me what it was like. Tell me about you. About the parts of you I haven’t met yet.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. He’s looking at you like he wants to memorize it all. So you tell him. About your favorite book as a teenager. About the first concert you ever went to. About how you decided to not go to university and went to auditions instead. About the coffee shop you used to write books in. About the day you found out you were pregnant and how you cried, terrified and overwhelmed but already in love. About how motherhood changed you. About how you still feel like that twenty-something girl sometimes—just trying to figure it out. He listens to every word, never interrupting, never pulling away. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the quiet weight of his attention.

You smile softly after a while, your voice dipping into playful territory. “So... do all of that make you rethink this? About me?”

He turns his face into your hair, chuckling. “It makes me love you more.”

And just like that, the moment stills. You shift to look at him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you search his face. “You said it,” you whisper, a bit stunned.

“I did,” he says, not missing a beat. His voice is calm but sure, eyes steady on yours. “I know we’re taking it slow. And I’ll go as slow as you need me to. But that won’t stop how I feel about you. I can’t help it.”

He reaches out, cradling your cheek in his hand. “I love you.”

The words land in your chest like a heartbeat. Warm and undeniable. And then he leans in, kissing you like he means it—with depth, with tenderness, with the weight of every quiet, growing feeling he’s been carrying since the moment he met you. His thumb strokes your cheek as your lips move together, and the sound of the rain outside continues like a hymn for something sacred blooming between you. In this moment, you believe him. You believe in this. You believe in love—again.

The rain is still falling outside, a soft, steady backdrop to the way his body settles closer, his hands moving over the curves of your waist, the dip of your hip. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and his hand slips beneath the hem of your nightdress, starting to inch it upward when you stop him with a quiet touch to his wrist.

“Wait,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin pauses instantly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, concern etching into his brows. “What is it?”

You swallow, your hand still wrapped gently around his wrist. “I’m not what you think I am,” you murmur, heart beating too fast. “I’m not young anymore, Hyunjin. My body’s not perfect. I have lines, softness, marks from time. I just—” You hesitate, searching for words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

For a second, there’s only the sound of rain and your breath between you. Then he smiles. That beautiful, slow, devastating smile that always seems to unravel something inside you. He leans in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw.

“You think I don’t see you?” he says gently, voice low, threaded with something that feels close to awe. “I see all of you. I’ve seen you laugh, cry, carry the weight of the world with grace. I’ve seen you fall apart and still be strong. And you’re beautiful. So beautiful to me.”

Your chest tightens, something deep and old melting at his words.

Hyunjin lifts your chin so you’re looking at him, really looking. His gaze is steady, sincere. “Let me see you,” he says softly. “All of you.”

And with trembling breath, you nod. Your fingers let go of his wrist, and Hyunjin helps you out of your nightdress with patient care, not like he’s undressing you, but like he’s unveiling something precious. When you're bare beneath him, you brace yourself—but he only looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever laid eyes on. His hands move gently over your skin, warm and grounding, and then he leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, filled with everything words can’t hold.

In his touch, in his gaze, you feel it: desire, yes, but also reverence. Love. A quiet promise that he sees you—not just your body, but your story. Your soul. All of you. And to him, you are beautiful.

Hyunjin takes his time with you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin, every shiver and sigh. His lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss that makes your heart ache in the most exquisite way, and when he pulls back, he trails kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch feels like a vow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath dancing over your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you.”

His mouth moves lower, over the slope of your chest, down to the valley between your breasts, his hands cradling you gently as if you might break. He pauses just long enough to look at you again, like he wants to be sure you're still with him, still saying yes—and when you nod, he smiles and continues, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, slow and reverent.

He murmurs sweet things between kisses. “You don’t even know how you look to me,” he says, his voice hushed, like a secret he’s only brave enough to share now. “You’re out of this world. You’re art.”

When he reaches your hips, his fingers ghost over your sides, grounding and careful, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. Then further—over your thighs, your inner thighs, where his kisses turn softer, slower, like he’s worshiping the very idea of you. And then, like a final act of devotion, he kneels and lifts your foot gently, pressing a kiss to your ankle, then to the inside of your calf, like there’s no part of you undeserving of love. You feel your breath catch in your throat. Not from arousal—though that coils steadily too—but from the overwhelming way he sees you. All of you. And still chooses to love every part.

As he makes his way back up to you, his eyes meet yours again, tender and warm. “I want to know everything about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every scar, every story, every soft place you’re afraid to show.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like surrender—but the safe kind. The kind where you let yourself be seen and loved, completely.

Hyunjin flashes you a smile before he disappears between your thighs like he’s slipping into a world made only of you. His hands settle on your hips with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you as his mouth begins its slow, deliberate worship on your pulsating cunt. Every flick of his tongue on your clit is thoughtful, every kiss between the folds is reverent. He’s not just trying to please you—he’s trying to learn you, to know you and you’re unraveling beneath him. But still, you’re quiet. Holding your breath. Biting your lip to keep any sounds at bay, your fingers curling into the sheets instead of his hair.

Hyunjin notices so he lifts his head, lips slick and eyes dark with adoration and something deeper—hunger, yes, but also love. “Why are you being quiet?” he asks softly, teasingly. “You think I don’t want to hear you?”

Your breath stutters as you look at him and he leans up just slightly, presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let them out,” he murmurs. “All those beautiful noises you’re holding back—I want to hear them. All of them.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears then he lowers himself again with a smile that’s both wicked and gentle. And when he starts again, landing his plush lips on your drenching core, slower this time, more insistent, you don’t hold back. And Hyunjin—he hums his satisfaction against your skin like it’s his favorite sound in the world.

It doesn't take long for Hyunjin’s skilled mouth to take you where you need to. You fall apart beneath him—trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in the sheets as waves of pleasure roll through you. He doesn’t stop running his tongue between your wet folds until you’re completely undone, your body twitching with the aftershocks, your breath ragged and uneven.

Only then does he pull away, slowly, languidly, as if savoring the last taste of you. There’s a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he rises, and the look in his eyes—it’s all heat and devotion, mischief laced with reverence.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans over you again, his mouth brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, deep, and when your tongue meets his, you taste yourself on him—warm, intimate, dizzying. He groans softly against your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “For coming so beautifully like that for me.” His eyes flicker over your face, lips brushing yours again. “You taste so good, I already want another.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your body still buzzing from the high, your fingers curling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, and you’ve never felt so wanted, so seen completely his.

After a while, Hyunjin sits back on his knees, eyes locked with yours, his breathing still uneven. Without a word, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. His skin glows under the soft light, golden and lean, the shadows carving definition along his chest, his arms, the delicate lines of muscle and bone that move with each breath. He watches you watch him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as he unbuttons his pants, not rushed, letting every movement stretch, deliberate and teasing. Piece by piece, he undresses for you—until there's nothing left between you. Then he leans down, his hands bracing on either side of your body as he hovers over you once more, heat radiating from him as his bare skin meets yours. The sensation is overwhelming—startling in its intensity. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Legs tangled and breaths mixing in the space between your mouths.

Your body arches instinctively, responding to the feel of him, the way he fits so perfectly above you. One of his hands strokes along your side, memorizing the lines of you with reverence. His voice is a whisper, brushing your ear as he lowers himself fully against you.

“There’s nothing in the world that feels better than this,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

With that, he lets the moment settle around you like silk, like warmth, like something you never want to end. Then, your hands lift on their own, hesitant at first. Your fingertips trace the line of his collarbone, down the slope of his chest, across the gentle dip between his ribs. You feel the way his heart races beneath your touch, the way his muscles flex subtly as your fingers explore him. He watches you in silence, his gaze soft, his lashes lowering when your palm rests just over his heart. There’s a faint tremble in your voice when you whisper, ���You’re so beautiful.”

His breath hitches. The smallest, most vulnerable sound. A shy smile curves his lips as he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. “You really think so?”

You nod, letting your hand move lower—over the dip of his waist, the subtle trail of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. “All of you. Every inch of you,” you murmur, and he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath waiting to hear you say that.

Hyunjin kisses you again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. It's deep, warm, and possessive—the kind of kiss that curls your toes and makes your body arch instinctively toward his. His hands roam, slow but confident and you gasp softly against his lips when his palm slides down your side, cupping the curve of your hip.

The kiss grows hotter with each passing second, his body pressing you further into the mattress. His breath is ragged when he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you have any condoms?” he asks, voice low and husky with anticipation.

You’re still catching your breath, nodding slowly when he suddenly adds with a crooked smirk, “Not that I’m planning to give Tigerlily a younger sibling… not yet, at least.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sudden flash of humor easing the last of your nerves. “Drawer in the bathroom,” you reply, voice soft but steady.

Hyunjin grins at you, a glint of fondness—and something deeper—shining in his eyes as he brushes your hair back from your face. “Be right back,” he says, and then he leans down, giving you one last kiss—sweet and slow, as if he doesn’t want to leave your lips even for a second—before slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Not long after, the bathroom light flicks off, and soft footsteps pad against the floor. You lift your head slightly as he returns, a quiet smile playing on his lips and a tenderness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way. He walks over with the same graceful ease he always carries, but there's something else now—something deeper in the way he looks at you like he's seeing all of you, and wanting every piece. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You hear the soft crinkle of the foil packet, that small sound somehow thunderous in the silence of the room. It makes your skin prickle with anticipation. You can’t see everything he’s doing, but you don’t need to. The intimacy of it, the knowing of what’s about to come, makes your breath catch.

When he finally turns to you again, Hyunjin shifts closer, slow and deliberate, his body warm as it presses into yours. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he leans in gently, one hand finding your cheek, fingers featherlight as they cradle your face. His thumb brushes your skin, and you feel the slight tremble in his breath as his forehead touches yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, like you’re a secret he wants to keep safe.

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just you and him. Then, he leans in, kissing you with that same softness, his body melts into yours, skin to skin, the kiss deepening as his hand glides from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. Every inch of you fits against him like you were meant to be held this way.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, nothing else matters but the way he kisses you—as if he's telling you without words just how much he wants you, and how deeply he already cares.

Your fingers curl gently against the slope of his back as he settles between your legs, his body warm and familiar now, like something you’ve known all along.

Hyunjin nudges his nose against your cheek and murmurs, “I’m going to take it slow this time. Really slow.” There's a teasing glint in his voice, soft and sultry, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat.

“You say that,” you whisper back, voice already tinged with need, “but you never do.”

He grins, brushing a kiss along your jawline. “I mean it tonight.” And you can tell he does, not just in the way he speaks, but in the way he moves. He aligns his cock to your entrance and then he pushes his throbbing length into you slowly, carefully like he wants you to feel everything.

And you feel it, you feel all of it. Every inch of his hard length entering you, filling you, every breath, every shared heartbeat. The two of you let out a raw, satisfied groan at the feeling of being inside each other, at last.

The moment Hyunjin starts to move, it’s almost too much—the fullness, the stretch, the heat of his cock inside you. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up, instinctively tightening around him, your breath catching in your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan, dropping his forehead against yours. “You can’t do that,” he breathes, voice thick and frayed. “If you keep clenching like that, I’ll—” He swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I’ll embarrass myself.”

You try to bite back a smile, only half-successful. “Sorry,” you murmur, not sounding sorry at all.

His eyes open again, and there’s laughter there, but also something deeper—adoration, restraint, the ache of wanting to last. “This is our first time, let me make a good impression,” he playfully says, and then he kisses you again, slower this time—true to his word—as he begins to move with deliberate tenderness, making sure every second counts.

A moment later, Hyunjin moves within you in slow, deep rhythms—measured, reverent, like he’s savoring every second. His breath hitches now and then as he buries his face in your neck, whispering praise between kisses and sighs. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “So warm, so perfect…”

Each word wraps around you, deeper than his touch. “I’m so lucky… to feel you like this. To have you like this.”

Then he leans back just enough to make you meet his gaze, his hand cradling the side of your face. And in that moment, you feel completely seen. Not just your body, but your soul. The walls you’ve built over the years, the scars, the quiet fears you’ve kept tucked away—he sees them all. And he stays.

A wave of emotion crashes over you so suddenly, so powerfully, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your lips part beneath his kiss, but your body trembles beneath the weight of feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to kiss him back.

Hyunjin notices and he pulls back immediately, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and urgent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, eyes closing just as the first tears slip down your cheeks.

He stills completely, pulling out of you without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from whatever it is that’s hurting you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, your jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” you choke out, your voice cracking around the lump in your throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair out of your face, concern still dark in his eyes. “Then what is it?”

Your gaze locks with his, and for the first time, you let the fear rise to the surface. “I’m scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Of this. Of you. Of what I’m feeling. It’s so much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just wipes the tears from your cheeks with the backs of his knuckles, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone gently, grounding you.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

At that, a bittersweet smile curves at the corner of his lips, his brows furrowing just slightly. He cups your face in both hands, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you again—slow and full, the kind of kiss that says everything he can’t yet put into words.

When he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips, “I'm not going hurt you. I promise.”

In his eyes, you believe him. You pull him close again, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin hesitates only a moment—watching your eyes, searching for the unspoken permission—and when he sees it, he slowly slips himself into you again and starts to move, his body rocking against yours in quiet devotion.

It’s different now. The fear is still there, but it no longer weighs you down—it lifts, transforms into something new, something freeing. With every slow thrust, every kiss that brushes your skin, you feel your heart split open, not in pain but in release, like something you’ve held too tightly for too long is finally being set free.

You let him in. You feel him. All of him. The weight of his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his heart stutters against your chest. And in the stillness between movements, in the soft moans and whispered names, in the curve of his mouth against your neck—you feel the truth of the connection between you. It’s real. You hold onto him tighter, not to cling, but to anchor yourself in this moment.

“I’m here,” he murmurs between kisses, like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

With one final, aching stroke, the pleasure builds, wraps around both of you until you fall into it together—his name breathless on your lips, your name a prayer on his. You come undone in his arms, and he follows, holding you like you’re something sacred. In the quiet after, as your bodies settle and your hearts slow, there’s no fear. His skin is warm, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lay curled into his side, your leg tangled with his beneath the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut as you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed to his chest where you can hear his heartbeat. It’s grounding, comforting like a lullaby made just for you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, voice raspy from the night but threaded with affection.

You nod against his chest. “More than okay.”

You sigh contentedly, letting yourself soak in the warmth of his body and the calm that settles between you. Nothing about this moment is rushed. Nothing about it feels unsure. It’s just you and him—bodies entwined, hearts open, quiet and full.

-

It's like the rain didn't happen last night as the sun is shining so brightly the next morning. You’re at the stove in your robe, humming to yourself as you flip a pancake, already plating the crispy bacon beside it when you hear footsteps shuffle in—slow, heavy, and unmistakably sleepy.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Hyunjin appear in the doorway, shirtless with the sheet from your bed still clinging to one shoulder like he didn’t bother shrugging it off. He’s rubbing his eyes and yawning, but that sleepy smile—so sweet and lazy—stretches across his face when he sees you. He walks straight to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You weren’t in bed,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “I woke up and you were gone. That’s not fair.”

You laugh softly, continuing to stir the eggs in the pan. “Someone has to make breakfast.”

“Wrong answer,” Hyunjin grumbles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I wanted morning cuddles.”

Before you can respond, he’s already turning you around gently and lifting you by the waist with ease. You let out a small squeal as he sets you on the edge of the kitchen island, your legs dangling off the side. He places his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in with that warm, sleepy grin on his face. You return the smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a slow, soft kiss to your lips.

You kiss him back just as softly. “Good morning.”

His smile widens, and then he’s peppering your lips with quick, playful kisses—one after the other, barely giving you time to breathe between each one. You giggle, trying to squirm away, but his arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your chest with a content sigh. You rest your hand on the nape of his neck, holding him close, the warmth between your bodies matching the gentle golden light spilling through the kitchen window.

Hyunjin stays nestled against your chest for a long, comfortable moment before he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyes still sleepy but filled with something softer—something warmer. “So…” he starts, voice a little hopeful. “Can we finally take that trip together now?”

You let out a laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you forgetting something?”

He blinks. “No?”

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “The wedding is this weekend.”

Hyunjin pauses, then groans dramatically as he drops his head back against your chest. “Nooo, right. That.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, giggling.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you with a pout. “Okay but… hear me out. What if you just told her to push the wedding to next weekend instead?”

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as you lightly smack his shoulder. “You want me to reschedule my daughter’s wedding so we can go on a trip?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs playfully. “Priorities.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Anyway, as the mother of the bride, I’m only going to get busier this week with the final prep.”

Hyunjin groans even louder this time, letting his head fall against your shoulder like the world is ending. “Ugh. Being the best man sounded more fun in theory.”

You grin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You better take that duty seriously. Tigerlily will haunt your dreams if you mess it up.”

“She already does,” he mutters with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh again, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’ll survive. And once the wedding’s over…”

He perks up, eyes sparkling. “Trip?”

“Well, I was going to say...” you pause to pick up your mug of coffee, “coffee?”

Hyunjin gasps in delight as he sees the couple mugs you made filled with hot, steaming coffee. “Coffee first then the trip,” he murmurs with a grin as he picks up his mug.

Before taking a sip, he kisses you right then and there—soft and triumphant, like he’s already picturing you both somewhere far away, together.

-

You open the front door just as the cab pulls away from the curb, revealing Chris standing there with his suitcase in one hand and his daughter Riley beside him, hoodie pulled over her head, nose buried in her phone.

Chris offers you a tired smile, stopping right on the doorway to give you a quick hug. “Hey.”

You smile warmly, stepping aside to let them in. “Hey. How was your flight?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, brushing his hair back as he steps inside. “Fine. Long.”

You give him a knowing look—his eyes are a bit bloodshot and there’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slump—but you don’t push it. Instead, your eyes drift toward Riley, who’s still in her own world, thumbs tapping at her screen, headphones on.

“Riley,” Chris says with a light nudge to her shoulder. “Say hi.”

She looks up for the first time, pulling her headphones down just slightly. “Hi,” she mutters before stepping in and giving you a quick, one-armed hug.

You wrap your arms gently around her, unfazed. “Hi, Riley. Good to see you again!”

She nods and offers a polite smile before slipping past you, already pulling her headphones back on and wandering further inside, eyes back on her phone.

You glance at Chris with a knowing smirk, and he sighs. “Teenagers.”

“She’s grown up so much,” you say softly, watching her disappear into the living room.

Chris chuckles, dragging his suitcase the rest of the way in. “Yeah. She’s got that whole ‘too cool for life’ thing down to an art.”

You close the door behind them and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on in. I’ll show you both your rooms. You can rest a bit before dinner.”

Chris nods, rolling his shoulders. “Sounds good. Thanks for letting us stay.”

You glance at him with a playful look. “You’re still family, Chris. You don’t have to thank me.”

His eyes soften at that, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you—years of history wrapped in a single look. “Still,” he says, “thank you.”

Later that afternoon, the house feels warm and quiet, filled with the subtle scent of fresh cookies and the soft clinking of mugs. You and Chris sit across from each other at the kitchen island, a plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and steaming cups of coffee in your hands.

“So,” Chris says, leaning back slightly in the stool, “you’re still making those cookies I like.”

You smile over your cup. “You think I made them just for you?”

“I choose to believe that,” he says with a grin before taking a bite.

You laugh softly, stirring your coffee. “How’s life back in the city?”

“Busy,” he answers, nodding. “The label wants to reissue an old Bang Theory album, so I’ve been working on it. Lots of meetings, a few studio sessions, lots of… nostalgia.”

You hum, intrigued. “That sounds kind of nice. Do you miss it?”

Chris considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. “Some parts of it, yeah. Others… not so much. Touring at this age isn’t as fun as it used to be.”

You chuckle. “Your back can’t handle the stage dives anymore?”

He snorts into his coffee. “Exactly. What about you? Still working on that book?”

You nod, your smile softening. “Yeah. Actually, I’ve been… into pottery lately.”

Chris pauses mid-sip, eyebrows lifting slightly before he nods. “New hobby, huh?” he chuckles, then takes another cookie. “Good for you.”

You both settle into a brief, comfortable silence before he glances up again. “So… rehearsal dinner. What should I expect?”

You perk up at that. “Oh! It’s at that restaurant by the garden terrace downtown. Casual but elegant. Lots of wine. Julian’s parents are hosting it.”

Chris nods, then takes a breath. “And… his family? What are they like?”

You give him a curious look. “Why? Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m just… her dad. You know? Want to make a good impression.”

You lean forward, grinning. “Wait—you? Chris Bang, lead singer of Bang Theory, is nervous about meeting some suburban in-laws?”

He groans. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You laugh, then soften. “I’m not. I just think it’s sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth curling into a teasing smirk. “You calling me sweet now? That’s dangerously close to flirting.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. “It’s called reassurance.”

Still smiling, Chris leans his elbows on the counter and looks at you. “So, what do you suggest? Show up in leather and play it cool?”

You grin. “I think just be yourself. You’re already charming and likable. You don’t even have to try.”

Chris watches you for a beat, and his smile turns just a little bit softer. “Thanks.”

You shrug, playful. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” he says, popping the last cookie into his mouth.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, then lets out a deep sigh, tipping his head back slightly as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “There’s just one problem, though.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He gestures vaguely to the room upstairs where Riley is resting in Tigerlily’s old room. “Riley. She’s impossible. I swear, she’s glued to that phone like it’s a limb. I can’t get her to talk, help out, or even look up most of the time.”

You chuckle, resting your chin in your hand. “Classic teenager.”

He groans dramatically. “Yeah, well, classic teenager is driving me insane. I’ve tried being cool dad, strict dad, let’s-talk-about-it dad… nothing works. I need backup. I need you.”

You give him a slow, amused look over the rim of your mug. “You need me?”

He nods, with the exasperated sincerity of a man who’s been bested by a teenager. “I’m begging. Please. I don’t think she even knows we’re here. She could be texting someone in another dimension for all I know.”

Laughing softly, you set your mug down and lean back in your chair. “Chris, relax. I’ve got this.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You sound way too confident.”

You give him a sly smile. “Because I am confident. I know how to handle a teenager.”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Okay, now I’m curious. What’s the game plan?”

You wink. “You’ll see. But let’s just say… I've got it.”

Chris lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I forgot how terrifyingly effective you can be.”

You grin at him. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”

-

You walk quietly down the hallway and knock gently on Tigerlily’s old bedroom door, the one Riley is staying in now. After a brief pause, you push the door open to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, headphones hanging loosely around her neck, her thumbs busy tapping away.

“Hey, Riley,” you say softly, offering a warm smile. “Just wanted to check in. Do you need anything? Snacks? Water?”

Riley barely glances up, her tone monotone. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You step inside anyway, gently closing the door behind you before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” you say, watching her fingers move rapidly across the screen. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for coming.”

At that, she shrugs, eyes still on her phone. “Well, my Dad made me come so...”

You chuckle, not offended at all. “That sounds about right.”

She lets out a small laugh—barely audible, but you catch it. You smile softly and add, “Well, thank you anyway. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Riley hums noncommittally, still not making eye contact, but you don’t push. You let a few seconds pass before casually continuing, “You know… I follow your Instagram.”

That gets her attention. She blinks and glances up at you, just briefly. “You do?”

“I do. You’ve got great style. I love your outfit posts—your mirror selfies are seriously top-tier.”

Riley raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. I like clothes too. Always have.” You lean in conspiratorially. “Wanna see my wardrobe?”

That’s when her eyes truly light up. She lowers her phone just a little, the blue glow no longer dominating her expression. “Wait, really? Like… now?”

You nod, grinning. “Of course. Come on. I’ll even let you try them on.”

Riley finally sets her phone aside, her posture shifting from uninterested to intrigued in seconds. “Okay… yeah. That sounds kind of cool.”

You stand and hold your hand out toward her. “Come with me then.”

You lead Riley into your wardrobe, flipping on the warm overhead lights as the space glows to life with rows of carefully organized clothing, shoes lined up like museum pieces, and soft fabrics hanging in every hue imaginable.

Riley’s eyes go wide. “Whoa…” she breathes, stepping in like she’s just walked into Narnia. “This is insane.”

You smile as you watch her scan the racks, fingertips grazing along silk, velvet, denim, and tulle. “Insane in the best way, I hope?” you tease, enjoying her wonder.

Every few seconds, she gasps or lets out a quiet “Oh my god,” especially when she stumbles upon something particularly glamorous or vintage. Then she freezes in front of a sleek black number with subtle rhinestone detailing and a high slit—one you’d worn to a fashion event years ago. “Wait. Is this the dress you wore to the Paris thing? I saw a photo on Pinterest. You looked iconic.”

You laugh, a little flattered she noticed. “That’s the one.”

“Can I… can I try it?”

You raise a brow. “Of course you can.”

In minutes, you’re helping her zip it up, smoothing the fabric against her frame as she steps in front of the mirror. It's uncanny how it fits her like a glove. She turns to the side, then full-on beams at her reflection. “I look like I’m about to get photographed on a red carpet.”

“You kinda do,” you say, snapping a few pictures of her with her phone as she poses, giggling in between.

Then your eyes catch on a lace-detailed dress with soft pastel floral prints hanging nearby. You pull it out, holding it up. “This one… I got it after doing a shoot for Italian magazine. They let me keep it. You’d look beautiful in this.”

Riley’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wait, can I try that one too?”

“Absolutely!”

She changes into it quickly, emerging like a flower blooming, delicate and glowing as she twirls in front of the mirror. She watches herself with awe, running her hands along the fabric.

“That,” you say, stepping behind her with a soft smile, “is the perfect dress to wear for the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

She stops spinning and looks at you through the mirror, eyes wide. “Wait, really? I can wear this?”

You nod. “Yes, you can. You’d make that dress proud.”

Without warning, Riley turns and throws her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You hold her close, smiling as your heart swells. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Still wearing the dress, Riley continues combing through your wardrobe like it’s a treasure trove. Her fingers glide over hangers until she pauses in front of a garment bag tucked into the corner. It’s slightly dusted but clearly protected with care. “What’s this one?” she asks, curiosity peaking as she gently tugs at the zipper.

You turn just as she peels it open halfway, revealing the edge of intricate lace and delicate beadwork—ivory, timeless, unmistakable. It's a dress you wore when you got married to Chris, it's not even a designer piece, you bought it at a vintage shop in the city Chris’s band was touring in. The sight of the dress evokes the memories and it's so vivid as if you just pulled open a pandora's box. Your breath catches for a moment, your smile faltering just slightly. “Ah…” you walk over casually, your voice soft, “That one’s… it’s torn at the seam.”

Riley looks up at you with wide eyes, clearly still interested but sensing something in your tone. “Oh, okay,” she says, releasing the zipper and stepping back with respect. “Still looks really pretty though.”

You give her a gentle smile and nod. “It used to be.”

She shrugs and moves on to the shoes, gasping at a pair of jeweled heels. “These are insane!”

You wait until her attention is fully stolen by the footwear before stepping back to the corner. Quietly, you zip the bag all the way up, your fingers brushing over the fabric through the plastic. Then, with a soft breath, you tuck it further back into the closet, behind a row of coats. Hidden, again. Where it belongs.

You turn back to Riley with a smile as she holds up two pairs of shoes in each hand, debating which one to wear with the floral dress. “Help me choose?” she grins.

“Sure,” you say, walking toward her again, brushing the past off your shoulders like dust.

-

The sound of Chris’s voice echoes through the house. “Hey! Can I get some help here or am I tying this thing myself and risking public humiliation?”

You head toward his room, already dressed and putting on your earrings. As you enter, Chris turns around and does a once-over with an appreciative grin.

“Well, damn,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You clean up dangerously well.”

You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “Focus. I’m here to save you from that crooked tie.”

You step in front of him, fingers deftly fixing the knot and as you do, you notice some silver hair on the side of his head. As you straighten the fabric, he tilts his head slightly. “How’s Riley?”

“Handled,” you reply with a pleased smile. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s dressed, she’s excited, and she actually spoke more than three words.”

Chris looks genuinely impressed. “Miracle worker.”

Before you can respond, the soft clack of shoes against the stairs makes both of you turn. Riley steps down carefully, dressed in the floral lace dress you lent her, her makeup subtle and pretty, her hair styled loosely. She’s trying to play it cool, but her eyes are scanning for your reaction.

You gasp dramatically. “Chris. Look!”

Chris immediately joins you in the praise parade. “Oh my god. Is that my Riley bear?!”

Riley rolls her eyes, cheeks a little pink. “It’s just a dress, dad.”

You and Chris start clapping like over-enthusiastic parents. “JUST a dress? You’re glowing!”

Chris ruffles her hair, earning a swat, and you step in. “Okay, okay, hold still—give me your phone, Riley. We’re documenting this transformation.”

She reluctantly hands it over, trying not to smile. You snap a few photos of her, letting her pose. Then Chris steps in beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s show them where she got her style,” he jokes.

You take several adorable shots of the two of them, and when you lower the phone, Riley looks at you. “Now one with you.”

You blink, surprised. “Me too?”

Chris is already stepping behind the camera. “Come on. In you go.”

You move in beside Riley, wrapping an arm around her as she does the same. Chris captures a few shots, then Riley grins and pulls out her own phone. “Okay, selfie time.”

The three of you squeeze together—Riley sandwiched between her two very proud, very amused parents. The moment she taps the button, all three of you are laughing. Caught in the blur of joy and history and something that, just maybe, feels a little bit like family again.

“This is fun but we should go or else we'd be late for the rehearsal dinner,” you remind them as you grab your purse from the sofa.

The drive to the restaurant is lit with the golden hue of the setting sun, and the soft hum of the road beneath the tires fills the pauses between chatter. You sit in the passenger seat, Riley lounging in the back, headphones tucked away for once as the three of you settle into a rare moment of shared ease.

Chris glances over at you, tapping the steering wheel absently. “So, tell me again about Julian’s family. I need some common ground. I can’t exactly open with ‘Hi, I used to headline stadiums and wreck hotel rooms.’”

You smile. “Julian’s dad was a big-time broker. Wall Street type. Retired now, enjoying the fruits of his labor. They’re older than us by a good stretch.”

Chris exhales, visibly relieved. “Older is good. Older might think I’m mature by default.”

You chuckle. “They go on boat trips every other weekend. Sailing types.”

Chris nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Boats. I can do boats. Talk about waves, sea breeze, sunscreen—yeah, I’ve got material.”

Then, with a hesitant glance at you, he asks, “Do they know about me?”

Before you can answer, Riley leans forward between the seats, totally deadpan. “You’re not that famous, dad.”

You burst out laughing. “She’s got a point.”

Chris’s mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Riley shrugs, clearly enjoying herself. “I mean, unless they were obsessed with rock bands in the 90s… probably not.”

Chris pouts and glares at her through the rearview mirror. “You too, Riley?”

You reach over and pat his thigh consolingly. “She’s right. Julian’s parents don’t know about the world tour, the platinum albums, or... the groupies.”

Riley pipes up again, her voice playful, “You know, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”

Chris groans dramatically. “Unbelievable. The women in this car are ganging up on me.”

You and Riley catch each other’s eyes and exchange a conspiratorial smile, both suppressing your laughter. “Better get used to it,” you tease, nudging his arm. “It’s a girls’ world now.”

-

The soft buzz of laughter and clinking silverware filters out from the warmly lit restaurant as you, Chris, and Riley step through the doors. It’s cozy and elegant, decked with white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and thoughtfully arranged floral centerpieces—Tigerlily’s touch, no doubt. The moment she spots the three of you, her face lights up, and she hurries over, Julian in tow.

“Mom!” she beams, throwing her arms around you, then turning to Chris. “Dad! You made it!” She gives him a long hug before pulling back to smile at Riley. “And Riley, you look amazing.”

Julian adds his own greetings, hugging you and Chris warmly. It’s all easy, affectionate, natural. But before Riley can slip away into the corner with her phone again, you gently nudge her forward and catch sight of Maude nearby, cheerful and stylish, and chatting to her girlfriend Alexa.

“Riley, this is Maude,” you say quickly, catching her before she can disappear. “She’s Julian’s sister and knows everyone here. Maude, could I ask you to keep her company?”

Maude grins. “Of course! Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the good mocktail table.”

Riley hesitates, but with a glance back at you—and maybe some hope at escaping parental banter—she follows Maude with a small, grateful nod. You watch her go, a little relieved, and then turn your attention back to the next task: Julian’s parents.

You and Chris approach them together. Julian’s father, dapper in a navy blazer, shakes your hand warmly. His mother, elegant and composed, greets you with a smile and a gracious air. You’re used to this, the polished rhythm of pleasantries, the light conversation about the venue, the weather, the flowers—but beside you, Chris is just slightly stiff, the way he always gets when he’s not sure of the social cues. He’s doing fine, polite and charming, but you can feel it—that slight lag in his rhythm, the way he hesitates before reaching for the wine glass, unsure whether to join in the toast or wait.

So you start guiding, gently, without calling attention to it. When a toast is offered, you clink glasses first so he knows it’s time. When Julian’s mother mentions their yacht trip, you slide in a prompt. “Chris is a fan of the sea too, aren’t you?”

He picks it up with a grateful smile, easing into the conversation. When there’s a lull, you fill it, helping him navigate the small talk minefield. You even whisper reminders now and then—a soft nudge about names or who’s married to whom.

Through it all, Chris stays close, often glancing at you with that familiar mix of gratitude and amusement. He leans over at one point and murmurs near your ear, “I’m way out of my depth here, you know.”

You smile without looking at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

Once Chris has finally found his rhythm with Julian’s parents, tou quietly slip away from the table. You spot him a few feet away, deep in conversation with Julian now—his brow slightly furrowed, his arms crossed, and that unmistakable dad energy radiating off him as he most likely doles out the classic father-of-the-bride threats in the nicest way possible. You chuckle quietly to yourself, amused by the sight. Poor Julian, you think.

At the bar, you thank the bartender as he hands you your drink. You bring the glass to your lips, letting the bubbles fizzle pleasantly on your tongue when a warm voice calls out your name, familiar and unmistakably fond.

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathes as he approaches, eyes shining with awe. “You look…” He pauses, head tilting slightly as his gaze travels from your hair down to your heels. “Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.”

You feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as he takes your hand gently in his, not caring if anyone’s watching, and with a playful smile, gives you a slow twirl. The hem of your dress flares softly around your legs as he drinks in the sight of you from every angle, murmuring a quiet, reverent, “Beautiful,” with each pass.

You let out a flustered laugh, brushing a hand over your flushed cheek. “You look gorgeous yourself,” you say, letting your eyes drift over his striped suit, perfectly tailored to his tall, lean figure.

He leans in, gaze flickering to your lips—but you catch him, palm gently meeting the center of his chest to halt him. “Not here,” you murmur lowly, glancing discreetly toward the direction of Julian’s parents. “And definitely not in front of Julian’s parents.”

Hyunjin frowns with a pout, clearly not satisfied with that response. “Then let’s sneak out. Just for a few minutes. I want to kiss you.”

You laugh under your breath, swatting at his chest playfully. “Behave,” you whisper, trying to reel him in. “You’ll cause a scene.”

Just then, a voice cuts in—deeper, familiar. “Who’s this?”

You both turn to find Chris standing a few feet away, his expression neutral but eyes sharp with curiosity. Your breath catches for a moment before you clear your throat and take a step closer to the two men.

“This is… Hyunjin,” you say, gently slipping your hand into Hyunjin’s. “He's the best man and... My boyfriend.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in front of Chris—and for the briefest moment, something shifts in his face. Just a flicker of something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Something quieter, deeper. But just as fast, it’s gone.

Chris steps forward, extending a hand toward Hyunjin. “Nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin, ever polite, takes his hand with a firm shake. “It’s really nice to meet you, sir.”

Chris’ brows twitch upward at the sir, and the corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “No need for that. Just Chris is fine.”

Their handshake lingers just a second longer than it needs to, and even though no words are spoken in that pause, you feel it—the silent exchange of acknowledgment, respect… and perhaps a little wariness.

You hold your breath, watching the moment closely, your hand still lightly resting on Hyunjin’s arm. Then Chris releases his grip and offers a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says simply, looking at you.

And then, from across the room, Tigerlily calls for his dad. “Dad, come here,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing him to come.

Chris flashes both of you a polite smile. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

As Chris walks off, Hyunjin watches him go, the corners of his mouth twitching up with amusement. As soon as Chris is out of earshot, Hyunjin turns back to you with a sly glint in his eyes, that playful smirk already forming.

“So,” he says, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip, “boyfriend, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat immediately, your gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “Don’t start,” you mutter, attempting to brush him off—but that only encourages him.

“Oh no, I’m definitely starting,” he grins, eyes lighting up. “You said it so naturally, too. Just—‘this is my boyfriend.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“Because it is,” you argue softly, trying not to smile.

He leans in again, voice low and teasing, “Yeah, but to your ex-husband?”

You swat at his arm, flustered and amused. “Shut up.”

He laughs, catching your hand in his. “I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m honored. Just… didn’t expect to be introduced that way tonight.”

You finally glance up at him, your expression softening. “I guess I didn’t either. But it felt right.”

Hyunjin smiles at that, his teasing nature giving way to something more genuine. He squeezes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “Well,” he says, eyes sparkling, “for the record, I like being your boyfriend.”

You can’t help the shy grin that spreads across your face, and before you can say anything back, Hyunjin brings your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And I’m definitely not letting your ex-husband be the only man who’s crazy about you tonight.”

Everyone gradually finds their seats as the waitstaff begins to move through the room, setting plates and pouring water and wine. A soft hum of chatter surrounds the long table, silverware clinking, glasses being lifted in early toasts. The atmosphere is warm, glowing with low golden lights and quiet laughter. Then Julian stands, gently clinking his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

He clears his throat and glances down at Tigerlily, who looks up at him with a soft, expectant smile. “I’ll try to keep this short before I embarrass myself,” he begins, the room quieting. “But there’s no way I could go into this weekend without saying something about how thankful I am.”

He looks around the room—at his parents, at yours, at all the people seated at the table—and his voice wavers just slightly as he continues, “Tigerlily and I are really lucky. Not just to have found each other, but to be surrounded by people who love us, who raised us, and who’ve taught us what real love looks like.”

You catch Tigerlily’s face as he speaks—her lips pressed together, her eyes shimmering. She's trying not to cry, already reaching for the edge of her napkin. You smile gently, heart full and aching at once. When you glance to the side, your gaze falls on Chris. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, his expression unreadable, jaw slightly tense, eyes fixed on his daughter. You know that look. It mirrors something in your own chest—pride, joy, and that sharp, bittersweet ache that comes with letting go.

Without a word, you slide your hand beneath the table and find his. He immediately laces his fingers with yours, holding on so tightly like he’s anchoring himself to something real, something steady. He finally turns to look at you, his lips tugging into a small, tender smile. You return it with a soft one of your own, no words exchanged—just the silent, lifelong understanding of what it means to love someone so deeply and now watch them begin a life of their own.

Then, as if pulled by the same thread, you both look at Tigerlily. She’s laughing through her tears now, her hand on Julian’s arm, her eyes sparkling with happiness. She looks radiant. In love. Right where she belongs. And in that moment, hand in hand, you and Chris both realize—this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

-

A moment after everyone got home, the house has settled into a gentle hush. You peek into Riley’s room one last time, knocking softly before opening the door just a crack. She’s already tucked into bed, still scrolling on her phone, but she looks up at you.

“Need anything before bed?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

You offer her a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Riley.”

She surprises you with a quiet, “Goodnight,” and just as you’re about to close the door, she adds, “Thanks for today.”

Your heart warms at her honesty. “Anytime.”

You close the door gently and make your way downstairs to check in on Chris. You knock on his door, and his voice comes through, muffled but clear. “Yeah, come in.”

You open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of him in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, barefoot, hair a little messy from travel. You let out an exasperated sigh and avert your eyes.

“Seriously? You could’ve told me you weren’t dressed.”

Chris glances up from his suitcase, entirely unfazed. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

You shoot him a glare. “That was years ago, Chris. Put on a damn shirt.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “You knock, I answer. It’s not my fault you walked in without mental preparation.”

You roll your eyes. “Go to the bathroom.”

He gives you a slow, curious look. “Why?”

You hold up the dye kit in your hands. “Bathroom. Now.”

Chris groans as he drags himself off the bed. “Seriously? What’s wrong with silver?”

“Tigerlily will scold you if she sees those roots showing,” you say as you guide him toward the bathroom. “And it’s not a crime to look your best at your daughter’s wedding.”

He mutters under his breath but follows you anyway. Minutes later, he’s seated on a stool by the sink, a towel draped around his shoulders as you brush the dark dye through his hair with careful hands. “This feels like punishment,” he mumbles.

You nudge his forehead. “Stop moving.”

He grumbles but stays still. The silence settles in comfortably between you, only broken by the soft sound of the brush through his hair and the tap dripping behind the sink. After a while, the dye sets, and you gently guide his head back over the sink to wash it out. Water flows over his scalp as your fingers move through his hair, rinsing with care. His voice comes low, soft under the rush of water.

“I still can’t believe our little girl is getting married tomorrow,” he says, his gaze distant as it rests on the ceiling. “I feel like I blinked and she grew up.”

You pause for a moment, then resume gently rinsing. “She’s still our little girl, Chris.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I missed so much. And now I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.”

You turn off the water and begin patting his hair dry with a fresh towel, eyes on your hands as he keeps speaking.

“I didn’t always get things right,” he admits. “There are a lot of things I’d do differently now.”

You look down at him—his head still leaned against the edge of the sink, eyes searching yours with something unspoken swimming just beneath the surface. Regret. Grief. Maybe love. You feel your chest pull tight, so you look away before it reaches too far inside you. “What matters is you’re here now,” you say softly, tucking the towel around his shoulders. “That’s what she’ll remember.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up at you with a kind of quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. You clear your throat and gently step back.

“Dry your hair. Don’t stay up too late.”

He’s still watching you, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

You stop in the doorway and glance back at him, one hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, voice low but warm, towel in hand, heart in his eyes.

You slip out of the room, closing the door gently behind you, the silence folding around you like the echoes of something once familiar.

-

The late afternoon sun dips low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden as soft chatter floats through the air. The scent of fresh roses and blooming lavender perfumes the breeze, and strings of fairy lights hang from the trees, gently swaying. Everything feels like a dream, a romantic still frame of the perfect moment. You sit on your seat on the bride’s side, nestled between rows of white chairs, surrounded by family and friends dressed in soft pastels and summer suits. The aisle is a winding path lined with petals, leading toward a floral arch that frames the altar, and beyond it, the endless sky.

Julian stands at the front, fidgeting with his cufflinks and taking anxious glances down the aisle. He looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Beside him is Hyunjin, the best man, looking entirely too composed in his sleek black tuxedo. The sunlight catching on his cheekbones like it’s trying to show off for him. He catches your gaze and grins, eyes sparkling.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths, followed by a playful wink.

You feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head at him with a smile, mouthing “Behave.”

Then the music shifts. The gentle notes of the string quartet swell as the bride chorus begins to play. Everyone rises from their chairs. You stand too, breath caught in your throat, eyes fixed on the archway at the start of the aisle.

And then she appears. Tigerlily. Your baby girl. She walks out slowly holding a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, her arm tucked into Chris’, the train of her dress sweeping across the grass. The sunlight catches on the delicate beading of her gown, making her shimmer like something out of a fairytale. Her face is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with emotion. You almost lose it. You feel tears prick your eyes, the kind that tug at your soul and make your heart swell with pride and nostalgia all at once.

Chris walks beside her, steady but quiet. His smile is soft, but you know him too well—you see the storm behind his eyes. You know it’s taking everything in him not to crumble. He looks like he’s walking her toward the end of something, not the beginning. Like letting her go is breaking him in the most quiet, graceful way.

They reach the front. Chris lifts her veil and kisses her forehead, saying something that makes her smile through her tears. Then, with a deep breath, he takes her hand and places it in Julian’s. You watch that exchange, your heart clenched and full.

Chris walks over to you and takes the seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk. “She looked like you,” he whispers, voice low and full of everything he’s feeling.

You smile through your tears. “No. She looked like her own.”

And together, you both turn your eyes toward the altar, watching as your daughter—glowing, loved, fearless—stands at the beginning of her forever.

The ceremony unfolds like a dream under the soft golden hour light, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds punctuating the vows. Julian’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks his promises, and Tigerlily’s hand trembles in his—but she’s glowing, absolutely glowing. And when it’s her turn to speak, her words are steady and full of warmth, brimming with all the love she’s always carried in her heart.

You catch Hyunjin stealing a glance at you from across the aisle, and your heart stumbles a little. He doesn't smile this time—not fully. His gaze is calm and steady, almost reverent. Like he's seeing not just you, but the idea of forever with you. Like this moment, this ceremony, is a mirror of something he imagines for the two of you someday.

You glance down, the thought so sudden and visceral that it lodges itself deep in your chest. When you look up again, he’s still watching you. Still quietly imagining that future. But then your attention shifts—to your right, where Chris is sitting still, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy, blinking fast to fight the tears. You nudge him lightly with your elbow and lean in.

“You’re crying,” you whisper, teasing gently.

“I’m not,” he mutters, voice thick.

You smile at him, your heart aching in the softest way. You reach out your hand, palm up, inviting. He hesitates for a second. Then takes it. And just like that—your hand in his, Tigerlily’s laughter ringing through the garden as she slides a ring onto Julian’s finger, and Hyunjin's eyes still quietly resting on you across the aisle—it feels like everything has aligned. The past, the present, and the future, all suspended in this one, perfect moment.

Chris squeezes your hand once, tightly, and doesn’t let go until the officiant finally announces: “You may now kiss the bride.”

The guests erupt into applause and joyful cheers, but you stay there, sitting side by side with Chris, hands linked. And somewhere in the space between it all, you find peace. And hope. And the fragile, blooming warmth of something just beginning.

-

The sky has shifted into deep lavender, strings of fairy lights twinkling above the garden as the celebration comes alive with soft music, clinking glasses, and laughter echoing between tables. Tigerlily and Julian share their first dance beneath the glowing canopy, their movements slow and tender, like time has slowed just for them. You watch them with your hand over your heart, your emotions still tangled between pride and awe and that bittersweet ache of letting go.

As their dance ends and the applause fades, you feel a familiar hand reach for yours. Chris gives you a little smirk, bowing with exaggerated flair. “May I have this dance?”

You roll your eyes but slip your hand into his anyway. “You may.”

He leads you onto the dance floor as another slow song begins, his hand settling naturally at your waist, your other hand clasped in his. The rhythm is familiar. Easy.

“She really went and married him,” Chris says after a beat, watching Tigerlily and Julian mingling through the crowd.

“She really did,” you say, smiling.

He sighs dramatically. “Still can’t believe that kid had the nerve to steal my little girl from me.”

You laugh, full and bright. “Chris, she’s not ten anymore.”

“She’s still my baby.”

“She still is. Just… someone else’s baby now too,” you tease, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

He shakes his head like he can’t stand it, and you soften your smile. “You should move on already.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges.

You tilt your chin and gesture across the dance floor to where Riley is laughing with Maude, her whole face lit up. “You’ve still got one more daughter to walk down the aisle.”

Chris groans, loud and dramatic. “I’m locking her in the house. She’s never dating. Not on my watch.”

You swat his chest lightly. “Be serious!”

“I am serious.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Go ask her to dance.”

He raises a brow. “Right now?”

You give him a gentle push in Riley’s direction. “Yes. Go on, before someone else steals her first dance from you too.”

Chris grumbles, but he grins as he lets you go and heads toward Riley. You watch as she lights up, surprised and a little embarrassed, but delighted all the same as Chris bows again and takes her hand like he did yours. You're smiling as you watch Chris spin Riley into a laugh, the two of them dancing under the soft garden lights like time had rewound just for them. But then—

Strong, familiar arms slide around your waist from behind, and before you can turn, Hyunjin’s voice hums by your ear, low and mischievous. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, “but I believe it’s my turn.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he spins you into the middle of the dance floor with a dramatic twirl. You laugh, the sound spilling from your chest like it’s made of air and starlight. “Hyunjin—!”

“Shhh,” he grins, pulling you in until your body fits perfectly against his. His hand holds yours firmly, his other palm resting warmly on your lower back. “Let me have this.”

You feel his breath brush your cheek as he leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “I want to kiss you.”

You dart your eyes around, heart hammering. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

His lips brush against your temple instead, soft and electric. “When can I kiss you then?” he murmurs into your skin, voice playful but laced with heat.

You fight your smile and reply with a teasing lilt, “Well... Not now.”

Hyunjin chuckles, and with a wink, he twirls you again, the hem of your dress fluttering like petals in bloom. When you spin back into his arms, he pulls you even closer—so close that your chest presses flush to his, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and his heartbeat. “I’m done waiting,” he whispers against your ear, his voice deep and full of longing. “Come with me.”

Before you can answer, his fingers lace through yours tightly, and he tugs you gently away from the celebration. Past the tables, past the strings of lights, past the slow dancing and laughter. Into the quiet, into the night, into something only the two of you can name.

-

The laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a distant hum as Hyunjin leads you between the tall, leafy hedges lining the garden's edge. The lights from the celebration barely reach this far, just a soft golden spill through the leaves as if the night itself is conspiring to give the two of you this moment.

And then he’s on you. His lips crash into yours like he’s been holding back all evening. Hands cradling your face, he kisses you again and again—urgent, breathless, hungry. Only when your hand comes up to rest against his chest, a gentle push for air, does he finally pull away, panting softly as his lips trail down to your neck. He kisses along your pulse, over the delicate skin just under your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, breath catching.

He finally stops, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as he cups your jaw with both hands. His eyes are crinkled with a soft smile, tender and dizzyingly full of emotion. “The next wedding,” he says quietly, “is going to be ours.”

You freeze for a beat, heart leaping and stumbling all at once. “Hyunjin…”

“You must think that I’m like most guys who dates for fun, huh?” he asks gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t do that. I’m dating you because I want to be with you. I want… this. You. Forever.” His voice isn’t rushed. It’s not pleading. It’s just steady, like it’s the most obvious truth he’s ever said.

You feel a mix of things rise up in you—warmth, affection, fear, disbelief. The way he says it, so certain, so casually serious—it makes your chest tighten. “We agreed to take it slow,” you remind him softly, not out of rejection, but to anchor the moment.

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb now gliding over your lower lip. He leans in and kisses you—just a featherlight touch. “And I will. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another kiss follows, this one deeper, slower, like a vow made without words. When he pulls back, he grins with a twinkle in his eye and murmurs, “But… maybe don’t take too long. I’m dying to see you in a wedding dress.”

You roll your eyes with a breathless laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “Hyunjin…”

He smiles, presses one last kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “I mean it.”

Hidden within the tall shrubbery, Hyunjin crashes his lips on yours again, slower this time—his lips moving with a kind of reverence that makes your chest ache. You sink into him, your hands curling into the lapels of his suit as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he can’t bear to let go. His kiss deepens, coaxing soft sighs from you, and you feel his fingers sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head as if the world outside this hidden place doesn’t exist.

And then you hear the crowd erupts into cheers, and from the distance, a familiar sound blares through the night air—the unmistakable opening chords of a Bang Theory classic.

You freeze against Hyunjin’s mouth. He stills too, forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Is that…” he breathes, blinking in disbelief.

“Yup. That’s Chris and his band.” You laugh under your breath and grab Hyunjin’s hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a chuckle and runs with you. The two of you tumble out from the hedges like teenagers sneaking out of detention, laughter bubbling between you as you dash back toward the celebration. Lights twinkle overhead, the night air is pulsing with music and nostalgia, and your heart pounds—not just from the running but from the moment you just shared, and the one you’re about to run into.

As you round the corner and reenter the garden’s glow, the music is in full swing, and there he is—Chris on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder, grinning like the rockstar he once was and always will be.

Hyunjin leans in close as you both slow down and catch your breath, his hand still wrapped around yours. “I can’t believe your ex-husband is literally the entertainment,” he says, wide-eyed.

You nudge his side, laughing. “Welcome to my life.”

-

The garden is alive with music, lights twinkling like stars overhead, and the unmistakable sound of The Bang Theory floods the air—loud, raw, and full of heart. People are on their feet, clapping and dancing, and you’re still catching your breath when you spot her—Tigerlily, radiant even under the stage lights, her veil slightly askew as she laughs with Julian by her side.

You weave through the crowd and reach for her hand. “Come on!”

She looks at you, confused for a beat, but then you’re both swept into the music, jumping and dancing like you used to in the side of the stage when she was still small enough to ride your hip. Chris stands center stage, belting out the lyrics with the same fire he had back in the day, but his eyes? They’re all on Tigerlily.

It hits you like a wave. You remember those afternoons when Tigerlily was still tiny, running around barefoot on studio floors while the guys messed with chords and amps—Chris tuning his guitar while she banged on the nearest drum like she belonged there. She did belong there. That loud music, that messy chaos—it was the soundtrack of her childhood. And now here she is, in a wedding dress, jumping and dancing to her father’s band like she used to before she even knew what weddings were.

You and Tigerlily scream the chorus together, laughter spilling out of both of you, your hands joined as you spin her around. Chris catches the moment from the stage—his grin faltering just enough for a shimmer of emotion to shine through before he launches into the next verse like the proudest dad in the world as Tigerlily dances to the soundtrack of her childhood on the very night she’s stepping into her future.

The music is pulsing through the garden like electricity, laughter and cheers erupting louder with each beat, and Chris is thriving in it—completely overtaken by the high of the moment. He’s grinning ear to ear, sweat glistening on his forehead as he shreds through the final chords, nodding his head in rhythm, his whole body moving like he’s twenty-five again and headlining a stadium.

“This one’s for you, my little cub, my Tigerlily!” he shouts into the mic, pointing directly at her with a wild gleam in his eyes.

The crowd erupts. Tigerlily throws her arms up, shouting back, “I love you, Dad!”

And that’s when Chris—caught in the euphoria, lost to the beat and the cheers—does the unthinkable. He backs up two steps, pumps his arms like a stage diver prepping for flight, and with the agility of a man who should not be this agile anymore, he launches himself forward into a full somersault on stage. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Time slows. He flips. He rotates. He almost nails it—

But then, his boot catches something—maybe a coiled cable, maybe the corner of a pedal—and the landing doesn’t come. Not properly.

There’s a loud, crack of his foot slipping. A snap of something else. His arms flail mid-air.

And then—

THUD.

Chris faceplants off the stage with a dramatic, unforgiving crash. The mic hits the ground with a screech. His leg still tangled in the cable. A drink spills nearby. The music cuts out mid-note. The garden is dead silent. Everyone freezes. Mouths open. Eyes wide. And Chris… doesn’t move.

-

The sky starts turning that lazy shade of early evening gold when you pull up to the driveway. The tires crunch softly against the gravel and when the engine cuts off, silence settles for a beat before your phone starts ringing. You grab it from the passenger seat without even checking—some habits are muscle memory by now.

“Hi, Mom,” Tigerlily chirps, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “Just landed. It’s sunny. I can smell coconuts.”

You smile as you push open the car door and sling your bag over your shoulder. “You two made it?”

“Mhm. Luggage in tow, no delays, miracle. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Just got back from driving Riley to the airport,” you say, juggling the keys as you step onto your porch. The lock clicks under your hand. “She couldn't stop thanking me for the dress.”

“That’s good,” Tigerlily says. “How’s Dad?”

You step inside the house, voice softening as your eyes land on him right where you left him—stretched across the sofa, casted leg propped stiffly on a pillow, laptop on his lap, the crutches standing by next to the sofa. He’s scowling at the screen, probably editing something with the same intensity he once reserved for writing songs about heartbreak.

“He’s fine,” you say as you shut the door behind you. “Still alive. Still... working.”

Tigerlily hums. “I’m not that worried. He’s with you.”

You pause for half a second, just long enough to let that sink in before you shake your head and move toward the kitchen. “Don’t start. Just enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Okay, okay. Love you and send my love to dad. Bye!”

“Love you, cub,” you murmur before the call drops.

You fill a glass of water at the sink, and behind you, you hear the faint shuffle of headphones coming off. “Hey,” Chris calls, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken all day. “How was Riley?”

“She’s good. Boarded safe,” you say, turning with the glass in hand. “Oh, and Tigerlily sends her love.”

You lean against the counter. He looks at you from the couch, hair a little messy, turning curly from the humidity. The house is quiet in a way it hasn’t been for days. You take a sip of water, your eyes meeting his across the space.

“So, Chris,” you say, tilting your head. “What do you wanna do now that it’s just the two of us?”

-

✨ Evermore: Chapter II is available on my Patreon ✨

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[hyvneluv]

EVERMORE.

PROLOGUE

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (16k words)

Author's note: You guys asked for Hyunchan so here you go. As always, hope you enjoy it and don't forget to share your thoughts after ♡

Rock Royalty Welcomes a New Heir: Chris Bang Becomes a Father October 13, 2000 — by Robert Yang. Move over, guitars and groupies—Bang Theory’s wild-hearted frontman Chris Bang is now a dad. The 23-year-old rockstar and his longtime partner, beloved 90s "It Girl", welcomed their first child into the world early this morning at a private hospital in Seoul. A healthy baby girl named Tigerlily was born at 5:47 AM, weighing in at 3.1 kg, just hours after Chris wrapped his set at the Soundscape festival. “He cried. Both of them did,” a nurse from the delivery room said. “He looked more nervous than on stage.” Despite being known for his stage dives, pyrotechnics, and tabloid-worthy antics, insiders say the famously untamed musician turned into “a complete marshmallow” the moment he held his daughter for the first time. “She's got his nose and her mother’s everything else,” a source close to the couple shared. The pair has yet to release an official photo, but fans are already flooding forums with love and name guesses—though Tigerlily, a bold and whimsical choice, feels perfectly on brand for the iconic couple. No word yet on whether this new chapter means a break for Bang Theory, but one thing’s certain: Chris Bang just had his loudest, most life-altering debut yet. Rockstar? Yes. But now… Dad.

-

Tigerlily came into the world on a rainy Tuesday in October. The sky cracked open like a dramatic cue, thunder shaking the windows of the hospital room while you clutched the sides of the bed, barely old enough to drink but old enough to know your life was about to change forever.

You were twenty-two. The industry's darling, all soft glam and sharp edges, gracing every magazine cover and walking every red carpet with a gaze that dared people to look twice. Chris had just come off a whirlwind tour with The Bang Theory the rock band that had somehow become the voice of a generation overnight—gritty, golden, and chaotic in a way only the 90s could pull off.

He didn’t make it in time. Missed the delivery by two hours, stuck in a storm somewhere between the airport and the hospital. But when he burst through the hospital doors, hair damp and chest heaving, the world slowed down for just a second.

And then—Tigerlily.

Born screaming, like she already knew how loud the world could be and wasn’t afraid of it. She had your mouth and his eyes and the softest tuft of dark hair, like velvet. She stared at you both like she’d been waiting lifetimes to meet you.

She was born with the kind of name that sounded like she came from a song. And maybe she did. Bang Chan insisted on it—“She’s going to be a force,” he said. “She needs a name that doesn’t sit quietly.”

And she never did.

For the first five years of her life, her world was a tour bus. Not playgrounds or preschool, but green rooms and stadium seats. You learned how to swaddle her with one hand and fix your eyeliner with the other. She’d nap through soundchecks and dance barefoot on stage during rehearsals, curls bouncing as she clutched her little stuffed bunny.

She loved the hum of the road, the neon-lit nights, the way her dad would scoop her up mid-song and let her press her tiny hands over his guitar strings. She called every band member “uncle,” and by the time she was four, she could identify a Fender Strat by sight.

Sometimes, you worried she was missing out on normal things. But then you'd see her curled up in Chan’s lap as he strummed lullabies that weren’t written for the charts, or the way her eyes lit up when the crowd sang back to him.

She was safe. She was loved. And she was extraordinary.

And now, she stands under the golden light of a university auditorium, dressed in a powder blue gown, clutching her art degree in hands that once clung to your hair as you sang her to sleep.

You sit in the front row, surrounded by strangers, with pride ballooning so hard in your chest you think you might float right off the seat. Chris isn’t here—touring again, or producing, or lost in some other corner of the world. You’re used to it by now. So is Tigerlily.

Still, you clap until your hands sting, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

She didn’t just survive the whirlwind you brought her into—she bloomed in it. And in that moment, you realized—you didn’t just raise a daughter. You raised a woman who knew exactly who she was.

You wait just outside the auditorium, clutching a bouquet of Tiger Lilies—just like her name. The kind she used to doodle in the margins of her notebooks as a kid once she knew she is named after the flowers. The crowd spills out around you in waves: parents with cameras, graduates in gowns, professors in velvet hoods, all buzzing with joy and relief. But you only have eyes for her.

And then—there she is.

Tigerlily spots you instantly, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace she must’ve inherited from someone else entirely. Her gown flows behind her like a cape, and when she reaches you, she throws her arms around your neck without a word.

You breathe her in. She still smells like vanilla and that earthy perfume she never leaves the house without. You hold her a little tighter than you mean to.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper into her hair, blinking fast against the sting in your eyes.

She pulls back with a bright, tear-glossed smile. “Tulips,” she says, beaming. “You remembered.”

“I always remember.”

You hand her the bouquet, watching as she presses her nose into them with a soft sigh. For a second, you think you’ve made it through without a cloud. But then—

“Did Dad text you?”

The question comes gently, not accusing—just hopeful. You hesitate.

You shake your head. “No. He couldn’t make it.”

Tigerlily’s smile falters for the briefest second, but she nods like she was already bracing for it. She always was good at bracing. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I figured.”

You reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear the way you used to when she was five and nervous about her first ballet recital. “He’d be here if he could. You know that, right?”

She shrugs, looking down at the tulips. “I guess.”

You give her a soft nudge with your elbow. “He’s probably somewhere feeling miserable about it. You know how dramatic he gets. I’m sure he’s got his face buried in his hands, whispering lyrics about lost time into a notebook.”

That earns you a smile—small, but real.

“Anyway,” you continue, linking your arm through hers. “We have a reservation at Monarch. I even bribed them for extra truffle fries.”

“You never bribe restaurants,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Well,” you say, leading her toward the sidewalk, “you only graduate from college once. And we’re celebrating you. No distractions, no missed moments.”

Tigerlily squeezes your arm, resting her head on your shoulder as you walk.

“Thanks, Mom.”

You smile softly. “Always, my little cub.”

-

The restaurant is glowing, lit with soft amber lights that reflect off the polished windows and make everything feel a little more golden than real life. You guide Tigerlily through the front doors, her gown bunched in one hand, bouquet in the other, cheeks still rosy from all the congratulations.

“You really booked Monarch?” she whispers, wide-eyed. “You never let me eat here growing up.”

“You never had a degree before,” you murmur with a small smile. “Besides, I figured you deserved something special tonight.”

The host greets you with a polite nod and gestures toward the back corner booth, the one with the plush velvet seats and the view of the city through the tall windows. Tigerlily starts forward, then pauses.

Someone’s already there.

He’s sitting casually, fingers tapping against a water glass, hair pushed back like he just walked off a photo shoot—still effortlessly cool after all these years, even with the faint silver near his temples that he’s stopped trying to hide.

Chris.

Tigerlily stops in her tracks, staring for a beat too long.

“Dad?”

Chris stands up slowly, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Hey, little cub.”

Her bouquet hits the table with a soft thud as she launches toward him.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed and grinning as you watch her collide into his chest with all the force of a girl who may have been preparing herself for disappointment, but never quite stopped hoping.

“You told me he wasn’t coming!” she shouts over her shoulder, arms still around her dad’s neck.

You shrug, stepping further into the room. “Well, it’s called a surprise for a reason.”

Chris laughs as he holds her tighter, eyes closing for a second like he’s breathing her in. Like the years he’s missed are pressing against him all at once.

You stand quietly by the table, taking them in—the way her arms wrap around him like she did when she was small and sleepy, always reaching out for one more hug, one more story, one more night tucked between the two of you on a too-small tour bus mattress.

She always was a daddy’s girl. You murmur it to yourself, too soft for anyone to hear. “She still is.”

And for a moment, you forget all the complications. Forget the past, the missed birthdays, the growing distance. All you see is your daughter, glowing with joy, exactly where she’s supposed to be.

Dinner arrives in warm, fragrant waves—plates of truffle fries, roasted duck, handmade pasta that glistens under the golden lights. The booth feels like its own little world, wrapped in velvet and candlelight and the soft murmur of clinking glasses in the background.

Chris sits across from you, Tigerlily nestled between you both like she’s still your little girl, even if she’s outgrown everything but her stubbornness. She’s glowing with the kind of joy that makes her look younger and older all at once.

“So,” Chris says, setting down his fork and looking at her with that proud, slightly overwhelmed expression he wears every time he sees her after too long. “What’s next, cub?”

Tigerlily leans back, reaching for her water glass. “I’ve got a few freelance gigs lined up. Illustration work. Book covers, a couple zines.”

Chris lets out a low whistle. “Look at you. Graduating and conquering the world.”

“I learned from the best,” she says, her eyes darting between the two of you.

You smile but stay quiet, sipping your wine and letting them talk. Chris starts telling her about the band—how The Bang Theory is planning a small reunion tour, something acoustic and intimate, “just for the old fans,” he says, though you know he still lives for the stage.

“How about you?” he asks, his eyes landing on you. “Are you working on something right now?”

You glance at him, caught slightly off guard by the way his attention shifts so effortlessly from Tigerlily to you—gentle, but direct. Like he hasn’t asked in years, but he’s always been curious.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. A new book,” you add quickly, chuckling. “It's the same old thing with me.”

Chris grins, eyes crinkling in that way that used to undo you. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You’d make it sing, no matter what.”

Before you can respond, he reaches out—just casually—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It’s a simple gesture, something he’s done a thousand times, but it feels different now. Familiar, yes. But also fragile. Like it belongs to another version of yourselves.

You glance down, and Tigerlily watches it all with a knowing little smile curling at the edge of her lips. She doesn’t say anything. She just picks up another fry, pops it into her mouth, and mutters around her grin, “You two are so obvious.”

You both look at her—startled, defensive, amused.

“What?” Chris says, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t say anything,” she sings, tossing you a wink. “Just... observing.”

You and Chris exchange a glance—brief but loaded.

And for a flicker of a moment, something shifts. Not loudly. Not urgently. Just... there. Still alive. Still quietly beating.

Not wanting to let it carry you on, you shift the attention back on him as curiosity taps at your shoulder.

“So,” you say, tilting your head and setting your glass down gently, “how’s Rowan?”

“Busy,” Chris answers a little too quickly and you didn't expect less since you're asking about his wife but you notice his expression shifts—just slightly. “She’s working on a TV series right now.”

“That’s wonderful,” You say as you nod, reaching for your glass of wine. “How about Riley?”

“She’s good,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fourteen now. Which is… a whole thing.”

You smile softly. “Puberty, huh?”

“Puberty. Mood swings. Existential dread. She’s got this journal she guards like it's the nuclear codes. One second she’s hugging me and the next I’m the reason for global warming.”

You laugh, leaning back into the velvet booth. “Sounds like a riot.”

Chris sighs, but there’s affection beneath it. “She’s just at that age where everything feels like the end of the world, you know? I’m trying, but… I don’t think she knows where to put me right now.”

You nod gently, your fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass. “At least you didn’t have to go through that phase with Tigerlily,” you say with a teasing smile. “She skipped all the angst and went straight to being perfect.”

Tigerlily’s jaw drops, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

Chris laughs, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Mom,” Tigerlily says with a warning tone, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare bring up—”

“—the blue eyeliner phase?” you interrupt sweetly. “Or the time you tried to cut your own bangs and cried for three hours?”

Chris nearly chokes on his water, face lighting up. “Oh my god, yes!” he laughs. “I remember that! She came with a hoodie on and wouldn’t take it off for two days!”

Tigerlily groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is actual betrayal.”

You’re laughing now, shoulders shaking as you reach over to pat her hand. “You were still cute. Even when your bangs were... slanted.”

Chris grins across the table, eyes sparkling. “She’s always been cute.”

Tigerlily lifts her head, glaring at you both. “You two ganging up on me is a hate crime.”

You share a look with Chris—soft and easy and full of old inside jokes—and for just a second, the world feels like it used to: three of you on the road, laughing about eyeliner and heartache, living out of suitcases and old songs.

Tigerlily’s still grinning though, even through her mock-offense. “God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I forgot what it’s like when you two are in the same room.”

The plates are nearly empty now, forks slowing down as conversation takes over. Tigerlily is laughing at something Chris said about a funny episode happened at a show, and you're quietly sipping what’s left of your wine, content to just watch them exist like this—bright and close and connected.

Then Chris checks his watch with a sigh, the familiar shift in energy settling over the table. The end of the night.

“I’ve got to head out,” he says gently, looking toward Tigerlily with a reluctant smile. “Early flight to Tokyo. I'm helping this band with producing.”

Tigerlily pouts, her bottom lip pushing out the way she used to when she was five and didn’t want him to leave for tour. “Already?”

He opens his arms, and she rises without hesitation, burying herself in his chest like she’s still that little girl on the road, climbing into his bunk after shows. “Come here, little cub,” he murmurs into her hair, voice muffled but warm.

His arms wrap tight around her, his hands moving gently up and down her back in slow, comforting strokes. You watch from your seat, quiet and still, as he leans down to whisper something in her ear—something only for her. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks, and she nods without speaking.

He presses a kiss to her temple before pulling back. “I’m proud of you,” he says, with a smile that breaks a little at the edges. “Always.”

Tigerlily wipes quickly at her eyes. “Text me when you land.”

“Promise.”

Chris turns to you next, his expression softening even further. He steps closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Thank you,” he says. “For tonight. For putting this together. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

You wave a hand, trying to brush it off like it’s nothing. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But when your eyes meet, there’s something there—unspoken but tangible. Like a thread still connecting you, stretching quietly between what you were and what you still might be. You’re the one to look away first, afraid if you don’t, you’ll forget yourself. Again.

He opens his arms, and this time it’s you stepping into them. The hug is brief, practiced, safe—but the warmth is real. His scent is still the same, something familiar and distant that tugs at the back of your throat.

“Take care,” you say softly, pulling back.

“You too,” he murmurs, before walking away.

You and Tigerlily step outside together just in time to see his car pull away from the curb, red taillights fading into the evening traffic. The moment stretches in silence until Tigerlily leans her head on your shoulder.

You wrap an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s moments like this,” you murmur, “that make me wish I could’ve given you the kind of family you deserved. One that stayed whole.”

Tigerlily doesn’t move for a second. Then she lifts her head, frowning a little. “But I did get a family,” she says. “Just a different kind. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You hold her a little tighter, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze to ground you and in that moment—standing in the glow of the city lights, hearts full of love and loss—you let yourself believe that maybe different wasn’t always a bad thing.

-

The cursor blinks accusingly at the top of your blank document, waiting for you to stop procrastinating and start delivering something brilliant. You rub at your temples and glance at the email from your agent again—third reminder this month.

Hey, just checking in again on that chapter draft. Hope everything's alright. Deadline's creeping up—let me know if you need anything!

You sigh, reply with a vague promise of "soon" and click out of the inbox. But right as you're about to close your browser, something catches your eye.

A headline.

The Bang Theory Frontman Chris Bang and Wife Rowan Announce Divorce After 15 Years of Marriage

There’s a photo of them beneath the headline—Rowan in oversized sunglasses, Chris beside her, jaw tight. They look distant. You don't even need to read the article to know that smile on his face is the one he wears when he’s pretending everything’s fine. Still, you click.

The article is full of vague statements from publicists and “sources close to the couple.” Nothing scandalous. Just the usual—“growing apart,” “amicable,” “focused on co-parenting their daughter, Riley.”

You’re halfway through skimming the quotes when your phone suddenly rings, the sharp sound startling you so much your mouse skitters across the desk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom!” Tigerlily’s voice is bright, a little rushed, like she’s walking fast somewhere. “Hey, is it okay if I bring someone over for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” you say instinctively. “Anyone I know?”

There’s a pause. “Not yet. But you will.”

Your brow lifts. “Should I be nervous?”

Tigerlily laughs. “No. Maybe. A little. But mostly no. Love you!”

Before you can ask anything else, she hangs up. You stare at your phone for a second, then set it down beside your laptop.

The article’s still open. You look at the photo of Chris again. His expression is guarded, tired. You haven’t spoken in months—maybe longer. There’s a number in your contacts that hasn’t been used in too long. Just his name. Just “Chris,” like that’s all he’s ever needed to be.

You scroll down and hover your thumb over it. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at his name, thumb resting above “Call.” You wonder if he’s okay. If Riley’s okay. If he needs someone to talk to. If he even wants to hear your voice again.

But then your hand drops and you press the power button on your phone, letting the screen go dark. Some things are easier left in silence. You push the article aside, shut the laptop, and head for the kitchen.

There’s dinner to cook—and someone new to meet.

-

You’re just setting down the last of the cutlery when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head for the front door, already guessing it’s Tigerlily. She never remembers to text when she’s close.

When you open the door, there she is—wearing a grin that says be cool, Mom—and beside her, a tall man with floppy brown hair, a shy smile, and arms full of flowers and wine.

“Hi, Mom,” she says sweetly. “This is Julian.”

“Hi,” he says quickly, stepping forward and offering the flowers. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I mean, you’re—I know who you are. I’ve seen your old interviews. Your film stuff. You’re even more beautiful in person.”

You blink, pleasantly amused, and take the flowers with a smile. “Oh, is that so?”

He nods, a little too eagerly.

With a small smirk, you take a step closer to him, lowering your voice just slightly. “You know… I’m not nearly as beautiful up close.”

Julian lets out a breathy little laugh, shoulders going stiff as his cheeks flush. “I—I mean, I think you definitely are. I mean, it’s not just your face. I mean, not just—” He throws a helpless glance at Tigerlily, who’s already rolling her eyes.

“Julian,” she cuts in dryly, “stop flirting with my mom.”

“I’m not—! I wasn’t—” He stammers, then finally gives up and laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe just a little.”

You chuckle, stepping aside to let them in. “Well, come in, both of you. The food’s warm, the wine’s breathing, and apparently, I still have some star power.”

Tigerlily snorts as she kicks off her shoes. “You love it.”

You wink at her. “Of course I do.”

The dining table is cozy, the food still steaming in its dishes as the three of you settle in. Conversation flows easily at first—small talk, compliments about the meal, and the occasional sarcastic nudge from Tigerlily when Julian tries too hard to impress.

“So,” you begin, picking up your wine glass, eyes darting between the two of them. “Tell me—how did you two meet?”

Tigerlily doesn’t miss a beat. “At an art exhibition. He was standing in front of a piece I hated and we started arguing about it.”

Julian grins. “I maintain that it was a brilliant statement on digital isolation.”

“It was a pile of tangled wires and a single desk lamp,” she counters. “But apparently, that’s all it takes to find love.”

You laugh and tilt your head. “And how long have you been dating this tortured art soul?”

“Four months,” Tigerlily answers, her voice dipping into something soft, almost shy.

You hum thoughtfully, then turn to Julian with a gentle smile. “How old are you, Julian?”

Before he can even open his mouth, Tigerlily pipes up again, “He’s only a few years older than me, mom.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not his spokesperson, sweetheart?”

She flushes, biting her bottom lip as Julian chuckles beside her.

You nod, still looking at Julian. “And may I know what do you do?”

Again, Tigerlily jumps in, “He’s a data analyst.”

You slowly blink at her, lips curling into a knowing smile as you turn your attention fully on Julian. “Well, with a job like that, I’m sure Julian can answer my questions himself.”

Tigerlily lets out a sheepish laugh, covering her face with one hand. “Sorry. I just—habit, I guess. Go ahead, interrogate him. Just… please be nice.”

You laugh softly, giving her hand a quick pat. “Don’t worry, honey. I only interrogate the ones I like.”

Then you look back at Julian, folding your hands on the table like a queen giving audience.

“So, Mr. Data Analyst,” you say, eyes twinkling. “Tell me everything. Start with your worst trait and work your way up.”

Julian gulps dramatically, already smiling, and the table bursts into gentle laughter.

-

You’re scooping sorbet into little bowls when you feel Tigerlily’s presence beside you, her hand already reaching for the berry compote you made earlier.

“Need help?” she asks.

You nod. “You read my mind.”

The two of you move in sync, falling into an easy rhythm as she spoons sauce and you add mint leaves for garnish. After a moment, you glance toward the dining room where Julian is sipping his wine, politely waiting.

“He’s a little serious, your Julian,” you say lightly, nudging her with your elbow. “He always seems… nervous. A bit rigid.”

Tigerlily rolls her eyes. “He’s just shy, Mom.”

You smile knowingly. “He’s the complete opposite of your usual type.”

“Okay, ouch,” she retorts, though she’s clearly amused. “Maybe I’m growing up.”

You chuckle, bumping her hip playfully. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I can tell you fancy him. You’ve got that stupid little twinkle in your eyes.”

“Oh my God—” she groans, face turning red as you slide a bowl toward her and bump your hip against her again.

The soft music playing from the living room hums a dreamy melody, and without warning, you start dancing along to it, swaying your hips as you plate the last dessert.

Tigerlily watches in horror. “Please stop.”

You throw her a wink. “What? I’m not trying to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are!”

You let out a cackle, spinning once with your spoon in the air like a microphone. “You didn’t say I couldn’t entertain him.”

Tigerlily practically begs, “Mom, please, I’m trying to keep some mystery in this relationship!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, finally setting down the spoon. “I’ll stop torturing you—for now.”

You hand her the last plate, then glance at her gently. “Did you know about your dad and Rowan?”

Tigerlily nods, not surprised. “I'm honestly surprised that their marriage lasted that long.”

You hiss. “Tigerlily Bang.”

She nonchalantly shrugs in response. “What? I’m just being honest.”

You give her a look. “Have you called him?”

She hesitates. “I’m going to visit him next weekend. I’m… introducing Julian.”

You pause for a moment, then soften. “Be nice to him, okay? It probably wasn’t easy to him. Maybe just give him a call before that—ask if he’s okay.”

Tigerlily stays quiet, pressing her lips together. Then she nods, her voice soft. “Okay.”

You slide an arm around her shoulder and pull her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Tigerlily leans into you for a moment. The kind of lean that says she’s still your little girl—even now. And then you’re back at it, nudging her with your hip again. “Now come on, sing with me. You know this part!”

“No, no, no—Mom!”

But she’s laughing as you start twirling, and eventually, she gives in, half-singing the chorus while the two of you finish plating desserts, moving in sync like the good old days.

Just as you’re setting the final plate down with a flourish, you hear someone clear their throat. You both turn.

Julian is standing at the kitchen doorway, blinking. “I—uh. Should I come back later?”

You and Tigerlily look at each other. Then you beam.

“She made me do it,” Tigerlily says instantly.

“Sure she did,” Julian grins.

-

At the end of the night, you walk them to the front door, the last of the dishes soaking in the sink and the music now reduced to a soft hum in the background. The night air is cool when you step outside, a gentle breeze brushing past as you follow Tigerlily and Julian to the car parked along the curb.

Tigerlily turns to you first, her eyes soft and glassy in the porch light. “Thanks for the lovely dinner, Mom.”

“Of course,” you say, pulling her in for a long, grounding hug. You squeeze her tighter than usual, feeling the familiar comfort of her arms wrapped around you—still your little girl, even with the grown-up job and the boyfriend waiting by the car. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” she mumbles into your shoulder.

You step back, brushing her hair from her face like you always do, and she gives you that shy smile she used to have when she was caught sneaking snacks before dinner. Then she walks over to the passenger side, leaving Julian standing awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

“Thank you again, ma’am,” he says, wringing his hands slightly.

You give him a look, amused. “Ma’am makes me feel ancient.”

He swallows. “Right. Sorry. I mean—thank you for having me.”

You step forward, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re welcome, Julian. And for what it’s worth…” You pause, smiling. “You’ve made quite an impression tonight.”

He exhales a laugh, relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

“Drive safe, okay?”

“I will,” he says, nodding a little too eagerly.

You step back as he gets into the car. Tigerlily waves at you through the window, and you wave back, your arms folding over your chest as you watch the headlights blink on. They pull away slowly, the car disappearing down the quiet street.

You stay there for a moment on the porch, your fingers brushing your elbows, listening to the stillness of the night settling in around you and even though it’s quiet, your heart feels full.

You close the door behind you and lean your back against it for a second, letting the silence of your home settle over your shoulders. You walk into the living room and glance at your phone on the coffee table. You hesitate, then reach for it.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s name in your contacts.

You check the time—too early to be asleep, too late to know what he’s up to. Probably pacing around his house with his guitar strapped to his chest, or lying on his couch with the TV on and his mind elsewhere.

Still, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call. The line rings once. Twice. A third time. You shift your weight, ready to hit “end” when—

Click.

“Hello?”

You blink at the sound of his voice, low and familiar through the speaker. “Guess what?” you say, your tone light, almost teasing.

“What?” he asks, curious.

“Your daughter just brought her boyfriend over for dinner.”

There’s a beat of silence. “She what?”

You laugh. “His name’s Julian. Very polite. Very nervous. He looks like he’d rather face a firing squad than meet me.”

Chris groans. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of guy who’d try to steal my daughter from me.”

“She’s not being stolen, she’s dating.”

“Same thing.”

You smile to yourself, curling your legs under you on the couch. “They’re going to visit you next weekend. Be nice.”

“Define nice.”

“Chris.”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “I’ll give him a chance. But I’m not promising I won’t make him sweat a little.”

You chuckle. “That’s your job, I suppose.”

A silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable—just weighted with history. You take a breath before saying, “So I uh... I saw the news.”

Another pause.

“I was going to call earlier,” you continue, gently. “But I didn’t know if you’d want to talk. Are you okay?”

Chris lets out a quiet breath. “I’m… getting through it.”

“How’s Riley handling it?”

“She’s…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “She looks okay, but I don't know.”

You hum in agreement. “Check on her once in a while to let her know you're there if she wants to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I will,” he mutters, sounding defeated.

“You know,” you say with a small, lopsided smile, “at least your second marriage lasted longer than ours.”

Chris chuckles, the sound softer this time. “Low bar.”

“You set it, not me.”

There’s a quiet moment again. Then your voice softens. “I mean it, Chris. If you ever need to talk, or vent, or scream into the phone—I’m here, okay? As much as I hate it… you’re still my daughter’s father.”

He exhales slowly, and you can hear it through the phone, like something he’s been holding in is finally slipping out.

“I miss it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Miss what?”

“This,” he says simply. “Talking to you.”

You swallow. The lump in your throat arrives fast, uninvited. “I should let you rest,” you say quietly, clearing your throat before your voice can crack. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime.”

You hang up before the silence turns into something else. Something too close. Too familiar. You set the phone down and lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

And for a while, you just sit there bcause sometimes, missing someone is quieter than you expect.

-

Summer sunlight spills through your kitchen windows, casting warm, golden streaks on the hardwood floor as you pack the last of your sunscreen and sunglasses into a tote bag. The hum of cicadas fills the air from outside, and you can already hear Tigerlily’s voice carrying from the living room—teasing, excited, just a little chaotic, as always.

Julian stands nearby, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. He’s always been a little stiff around you, still nervous after all this time, but today… it feels different. Extra twitchy.

“Hey,” he says quietly, catching your attention just as Tigerlily calls out that she’s running to the bathroom to reapply her sunscreen.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”

“Can I—” he clears his throat, gestures toward the back door. “Can I talk to you for a second? Just… out there?”

You eye him for a beat, curious, then nod and follow him onto the back porch. The breeze is warm, but there's a nervous chill rolling off of him.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flitting toward the floorboards. “I, um. I wanted to ask you something.”

You fold your arms loosely, head tilting. “Okay…”

“I know this might seem fast,” he begins, eyes finally meeting yours, “but I’m going to propose to Tigerlily today. On the boat. I’ve been planning it for a while.”

You blink. The words hang in the summer air like a firework frozen mid-explosion. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come right away. You stare at him, heart swelling and squeezing all at once.

Julian continues quickly, hands half-raised in panic. “I know we’ve only been together for a little over a year, but I love her. She’s everything I’ve ever hoped for, and I want to build a life with her. And I—I wanted to ask your permission, before anything else.”

It is fast. But you’ve seen the way she looks at him, how he looks at her. The way they orbit each other like two stars pulled by gravity stronger than reason. You’ve watched them fall in sync like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And he’s never once made you doubt his intentions.

You smile softly, eyes going a little glassy. “Well,” you begin gently, “you’ve been nothing but a wonderful boyfriend to my daughter. And you clearly adore her.” You pause, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. “So yes. You have my blessing, Julian.”

His shoulders drop in visible relief and he lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you. Really. That means the world to me.”

Just then, the door opens behind you, and Tigerlily’s voice cuts through the moment. “What are you two doing out here?”

Julian spins on his heel a little too fast, and you clear your throat quickly, your brain scrambling for the first believable thing. “Julian was helping me, uh… figure out the sprinkler. It’s acting weird.”

She narrows her eyes. “The sprinkler?”

“Yep,” you nod, way too quickly. “Super weird. Total mystery.”

Julian gives a stiff little smile, playing along. “We, uh, think it’s the pressure valve.”

“Okay…” she says slowly, clearly not that interested. “Well, come on. Let’s go. The boat’s not going to wait for us.”

You grab your bag and follow her out the door, heart still racing a little from the moment you just shared. Julian gives you a grateful glance as he opens the car door for Tigerlily.

And as you sit in the passenger seat, watching the two of them exchange playful banter and knowing glances on the way to the dock, something in your chest softens.

Tigerlily is happy. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

-

The dock stretches out before you like a ribbon of sun-bleached wood, groaning faintly beneath your steps. The sea sparkles under the sun, dazzling and blue, dotted with boats and the occasional flash of seagulls flying over the sunny sky. Julian walks ahead, a few steps in front of you, leading the way to his family's boat.

He turns around as you reach the boat, climbing down to the edge and holding out a hand. “Here, let me help you guys on.”

Tigerlily climbs on first, holding onto the railing before turning back to you with a grin. You pause, just for a second, taking in the image of her—sunlight in her hair, smile wide and easy, laugh lines already forming around her eyes—and something about it makes your throat tighten.

Julian offers his hand to you next. “You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, pressing your lips together as you take his hand.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping onto the boat. “More than okay.”

Tigerlily helps you with your bag, the two of you settling in as Julian introduces you to the rest of the guests on board. He offers his hand again as he helps you up a narrow stair to the upper deck, guiding you through the boat with gentle ease. “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.”

You follow him with a soft chuckle, brushing your hair away from your face as the wind picks up. The boat is beautiful—sleek, well-kept, definitely not the kind of thing you expected to find yourself on this summer.

He leads you into a cozy lounge area, where his parents are seated on a cushioned bench, sipping drinks and chatting quietly. They both rise when Julian gestures toward them.

“Mom, Dad—this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

His mother greets you first with a warm smile, her hand extended. “We’re so happy to finally meet you. Thank you for joining us today.”

You take her hand and return the smile, nodding. “Thank you for having me. It’s a beautiful boat.”

Julian’s dad nods along. “Julian’s told us a lot about you,” he says kindly. “You raised a wonderful daughter.”

You laugh lightly, brushing off the compliment. “She pretty much raised herself, honestly.”

You move on to another corner of the deck where a younger girl sits with headphones half off her ears.

“This is my little sister, Maude,” Julian taps her shoulder, and she pulls them off, blinking up at you with instant recognition.

“Oh my God,” she says before she even stands. “You’re her. I knew you looked familiar.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Her?”

“Her, as in you,” she insists with a grin. “You’re—wow—you’re even more beautiful in person. My girlfriend, Alexa, is going to freak.”

Before you can respond, she’s already pulling her phone out. “Lex!” she calls. “Come here—come meet Tigerlily’s mom!”

A second later, a tall girl with red curls appears from below deck, raising a brow. “What—”

“She’s right here,” Maude says, practically bouncing. “Isn’t she stunning?”

You press a hand to your chest, laughing shyly as you look away. “Okay, okay, I think that’s enough of that,” you say. “You’re all going to make me too self-conscious to stay on this boat.”

Fortunately, Julian swoops in, hand landing lightly on your shoulder. “Alright, you two, quit scaring my girlfriend's mom,” he teases before turning to you. “Come on—front deck’s clearing up. Let’s relax a little.”

You nod gratefully, and he guides you to the front of the boat where cushioned seats curve around the bow. Tigerlily’s already lounging there, hair whipping in the breeze, sunglasses perched on her nose.

Julian hands her a kiss on the lips—quick, sweet—and tells her, “I’m getting us drinks. Be right back.”

He disappears down into the cabin again, and the sound of the water takes over.

Tigerlily turns to you, pulling her sunglasses up into her hair. “See?” she says. “Everyone loves having you here.”

You roll your eyes playfully, folding your legs beneath you as you settle into the cushions. “They’re being polite.”

“They’re being real,” she insists. “Especially Maude. I think she’s about to print out your Wikipedia page and frame it.”

You laugh, and she grins wide.

“And especially me,” she adds with a meaningful look. “I love having you here.”

You reach over and brush her cheek with your knuckles, your heart tugging at the corners. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The boat rocks gently as the three of you lounge on the front deck, sun cascading over everything in a golden glaze. You’re tucked in one corner with a book in hand and sunglasses shading your eyes, only half-focused on the page. From your peripheral vision, you catch glimpses of Tigerlily curled up against Julian, their conversation floating around like soft background music—something about a movie he promised to watch, something else about her weird dream last night. You smile faintly at their easy affection, eyes dropping back to your book—until a shadow lengthens beside you.

Someone joins the group. You can feel it immediately, like a ripple in the calm. Not just the presence, but the weight of a gaze on you—curious, unwavering. You glance up briefly, eyes peeking over the rim of your sunglasses.

It’s someone you haven’t seen before. A tall, lithe man with buzzcut hair and delicate, striking features that contrast sharply with the sharpness of his frame. His eyes linger on you in a way that feels oddly direct, and it’s only when he finally speaks that the spell breaks.

“Hey, who’s this?” he asks, his voice smooth, amused.

Julian blinks, glancing between you and the man. “Oh—right. Hyunjin, this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

Hyunjin’s mouth twitches into a small smile as he steps closer and extends his hand. You slip your bookmark in place and close the book, slipping off your sunglasses. His hand is warm in yours, long fingers wrapping around gently—but his eyes, they hold your gaze like they’re reading something in you.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, voice low, and then adds with absolutely no hesitation, “You’re really beautiful.”

Tigerlily bursts into sudden laughter, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Hyunjin!” she gasps. “Are you trying to hit on my mom?”

“So what if I am?” he says, totally unbothered, still looking at you.

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks—not the sun, this time.

Julian groans good-naturedly. “Hyunjin, why did you think I’m dating the daughter, not the mom? She’s the it girl of the ’90s, man.”

Tigerlily gives Julian a glare before elbows him on the side.

“I had no idea,” Hyunjin says, his gaze not leaving yours. “I just know she’s beautiful.”

You’re not used to compliments like this anymore—not said so earnestly and with such ease. You laugh lightly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you give a polite, slightly flustered smile. “Well, thank you.”

Tigerlily, still grinning, leans over to nudge Julian. “He missed the part where you say in the ‘90s, right? Like… a while ago.”

Hyunjin just shrugs, his tone almost challenging. “Like I care about that.”

Tigerlily blinks at him. Then turns to you. You raise your brows, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. You try to return to your book, but the page blurs a little. Not from the sun, not from the wind—but because there’s something about the way Hyunjin is still watching you like there’s more to read in you than the pages you’re holding.

The boat stops once it's far enough from the shore and the splashing sound coming from the side of the boat startles you. You fumble to check only to find Julian’s sister, Maude, has jumped into the sea.

You decide to sit at the edge of the boat, legs curled beneath you, a cold drink in one hand and the sun warming your shoulders as Tigerlily, Julian and Alexa are also jumping into the water, splashing around like kids, their laughter echoing over the waves. You watch them with a fond smile, chin resting on your palm, feeling oddly full just witnessing your daughter so happy. Then, you hear it.

Click. Click.

Your head turns instinctively toward the sound, and there he is—Hyunjin—standing a few feet away with a camera in hand, lowering it with a guilty smile when he notices you’ve caught him.

“Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. “I just… couldn’t help it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Were you just taking pictures of me?”

He shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was. You're beautiful—it’s hard not to.”

That makes you let out a breathy, surprised laugh, half-shy, half-entertained. You shake your head, glancing back out to the sea like it’ll cool your blush. “You’re something else.”

“Hyunjin,” he says, finally coming closer and offering his hand again, this time more properly. “I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

You take his hand again, noting how warm and familiar it already feels in yours. “Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. I take it you and Julian go way back?”

He leans casually against the rail beside you, his sunglasses hanging off the collar of his shirt. “High school. He was exactly the same back then. Sweet. Smart. Terrible at talking to girls.”

You grin. “So you’re saying he’s always been this… nervous?”

“Like a scared puppy,” Hyunjin confirms, laughing. “But the kind that would take a bullet for the people he loves. You don’t have to worry about Tigerlily. He worships her.”

You nod softly at that, touched. “That’s very reassuring. Thank you.”

Hyunjin looks at you for a beat, then tilts his head. “Aren’t you curious to know about me?”

You laugh. “Are you offering up a full character profile?”

“Only the interesting parts,” he says with a wink. “Let’s see… I’m a pottery artist. I throw clay for a living. Julian actually met Tigerlily at one of my exhibits, so I’ll take partial credit for their love story.”

“Wow,” you smile. “Multitalented and a matchmaker.”

“And single,” he adds, eyes sparkling. “Also, apparently… recently discovering I might have a thing for older women.”

You laugh—a real one this time, unfiltered and light—and toss your head back slightly. “Oh, is that so?”

Hyunjin leans a little closer, voice low and teasing. “You’re kind of making it hard not to.”

Your gaze flickers to his—those sharp eyes softened by sunlight and mischief—and you find yourself laughing again, caught completely off guard by how amused, how seen you feel in that moment.

It’s been a long time since someone made you feel this way. Curious. Flattered. Just a little bit reckless. And the fact that it’s someone like him only makes it worse—and better.

-

The sun is hanging low over the horizon, spilling its golden light across the calm sea, and you’re in the kitchen galley, shoulder to shoulder with Julian’s mother as you help prepare dinner for everyone. The boat gently sways beneath your feet, and the sounds of laughter and soft music drift in from the deck. There’s something peaceful about it—this simple, domestic moment, so different from the chaos your life once knew.

Fresh from her shower, Tigerlily joins you, her cheeks still flushed from the sun and her hair damp around her shoulders. “Smells good in here,” she says, bumping her hip against yours as she grabs a stack of plates and starts setting the table on the back deck.

You're watching her, quietly smiling, when Julian appears beside her, freshly changed into dry clothes. He takes her hand gently and calls, “Hyunjin, hey—would you mind taking a few photos of us with the sunset?”

You glance over, your heart skipping a beat. So this is it.

Hyunjin, camera in hand, gives a playful salute and positions them with their backs to the sunset. “Alright, stand right there. A little closer. Julian, put your hand around her waist… yeah, perfect. Lils, look out at the ocean.”

Tigerlily does as she’s told, oblivious and relaxed.

Julian’s other hand slips into the pocket of his pants. You freeze where you stand, breath catching in your throat. Julian slowly pulls out a small velvet box.

“Okay, now, Lils,” Hyunjin calls gently, “turn around and look at Julian.”

She spins playfully, half-laughing—until her eyes land on him. She goes still. Her breath stutters.

Everyone else falls quiet.

Julian is on one knee, holding the box open, his face awash in the soft, fading sunlight. You grip the edge of the table, your heart racing in your chest.

“I knew from the moment I saw you at that gallery that I wanted to know everything about you,” Julian begins, voice a little shaky but clear. “I love how your laugh comes out before your jokes do. I love that you always steal fries off my plate even though you say you’re not hungry. I love that when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I need to be anyone else.”

Tigerlily blinks, tears welling fast in her eyes.

“You make everything feel like home,” Julian continues, his own eyes glassy. “And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. Will you marry me?”

It hits you like a wave—pride, joy, a strange ache in your chest like you were the one being asked, you were the girl in love with the sea glowing behind her.

Tigerlily gasps, a hand over her mouth, and then—she nods. “Yes,” she chokes out. “Yes, Julian.”

Cheers erupt around the boat. Julian slips the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling, and then stands to kiss her, slow and reverent, with the ocean breeze dancing through their hair.

You blink back tears, feeling them slip down anyway—and then a gentle arm wraps around your shoulders. Julian’s mother. She gives you a knowing squeeze, her own eyes shiny with emotion. “It’s something else, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying harder. “It really is.”

And as Tigerlily and Julian hold each other beneath the peach-streaked sky, their silhouettes backlit by the fading sun, you can’t help but whisper under your breath, “My little girl’s getting married.”

You’re still trying to collect yourself, when you hear the hurried footsteps—barefoot and light—and then suddenly, she’s there.

Tigerlily throws herself into your arms, nearly knocking the wind out of you. She’s laughing, breathless, trembling with joy as she hugs you tight.

“Mom!” she exclaims, pulling away just enough to hold her hand out in front of you. “Look!”

The ring glints under the fading sunlight, elegant and simple, but it might as well be the crown jewel by the way she’s staring at it, eyes wide, still dazed. “I’m getting married,” she says in a whisper, like she doesn’t believe the words even as she speaks them. “I’m actually getting married.”

You nod, slow and soft, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. “You are,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “You really are.”

And then you pull her back into your arms, wrapping her up like you did when she was small, when she’d scrape her knee or have a bad dream or just need her mom.

“Are you happy, little cub?” you murmur against her hair.

She pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes, cheeks still wet from tears but her smile—oh, her smile is luminous. “Yes,” she says, with a kind of certainty that steadies your heartbeat. “I’m so, so happy.”

You nod again, brushing her hair gently back from her face, your fingers lingering at her temple.

“If you’re happy,” you whisper, “then I’m happy.”

You lean in, kiss her softly on the temple, and for a moment, the world falls still. It’s just the two of you—mother and daughter, hearts full, tears barely held back, connected by something deeper than words.

Then Julian approaches, his steps quiet but purposeful, and you break the hug to turn to him. His face is still flushed from the proposal, his eyes a little watery, but he smiles at you—nervous again, like always. You step into his arms and hug him too, firm and warm.

“Congratulations,” you whisper. “Take good care of her, will you?”

“I will,” he says, voice a little shaky. “I promise.”

When you pull back, Tigerlily is beaming at both of you, and then she takes Julian’s hand, and just like that—the celebration continues.

Dinner is served on the upper deck under a string of fairy lights. Music plays, laughter rings out across the boat, and champagne glasses clink in celebration. Everyone is radiant—Maude and Alexa dancing barefoot, Julian’s parents looking proud, Hyunjin snapping candids in the golden hour light, and you—

You sit back for a moment, just watching. Watching your daughter. Your daughter, laughing with her fiancé, cheeks flushed with happiness, her whole future ahead of her.

A mix of emotions rolls through you—pride, awe, disbelief, joy, and that familiar ache that comes with letting go. You think of all the versions of Tigerlily you’ve loved: the little girl with scraped knees and messy braids, the teen who rolled her eyes but still hugged you goodnight, the woman now, who wears engagement rings and about to be someone's wife.

And something blooms in your chest, wide and full. Not just joy—but peace. Profound, bone-deep peace. In this moment, you feel it completely. You are happy.

-

The house feels impossibly still after a day so full of life. You move through the quiet halls, still smelling faintly of salt and sunblock, your bag abandoned by the front door. The lights are dimmed low, just enough to guide your way to the bedroom. You’re halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Chris.

You hesitate before picking up. It’s late. But you know him—you know that if he’s calling at this hour, it’s not casual. You slide your finger across the screen and press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then— “She’s getting married.”

His voice is low, worn out. Not angry. Not sad. Just… broken.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your breath catching slightly. “She called you?”

“Just hung up,” he says. “She was so excited. Said it like she couldn’t believe it herself.”

You smile faintly. “She was glowing all day, Chris. You should've seen it.”

Chris lets out a laugh—quiet, hollow. “I remember when she used to light up like that just from sitting on my shoulders.”

There’s a long pause, one of those where neither of you needs to speak to understand the ache the other is carrying. “I know it’s stupid,” he finally says, “but it feels like I’m being cheated on. Like—she was mine. My baby. My little cub. And now some guy gets to come in and just—just take over. Call her his family.”

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together. “It’s not stupid.”

“I used to be her whole world,” he says, his voice cracking. “Now I’m... a scheduled phone call. A guest at her wedding.”

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart heavy with a quiet ache. “You’ll always be her dad, Chris. Nothing will ever take that from you.”

He sighs, and you can hear the way he’s holding back more. Memories. Emotions. Regrets.

“I missed so much already,” he mutters. “Her graduation. Her first heartbreak. All those stupid in-between things. I thought maybe I’d have more time.”

“You’ll have different moments now,” you say gently. “Maybe not the same ones. But new ones. Important ones.”

Chris goes quiet, and for a second, you wonder if he’s still on the line. Then, softly, he asks, “Did you cry?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Of course I did.”

“I wish I could’ve seen her,” he says. “Wish I could’ve been there. With you. For her.”

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “She looked so much like you when she said yes,” you whisper.

That gets him. You hear the hitch in his breath. The rest of the night is spent like that—Chris talking, remembering, grieving something that was never really lost, just changed. And you listen, the way only someone who’s loved him deeply once can. You let him be selfish, fragile, ridiculous—because this isn’t about being rational.

This is about love.

And when he finally falls silent, you whisper, “We did good, you know. Raising her.”

There’s a long silence before he murmurs, “Yeah. We really did.”

You set your phone down gently on the nightstand, the screen going black like the closing of a curtain. The house is quiet again, but the silence feels different now—thicker somehow, like it’s holding something inside of it. You lean back against the pillows, exhaling slowly as your eyes drift up to the ceiling.

It’s not just you.

That’s the thought that settles over you like a blanket. You’re not the only one caught in this strange in-between—between the past and the future, between holding on and letting go. Chris, too, is reeling. Grasping. Feeling like he’s losing something he thought he had more time with. There’s a quiet comfort in knowing that.

Because tonight, watching Tigerlily say yes with the sunset blazing behind her, part of you had felt like you were standing still while the rest of the world moved on without asking. Like everything was changing too fast, too soon.

But now, lying here in the soft hum of the night, you realize that maybe change doesn’t have to be something to fear. Maybe it’s just a new season arriving—quiet, inevitable, and hopefully, kind.

You turn your head, eyes landing on a photo of Tigerlily on your dresser. She’s younger in this one, her cheeks round, her smile toothy. You remember taking it. You remember everything. You smile faintly. Maybe this is what growing up looks like—not just for her, but for you, too.

And maybe it’s all changing for the better.

-

It’s a slow Saturday afternoon when you hear the familiar creak of your front door opening and Tigerlily’s voice calling out, “Mom?”

You glance up from your notebook, pen still in hand, and before you can answer, she’s already walking into the kitchen like she owns the place—as she always has—plopping her purse on the counter and reaching straight for the cookie jar.

“You want something?” you ask without looking up, grinning as you hear her bite into a cookie.

“Yeah,” she says around a mouthful, “I want you to come out with me tonight.”

That gets your attention. You raise an eyebrow as you swivel in your chair, playful curiosity in your voice. “Wow, inviting your mom out on a Saturday night? What, Julian couldn’t make it?”

From the kitchen, she groans. “He’s been swamped at work this week. He said he might fall asleep standing if he tries to go out tonight.”

You smile as you stand and stretch. “So I’m the backup plan.”

“No,” she says pointedly, another bite of cookie halfway to her mouth, “you’re the main event. I wanted to spend time with you. Before I become someone’s wife.”

You’re halfway to the kitchen when she says that, and your steps falter just a little—just enough to register the weight of her words. You reach her side and pluck a cookie from the jar, mirroring her stance, leaning against the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask softly, a teasing edge to your voice.

Tigerlily doesn’t answer—not with words. She just gives you a knowing look, the kind of look that says everything without saying much at all. And you know. You know what she means.

That she won’t always be yours first.

So you gently pat the top of her head, a silent acknowledgment of what’s changing—of what will never change, too.

And then you take a bite of your cookie, brushing the moment aside with practiced ease. “So where are you taking me, future wife?”

She perks up, cookie forgotten. “There’s this art exhibition downtown—Julian got me the invite—and I thought maybe after, we could get drinks or something. Just us.”

You nod, finishing your cookie. “Alright then. Let me go throw on something cool and age-appropriate.”

“Please do,” she says with a smirk. “Because you’re about to be seen with a young woman.”

You flick a crumb at her, already walking away. “Then I better wear heels. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m your mother or something.”

The city hums quietly around you as Tigerlily drives, her fingers drumming lightly against the wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio. The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across her face—her cheekbones highlighted, her eyes focused, her lips painted a shade that suits her too well.

You’re watching her in silence, your elbow propped on the car door, cheek resting against your hand. It hits you all at once—how grown she is. Not just older, but grown. A woman. Not just your daughter, but someone’s partner. Someone who knows what she wants, who walks into rooms with her head high and her heart wide open.

She catches your stare during a red light and raises a brow. “Do I have something on my face?”

You blink yourself back into the moment and smile softly. “No. I just… I like your lipstick.”

She grins. “It’s in my bag if you want to use it.”

You reach down and grab her purse from the floor, fishing through it. Lipstick, sunglasses, tissues, receipts, mints—and a folded, glossy brochure catches your eye.

You pull it out, unfolding it. “Is this the exhibition we’re going to?”

Tigerlily glances over. “Yeah. Julian’s firm helped sponsor it.”

You scan the list of artists until a familiar name stops you cold. Hwang Hyunjin.

Your brow arches. “Wait. Is this… the Hyunjin I met on the boat?”

Tigerlily’s grin is instant, wicked, and wide.

“Yes,” she says, dragging out the word. “That Hyunjin.”

You slide her a look.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically, “you totally forgot he was an artist, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence, setting the brochure in your lap. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t know he was showing here.”

She laughs, delighted, tapping the wheel. “You like him.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You do. You got all flustered the second he called you beautiful.”

You roll your eyes. “Tigerlily.”

“Mom.”

You look out the window, but you’re smiling now, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite yourself. And she sees it.

“Oh my god, you do like him.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “He’s like, what, twelve?”

She snorts. “He’s as old as Julian.”

You glance back at her. “That’s not better.”

“That’s hot,” she says instead. “You’ve still got it.”

You shoot her a look. “Please stop.”

You hadn’t expected to feel nervous—this wasn’t a date, it was an art exhibition with your daughter. But ever since spotting his name on that brochure, there’s been a flutter of something low in your stomach, delicate and unshakable.

You walk beside Tigerlily into the exhibition, all clean lines and soft lighting. Art lines the walls—paintings, sculptures, ceramics—and you try to keep your eyes on them, but you can feel it. His gaze.

And when you look up—there he is. Hyunjin, standing near a tall display of pottery, dressed in relaxed black slacks and a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His buzzcut somehow makes his cheekbones look sharper, but it’s the way his eyes immediately find you that makes your breath hitch.

Tigerlily grabs your hand and tugs you toward him. “Let’s go say hi to your potter boy.”

You gently swat her arm but don’t argue.

Hyunjin straightens as the two of you approach, a soft, knowing smile spreading across his face. His eyes flick between Tigerlily and you, but linger on you—open, unbothered, like he has no intention of pretending otherwise. “Hi,” he says simply, like the word is meant only for you.

Tigerlily grins. “Congratulations, Hyunjin. This whole thing is incredible. The colors, the forms—like, it’s weirdly emotional. I didn’t expect to feel something over clay.”

Hyunjin nods, appreciative. “Thank you,” he says, and then, softer, to you, “I’m glad you came.”

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly around your clutch. “It’s beautiful. Everything.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you, and you catch the flicker of realization in her eyes. Her gaze lingers on Hyunjin, then you. A smile curves her lips, but she doesn’t say anything—just lightly touches your arm.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” she says, far too casually. “You two go ahead and talk about... I'll just go.”

Before you can say anything, she’s already turning away, leaving you alone with Hyunjin in the middle of his world.

Hyunjin smiles, as if this was always meant to happen. “Would you like a tour?” he asks. “I’ll show you my favorites.”

You nod, trying to collect yourself as he leads you across the room to a display of delicate, curved vases and explains a bit about it.

“Have you ever worked with clay?” he asks, that slight tilt to his voice—casual, but laced with suggestion.

You shake your head. “I don’t know the first thing about pottery. But it’s… really beautiful.”

“I could teach you,” he says.

You laugh, a little flustered. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“For you, I’d make time.”

It’s so simple, the way he says it. No hesitation. No games. And that’s what throws you.

You look at him, really look—and he’s looking at you like you’re the centerpiece of the exhibition, like he curated the entire room just to bring you here. It’s intense, that kind of attention. Unapologetic.

“I doubt I’d be any good at it,” you say, trying to deflect.

“Come to my studio,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

His voice is low, but not pressing. Just enough to leave space—for you to lean in or walk away. But his eyes… his eyes are burning. Admiring. Wanting. A quiet pull you can’t quite escape.

You break the gaze, looking down at the smooth glaze of the pot nearest you, your fingers brushing lightly over its curve. Hyunjin’s smile deepens, and you don’t have to look at him to know. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And somehow, you don’t hate it.

-

After the exhibition, you and Tigerlily settle into a cozy booth at a bar just down the street from the gallery. The music is mellow, the lights low and golden, and the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation wrap around you like a blanket. You each have a drink in hand—something fruity and pink in Tigerlily’s, something simpler in yours.

You sip, exhale, and lean back. “Well… that was unexpectedly interesting.”

Tigerlily’s lips curve around the rim of her glass. “You mean the exhibition?” she teases.

You lift an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

She laughs, a full, unfiltered sound. “I saw you and Hyunjin, you know. Sneaking off for your little pottery tour.”

You feign a gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “What are you saying, Tigerlily? You want a new dad?”

She chokes on her drink, coughing through her laughter. “Oh my God, please don’t ever say that again.”

You grin as you stir your drink with the little straw. “Just checking.”

But then, her tone shifts—still playful, but more earnest now. “I’m serious, though. I think it’s a good time for you to start dating again.”

You glance at her sideways, teasing, “Oh? So you’ve finally given up on the dream of me and your dad running off into the sunset?”

Tigerlily chuckles, soft and knowing. “I mean… yeah. I used to hope, but now? I just want you to be happy. However that looks.”

Something in you stirs. It’s not sadness—not quite—but something tender. Moved. You coo, placing your hand over hers on the table. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”

She gives you a sheepish smile, then rolls her eyes as she groans, “Even if that happiness means Hyunjin becomes my stepdad. Ew.”

You burst into laughter. “He’s not—Tigerlily!”

“I’m just saying,” she lifts her hands in defense, eyes wide, “if it ever comes to that, I’ll be supportive. Slightly traumatized, but supportive.”

You laugh until your chest aches, then sigh as you cradle your glass between your hands. “I don’t know… dating at my age, it feels kind of—”

Tigerlily gasps. “Don’t even start with that age talk.”

You shrug, playful but honest. “It just seems a little late to open up my heart again.”

She leans forward, voice soft but firm. “Then don’t open it wide. Just crack the window a little. Let some air in. You never know what might fly through.”

You look at her, this remarkable woman you raised, and something about her words nestles itself right under your ribs. “I’m not saying it has to be Hyunjin,” she adds, sly smile returning. “But… you could do worse.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that lifts your lips is genuine. “You’re kind of sweet when you’re not being annoying.”

She raises her glass. “To annoying daughters who want their moms to be ridiculously happy.”

You clink glasses with her, the sound small but meaningful and for the first time in a long while, the idea of something new—something a little wild, a little uncertain—doesn’t scare you. Not when you’ve come this far. Not when your daughter is rooting for your heart.

-

So here you are, standing in front of the brick building tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the late afternoon sun casting warm shadows across its facade. The metal plaque reads Studio Hwang in a clean, simple font. You pause at the door, your hand hovering just before the handle.

This doesn't mean you're going to open your heart.

You're not here to be charmed or swept off your feet or written into some kind of romantic plot twist. No. You’re here because—well, because you were curious. And maybe a little flattered. And maybe, maybe, you wanted to try something new.

You exhale through your nose, give a small nod to yourself. Who knows, you think, maybe I’ll like it. So you push the door open.

Inside, the soft hum of conversation mingles with the earthy scent of clay and dust. Afternoon light spills through the high windows, warming the space in golden hues. Shelves are lined with ceramic pieces—some smooth and glazed, others raw and half-finished, waiting to become something more.

You spot Hyunjin almost immediately. He’s across the room, mid-conversation with someone—maybe a buyer, maybe a fellow artist, you’re not sure. He’s gesturing toward a set of tall vases, his tone focused, expressive. He hasn’t seen you yet.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your instinct tells you to step back outside, to give yourself an out before this becomes something real.

But then Hyunjin turns. He catches sight of you—and his entire face lights up. His smile is instant, genuine, radiant in a way that makes you forget you were just about to retreat.

“I’m happy to see you,” he says, stepping away from his conversation without hesitation. “You came.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say, glancing briefly toward the person he was speaking with, your hand still loosely gripping the strap of your bag. “I can come back later, if you’re busy.”

But Hyunjin’s reaction is immediate. He takes a small step toward you, shaking his head with a pleading softness in his eyes. “No. Don’t go.”

You blink, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I was just finishing up anyway,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile, one that almost feels like a quiet apology for making you feel like you weren’t welcome here. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Stay—please.”

And it’s the way he looks at you. Open. Warm. Like your presence just made his whole day better. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather have you be.

You feel your hesitation melt, bit by bit. Your grip on your bag loosens. Your heart softens in a way you didn’t expect. So you nod. Quietly, simply, you say, “Okay.”

As you wait, you take slow steps around the studio, letting your eyes wander over the carefully displayed pieces—bowls, vases, sculptures that seem to carry a sense of motion even in their stillness. Each one is uniquely imperfect, textured with fingerprints, small ridges, grooves. They're beautiful in the way something made by hand always is—full of soul, full of intention. But as much as you're trying to focus on the art, your attention keeps drifting. To him.

Hyunjin stands a few feet away, still finishing his conversation, and you can’t help but look. The way he’s dressed is simple—just a white tank top tucked into jeans, the fabric hugging his frame in all the right places, and an apron dusted with clay tied around his waist. His buzzed hair is wrapped under a bandana. He gestures with his hands as he talks, his words low and animated, his passion palpable.

There’s something magnetic about it—the way his brows pull together when he's describing a shape, the way his hands mimic the curves of the piece, like he’s still molding it in the air. You find yourself watching too closely. Admiring too much.

God, he's attractive. Really, really attractive.

You realize you’ve been staring, your thoughts trailing somewhere they shouldn’t, and you quickly look away, pretending to examine a nearby vase like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

Your pulse does this little skip in your chest and you remind yourself again: You're just here to learn pottery.

The soft click of the studio door signals that Hyunjin’s guest has just left, and suddenly, it's just the two of you. The room feels quieter now, like it’s holding its breath, waiting. You run your fingertips along the rim of a ceramic bowl, pretending to study it as you hear the sound of his footsteps getting closer. Your heart does a little flutter as you straighten your posture, but you don’t dare turn around until you hear his voice.

“So…” he says, his tone lighter now, a little teasing, “ready for your first pottery lesson?”

You finally turn to face him, and he's looking at you with a smile that makes you feel warm all over. His apron is still dusted with clay, his arms streaked with it, and there’s a tiny smudge on his cheek you have to force yourself not to reach for.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving a small laugh. “I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to break anything.”

He grins, dimples and all. “Don’t worry. The only rule here is to enjoy yourself.”

The way he says it—calm, easy, inviting—makes you relax a little. You nod, your lips curling into a smile. “Okay. Teach me, then.”

Hyunjin reaches for an apron hanging on a hook, shaking the dust from it before offering it to you with a quiet smile. “Here,” he says, “can’t have you ruining that pretty outfit.”

You chuckle softly as you slide your arms through the apron, smoothing it down the front. Before you can reach behind to tie it, he’s already stepping closer—close enough that the heat of his body brushes your back.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

His fingers gather the straps at your waist, slow and deliberate, and as he knots them behind you, you feel the firm brush of his knuckles against the small of your back. Your breath hitches—just slightly—and you’re thankful he can’t see your face just yet. But then… he moves higher.

Without a word, his hand lifts to your hair, gathering it gently, fingertips brushing your nape as he lifts it away from your neck. “Can’t let it get messy either,” he says quietly, voice dropping an octave as he twists your hair and pins it up with a clip from the table. “There. Perfect.”

Hyunjin doesn’t step away. He lingers, his hands falling slowly, deliberately, to rest lightly on your shoulders as he leans in—just enough for you to feel the soft, warm brush of his breath against your neck. You close your eyes for a moment, heat rising in your cheeks, heart fluttering like it’s never been touched before.

“You smell really good,” he says, low and sincere, as if it’s a secret he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

You swallow, pulse quickening. “I—um… thank you.”

When you finally turn your head slightly to glance back at him, his eyes are already on you—dark, unreadable, but soft. And the look he gives you makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling up like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Let’s make something beautiful,” he says.

And you’re not entirely sure if he’s still talking about pottery.

-

Hyunjin leads you to the table, where a solid mound of clay sits waiting. He picks up a thin, taut wire with wooden handles on each end and holds it out for you. “This is a cut-off wire,” he explains gently, “you use it to portion the clay before you bring it to the wheel.”

You take the handles in your hands, unsure, and glance at him. He steps behind you again, not too close this time—but close enough that you can feel the presence of him, the quiet patience he carries.

“Pull it tight,” he says, “and glide it through like you’re slicing butter.”

You do as he says, but your motion is a little hesitant, uneven. He doesn’t correct you right away. Instead, his hands come up to rest over yours, steadying them, guiding the motion with a softness that makes your breath catch.

“Like this,” he murmurs, his voice brushing your ear.

Together, you slice through the clay. When it’s done, he lets go—slowly—and steps around to lift the cut piece with ease. He smiles.

“Perfect,” he says. “See? Not so hard.”

You follow him as he carries the clay over to the wheel, your heart still fluttering from the brief contact. He pats the stool next to the wheel.

“Come sit. Let’s get your hands dirty.”

You do, smoothing the apron over your lap as you settle in.

He slaps the clay down at the center of the wheel with a satisfying thud, then sits beside you, adjusting the pedal with his foot. “We’re going to start by centering the clay. That’s the most important part.”

You look down at your hands, already dusted with faint clay residue. “What if I mess it up?”

Hyunjin leans in with a smile that borders on a smirk, eyes flicking up to yours. “That’s part of the fun.”

His hands take yours again, guiding them toward the spinning mound of clay. The wheel starts turning, slow and steady, and he wraps his fingers around yours as the clay begins to take shape beneath your touch.

The sensation is strange—cool, smooth, pliant—but with him guiding you, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… grounding. Intimate. “Just feel it,” he says quietly. “Don’t overthink.”

You nod, even though your heart is racing—not from nerves over the clay, but from the way his voice settles into your spine. The way his hands feel sure and gentle over yours. The way his focus is split between the clay and you.

Then, Hyunjin moves to the wheel across from you, his own piece of clay already set and spinning. “Watch me first,” he says, looking up with a soft grin. “Then you can try.”

You nod, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you lean forward slightly, eyes on him. On the way his hands wet with slip move gracefully over the surface of the clay. His fingers are long, precise—expert—and there’s a natural rhythm in the way they press and pull, coaxing form from the formless.

Your gaze drops to his forearms, where veins run along the skin like rivers, his muscles subtly flexing as he controls the wheel. The way his biceps shift beneath the snug fit of his tank has your breath hitching just slightly, and then your eyes move up again—past the bandana holding his hair back, past the little smudge of clay near his jaw—to his face.

Hyunjin is all focus. Calm, unbothered, completely at home in the motion of his craft. And for a moment, you forget where you are.

You’re watching him—not just the process, but him—and your thoughts go quiet. All you hear is the hum of the wheel, the soft squish of clay, and your own heartbeat tapping against your ribs.

Then, as if he senses it, his eyes lift. He catches you staring. You look away fast, cheeks warming, pretending to busy yourself with your own shapeless lump of clay. But across the room, you hear his soft laugh. Low, amused, unbothered.

“I can feel you watching me,” he says, not looking up this time as he dips his fingers in water and smooths a new edge into his piece.

You glance up at him again, trying to sound casual. “I’m just observing. You said to watch.”

“Right,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye now. “Strictly academic.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips. He doesn't push, just continues shaping his work with that same focused grace—while every now and then, you catch his gaze flicking back to you. And each time it does, it lingers just a little longer.

Not long after, you find yourself sinking into it, the stillness not awkward but comforting. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a warm blanket, where nothing needs to be said. Your hands move gently over the clay, smoothing it, shaping it—not entirely sure what you're making, but enjoying the process anyway. It’s oddly therapeutic, the coolness of the clay, the give and resistance of it, the freedom to make anything. You let your fingers trail along its form, until—

The wheel spins too fast beneath your hand, wobbling wildly, and your once-decent shape collapses inward with a wet slap. You sigh, pulling your hands back, covered in clay and frustration.

Hyunjin looks up from his own wheel. He sees your frown, your ruined creation, and he doesn’t laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he wipes his hands with a rag and rises, walking over with an amused curl to his lips and that glint in his eyes. “You panicked,” he says softly, voice dipped in warm amusement.

“I messed it up,” you mutter, eyeing the deformed lump.

“You can still fix it,” he simply resolves.

Before you can ask how, he’s already behind you. Not too close—but close enough that you can feel his presence, the gentle press of warmth radiating from his chest. Then, with zero hesitation, he reaches around you, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he guides your hands back to the clay.

“Slow down,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against your neck.

You try not to shiver as he continues, “Just feel it. Let your hands listen to what it wants to be.”

His hands gently cup yours, steering them over the clay as the wheel spins again—slower this time. Controlled. Intimate. His fingers never leave yours, and every time he leans in to speak, his lips come dangerously close to your ear. “You’re doing good,” he whispers. “See? Told you we could fix it.”

You manage a breathy chuckle, though your focus is split—half on the clay, half on how close he is. How his chest nearly grazes your back, how his voice sinks into your skin, how his fingers linger just a little too long with each adjustment.

“Feels a little like cheating,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh behind you. “I like helping.” His voice dips a little lower. “Besides… if it means I get to be this close to you, I’m not complaining.”

You glance back at him—only to find his face already angled toward yours, eyes heavy-lidded with that teasing smile. Your breath catches. For a moment, neither of you move. You pull in a breath, trying to center yourself again—on the clay, the motion, the wheel beneath your hands, not on the way Hyunjin’s breath felt brushing your skin just moments ago.

“Okay,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Let’s just finish this.”

And you do. You put all of your focus into the shape, your hands moving more confidently now. Every curve, every pressure, you begin to feel the rhythm. Hyunjin stays close but doesn't interfere anymore—just lets you work, watching with quiet eyes and the occasional, almost imperceptible smile. A few times, he gently murmurs encouragements, soft like a breeze: “Just like that… slower on the edge… good, yeah, that’s it.”

And slowly, it comes together. A little uneven, maybe. Not perfectly symmetrical. But it has a charm—your charm, your hands in the shape of it.

When you lift your hands and look at what you've made, you let out a quiet breath. “It’s… kind of a plate?” you say, unsure.

Hyunjin chuckles, stepping in. “It is a plate,” he says warmly, reaching for the cut-off wire. He carefully loops it beneath the clay, slicing it from the wheel with practiced ease, and lifts it with gentle hands like it’s a masterpiece.

He turns to you with a smile so genuine it makes your chest swell. “You did a really good job,” he says.

You smile back, your cheeks still warm. “Only because you practically made it with me.”

“I was just your guide.” He winks. “You’re the artist.”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you stand a little taller. Like maybe you are capable of making something beautiful—even if it’s just a slightly lopsided plate in a small studio, with a man who’s slowly but surely making a mark on your heart.

-

The clay’s still under your nails a little, but there’s something oddly satisfying about it. A trace of the afternoon etched into your skin. You wash your hand in the nearest sink and feel a little more relaxed as you're toweling your damp hands.

Not long after, Hyunjin walks in, balancing two cups of coffee with ease, still in his paint-smeared apron and bandana, looking effortlessly undone in the most deliberate way.

“Made us coffee,” he says, handing you one of the mugs. Your fingers brush for a second as you take it, and it sends a small jolt up your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and leaning against the big wooden table beside him. The studio is quiet now, just the soft hum of life outside the windows and the lingering scent of clay and coffee between you.

You admire the wall-to-wall shelf of pottery on the other side of the studio, each piece unique, imperfectly perfect in their own way. “You’ve made all of these?” you ask.

He nods, glancing at them over his cup. “Each one’s like a memory.”

You smile at that, letting the silence wrap around you both for a beat. Then, from beside you, he says casually, “So… I might’ve done a little internet stalking about you.”

You glance at him, brow arching. “Oh?”

He smiles into his cup, lowering it slowly. “I was curious.”

“And what did you find out, detective?”

He turns his head to look at you, something playful and soft behind his eyes. “That you were… different.”

You narrow your eyes, amused. “Different how?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Fiery. Effervescent. A little wild, in the best way.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Are you disappointed now?”

He shakes his head, eyes still locked on yours. “Not even close.” His voice is low, steady. “I like who you are now.”

Your heart flips, unprepared for the way he says it—so matter-of-factly, like it's the easiest truth he's ever spoken. Then he adds, almost as if speaking to the room, “But I think that part of you is still in there. Just… quieter now. I wonder if I'll ever meet her.”

You look down into your coffee, lips curling slightly before glancing back at him. “Or maybe you should’ve been born sooner,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

But Hyunjin just smiles, slow and knowing, as he turns to face you more fully. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “If I was born sooner… you wouldn’t have noticed me. I’d be nobody.”

Your smile falters, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says, stepping closer. “You would’ve looked right through me. But now…” His eyes lock on yours again, this time deeper, weightier. “Now you see me.”

Your breath hitches, the space between you shrinking, thick with something electric.

“I think,” he murmurs, voice low, “we met at the right time.”

You swallow, caught off guard—not just by his words, but by the way he says them. The way he makes you feel. And you realize, maybe it’s not about being ready to open your heart. Maybe it’s about someone walking in and making it feel safe enough to try.

And then, he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can see the brown of his eyes, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his temple from earlier.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, voice low, husky with hesitation… and intent.

You nod before you can think better of it.

“I’ve been trying to keep it cool,” he murmurs, his hand brushing the edge of the table near yours. “Trying not to be… too much.”

Your lips twitch, heart hammering. “You think this is you trying to be subtle?”

Hyunjin lets out a quiet laugh, one that curls around your ribs and settles in your belly. “I guess I’m not very good at subtle when it comes to you.”

And then, slowly, he reaches out—his hand gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the curve of your jaw before falling away. The touch is light, but it lingers in your skin like fire.

“You make it really hard,” he says, barely above a whisper, “not to want... more.”

“More?” you echo softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes don’t leave yours. “More moments like this. More of your time. More of you.”

The silence stretches for a beat—your heart racing, cheeks burning—but you don’t pull away. You don’t stop him. Because in this moment, with the earthy scent of clay still hanging in the air and the fading sunlight washing golden across the floor, it feels terrifyingly easy to let yourself lean in—just a little closer.

And Hyunjin sees it. He sees the way your eyes flick to his lips for half a second too long. So he closes the space between you, just barely, until his face hovers inches from yours. Not touching, not yet. Waiting. Letting you decide.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “and I will.”

But you don’t, you don’t say a word. Instead, you meet his eyes—warm, steady, searching—and you let yourself lean in just enough to close the last inches between you.

And then, finally, his lips meet yours.

It’s soft at first—so gentle, as if he’s afraid to break something delicate. His lips move against yours with reverence, like he’s been waiting a long time for this moment, and now that he has it, he’s not going to rush. He kisses you like it means something. Your hand finds the front of his apron, clutching the edge of the fabric just to ground yourself, to make sure this is real. And when you respond—when your lips press back into his, just a little more certain, a little more open—he sighs softly into the kiss, like relief, like gravity finally pulling him where he belongs.

His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, and the other finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer—not demanding, but asking. You let him. You let yourself fall into the warmth of him, the quiet hum of something new and terrifyingly beautiful blooming between you.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only just—his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed, breath mingling with yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmurs, “since the first time I saw you.”

You smile, breathless, your heart blooming in your chest like something brand new. “And here I thought you were just being polite.”

Hyunjin huffs a quiet laugh, his nose brushing yours. “Not even a little bit.”

And for a while, you stay like that—close, quiet, wrapped in something warm and soft and maybe even a little magical—before the moment gives way to the next.

Because this doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the very beginning.

-

✨ Chapter I of Evermore is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[hyvneluv]

Call It What You Want

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: friends with benefits to lovers, smut, fluff

Summary: You and Hyunjin have been doing this 'friends with benefits' thing for a while now. But let's be real. You love him. And when he starts showing similar feelings, you're terrified. And it leads to a whole lot of Hyunjin-style drama.

“Fuck, princess,” Hyunjin groaned, voice wrecked, “you’re so tight.”

He had you pinned to the bed, as he fucked you like the world’s about to end. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust hitting so deep you’re seeing stars. Galaxies even. His lips were on your neck, sucking bruises - which would have your art class whispering for weeks.

You pressed your eyes shut, losing yourself in him completely. The way he moved in and out of you. The soft wet sounds that filled the room. And him whispering the filthiest things in your ear.

You were barely coherent, nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. Hyunjin had this glint in his eye, as he shifted slightly, hitting that spot, and you choked out a moan, tugging at his short dark strands.

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit, and your orgasm hit you so hard, and you whimpered his name, clenching around him so tight, making him curse.

His thrusts turned sloppy as he whispered, “Fuck, that’s it,”

He came just as hard, burying himself deep inside you, and you were both panting, sweaty messes when he finally collapsed beside you. Pulling you close, he kissing your temple, and you let yourself enjoy it, just for a second.

It started about an year ago at a frat party you were dragged to by your friend, Jennie. You’d been sulking in a corner, nursing a warm beer, when Hyunjin, already tipsy, waltzed over, and declared you “the hottest grump he’d ever seen.” You’d scoffed at him, but in less than ten minutes, you had somehow ended up making out in his room upstairs.

One thing led to another, and now you were in this absurd, hilarious mess called, friends with benefits.

---

Hyunjin: You left your glasses on my nightstand. I can bring it over You: Bring it to class tomorrow Hyunjin: I’m keeping them hostage.  You: Hyunjin 🙄 Hyunjin: Sleepover tomorrow? I’ll make pancakes.   You: Maybe. But only for the pancakes.   Hyunjin: Liar. You want my pancakes and you know what. Hyunjin: Night, Nerd Queen 😘 You: Night, Hwang.  

---

You smiled at your phone, heart doing that stupid flip again. You knew you shouldn't be feeling like this. You two were friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. But every time you were with him, you fell for his stupid smile and his childish self way harder than you liked to admit. 

It was a Friday night, and you were curled up in your dorm, binge-watching a new series, when your phone started buzzing.

Hyunjin's frat was organizing a party, and he was probably charming the socks off everyone with his stupidly perfect face. You were trying to stay strong - no running to him tonight - because if you kept giving in to his every whim, he would surely figure out that you were completely, pathetically in love with his dramatic ass. 

And that was a secret you kept locked in a vault.

But Hyunjin? He wasn't making it easy. Your phone lit up again, and you caved, glancing at the screen.

---

Hyunjin: Babbyyyyyy where are you 😭 This party sucks without you!  Hyunjin: Seriously, come over. I miss your face.   You: You’re drunk, aren’t you? I’m staying in. Go flirt with your bros.  Hyunjin: Drunk? Me? Pshh. Ok maybe a lil. But I only wanna flirt with youuuu. Hyunjin: Come over, I’m lonely. You: Lonely? Go cuddle Felix. Hyunjin: Felix doesn’t moan like u do.  You: Nope. I’m in my PJs, and I'm comfy. You’re on your own tonight.   Hyunjin: I'm coming to you then. Can't escape me.   You: Hyunjin, no. Stay at your party. You’re too drunk to walk across campus.   Hyunjin: Too late. I'm on my way. Gonna cuddle you so hard you forget ur own name. 😤   You: Oh my god.  Hyunjin: I'm gonna climb into your bed and never leave.  You: I’m locking my door.   Hyunjin: You won't. You love me too much. 😘 Be there in 10. Wear that sweater I like.

---

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. You should lock your door, but you don’t. Instead, you fix your hair, pull on that oversized sweater (the one he liked, because apparently you’re weak). Your heart did that stupid fluttery thing again, and you hated it. You were supposed to be the cool, studious introvert. But here you were. 

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You opened it, and there he was, looking like a dishevelled Greek god. His short hair and forehead glistening with sweat, his cheeks flushed, and his leather jacket slipping off one shoulder.

He gave you a sunny smile, his eyes lighting up when he saw you.

“My girl!” he slurred, stumbling forward and wrapping you in a sloppy hug. He smelled like beer and his cologne, and it was so unfairly intoxicating. “Told ya I’d come. Missed you so much.”

“You’re so drunk, Jinnie,” you said, but you were smiling as you guided him inside, shutting the door. “How did you even make it across campus without falling into a bush?”

“Love,” he declared dramatically, flopping onto your bed. “Love gave me wings.”

He patted the bed, saying “C’mere, nerd. I need cuddles.”

Then he decided that he couldn't wait, and grabbed your wrist, tugging you down next to him. You landed with a squeak, and he immediately buried his face in your neck, nuzzling like a needy puppy.

“Fuck, you smell so good. Like… home and sexy books.”

“Sexy books?” You laughed, pushing at his chest, but he’s clinging to you like a koala. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,��� he mumbled. “God, I love you.”

He's drunk, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. But your poor heart wished that he did. Meanwhile, his hands slid under your sweater, and you yelped as his cold fingers grazed you stomach to move up and cup your breasts.

“Hyunjin! Your hands are freezing!”

“Then warm me up,” he whined, and before you could stop him, he was crawling under your sweater, tugging it up and burrowing into it. “Lemme in, it’s cozy in there.”

“Oh my god, you won't fit under my sweater!” you laughed.

He was wiggling, his head and shoulders all the way under the fabric.

“You’re gonna rip it!” you squealed, but he just hummed, pressing his face into the space between your breasts. 

“Worth it,” he mumbled, voice muffled. “Wanna live here forever. You’re so soft. And warm.”

You were dying, torn between shoving him off and melting at how stupidly cute he was. He was still trying to fit into your sweater, but finally gave up with a huff and whine and said, “Fine.”

And then settled for wrapping his entire body around you instead. He threw a leg over yours, arms squeezing you tight, face buried in your chest (half submerged in your sweater).

“This’ll do. For now.” he said, and you hummed, stroking his back. 

“You’re such a baby,” you said, and you both remained silent as his breathing slowed and you thought he was falling asleep. But then he murmured, “Love you…so fucking much. You’re my everything.”

Your heart stopped. You froze, hand still on his back, waiting for him to laugh it off or say something dumb. But he just snuggled closer, sighing like he was finally at peace. You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up.

You loved him too. His childish giggles, his unhinged texts - but saying it felt too big, too scary. So you just hold him, letting the moment linger.

“Sleep, you idiot,” you whispered, kissing the top of his (poking out through the neckline of your sweater). He hummed, already half-gone, and soon he was snoring softly, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline.

---

Hubby: Morning, wifey 😘 You're so cute when you sleep. Didn't wanna wanna wake you up. Let's go get some breakfast? You: WIFEY? You changed your contact name to HUBBY? Hyunjin, I’m going to murder you.   Hubby: Murder your husband? Harsh, babe. You: You’re not my husband. You’re a silly boy who needs to stop stealing my phone.   Hubby: I don’t have to steal anything. You're mine. Your phone’s mine. Deal with it, nerd. You: You're delusional. Hubby: Call it what you want Hubby: Now come gimme a kiss, I’m dying😩  

---

You rolled your eyes, yet you were grinning like an idiot before kicking your feet and squealing into your pillow.

---

Later that day, you were in the library, trying to study, but Hyunjin had other plans. 

---

Hubby: Wifey, I’m lonely 😢 Lets study together.  You: Stop calling me that. And I’m not falling for your tricks. I’m studying.   Hubby: Tricks? Don't be so mean my love You: I’m muting you.   Hubby: You can’t mute your soulmate. Be real fir once, you can't resist me.  You:  You're so full of yourself. Hubby: Come over and you'll be full of me too 😉 You: Omg HYUNJIN.  Hubby: Lmao you're so easy to rile up. Ok, I’ll be good. Love u, wifey. 

---

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. He was so stupidly endearing, and you hated how much you loved it. You were about to reply when a shadow fell over your table. You looked up, and there stood Hyunjin, holding a coffee and grinning. 

“Surprise, wifey!” he said, loud enough for it to echo through the library. He slid into the seat across from you, completely ignoring everyone’s glares. “Coffee for my love.”

“You’re not my husband,” you hissed, but you took the coffee. “And how are you even here? Don’t you have class?”

“Nope,” he said, leaning forward, chin in his hands. “Had to see you. I knew you'd be wearing those glasses and looking so cute…makes me wanna bend you over this table.”

Your jaw dropped, and you kicked him under the table. “Hyunjin! We’re in a library!”

He laughed, unbothered, and grabbed your hand, kissing your knuckles.

“Can’t help it.” 

You snatched your hand back, face burning.

“You’re insane. Go away before I get kicked out.”

“Nope,” he said again, scooting closer until his knee brushed yours. “I’m staying. Gotta protect my wife from nerdy predators.”

He winked, and you were so torn, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe this was real. But this whole thing started off on sex. And you were worried that he'd get bored and he'd get over you. 

You tried to focus on your notes, but Hyunjin was making it absolutely impossible - humming softly, doodling “Mr. & Mrs. Hwang” in your notebook. You give him a glare and yanked your book away, ruining the cute doodle he was working on. 

He gave you a pouty look, and you narrowed your eyes at him. The usual Hyunjin would whine or tackle you into a hug. But he did none of that. Instead he stood up, putting your pen down as he held your gaze, and then just walked away. 

You watched him disappear, and for the first time ever, you were terrified. 

It has been three days since the library incident, and you’re losing your mind. No “wifey,” no texts about bending you over a library table. 

Nothing. Just… silence. The worst part? You missed it. You missed his childish whining, his needy cuddles, his sweet face. You tried to play it cool, but by day four, you were a mess.

You had just finished class and were walking towards the campus cafe, when you spotted him. Hyunjin. Reading. You did a double take, nearly spilling your drink. Since when did Hwang Hyunjin, read a book that thick? He was sitting under a tree, leaning against the trunk, looking so soft in his hoodie and glasses (glasses?!). Your heart squeezed, but you were also annoyed.

You marched over, plopping down next to him. He glanced up, one eyebrow raised, and went back to his book. No grin, no nothing. Just a cool, “Hey.”

“Hey?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? Why are you ignoring me?”

He closed his book, looking at you with a neutral expression that was so unlike him it was creepy.

“I’m not ignoring you. I’m just… reading.”

“Reading?” You narrowed your eyes. “You haven’t spoken to me in days. What’s your deal?”

He shrugged, and said, “Figured you were sick of my ‘needy bullshit.’ You kept telling me to stop, so I stopped.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. He was being… serious?

“I didn’t mean stop everything. You’re acting like we’re strangers.” you snapped.

“I’m giving you space,” he said, his voice is tight. “You said I was too much. So, here’s not-too-much Hyunjin. Happy?”

Happy? You were miserable. But he was staring at you, all sulky and gorgeous, and you realized that he was on strike. No kisses, no touching, no sex. He was punishing you for resisting, and oh, it was working.

“You’re pouting,” you said, poking his cheek.

He swatted your hand away, but there was a flicker of his usual playfulness.

“Am not,” he muttered, turning back to his book. “Go study or whatever. I’m fine.”

You stared, heart twisting. He was hurt, and you did this. You pushed him away, and now he has dialled it back to zero. But you weren't letting him win this. You needed your Hyunjin back, drama and all.

You couldn't take another day of this cold-shoulder nonsense. You mustered the courage for what you were about to do, and walked to the frat house. Ignoring the party raging downstairs, you headed straight for Hyunjin’s room. You didn't knock - you just barged in, and there he was, at his desk, sketching. He was in a loose tank top, hair messy, pencil moving with that focused intensity that made him look so unfairly hot. He glanced up, startled, then leaned back, crossing his arms.

“Ever heard of knocking?” he asked, but there was a spark in his eyes, like he'd been waiting for you.

“Nope,” you said, shutting the door. “We need to talk.”

He raised an eyebrow, playing it cool, but that pout’s still there, lingering. “Talk then. I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, heart pounding. You’ve been resisting him for months, pretending you were not in love with him. But you were done fighting. You reached into your pocket and pull out the ring pop you had bought on a whim at the campus store - a cheap plastic band with a strawberry-flavored candy “diamond.” It was ridiculous, but you were desperate.

“Hyunjin,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you away. I was scared. Because I have wanted more for a while now. I don't want to be someone you sleep with. I wanna be more. I miss you. I miss being your wifey. I miss you so damn much.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything, so you kept going, holding up the candy ring.

“You wanna be my husband? Fine. Here’s your ring. Marry me, you idiot.”

For a second, he just stared, and you felt like you'd broken him. Then his face blooms - eyes sparkling, cheeks flushing, grin so wide it could overshadow the sun. He looked so happy, so Hyunjin, it was like the room got brighter.

“Wifey,” he breathed, voice shaking. “You’re proposing? With a candy ring? Fuck, that’s so cute. I think I'm gonna cry.”

“Please don’t cry,” you said, but you’re grinning too, heart racing. “Just say yes so I can stop feeling like an idiot.”

“Yes yes yes,” he said, jumping up and grabbing your face, kissing you so hard you stumbled back. His lips were soft and desperate, and you kissed him back, hands tangling in his hair, and it was like the world snapped back into place. He was yours, drama and all, and you were his.

The kiss deepened, all tongue and heat, and you were both gasping, pulling at each other like you’ve been starved. He lifted you onto his desk, knocking over his pencils and sketchbooks, and you laughed against his mouth.

“Careful, Hubby,” you teased, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

“Say it again,” he murmured, hands sliding under your shirt, warm and needy. “Please.”

“Hubby,” you whispered and he practically whimpered, pressing himself closer, lips trailing down your neck. You made out for what felt like hours, all sloppy kisses and wandering hands, until your lips were swollen and your hearts pounding.

Finally, you pulled back, both of you panting. He had the candy ring on his finger, and he looked so genuinely happy and excited.

“I love you so much,” he said, holding up his hand to admire the ring. “Strawberry’s my favorite.”

“You’re such a dork,” you mumbled, but you were beaming, because he’s your dork. “I love you, Jinnie.”

---

Hubby: My heart’s gonna explode.   You: You survived the strike, you’ll live. Hubby: Never. You looked so hot with that ring, though. Oh fuck, I'm hard again.  You: HYUNJIN. Behave for five seconds.   Hubby: Can’t. I’m married to the hottest nerd ever. I’m gonna kiss you forever. You: I love you baby Hubby: Fuck, I love you. My wifey. My nerdy goddess. I’m never shutting up again, you know that, right?   You: Good. I missed your dramatic ass. 

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[hyvneluv]

I’ll Let The World Burn

Hyunjin x Fem Reader (Bestfriends Boyfriend AU)

Tags: forbidden romance, smut, slow burn, explicit smut (oral m & f, unprotected sex, riding, fingering, recording, light exhibitionism, heavy angst, cheating, moral grayness, emotionally messy characters, guilt, betrayal, broken friendships, voyeurism kink / stolen panties / video exchange

Word count: 7.5k

Summary: You tried to be good. You smiled as your best friend fell for the boy you’d secretly been aching for. You told yourself it was fine, that it would pass. That you could handle the slow suffocation of watching him kiss her, love her, laugh with her—without you. But desire isn’t rational. And love doesn’t care who it destroys.

A/N: You’re here for sin. For breathless kisses behind closed doors, trembling fingers clutching secrets, and a boy who loves you like ruin.

This fic is messy. Shameful. Beautiful.

And if you’ve ever wanted something you shouldn’t,

This one’s for you.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The theater lights dimmed, and you already knew you were in trouble.

You were seated at the edge of the row—aisle seat, leg stretched just enough to pretend you were comfortable. Hyunjin sat beside you, and his girlfriend—your best friend—was tucked on his other side, gleefully tossing popcorn into her mouth as the opening credits rolled.

You shouldn’t have been there. Not tonight. Not with them. Not like this.

But third-wheeling had become your unspoken role. After all, you’d introduced them.

And that was where the problem started.

⸻

Backstory…

You’d known Hyunjin first—met him on campus during a group project, flirted casually, shared late-night coffees, complained about professors. You were attracted to him from the jump, of course. Who wouldn’t be? He was all sharp jawlines, smug smiles, and that lazy, magnetic charm that made people gravitate toward him without even trying.

But you weren’t the kind of girl who threw herself at someone just because he made you laugh.

So you backed off. Told yourself he wasn’t worth the distraction.

Then you introduced him to your best friend.

And he fell for her. Or said he did.

But here’s the thing: Hyunjin never really stopped looking at you.

He never stopped with the lingering glances, the too-long hugs, the texts that made your breath hitch at 1:43am. It was always subtle. Always just beneath the surface.

Until it wasn’t.

You never told anyone about the night he walked you home drunk from a party and pushed you against your door just to look at you. Never kissed you. Just leaned in close, stared at your lips, and whispered, “You drive me crazy.”

You laughed it off. Called him a menace. Said don’t do that again.

But he did.

And now here you were. Months later. Lights fading to black in a movie theater, your knees brushing his as you tried to stay normal.

He shifted slightly in his seat.

At first, you thought it was accidental. But then—his hand dropped onto the shared armrest. Not beside you. On you. Pinky grazing yours deliberately.

You tensed.

His fingers curled, slowly brushing over your knuckles. Testing.

You shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t look your way. He was watching the screen, face blank, like nothing was happening.

His girlfriend laughed loudly beside him at a joke you didn’t hear.

And then—you felt it.

Hyunjin’s hand slid just slightly into your lap. Palm down, fingers splayed. Not groping. Not grabbing. Just… resting.

Like it was his.

Your chest tightened. Your thighs shifted on instinct, but not to move away.

His thumb twitched.

You bit your lip.

He was testing you.

And you were letting him.

You were trying to focus on the movie.

You really were. But Hyunjin’s hand on your thigh made that impossible.

It started when he casually leaned forward, whispered something to his girlfriend—some joke, something cute, something completely normal. Then he grabbed the popcorn bucket, pretending like he was being helpful, and settled it in your lap with a little grin that said “thanks for holding this.”

But then he didn’t let go.

You were too stunned to move. His hand stayed inside the bucket, knuckles brushing yours at first. Then it drifted—deeper. Slower. Until he wasn’t reaching for popcorn at all.

He was reaching for you.

Your breath caught as his fingers grazed your inner thigh again, hidden perfectly beneath the bucket and the shadows of the dark theater. You shifted, but that only opened your legs slightly—just enough for his fingers to press higher.

Still, his eyes were locked on the screen. Completely unfazed. Not even a glance.

You gripped the armrest. “Hyunjin,” you hissed under your breath.

He hummed low in his throat, finally flicking his eyes toward you. “What?”

Soft. Innocent. Daring.

“Don’t,” you said, but your voice wasn’t even convincing to yourself.

“Then stop me,” he whispered, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your skirt this time—skin against skin.

Your body betrayed you with a sharp inhale. His thumb circled lazily, like he was testing how close he could get before you’d actually stop him. But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because it felt good. Because it was wrong. Because you were sick in the head, and Hyunjin knew exactly how far to push.

“I knew you’d let me,” he murmured, voice a razor-thin tease.

You clenched your jaw, thighs trembling slightly as his fingers pressed higher—so close now, just brushing the edge of your panties.

And still, beside him, his girlfriend giggled at the screen, blissfully unaware.

You didn’t dare look at her.

Didn’t dare move.

Because the second you did, it was over—and you’d have to admit how far gone you already were.

You weren’t sure when your breath started shaking.

Maybe it was when Hyunjin’s fingers ghosted over the lace of your panties—slow, like he was testing the texture. Or maybe it was when he really stopped pretending to reach for popcorn and flattened his palm against your heat, hidden completely beneath the bucket and the hush of the theater.

You shifted slightly in your seat—just enough to press down into his hand.

God help you.

He noticed, of course. Of course he did. You heard it in the small exhale he gave, soft and amused, his smug little secret blooming between your thighs.

Then, like the absolute psychopath he was, he whispered:

“Keep still.”

Keep still? You wanted to grab him by the throat.

Because now he was rubbing you through your panties—slow and firm, thumb dragging up the soaked center like he was timing it with the music score. He had no right to be that smooth. No right to act like this was his seat, his movie, his body he was teasing.

The audacity.

You clenched your jaw and dared to glance sideways.

And there she was.

His girlfriend. Your best friend. Leaning her head on his shoulder, laughing at some cheesy line in the film, eyes glued to the screen. Completely untouched. Completely unaware.

And Hyunjin?

He met your eyes. Finally. Dead on.

Expression unreadable. Lips parted like he was trying to catch your breath in his mouth.

And then—

He slipped two fingers beneath the waistband.

Not just a graze.

A full, slow slide over your bare heat.

You flinched. Bit the inside of your cheek. Your thighs clamped down on instinct, but it only trapped him tighter there, and he moaned—the quietest fucking sound you’d ever heard.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re so—”

“Stop,” you whispered. You had to say it. You had to.

But he didn’t.

He just leaned in again, voice like honey and sin:

“She’s not paying attention. Not to me. Not like you do.”

Your pulse screamed.

He pressed his fingers a little deeper—just the edge, testing your limit. Testing his own.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again. “Mean it.”

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Because this was the fire you’d both been dancing around for too long.

And now it was burning.

It was the slow slide in that broke you.

Hyunjin didn’t even glance at you when he did it—just slipped two fingers beneath the lace of your panties and pressed in like your body belonged to him. Like it was natural. Like you’d been waiting for him to finally fill the ache he’d lit inside you from the second the lights dimmed.

Your jaw tensed so hard it almost clicked.

He was warm, fingers thick and careful at first, dragging through your soaked entrance—just one finger easing in at first, slick and smooth, and then another following right behind, slow and deliberate until his knuckles nudged your heat and didn’t stop.

He went deep.

Deep enough that your hips twitched, thighs clenching on instinct as your back arched just slightly against the seat.

And he still didn’t look at you.

His girlfriend, nestled against his left side, nuzzled into his shoulder with a soft giggle at something on-screen.

And then her voice hit you like ice water:

“Babes, did you ever end up messaging that tattoo guy? You know, the one with the tiny linework stuff?”

You turned toward her too fast—like your body was trying to escape.

But Hyunjin’s fingers curled inside you, and you nearly choked.

“Uh—” Your voice cracked. “Y-Yeah. I did.”

He liked that. You could feel it in the subtle roll of his knuckles, in the way his wrist shifted beneath the popcorn bucket as his palm ground softly against your clit, like a reward.

“Really?” she smiled, leaning forward now, eyes lit with interest. “What’d he say?”

He was fucking moving inside you.

Not fast. Not reckless. No, Hyunjin was too cruel for that. He dragged his fingers out just halfway and pushed back in—slow, wet, thick.

“Booked out till—” you gasped softly and coughed to cover it. “Uh—June.”

Her hand brushed your arm as she reached past you. “Oh damn. That sucks. You were really excited, right?”

Your eyes snapped shut.

Hyunjin’s fingers crooked just right—pressing deep against that spot that made you see stars.

Your legs trembled. You couldn’t even breathe right. His girlfriend was still talking, still right there, and he didn’t stop. His fingers kept working you open, pushing slick sounds into the theater’s quiet shadows, muffled only by the soundtrack and rustling popcorn.

She shifted back beside him, curling into his side with a little hum.

You felt everything.

The soft of her hoodie brushing your elbow.

The exact moment Hyunjin’s thumb started circling your clit—gentle, barely-there pressure.

The tension snapping up your spine like a scream trapped in your throat.

And then—his voice. A whisper. Only for you:

“Don’t make a sound.”

He said it like a game. Like a dare.

—

You didn’t mean to stand.

Your body just moved.

One second, you were melting under Hyunjin’s touch, your pulse screaming through every nerve, his fingers working inside you like he owned you—and the next, your thighs snapped together, your hand shot down, and you yanked the popcorn bucket off your lap like it burned.

“Be right back,” you blurted.

Hyunjin’s fingers slipped out of you in a wet drag, and you swore you heard a barely-there gasp leave his throat this time.

Your best friend blinked up at you. “Wait, everything okay—?”

“I just—bathroom,” you muttered, already squeezing past their legs, practically stumbling over someone’s drink cup in the aisle. You didn’t wait. You didn’t breathe.

You ran.

Heart hammering, body soaked with heat, underwear clinging like a second skin—you shoved open the theater doors and didn’t stop until you were outside in the open air, gasping like someone had just resuscitated you.

You didn’t go to the bathroom.

You went straight to the curb.

You fumbled for your phone with shaking fingers and called the first cab you could find. Every nerve in your body was screaming. Not from shame. Not even from guilt.

From the unbearable edge he left you on.

The ache between your legs was unbearable. You could still feel him inside you. His fingers. The way he looked at you like he was tasting the way you fell apart.

You pressed your thighs together in the cab seat.

The driver didn’t even glance at you. Thank god.

You wanted to scream. Cry. Touch yourself. Laugh at your own sick reflection in the window.

What the fuck was that?

What the hell were you?

You didn’t even know what you were running from more—Hyunjin, or the part of you that wanted to go back in there and let him finish.

—

You hadn’t stopped pacing since the texts started coming in.

bestie: where’d u go?? are u ok??

bestie: are u mad at me???

bestie: y/nnnnnn pick up

Then his name lit up your screen.

hyunjin: did i break you?

You froze.

That cocky bastard.

Not are you okay? Not i’m sorry.

No—did i break you.

Your fingers flew before you could stop yourself.

you: what the fuck was that??

His reply came too fast.

hyunjin: which part?

You stared at your screen, mouth open in disbelief.

Your phone rang.

You hesitated, staring at his name. Then, without thinking twice, you answered—already pacing again.

“What the fuck was that?” you hissed, skipping hello.

Silence on the other end.

And then—his voice.

Low. Too casual.

“That,” he said slowly, “was me giving you exactly what you wanted.”

You almost dropped the phone.

“You think I wanted you to finger me right next to your girlfriend—my best friend—in a goddamn movie theater?!”

Another pause. Then, quieter:

“You didn’t stop me.”

Your stomach flipped.

“And you came close, didn’t you?” he added, voice darkening just slightly. “So close I could feel it. You were clenching around my fingers like you needed it.”

You dragged your hand down your face, heart slamming against your ribs.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m right.”

“You’re a fucking—”

“—god?” he offered, half-laughing.

“Hyunjin.” you snapped.

His laughter faded, replaced by a silence too heavy to ignore.

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he said, suddenly serious. “Lie to me.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

And he knew.

Of course he knew.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“No,” he said softly. “You hate that I stopped.”

—

Two days later…

The apartment was too quiet for your heart to be beating this loud.

Hyunjin was on the couch—legs spread wide, one arm draped lazily around your bestie’s shoulder as she tucked into his side with a bowl of chips and zero clue about what happened two nights ago.

You were seated across from them in the armchair, one leg folded over the other, pretending to scroll through your phone.

Except you weren’t scrolling anymore.

Because Hyunjin had just sent this:

hyunjin: go take off your panties. right now.

Your breath caught.

Your head snapped up—reflex—and his eyes were already on you. No smile. No smirk. Just heat.

Like he was burning holes through your clothes.

Your best friend was giggling at something on TikTok, oblivious.

you: are you fucking insane???

You watched his phone light up in his lap.

Then:

hyunjin: probably.

but i wanna see your face when you walk back in here bare under that little skirt.

You looked down at your outfit. A stupid soft cotton mini you threw on without thinking. No shorts. No tights. Just the skirt and the little tank you slept in.

You were already halfway there and he knew it.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

you: you’re a piece of shit.

hyunjin: and you love it.

go.

Your pulse was thunder in your ears. You stared at the screen, then flicked your eyes back to him one last time.

He didn’t blink.

So you stood up on shaky legs. “Gonna grab a hoodie,” you mumbled, already walking away.

“Bring me one too!” your best friend called after you.

You barely heard her.

Once inside your room, you shut the door and leaned against it, squeezing your eyes shut like it might slow your heart down. It didn’t. Your fingers trembled as you reached under your skirt, hooked the band of your panties, and slid them down your thighs.

You were wet.

Of course you were.

The fabric stuck to you as you tugged it off completely, a quiet whimper catching in your throat as you balled them in your hand and stared at yourself in the mirror.

You looked insane.

You looked guilty.

And then you walked back out like nothing happened—panties shoved into your hoodie pocket, skin bare under the swing of your skirt.

Hyunjin looked at you the second you stepped into the living room.

His eyes dipped.

Just once.

And you swore he exhaled—like he could smell you

—

You should’ve known he’d follow.

You barely made it to the kitchen—heart still lodged in your throat, fingers clutching the cold juice bottle in the fridge—when you felt him behind you.

The air changed. Grew heavier.

And then his hand slid into your hoodie pocket.

“Hyunjin—” you gasped, spinning around.

But it was too late.

He held your panties in his hand like a fucking trophy, eyes dragging down to the damp spot you’d tried to ignore. His lips parted—just barely—but he didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, stepping into him, voice low and shaky.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he looked over your shoulder. Past you. Back into the living room.

Where she sat.

Still laughing.

Still happy.

Still so fucking oblivious.

And then Hyunjin’s eyes snapped back to yours—dark, heavy-lidded, dangerous.

He took your hand—slow, deliberate—and placed it over the thick bulge in his sweatpants.

You choked on your own breath. It was hot. Hard. Throbbing.

“Because I can’t think,” he whispered, leaning in until his breath kissed your neck, “until I’m inside you.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

“Hyunjin—”

“Doesn’t matter where. Doesn’t matter how.” His grip on your wrist tightened. “I just need to feel you. Wrap that pretty pussy around me. Let me ruin you properly.”

Your fingers twitched around his cock, mind going blank.

“This is insane,” you whispered.

He smiled, like he agreed.

“And you’re gonna let me do it anyway.”

“Hyunjin,” you hissed, shoving at his chest. “You need to stop. What the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t budge.

He just looked at you like you’d lost your mind. Or maybe like he had.

“Stop?” he repeated, voice too calm. “You’re telling me to stop now?”

“Yes!” you snapped, even though your palm was still curled around his cock, trembling.

“You’re not stopping me,” he said flatly, stepping closer, “not once.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You didn’t stop me in the theater.”

You froze.

“You didn’t stop me when I made you walk back into the living room dripping under that little skirt.”

He dipped his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“And you’re not stopping me now.”

You sucked in a breath—ready to scream at him, curse him, run—but then—

“Everything okay in there?” your bestie called from the couch.

Your heart stopped.

Hyunjin’s gaze didn’t even flicker. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t panic.

You did.

You twisted out of his grip like he burned you, stumbling two steps back and grabbing the edge of the counter to steady yourself.

“Y-Yeah!” you shouted, voice an octave too high. “All good!”

Hyunjin chuckled.

You shot him a look. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re shaking.”

“I hate you.”

“No,” he said smoothly, stepping closer again. “You hate that you love every second of it.”

You turned away, fists clenched, trying to breathe through the fire crawling up your spine.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered.

Hyunjin leaned in again—close enough to taste the ruin on your skin.

“Because no one,” he murmured, eyes flicking down, “has ever made me this hard for this long without letting me bury it.”

—

It was 2:13 a.m.

The room had fallen silent hours ago, swallowed by the kind of heavy stillness that only existed when everyone else was asleep. Everyone but him.

Hyunjin lay still in the dark, one arm thrown behind his head, the other curled tight around the secret burning a hole in his hoodie pocket.

He didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.

Not when his cock had been hard for hours, aching with every thought of you, with every replay of your voice breaking in the kitchen, trembling and furious and wet.

Not when your panties—thin, soft, still damp—were pressed against his side like a loaded gun.

Your bestie shifted beside him, rolling closer in her sleep, the blanket rustling. Her face was peaceful. Completely unaware of what was going on in her bed.

He waited.

Waited until her breathing evened out again. Waited until the room was still, save for the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Then, with a slowness that was almost reverent, he slipped the lace from his pocket.

The panties unfurled in his hand like a sin. He held them up to the blue light of his phone screen, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched.

His cock throbbed.

He brought the fabric to his nose. Inhaled.

Then he shoved down his sweats and lined up the camera.

He didn’t need the flash. Just the glow of the screen, casting pale shadows across his stomach, the lace, the hard line of him twitching with need.

He started slow.

The panties wrapped around his fist like a bandage, like restraint. Every stroke was controlled, deliberate, mean. He wanted to make it hurt. Wanted to make himself feel just how badly he needed you.

Your name slipped from his mouth on a ragged breath—quiet, hoarse, desperate.

The bed creaked.

He stilled, glancing at his girlfriend, but she hadn’t stirred.

So he kept going.

Faster now, rougher, until the muscles in his thighs were shaking and his hand was sticky with pre-cum and frustration. Until he felt himself cresting, jaw tight, breath caught in his throat.

He came with a grunt, hot and thick over the lace, spilling through the fabric like he was marking it—like he was marking you.

But he didn’t stop the camera.

Not until he’d wiped himself clean on the same ruined panties, slow and messy and shameless.

Not until he watched it all back once, licking his lips like he could taste you again.

Then he hovered over your name.

Didn’t even think.

He pressed send.

—

You couldn’t sleep.

Not with the way your skin still tingled from his breath on your neck. Not with the ache between your legs. Not with the memory of his voice curling around every filthy word like a promise.

Hyunjin was driving you insane.

You’d tried everything—blasting music through your headphones, scrolling aimlessly, even cold fucking water. Nothing worked.

And then your phone buzzed.

One notification.

A video.

You knew it was him before you even opened it. Something in your gut twisted. Your finger hovered for only a second—then you tapped it.

And then you stopped breathing.

It was grainy, dimly lit by his phone screen, but you saw everything.

Your panties. His cock. His fist, slow and steady, squeezing like he was punishing himself with every stroke. The way he bit down on your name like it hurt to say it.

Your best friend was there. Right beside him. Sleeping.

And he didn’t care.

You watched until he came—messy and raw and moaning through his teeth—and wiped himself off with the lace like it belonged to him.

When the video ended, your hands were shaking.

Something snapped.

You didn’t think. Didn’t plan.

You typed two words.

Doors open.

—

You didn’t even hear your bedroom door open.

You just felt him.

That heavy presence, that heat rolling in like a thunderstorm—thick, electric, and choking on tension. You looked up, heart stalling in your chest.

Hyunjin.

Sweat-slick hair pushed back from his forehead. Hoodie half-on, half-off. His chest heaving like he’d run all the way down the hall.

And his cock?

Already hard. Straining against the front of his sweats. Angry. Red. Dripping.

You swallowed hard.

His eyes locked on yours—then dipped to your bare legs, your shirt riding up over your thighs. His jaw clenched.

“You texted me,” he said, voice wrecked. “You said the door was open.”

“It was.”

“So you wanted this.”

“No,” you whispered. “You wanted this.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped.

And then he moved.

In one breath, you were gone from the floor—lifted clean off your feet like you weighed nothing. He shoved you against the wall, mouth crashing to yours in a kiss that tasted like vengeance. Like victory. Like he’d finally won.

You moaned into it, fingers threading through his hair, legs instinctively locking around his waist.

“You fought me,” he growled against your lips, dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat. “You fucking fought me—”

“I had to,” you gasped. “You weren’t supposed to—ah!”

He bit your neck. Hard. His hips grinding into your core like he wanted to break through clothes and skin and bone just to get inside you.

“Too bad,” he hissed. “Because now I’m not stopping.”

You didn’t want him to.

He dropped you onto the bed like you were made of air. Your body bounced on the mattress once, and then he was on you again—ripping your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere into the dark, dragging your panties down your thighs like they offended him.

His hands grabbed your waist. He flipped you, pulled you onto his lap like a ragdoll, your knees straddling his thighs.

You barely had time to blink before he fisted his cock, lined himself up, and slammed you down onto him.

“Fuck!” You cried out, head snapping back, eyes rolling.

Your walls stretched around him—too full, too fast, no time to breathe, just burning, pulsing, pleasure.

“That’s it,” Hyunjin groaned, watching your body swallow him whole. “Fucking take it. You were made for this. Made for me.”

He bounced you.

He used you.

Hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises in the morning. Lifting you up, slamming you back down over and over like you were nothing but his personal fucktoy.

And you were.

You always had been.

“Hyun—Hyunjin—” you sobbed, arms trembling, nails digging into his shoulders. “Too much—please—”

He buried his face in your neck, moaning against your skin.

“Don’t beg,” he panted. “Not when this pussy’s sucking me in like it’s been waiting.”

You keened at his words. Your body buckled, your thighs shaking.

He didn’t stop.

He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, merciless circles.

You shattered.

Your whole body clenched, went tight, went still, as the orgasm ripped through you like lightning—violent, all-consuming, and blinding. You screamed his name, nails dragging bloody crescents into his back.

And Hyunjin? He lost it.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m coming—” he grunted, thrusting up deep, deeper, until he was buried to the hilt, cock twitching, hot cum spilling inside you in heavy, pulsing waves.

He didn’t stop holding you.

Even after the last tremor passed. Even after you went boneless in his lap, forehead resting on his shoulder, sweat-slick and dazed.

He just stroked your back.

Soft now.

Breathing hard.

Like he hadn’t just fucked you like he was trying to keep a piece of you inside him.

“Don’t think this means I’m done with you,” he murmured against your temple. “Not even close.”

Oh babe…

You want the ache. The tangled sheets. The guilt that tastes like sugar on the tongue.

You want the delicate crash after the storm—where reality creeps back in, but the warmth of what just happened still lingers like bruises.

Let’s make it tender. Messy. Devastating.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

It was surrender.

⸻

The room was quiet again.

Only the sound of your breathing, still uneven. Only the warmth of his skin pressed to yours, still sticky. Only the beat of your heart, still not your own.

Hyunjin lay beneath you, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other stroking slow lines down your spine.

You hadn’t moved in minutes.

You didn’t want to.

Because moving meant thinking.

And thinking meant remembering that just down the hall, your best friend—his girlfriend—was fast asleep, blissfully unaware that her bed was empty, and her boyfriend’s cum was still dripping from between your thighs.

You swallowed hard.

“Hyunjin…”

He hummed.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know where to start.

“This was…” You trailed off.

He sighed.

“I know.”

You pushed up just enough to look at him. His eyes were already on you—dark and unreadable, but so soft. The kind of soft that made it worse.

The kind of soft that meant something.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you whispered.

“Yes, you did.”

You flinched.

He reached up and cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye like he could smooth out the war behind it.

“I did too,” he said. “We both did.”

A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. You didn’t even realize it until he wiped it away.

“She’s my best friend.”

“I know.”

“And you’re hers.”

“I know.”

His voice cracked, just barely.

You sat in silence, curled into his chest like maybe the warmth would erase the wrongness. Like maybe if you stayed quiet long enough, the world would let you keep this just a little longer.

But it didn’t.

“I’ll fix it,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ll fix it. I promise.” He looked up at the ceiling, jaw tight. “I don’t know how. I don’t know what that even means yet. But I’ll make it right.”

You searched his face. “There is no right.”

“There’s you.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned up then—just a little—and kissed you.

It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t possessive or punishing or filthy.

It was quiet.

Soft.

Like an apology he didn’t know how to say.

Like he wanted to remember this moment forever—before the world ripped it out of his hands.

When he pulled back, his eyes lingered.

Then he sat up, reached for his clothes in silence, and dressed without another word. His hoodie, his sweats. His calm.

Only when he reached the door did he turn back.

She was waiting for him. Warm sheets. A lie.

You were still in bed, curled up in the mess he left behind.

“I’ll come back,” he said quietly.

And then he slipped out the door—back into her room. Back into her arms. Back into the lie they were both pretending to live.

But you?

You just stared at the ceiling, your skin still humming where he’d touched you.

No regrets.

Only ruin.

—

The sun had barely risen.

Soft light spilled through the kitchen window, painting warm gold across the countertops, the floor, the shadows of a night neither of you could forget.

You stood at the table, bleary-eyed, a mug of coffee cooling in your hand, while your best friend rushed around the kitchen.

“I’m so late,” she groaned, juggling her purse, shoes, and half a piece of toast. “Do I look okay?”

“Perfect,” you said automatically.

She beamed, kissed your cheek, and threw a distracted “Love you both!” over her shoulder before disappearing through the front door, the lock clicking softly behind her.

And then there was silence.

Just you. And him.

You didn’t turn around.

But you felt him.

Hyunjin was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on you like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second she kissed him goodbye.

“I thought you’d run,” you said softly.

“I almost did.”

He stepped forward.

“But I couldn’t.”

You stayed still as he came closer, until his chest brushed your back and his hands slid around your waist—gentle this time. No grabbing. No claiming. Just holding.

“You haven’t even looked at me,” he murmured.

“I’m afraid to.”

“Don’t be.”

He turned you in his arms, slow and careful, like you might shatter.

And when your eyes finally met his… you felt the air leave your lungs.

Gone was the ruthless, teasing Hyunjin from last night.

This man—this version of him—looked starved in a different way.

Like he’d tasted something divine and wasn’t sure if he was allowed to want more.

“I dreamt about you,” he said. “While I was lying in her bed.”

Your throat closed.

“I woke up hard,” he added, voice low, raw. “And all I wanted was to crawl out and finish what we started.”

Your breath hitched. “We already finished it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Last night was hunger.”

Then he backed you against the kitchen counter.

“This…” he said, sinking to his knees in front of you, hands curling around your thighs, eyes burning up into yours.

“This is different.”

You gasped as he kissed your hip. Then the other. His mouth trailed lower, over your skin, slow and reverent, until he was pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs like he was praying.

He didn’t rush.

Didn’t tease.

Just spread you open and looked at you like you were a painting meant to be devoured.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice shaking. “How the fuck did I go this long without knowing?”

Then his mouth was on you—soft licks, slow suck, tongue working in lazy circles like he had all the time in the world. Like your pleasure was holy.

You moaned, fingers threading through his hair, hips grinding against his mouth as your legs started to shake.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even speed up.

He just held you there, worshipping every part of you until you broke apart in his arms, sobbing his name into the quiet kitchen air.

He stood.

You were panting, ruined, still trembling—but he wasn’t done.

He pulled you up onto the counter like a doll—delicate and pliant—lined himself up and sank into you with one long, deep thrust that made your whole body arch into him.

“Oh my god—” you breathed.

“No,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours, “just me.”

His rhythm was slow. Deep. Devastating.

Every thrust came with a kiss—your shoulder, your collarbone, your lips. Every moan earned a whispered praise.

“You feel like heaven.”

“Made for me.”

“So fucking perfect.”

His hands cupped your jaw, holding your face like he was memorizing it.

And when you came again, crying out his name, he followed with a groan that sounded like something between a prayer and a curse.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t let you go.

Just held you against him, your legs still wrapped around his waist, your breaths tangling in each other’s mouths.

Like maybe if you stayed just like this…

…it wouldn’t have to end.

—

He did it.

Hyunjin told her.

You watched from the hallway, heart lodged in your throat, as he sat her down on the couch. His voice was low, gentle, guilt-stricken. Like the weight of every stolen kiss, every whispered moan between your legs, was finally breaking his spine.

“I need to tell you something,” he started.

She looked up at him, blinking. Innocent. Curious. Too calm.

“This isn’t working,” he said, a breath catching in his throat. “And it hasn’t been for a long time. I’ve been—” He faltered. “I haven’t been honest with you. I’ve done things… with someone else. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I crossed a line. I hurt you.”

She stared at him.

Then blinked again.

Then smiled.

Not sad.

Not surprised.

Just… amused.

“Wow,” she said softly. “That took longer than I expected.”

Hyunjin stiffened. “What?”

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to grow a spine and say it to my face,” she said, her voice light, casual, dangerous. “But hey, congrats. You finally did.”

He frowned. “You knew?”

She laughed. Laughed. Tossed her head back like this was some kind of soap opera and she was the villainess on her third glass of red wine.

“Hyunjin,” she said, standing up and walking over to the window. “I’ve known for weeks.”

His silence was immediate. You could feel it ripple through the house.

“I saw your texts,” she added, turning back to him. “The pictures. The fucking video you sent her at two in the morning when you thought I was sleeping beside you.”

His face went pale. “You—”

“I woke up,” she said. “I saw everything.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“And don’t even try to say sorry. This is fair game.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That means,” she said coolly, stepping close to him now, chin tilted high, “that little interview I told you I had a few mornings ago? The one I left in a rush for?”

She smirked.

“There was no interview.”

Hyunjin blinked.

“I went to see someone. A man.” Her smile twisted. “Someone who actually wants me.”

His breath caught.

“You’re not the only one who can lie, Hyunjin. I’ve been letting you play your little games, watching you both tiptoe around, thinking you’re so fucking clever. But I’ve been playing, too.”

He stared at her, stunned. “You fucked someone?”

She tilted her head. “More than once.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You gave up on me first. I just didn’t beg you to stay.”

Hyunjin said nothing.

You felt frozen. Ashamed. Sick.

But there was a strange, twisted sense of justice to it all. Like all of you were equally filthy now. No one above the other. Just a triangle of secrets and spite, betrayal and broken hearts.

“You’re mad?” she asked, stepping even closer. “Why? Because you thought you’d be the only one breaking the rules?”

“No,” he said finally, voice hoarse. “I’m mad because I didn’t know. I should’ve seen it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, Hyunjin. You didn’t see me even when I was right in front of you.”

He took a shaky breath, guilt and anger and some unnameable grief painting his face in shades you’d never seen before.

She turned, grabbing her coat, slipping on her shoes.

“You can have her,” she said simply, nodding toward the hallway where you stood trembling. “If that’s what you want.”

She looked at him one last time.

“But I hope you both know—you didn’t win. You just lost me.”

And with that, she walked out.

No crying. No screaming. No scene.

Just silence.

And the weight of your own sins pressing into your lungs like smoke.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, your feet were already following. Down the hall, past the elevator, out into the street where she stood under the flickering porch light, arms wrapped around herself like armor.

“Wait!” you called, voice too loud in the quiet night.

She didn’t turn.

You caught up to her anyway, breathless. Heart pounding. Hands shaking.

“Please,” you whispered, stopping just shy of her. “Just let me talk to you.”

She finally looked at you—and god, you wished she hadn’t.

There was no fire in her eyes. No rage.

Just a deep, quiet disappointment that sank deeper than any slap ever could.

“You don’t get to ask me for anything,” she said. “Not after this.”

“I know. I know I don’t.” Your voice cracked. “But I need you to hear me.”

She didn’t move.

Didn’t soften.

But she didn’t walk away either.

You took that as permission.

“I never wanted this to happen,” you said. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know how far it had gone until it was too late.”

She scoffed. “Don’t insult me with that. You had weeks to stop it.”

“I tried,” you cried. “I tried to be strong. But you don’t know what it was like—”

“No,” she snapped, eyes blazing now. “I don’t. Because I trusted you.”

That cut deeper than anything else.

You stepped closer, tears blurring your vision.

“It wasn’t just sex,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t some impulsive, drunken thing. I’ve been falling for him for a long time. Since before you even met him.”

She froze.

Your voice broke. “I introduced you to him… because I thought I could be strong. I thought I could push it down and be a good friend. I wanted to be a good friend. But every day you were with him—it felt like I was watching someone else live my life.”

Her lip trembled, but she clenched her jaw tight, forcing it still.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you continued. “But the heart doesn’t listen. The heart aches for what it wants, and mine… mine’s been screaming for him. And I was so ashamed of that.”

She let out a slow, shaky breath.

“So that’s it?” she asked quietly. “You love him, so it’s okay?”

“No,” you said. “It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay.”

You took another step, close enough to touch, but you didn’t dare.

“I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t meaningless. That you weren’t some casualty in a stupid game. I’ve hated myself every second for this, but I didn’t want to lie to you—not anymore.”

The silence hung like a blade between you.

And then, finally, she looked up.

“You loved me too,” she said. Not a question. Just a reminder.

You felt your chest cave in. “I still do.”

She nodded slowly.

“I just don’t think I can ever forgive you,” she whispered.

And this time, when she walked away…

You let her.

Because love wasn’t enough to fix what you broke.

And some wounds just may not heal.

—

You didn’t hear the footsteps.

Didn’t see the figure lingering behind the open door.

But Hyunjin was there.

He’d followed without even thinking—expecting a fight, maybe, a screaming match between friends, full of guilt and blame and fury. He was ready to defend you, to take the fall if he had to.

But he hadn’t expected this.

He hadn’t expected to hear you break.

He stood frozen in the hallway, just around the corner, your voice drifting to him like a lifeline.

“It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t some impulsive, drunken thing. I’ve been falling for him for a long time. Since before you even met him.”

He inhaled sharply, heart clenching in his chest.

“I introduced you to him… because I thought I could be strong.”

His eyes fluttered shut.

Every stolen touch. Every breathless moment. Every time he thought he was dragging you into something you didn’t want, something you couldn’t escape—you’d already been his. Quietly. Completely.

You just never said it.

Until now.

When it was already too late.

“I just wanted you to know it wasn’t meaningless…”

God. You meant all of it.

When you came back inside, the hallway was quiet.

You didn’t expect to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed—like he’d been holding the weight of the world on his shoulders and only just realized he didn’t have to carry it alone.

Your heart lurched. “Hyunjin—”

“I heard everything,” he said, voice soft.

You froze.

He looked up.

And he smiled.

It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t smug.

It was relief.

“Everything?” you whispered.

He nodded, stepping forward. “You loved me before I even touched you?”

You swallowed. “I think I always did.”

He closed the distance between you, hands finding your face, holding you like something delicate and divine.

“And I thought I was the only one losing my mind,” he murmured.

You blinked up at him, your bottom lip trembling.

“I thought I dragged you into something you didn’t want,” he said. “I thought I corrupted you. Used you. I hated myself for it. But hearing you say it like that… I finally feel like I can breathe.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t regret us.”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“Neither do I,” he whispered. “We fucked up. Bad. But I’d do it all over again if it meant ending up right here—with you.”

Your breath caught.

“You think we’ll be okay?” you asked, voice small. “After all this?”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then the corners of your lips.

“I think… friendships can be rebuilt,” he said. “But what we have? This thing that broke the rules and shattered everything else?”

He kissed you gently—soft, slow, full of quiet worship.

“That’s the kind of thing worth ruining everything for.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t hurt to hold him.

It just felt like home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: This is a story that feels wrong but right, soft hands in dark places, and love that makes sinners of us all.

If you enjoyed this as much as i did, leave me a like and a REBLOG ❤️ i always check for those

[hyvneluv]

pussy drunk!bang chan

pussy drunk!chan who is absolutely addicted to you. the moment he gets a taste, it’s over for him. he would start all slow and controlled, wanting to savor your reactions. but the second you moan his name or tug at his curls, his self control shatter.

he’s sloppy with it, getting so into it, he doesn’t care about how messy he gets. lips and chin completely covered but he loves it. he practically drowns himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

he gets lost in you, moaning against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. when eventually pulls away for air, his voice is breathless, pupils blown wide. “You taste so fucking good, baby” he groans before diving back in like he’s starved.

he’s always talking between kisses, between long strokes of his tongue. whispering how much he loves this, how good you are for him, how he never wants to stops. when you pull his hair or grind against his face—his nose rubbing hard your clit—he whimpers, low and desperate like he’s the one being ruined.

if you try to push him away when it gets too much, he won’t budge. his arms will lock around your thighs, keeping you there as he murmurs “Just one more, baby…. just one more for me.” but it’s never just one more. once isn’t enough. twice isn’t enough. he could spend the entire night between your thighs and still wants more. he’ll kiss his way back up your body, his lips swollen and voice husky and plead, “again?”

he gets smug when your legs start to shake. he open his eyes briefly to watch as you grab at the sheets, his shoulders, your pillow, at anything you can. he loves watching you fall apart for him, because of him. “That’s it, let me hear you.”

and there’s no way he isn’t turned on while doing this. he gets hard from just eating you out. if he has you on your back, he’s grinding into the mattress, into the sheets. if he’s got you sitting on his face, he’s rutting up into nothing, only feeling the slight shift of his sweatpants when his hips thrust upwards. sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until he gets embarrassingly close.

If you ever just grab his hair and hold him there, he’s a goner. his moans get louder. vibrating against your folds. I’m a firm believer in Chan being a pleasure dom. he loves making you feel good, that includes you using him for your pleasure.

I’m also a firm believer in Chan having a praise kink. I feel like he’d rather be praised than degraded. the second you call him good—your good boy, good baby—he loses it. gripping your thighs even harder, pulling you closer and working his tongue even faster to make you come undone. He lives for your praise, and he’ll do anything to earn it.

once he’s finally had enough, he’s pressing soft kissing into your thighs, rubbing soothing circles into your skin as you slow your breathing. he’d be so gentle afterwards, holding you close and whispering how perfect you are, how much he loves you. and if you let him, he’s falling asleep with his head still inbetween your thighs, completely spent but happy.

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[hyvneluv]

CAM.

CHAPTER III

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (20,4k words)

Author's note: Thank you for patiently waiting for this new chapter. Hope it's worth the wait and I'd really appreciate it if you leave a feedback ♡

As you sit among the wedding guests, watching your friend standing at the altar, exchanging vows with the love of their life, a thought sneaks into your mind—will your future hold this too? The idea has never been something you actively pursued, but right now, surrounded by soft music and heartfelt promises, you can't help but wonder.

Would you ever be standing there, looking at someone with that same certainty, the same devotion in your eyes?

And then, without meaning to, your thoughts shift to Hyunjin.

It’s fleeting, just a passing thought, but it lingers in a way that makes you shift in your seat. The image of him flashes in your mind—his dark hair falling over his eyes, the way he looked at you during your last shoot together, the soft, almost nervous way he handed you those flowers this morning.

You exhale, shaking your head at yourself.

“Everything okay?” Felix whispers beside you, leaning in slightly.

You blink, turning to him with a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He grins. “About me?”

You chuckle, nudging him lightly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Felix laughs, and just like that, the moment passes. You shift your focus back on the wedding ceremony, pushing away the strange feeling that came with the thought of Hyunjin. At least for now.

-

The wedding tent is crowded with guests and the warm glow of string lights making everything feel just a little more magical. You’re sipping on your drink, enjoying the sight of your friend beaming with happiness when Felix suddenly tugs on your wrist.

“Come on,” he says, grinning.

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on where?”

He nods toward the dance floor, where couples sway to a slow, romantic tune. “You didn’t get all dressed up just to sit around all night, did you?”

You hesitate for a second, but the way he’s looking at you—his eyes twinkling with mischief and he's holding his hand out at you—makes it hard to say no.

With a small sigh, you set your drink down and let him pull you onto the dance floor. His hand slides easily around your waist, yours resting on his shoulder as the two of you begin to sway.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper, “I wasn’t lying earlier.”

You glance up at him, confused. “About what?”

He grins. “About you looking beautiful tonight.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You’ve said that at least three times already.”

“Because it’s true,” he says, spinning you gently before pulling you back into him. “And I think I’ll say it again—because you look stunning.”

You shake your head with a soft chuckle, but a warmth spreads through your chest at his words.

The song continues, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy it. The feeling of being twirled under the lights, the warmth of Felix’s hand in yours, the laughter shared between the two of you—it’s easy. Fun.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you catch yourself wondering—if it were Hyunjin standing here instead, would it feel different? You push the thought away and let Felix pull you closer, deciding to just enjoy the moment for what it is.

As the song fades into the next, you and Felix slow to a stop, still laughing softly from your little dance. Before either of you can say anything, your friend—the bride herself—comes rushing up to you, her face glowing with happiness.

“You came!” she exclaims, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug.

You chuckle, hugging her back. “Of course, I did. I wouldn’t miss your big day.”

She pulls away, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “It really means a lot. And—” Her gaze shifts to Felix, who stands beside you with a polite smile. “—oh my God, is this your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widen, and Felix lets out a soft laugh. “Ah—”

Before either of you can correct her, she clasps her hands together, looking absolutely delighted. “He’s so handsome! You two look amazing together. I swear, you’re next—soon, we’ll be celebrating your wedding, too!”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Wait—”

But before you can get another word in, someone calls for her from across the reception, and she gasps. “I have to go! But seriously, I’m so happy for you two.” With that, she hurries off, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded.

Felix lets out a short, amused laugh before looking at you. “Well… that was unexpected.”

You turn to him, shaking your head in disbelief. “Wildly unexpected.”

And then, at the same time, both of you burst into laughter. The ridiculousness of the situation is too much, and for a moment, you’re just caught up in the humor of it all.

“I mean, who would even want to marry someone like me?” you joke, half expecting Felix to roll his eyes or tease you in return.

But instead, without hesitation, he raises his hand. “Me.”

Your laughter dies in your throat as you look at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Felix grins, playful as always, but there’s something else in his gaze—something steady, certain. “I’d marry you.”

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. You search his face, trying to gauge if he’s just messing with you, but he looks oddly serious beneath the playful facade.

“Felix…” you start, unsure of what you’re even about to say.

He shrugs, effortlessly casual. “You should be saying who wouldn’t want to marry you. I mean, you’re incredible.”

Despite yourself, you feel warmth creep up your neck. “You’re just saying that.”

He tilts his head. “Am I?”

You don’t know why, but the way he says it makes your stomach flutter just a little. You quickly shake it off with a laugh. “Alright. Time to get more drinks.”

Felix chuckles, letting you change the subject, but as you two make your way back to the bar, you can’t help but feeling a little hopeful that maybe your future hold this too.

-

Felix pulls up in front of your apartment building, shifting the car into park but leaving the engine running. You glance outside, noting the quiet stillness of the night, before turning back to him with a soft smile.

“Thanks for today,” you say sincerely. “I really had fun.”

Felix smiles back, but then he exhales a long sigh, tilting his head back against the headrest. “This is bad,” he mutters.

You frown. “What is?”

He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think I want to do the collab anymore.”

His words catch you off guard. You blink at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke. “Why?”

Felix hesitates for a second, then chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as if amused by himself. “Because now… I am more interested to be more than just that.”

Felix doesn’t break eye contact, his usual playful demeanor softened by something more genuine, more serious. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

You smile at his words, choosing not to respond directly. Instead, you reach for the door handle and glance at him one last time.

“Drive safely, okay?” you say softly.

Before you can step out, Felix gently reaches for you, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward him. Your breath catches for just a second before he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

When he pulls back, his eyes hold yours, something unspoken passing between you. “Goodnight,” he murmurs.

You hesitate for only a moment before replying, “Goodnight, Felix.”

Then, without another word, you step out of the car, closing the door behind you. As you walk toward your building, you can still feel the warmth of his lips on your skin.

You step into your apartment, closing the door behind you with a quiet sigh. As you slip off your shoes, your eyes immediately land on the vase of flowers sitting on the counter.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at them. With everything that happened today—the wedding, Felix, his words—you haven’t had the time to really appreciate them.

Slowly, you walk up to the vase, reaching out to touch the petals with delicate fingers. The flowers are fresh, carefully chosen, and arranged with thoughtfulness. Hyunjin must have picked them while thinking of you.

The realization brings a soft warmth to your chest. You brush your fingertips over the petals, admiring the mix of colors and how gentle they feel under your touch.

Hyunjin didn’t have to do this, but he did and for some reason, that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

-

Hyunjin stirs awake to the sound of his phone buzzing against his nightstand. Groggy, he blindly reaches for it, squinting at the screen before answering.

"Hello?" His voice is rough with sleep.

"Come over for breakfast," you say, your voice light and easy, as if this is something you do all the time.

He rubs the sleep off his eyes. "Right now?"

"Yes, right now. Or else I’ll eat everything myself," you tease before hanging up, leaving no room for protest.

Hyunjin exhales a soft chuckle, tossing his phone aside before dragging himself up into a sitting position. He rubs his face, then runs a hand through his tousled hair. His eyes drift across the room until they land on the canvas propped against the wall.

It’s another painting of you—one he worked on late into the night. In the dim morning light, he takes it in. The colors, the soft edges of your features, the way his brush captured you so naturally, like second nature.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head at himself. He doesn’t know what to do with all these paintings of you. But for now, breakfast awaits.

He goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and washes his face, not forgetting to clean the paint tainted his nails. He grabs a clean shirt from inside the dryer and puts it on before heading out.

Hyunjin knocks on your door, still a little sluggish from just waking up. He doesn’t have to wait long before you pull it open, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Good morning!" you chirp, stepping aside to let him in.

He steps inside, glancing around as he toes off his shoes and immediately notices the flowers he bought for you yesterday perched on the coffee tae, adding a pop of color in the living room.

"You’re in a good mood," he notes, watching the way you move around your apartment with an easy kind of energy.

You hum as you head toward the kitchen, setting the table for breakfast. "I guess I am."

Hyunjin tilts his head, observing you. Something about your smile, the way it lingers, makes him wonder. His mind flashes back to last night—how you got into Felix’s car, the way Felix had kissed your cheek, the way you had let him.

Did something happen between you two?

He presses his lips into a line, pushing the thought away before it settles too deep. Instead, he walks over to where you’re setting down plates, feigning nonchalance.

"So," he says, leaning against the counter, "good wedding?"

You glance at him, still smiling, and nod. "Yeah, it was nice."

Hyunjin hums, trying not to let his thoughts run away from him but he's not going to lie, he doesn’t like that vague answer.

When you finally set the plates on the table, he slides into the chair across from you, eyes flickering between the meal and your still-bright expression.

“So what’s the occasion?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

You shrug, taking a seat. “Because I wanted to.”

He studies you for a beat, as if trying to find a deeper meaning behind your words. But then, before he can dwell on it too much, you add, “And because we need to talk about the concept for the next shoot.”

Ah. There it is.

He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his fork. “So there’s an actual reason,” he teases.

You smirk, picking up your own utensils. “Does there have to be one?”

He meets your gaze across the table, something unreadable in his expression. “No,” he admits. “Not really.”

As you both eat, the conversation flows easily, filled with casual remarks about the food and small observations about the day ahead. It’s comfortable—so much so that Hyunjin almost forgets about the lingering questions in his mind. Almost.

Then, between bites, you set your fork down and glance at him. “I have an idea for the next shoot.”

He looks up from his plate, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “We should make a painting together.”

His brows lift slightly. That’s… unexpected. “Like, actually paint?”

“Yeah.” You lean forward, resting your elbow on the table. “Something messy. Something raw. We can set up a big canvas, use our hands, maybe even our bodies—just create something together. Capture the process, the movement, the intimacy of it.”

Hyunjin blinks, processing your words. His mind immediately fills with images—colors smeared across skin, paint-streaked fingers, the way your expressions would shift with each stroke of color.

“That’s…” He exhales a quiet chuckle, setting his utensils down. “That’s actually a really good idea.”

Your smile widens. “Yeah?”

He nods, intrigued despite himself. “Yeah. It sounds different. More… artistic.”

“Exactly. And I figured you’d be into it. You are an artist, after all.”

He watches you for a moment, then leans back in his chair before finally says. “I say let’s do it.”

-

A few days later, Hyunjin moves around your makeshift studio, adjusting the lights, setting up the camera angles, and double-checking the placement of props. His heart pounds, but he focuses on the technicalities, keeping his mind occupied.

The canvas he bought—a massive, unblemished white expanse—sits in the center of the room. He drags it into position, making sure the lighting hits it just right. The idea had come to him suddenly, and when he brought it up, you had been all for it.

Now that everything is set, all that’s left is you. He exhales, rubbing his palms together before stretching his fingers. He has to keep his hands steady.

The soft padding of your footsteps alerts him before you even enter the room. He turns just as you step inside, wrapped in a loose bathrobe.

"Everything ready?" you ask, your voice even, but he swears there’s a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes.

He nods. "Yeah."

With that, you untie the sash of your robe and let it slip off your shoulders, baring yourself to him as you're only wearing a flimsy, plain white underwear. You're getting way too comfortable with him that you don't hesitate at all.

The camera clicks fill the room as Hyunjin moves around the canvas, capturing every angle of you stretched out bare against the stark white background. The contrast is striking—your skin, the shadows, the way the light catches the curves of your body. Through the lens, he sees more than just a subject; he sees you. And it stirs something deep in him.

Once he’s taken enough shots, he lowers the camera, his lips slightly parted. His throat feels dry, but he swallows and meets your gaze. He knows it's time.

“Lose the shirt,” you murmur, your voice carrying an edge of playfulness.

Without hesitation, he grips the hem and pulls the fabric over his head, letting it fall to the side. The cool air kisses his skin, but what affects him more is the way your eyes roam over him. Slowly, silently, like you’re memorizing every dip and contour of his body. And he likes it.

Rolling his shoulders, he crawls over to you, his movements fluid and unhurried. The canvas beneath him shifts slightly as he joins you in the center, hovering just above you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, your breath steady but expectant.

“I'm ready when you are,” you murmur with a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

Hyunjin leans in, close enough that your exhales mix. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, but it doesn’t hide the way he looks at you—deep, intense, searching. Then, without a word, he dips his fingers into the bowl of body paint. The cool liquid coats his fingertips, and he slowly drags them from your collarbone down to your navel. A sharp inhale escapes you, your muscles reacting to the sensation.

He watches you closely, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours before swiping his fingers through another pool of paint, this time dipping into a deep crimson. His breath is steady, but his heart pounds as he brings his hand back to your skin.

Slowly, he drags his fingertips along the curve of your shoulder, tracing down the length of your arm, leaving a streak of red in their wake. The contrast against your skin is mesmerizing, but more than that, it’s the way you react to his touch that keeps him captivated. The way your breath hitches, the way your muscles tense slightly before relaxing under his fingers.

His hand hovers over your ribs before he presses his palm against you, smearing the paint in broad strokes across your torso. It’s intimate, slow, tender. Every movement is careful, yet charged, the tension thickening between you.

You tilt your head back slightly, exposing more of your neck, and the sight makes something stir in him. He dips his fingers into a shade of violet and runs them along your throat, down the center of your chest, watching as the colors blend together against your skin. His breathing deepens.

“You’re enjoying this,” you murmur, your voice hushed yet teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft laugh, but he doesn’t deny it. How could he, when this is the closest he’s ever been to you like this? When he gets to touch you under the guise of art, of creativity, but deep down, he knows it’s more than that?

His fingers find a shade of indigo next, and he trails it along the dip of your waist, his hand lingering just a little longer than necessary. "You make a good canvas," he says, his voice lower than he intends.

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you speak. There’s something thick in the air, something unsaid but understood. The paint is just an excuse. The art is just a distraction. It’s him touching you. It’s you letting him.

-

At first, you thought you were going to be the one enjoying this the most—the feeling of warm hands, cool paint, and the slow, deliberate movements across your bare skin. But as you lie there, your body pressed against the canvas, you realize that it’s not just you who’s lost in the moment.

It’s Hyunjin.

He hasn’t spoken much, but you don’t need words to tell how much he’s enjoying this. The way his fingers trace your skin with slow, lingering strokes. The way he exhales softly, as if grounding himself with every touch. The way he hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, before letting his hands glide further.

The realization sends a different kind of heat curling through you as you turn over on the canvas and lay on your stomach.

He gathers your hair and drapes it over one shoulder, his fingers grazing the side of your neck in a way that makes you shiver. He takes his time, letting his touch linger as if savoring the moment before dipping his fingers into golden paint. Then, you feel it—a long, deliberate streak, starting at the nape of your neck and trailing down your spine.

The cool paint against your heated skin is startling at first, but it quickly turns into something else—something warm, something electric. You can feel his gaze on you, dark and heavy, studying the way the color melts into your body. You don’t dare look back at him, but you know. You can feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way his hands settle just a little more firmly against you.

Then, he dips both hands into separate bowls of paint—one deep blue, the other a soft peach. You barely have time to process it before his palms press against the back of your thighs, dragging downward in a slow, unhurried motion.

A quiet gasp escapes you, your body tensing involuntarily. Not just from the sensation of the paint, but from him. From the weight of his hands, the firm yet careful way he maps out your skin like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

His fingertips skim behind your knees, nails lightly scratching as he moves lower. A shudder rolls through you, and before you can stop yourself, a quiet, breathy sound escapes your lips.

For a moment, neither of you move. The air between you grows heavier, thicker, charged with something unspoken. And then, slowly, he leans in—so close that his breath brushes against your ear.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, his voice low, hushed, almost teasing.

The heat spreads from your core to the very tips of your fingers. You don’t know if he’s asking about the paint. Before you can gather your thoughts, his hand dips into the paint again, and then—warm fingers, slick with color, wrap around your neck.

A soft gasp escapes you as he tilts your head back, slowly, deliberately, until your gaze locks with his. Your breath catches.

He hovers above you, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his lips just slightly parted. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something deep and intense, like he’s searching for something in your expression. His fingers press just enough to make you aware of them, not tight, not demanding—just there, holding you, guiding you.

And then, with a soft, teasing lilt, he asks again, “Does it feel good?”

The question drips with something more than curiosity. Your lips part, but no words come out at first. Your body is still humming from his touch, from the sensation of wet paint drying against your skin, from the weight of his gaze keeping you pinned beneath him. Your wide eyes search his, and you nod—small, shaky.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but in the quiet space between you, it sounds so much louder.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of Hyunjin’s lips. His thumb lightly traces along your throat before he releases you, his touch lingering as his hand falls away. But the tension he’s left behind? That lingers, too.

After a moment, you shift, moving to your knees on the canvas, your bare skin already streaked with vibrant colors. The paint is drying in some places, still wet in others, creating a mix of sensations that heighten your awareness of every little movement, every touch.

Behind you, Hyunjin follows, kneeling just as you are. You feel his presence before you feel his touch—the warmth of his body close to yours, his breath ghosting along your shoulder as he dips his hands into the paint again. And then—

A slow glide of his hands down your sides, paint spreading across your skin in uneven streaks. You inhale sharply, your stomach tightening at the contrast between the slick wetness and the warmth of his palms.

You don’t stop him. Instead, you reach for his hands, fingers wrapping around his wrists, guiding him. Slowly, you trace a path with his hands, urging them to explore, to roam over your body as you bring them upward—until his paint-coated hands are palming your breasts.

A soft, broken moan escapes you as his fingers flex against you, the pressure just enough to make you shiver. Against you, Hyunjin goes still for a moment, his breath heavy and uneven against the side of your neck. His hands hesitate, but only for a second—then, as if something clicks inside him, his grip tightens, his thumbs swiping over your hardening nipples in slow, teasing strokes. You drop your head back, resting it on his shoulder, fully letting yourself melt into his hold.

He exhales, his chest rising and falling against your back, and then he moves again—his hands pressing, kneading, painting you with every motion. His grip is firm yet gentle, fingers mapping the shape of you as if imprinting you into the canvas itself.

The wet drag of paint, the warmth of his hands, the way he holds you from behind—it’s overwhelming. It’s intoxicating. And you don’t hold back. You let the pleasure spill from your lips, let the colors mix between your bodies, let Hyunjin mark you in ways he doesn’t even realize.

Hyunjin’s hands slowly slide down your arms, fingers curling around your wrists as he guides them forward. His touch is firm but patient, steadying you as he dips both of your hands into the paint together. The slick paint spreads between your fingers, mixing colors into something new, something neither of you could create alone.

With your hands still joined, he moves, pressing his chest against your back as he guides your palms toward the blank spaces of the canvas. The first touch is hesitant, experimental—your joined hands pressing against the fabric, smearing color in sweeping strokes.

He exhales softly behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Just like that.”

You both move together, shifting across the canvas, bodies staying close. The paint sticks to your skin, smears across your thighs, your stomach, the curve of Hyunjin’s arms. Every movement feels intimate, every brush of his fingers against yours a silent conversation.

When he tilts his head down, the tip of his nose skims along your temple, and you swear you can feel the curve of his voluptuous lips hovering just shy of touching.

“You’re good at this,” he says, his voice quiet but filled with something you can’t quite place.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your hands down again, swirling the colors together, feeling the heat of his palms against yours.

And when you finally glance back at him, your breath catches—because Hyunjin isn’t looking at the canvas. He’s looking at you. And the way he’s looking at you makes your pulse stutter, makes the room feel too warm, makes you wonder if this moment, this entire thing, is turning into something neither of you expected.

You barely give him a moment to react before you push against his shoulders, guiding him down until his back meets the canvas with a soft thud. His long hair fans out beneath him, dark strands streaked with bits of paint, and he watches you with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper—something that you're not ready to acknowledge.

You straddle his waist, reaching for one of the bowls of paint, and without hesitation, you tip it over his chest. A thick stream of color drips down his skin, pooling in the dips of his collarbones, the lines of his abs.

He flinches slightly at the sensation but doesn’t say a word, just watches as your hands follow the trail of paint, spreading it, smearing it, turning him into part of the canvas. His chest rises and falls beneath your touch, and for a moment, you’re completely lost in the act—until suddenly, He sits up, grabbing a bowl of his own.

Before you can react, the paint splashes onto your chest, sending a shiver down your spine. You gasp, your hands flying up in surprise as the thick liquid drips down your skin. Then, a laugh bubbles out of you, realizing this is his way of getting back at you.

He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief as he watches the paint slide down your skin. “Fair’s fair,” he murmurs, voice low but teasing.

You barely have time to respond before his arms wrap around you, pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and your breasts squashed between your chests. The paint on both of your bodies smears together, colors blending with every shift, every breath, every subtle movement. The warmth of his bare skin against yours sends a shiver through you, and when your eyes meet, it feels like the world slows down.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickers to your lips, and you suddenly realize how close he is, how easily you could lean in, close the distance. And the thought tempts you, makes you reflexively shut your eyes, anticipating—

But instead of the warmth of his lips, you feel the cool drag of his fingers against your cheeks. Your eyes snap open as you gasp, realizing he’s just smeared paint across your face. Hyunjin grins, victorious, and you barely hesitate before running your hands down his face, streaking him with paint in return.

What started as something intimate shifts in an instant. Laughter spills between you as you wrestle for control, hands grabbing at paint, smearing it wherever you can reach. The canvas beneath you turns into a chaotic masterpiece of color, your bodies painting just as much as your hands.

By the time you finally collapse against each other, breathless from laughter, you’re both a mess of paint and warmth and something lingering in the air between you, unspoken.

-

The warm spray of the shower cascades over Hyunjin’s skin, washing away streaks of paint in rivulets of color that swirl down the drain. He tilts his head back slightly, letting the water soak into his hair, the heavy strands clinging to his face and neck. His body still hums with leftover adrenaline from the shoot, from the mess of colors, from you. And speaking of you—

He's about to turn on his feet when he feels a cool dollop of body wash lands on his chest. He looks down just in time to see you grinning, hands already moving to lather the soap over his skin.

“I think you did that on purpose,” he mutters, watching as your fingers work over the paint-streaked expanse of his torso

You hum in amusement, tilting your head. “Maybe.”

Hebscoffs but doesn’t stop you, though his body tenses slightly when your hands move lower, tracing the edges of his ribs, his waist, the dips of his pelvic bone. It’s… too easy to enjoy this, the feeling of your touch, the warmth of the water, the closeness that neither of you seem to be in a rush to break. Still, he can’t let you have all the fun.

Hyunjin grabs a handful of body wash and smears it along your shoulder, then down your arm in a long, soapy streak. You yelp in surprise, glaring at him through the steam-filled air, but he only grins, smug.

“Oh, it’s like that?” you challenge, narrowing your eyes.

He simply shrugs, barely concealing his laughter.

In retaliation, you cup your hands, gathering water before flinging it at him, making him splutter. It turns into a playful battle of soap and water, hands slipping, laughter echoing against the tile. Hyunjin doesn’t even notice how close you’ve gotten until his back nearly hits the shower wall, and you’re right there, breathless, eyes glimmering with something between amusement and something else—something tender.

Your hands slow, fingers gliding gently over his forearm, then up to his shoulder, smoothing away the last traces of paint. The shift in atmosphere is subtle but undeniable, laughter fading into something quieter, something heavier.

Hyunjin swallows, his throat suddenly dry despite the water running down his skin. He watches as your gaze flickers to his, then lower—to his lips—before quickly darting away.

And for a moment, he wonders if he should say something. Do something. But before he can, you’re turning away, reaching for the shampoo. The moment passes, slipping away like paint down the drain.

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his wet hair as he forces himself to focus on something else. Anything else. “Turn around,” he says, voice steady despite himself. “You still have paint in your hair.”

You obey, and he works the shampoo through your strands, fingers massaging gently against your scalp. You sigh, melting under his touch.

“Sorry about your jeans,” you apologize as you rub the hint of paint on your elbow.

Hyunjin glances at his jeans, lying on the bathroom floor tainted with drying paints as he speaks. “No worries,” he calmly responds.

As he rinses the soap from your hair, you turn around on your feet, blinking water out of your lashes as you look up at him with an amused smirk. “If we’re both in here, then who’s ordering dinner?”

He pauses, hands still in your hair, fingers tangled in wet strands. He blinks once, then twice, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “…Oh.”

You burst into laughter, reaching behind you to grab a towel. “Guess we didn’t think that far ahead, huh?”

He runs a hand through his dripping hair, exhaling through his nose. “I was a little preoccupied.”

You raise a brow, drying your arms with the towel. “With what? Scrubbing paint off me?”

He huffs, shaking his head as he grabs his own towel. “Among other things.”

You don’t ask him to elaborate, and he doesn’t offer. Instead, you wrap your towel around yourself, padding out of the bathroom while wringing the ends of your hair. “I’ll order something.”

Wrapped in plush bathrobes, still slightly damp from the shower, you and Hyunjin stand side by side in front of the massive canvas sprawled across the floor. The colors are wild, chaotic, and yet, somehow, perfectly blended—just like the two of you in that moment.

Hyunjin exhales, crossing his arms over his chest. “It actually turned out really cool.”

You grin, nudging his arm. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not really. We’re kind of a masterpiece-making duo, aren’t we?”

You laugh. “Damn right we are.”

A comfortable silence settles as you both admire the painting, letting the weight of what you’ve created sink in. Then, Hyunjin suddenly perks up. “We should sign it.”

You blink at him before tilting your head in thought. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Grabbing a marker from your desk, you crouch down at the bottom corner of the painting and carefully write your initial. Satisfied, you hand the marker to Hyunjin, who kneels beside you. He hesitates for a second, then presses the marker to the canvas, his strokes smooth and deliberate as he writes: S.H.

You frown slightly, tilting your head. “S.H.?”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. It’s my painting name.”

Your brows lift in curiosity. “Your painting name?”

He nods. “Sam Hwang.”

You playfully glare at him before letting out a soft laugh. “Sam Hwang? That’s what you go by?”

Hyunjin smirks. “Yep.”

You shake your head in amusement, eyeing the signature. “It suits you.”

He hums, running a hand through his still-damp hair. “Figured I’d keep my art life a little separate from everything else.”

You admire the signed painting once more before nodding in agreement. “Well, in that case… congrats on the first official collaboration of—” You gesture between the two of you. “—us.”

He grins, tapping his knuckles against yours. “To many more.”

Later that night, Hyunjin sits at his desk, the only light in his apartment coming from his laptop screen. The faint hum of his computer fills the quiet space as he scrolls through the photos he took earlier. His fingers move instinctively on the trackpad, adjusting the brightness, sharpening the colors, refining each shot.

The images on the screen are undeniable—vivid streaks of paint on bare skin, hands tangled, bodies intertwined on the canvas. But more than that, what stands out to him is the way the two of you looked at each other. The way you laughed, the way you touched, the way you moved together. It wasn’t just a shoot. It was something else entirely.

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his still-damp hair. He was supposed to be helping you, just doing a job, but he can’t ignore the way his chest tightens as he replays the footage. He clicks on a video file, and the screen flickers to life. There you are, laughing as you smear paint down his chest, your eyes shining with mischief. Then there’s him—smirking, grabbing a handful of paint, pulling you close until your bodies are pressed together. He watches the way his own hands move over your skin, the way your head tilts back in response, the way his eyes—his eyes—follow every inch of you with something he can’t quite define.

He leans back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. This was supposed to be business. But looking at the screen, at the way the two of you lost yourselves in each other, he wonders if it ever really was.

-

The classroom is quiet except the sounds of bristles against canvas, occasional murmurs of his classmates, and the footsteps of his professor walking around observing everyone's progress.

Hyunjin moves his brush in smooth, deliberate strokes, layering deep hues onto his canvas. But his mind isn’t entirely in the present. As he paints, his thoughts drift back to that day—to the way he dipped his fingers into the paint, smearing bold colors onto your flesh. The way laughter bubbled from your lips when he smeared a streak of red onto your cheek. The warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips as the two of you moved in sync, turning the mess into something strangely beautiful. He exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. It shouldn’t have felt as natural as it did.

The sound of the professor dismissing the class snaps him out of his thoughts. With a quiet sigh, he sets down his brush and starts packing his things, carefully tucking his sketchbook into his backpack.

Then, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. Your name. Frowning, he answers. “Hello?”

“I’m waiting for you in the parking lot,” you say, your voice light, almost playful.

Hyunjin blinks. “What? Why?”

“Just hurry up,” you simply answer and then you hang up.

Hyunjin stares at his phone for a second before sighing. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he makes his way toward the exit, his heart beating just a little faster than before. He steps out of the building, scanning the parking lot until his eyes land on your car. The engine is idling, the faint hum of it filling the quiet afternoon.

Through the windshield, he catches sight of you—elbow propped against the door, fingers drumming on the wheel, a small smile tugging at your lips as you watch him. He doesn’t waste a second. He tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack and makes a run for it, weaving through parked cars, his loose shirt billowing slightly as he moves.

By the time he reaches the passenger side, he’s slightly breathless, but your smile has only grown wider. He tugs the door open, sliding in with a questioning look. “Alright, I’m here. What’s this about?”

You simply tap your fingers against the wheel, eyes twinkling with something that hints at mischief. “You’ll see.”

Hyunjin exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so mysterious sometimes, you know that?”

You only grin in response before shifting the gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

As you drive, Hyunjin leans back in his seat, watching you with quiet curiosity. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a glow on your face, and he finds himself distracted by the way your fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel in thought.

“Sienna’s birthday is this weekend,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. “She invited both of us to her party.”

He shifts in his seat. “Oh? I didn’t know I was invited.”

You glance at him briefly, a smirk playing on your lips. “Of course, you are. She likes you, you know. She said you’re fun to have around.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

“But,” you continue, “I need your help with something.”

Hyunjin tilts his head. “With what?”

“I want to get her the perfect birthday gift, but I have no idea what to buy. I figured you’d have some good ideas.”

He smiles at that, finding amusement in how serious you sound about it. “Sure. I’ll help you.”

You glance at him again, this time with a satisfied nod. “Good. Because we’re going gift shopping right now.”

Hyunjin lets out a small laugh. “So that’s why you picked me up without warning.”

“You catch on fast,” you tease.

Inside the jewelry store, you and Hyunjin stand side by side, peering into the glass display cases filled with elegant necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. The soft lighting casts a warm glow on the sparkling pieces, making each one seem more tempting than the last.

“I think this one suits her,” you say, pointing at a delicate gold bracelet with a small heart charm. “It’s simple but pretty.”

Hyunjin leans down for a closer look, then shakes his head. “I think Sienna’s more into statement pieces. She’d like something bolder.”

You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re an expert on Sienna’s jewelry preferences now?”

He smirks, crossing his arms. “I just pay attention. She always wears chunky rings and layered necklaces. She likes things that stand out.”

You glance back at the display, considering his words. “Okay, fair point. Then what do you suggest?”

He scans the case before pointing at a silver necklace with an intricate flower pendant. “How about this one? It’s unique, and I think it fits her personality.”

You study the necklace for a moment, then sigh. “Okay… I actually like that one too.”

He puts on a cocky grin at you. “Told you.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudge his arm before signaling for the store assistant. “Alright, we’ll take it.”

As you wait for the store assistant to wrap Sienna’s gift, your eyes wander to a nearby display of bracelets. One in particular catches your attention—a dainty silver chain with a small crescent moon charm. Curious, you slip it onto your wrist, admiring how it glimmers under the store’s warm lights.

Hyunjin, noticing, tilts his head. “That looks good on you.”

You turn your wrist slightly, testing how it feels. “You think so?”

He nods. “Yeah. It suits you.”

After a moment, you sigh and unclasp the bracelet, placing it back onto the display.

Hyunjin frowns. “You’re not getting it?”

You shake your head, a playful smile forming on your lips. “No.”

“Why not?”

You glance at him and shrug casually. “I don’t know… But you can buy it for me if you want.”

Hyunjin lets out a soft laugh, narrowing his eyes at you. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You just grin at him before stepping back toward the counter, leaving him staring at the bracelet, considering something.

-

Hyunjin slings one of your bags over his shoulder while carrying another in his hand as the two of you make your way down the stairs of the apartment building. He glances at you, still trying to wake himself up fully as he asks, “Why are we leaving so early?”

You adjust your grip on the bag you’re carrying and glance at him. “Because Sienna rented a villa for her birthday party,” you explain. “And not just any villa—the same one I rented for the collab shoot with her.”

He hums at that as it rekindle a certain memory. “Oh?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s a bit far, so we have to leave now if we don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

Hyunjin stifles a yawn as the two of you reach the bottom of the stairs. He adjusts the bag on his shoulder before looking at you again. “So… that villa, huh?” he repeats, his voice tinged with intrigue.

You glance at him, catching the subtle curiosity in his tone. “Yep. Why? Does that interest you?”

He tilts his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the amused smile that creeps onto your face as the two of you head toward your car. Hyunjin holds his hand out at you, gesturing for the car keys, “I’ll drive this time.”

You pause with your keys in hand, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’re good to drive?”

He scoffs playfully, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m awake now. Besides, I’m a great driver.”

You watch him for a second before smiling and handing him the keys. “Alright. Just don't forget you're carrying a precious cargo here.”

Hyunjin chuckles as he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting it to his preference. You settle into the passenger side, stretching your legs slightly before fastening your seatbelt.

As he turns the engine on, you lean your head back against the headrest, sighing in contentment. “Actually, this is even better. Now I can take a nap.”

He glances at you as he pulls out of the parking lot, smirking. “You’re really just going to abandon me while I drive?”

You let out a small laugh, already getting comfortable. “Yup. Wake me up when we’re there.”

He shakes his head with an amused chuckle as he focuses on the road ahead. “Unbelievable.”

The road stretches ahead in a quiet hum of asphalt and tires, the early morning light casting a soft glow over everything. Hyunjin keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly against it as music plays faintly through the speakers.

Every now and then, he steals a glance at you. You’re curled up slightly in the passenger seat, your head resting against the window, your breathing slow and even. Completely at ease. He watches the way your lips part slightly as you sleep, the way your eyelashes flutter every now and then, as if you’re dreaming.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. There’s something oddly comforting about this moment—just the two of you, the quiet hum of the car, and the warmth of the sun spilling through the windows.

And maybe it’s selfish, but he wants to make this ride last a little longer. Without really thinking about it, he eases his foot off the gas just a little, keeping the car at a leisurely pace just below the speed limit. There’s no rush. No need to wake you up sooner than necessary. So he drives, letting the soft rhythm of your breathing mix with the steady sound of the road, stealing quiet moments where he can.

-

You slowly blink awake, the warmth of the sun making your eyelids heavy even as you regain consciousness. The first thing you notice is the steady rhythm of the car moving smoothly along the road. The second is Hyunjin, still at the wheel, his gaze focused ahead, one hand lazily gripping the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift.

You shift slightly in your seat, stretching just a little before settling in more comfortably, watching him. The way his jaw tenses and relaxes, the way his fingers drum lightly against the wheel to the beat of the song playing softly through the speakers—it’s all so effortlessly him.

He must notice your gaze because, without taking his eyes off the road, he asks, “How was your nap?”

A slow smile forms on your lips as you reply, “You’re such a good driver that I slept so well.”

At that, He huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “That’s a first. Most people don’t sleep well when I drive.”

You arch a brow, amused. “Why? Do you usually drive like a maniac?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

“Well, lucky for me, you were driving like a dream today,” you tease, stretching your arms above your head before relaxing again.

Hyunjin glances your way for a brief second, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips before he focuses back on the road. “Maybe I just wanted to make sure you got a good nap.”

Something about the way he says it makes warmth settle in your chest, but you brush it off with a playful grin. “Then I might have to let you drive more often.”

He just laughs, shaking his head again, and the car continues rolling down the road, carrying the two of you closer to your destination.

As Hyunjin pulls the car into the driveway of the villa, you sit up straighter, stretching out the last remnants of sleep from your limbs. The place looks just as stunning as you remember—white walls, wide glass windows, and a breathtaking view of the greenery beyond.

He parks the car and turns off the engine, glancing over at you. “We’re here.”

You nod, pushing open the door and stepping out. The fresh morning air greets you, and you take a deep breath, already feeling the excitement of the day settling in.

Hyunjin gets out as well, moving to the trunk to grab the bags. “Go ahead,” he tells you. “I’ll bring these in.”

You don’t argue, instead making your way to the front door and knocking. It barely takes a second before the door swings open, and Sienna comes bursting out, her eyes lighting up the moment she sees you.

“Oh my god, you’re here!” she squeals, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug.

You laugh, hugging her back. “Of course I’m here!”

She pulls back, grinning. “I'm glad you made it.” Then her eyes flick over your shoulder, noticing Hyunjin as he walks up with the bags in his arms. “And there he is.”

Hyunjin gives a small nod in greeting. “Hey.”

Sienna steps in to give him a quick hug before leading the two of you toward the villa. “Come on, come on, get inside! Let's have a preparty.”

As you and Hyunjin step into the villa, the familiar scent of wood and fresh linen greets you. The place is as gorgeous as you remember—high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of sunlight, and the swimming pool that reflects the sunlight into the living room.

Hyunjin sets the bags down near the entrance, rolling his shoulders as he glances around. Before he can say anything, Sienna claps her hands together, turning to you with a knowing smile. “So… did you tell him about that thing?”

You shake your head, smirking. “Nope. You can ask him yourself.”

Hyunjin’s eyes narrow suspiciously between the two of you. “What thing?”

Sienna and you exchange a look before bursting into laughter, making Hyunjin even more wary. He crosses his arms, lips pressing into a tight line. “Why do I feel like I’m being set up?”

Sienna steps closer, tilting her head teasingly. “Oh, don’t look so nervous, Hyunjin. It’s nothing bad.”

You grin, deciding to end his suffering. “I’m lending you to Sienna.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “You’re what?”

You laugh at the way his eyes widen, enjoying the moment of confusion on his face. Sienna quickly adds, “As a photographer! I want you to take some photos of me while we’re here.”

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Sienna nudges him playfully. “But you’re saying yes, right?”

Hyunjin looks at you, but you just smile innocently as if you didn't just set him up. He sighs, knowing he’s already lost. “Sure. Anything for the birthday girl.”

“Yay!” Sienna grins triumphantly, catching him off guard as she places a kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on the skin.

You help Sienna get ready in the living room as she sits on the sofa in front of you, applying the finishing touches to her makeup. The golden light streaming through the window makes her glow even more, enhancing the shimmer of the dress she picked out for the shoot.

You do her hair next, applying some hair product to add volume to her curls. “So… you kept saying this was a party, but why are there only three of us here?”

Sienna grins, dabbing some gloss onto her lips. “Because this is a party. It’s just a small, intimate one.” She turns to look at you, wiggling her brows. “I only invited people I like.”

You huff a small laugh. “That’s one way to do it.”

Just then, Hyunjin enters the room, camera in hand, adjusting the settings as he walks in. “So basically,” he chimes in, “I should feel honored that you like me.”

Sienna lets out a dramatic sigh, flipping her hair. “Ugh, don’t flatter yourself too much.”

You and Hyunjin exchange amused looks before Sienna points at him. “Now, be useful and make me look stunning.”

Hyunjin slyly smiles, lifting his camera. “You already look great. My job’s easy.”

Sienna gasps playfully. “A compliment? From you? I think I might cry.”

Hyunjin just chuckles, motioning for her to move into position. “Alright, birthday girl. Let’s get started.”

-

Hyunjin leans against the sink, his thumb idly scrolling on his phone as he refreshes your Lustre page once more. Nothing. The content you had planned to release—the one you made together—still isn’t there. His brows furrow slightly. Did you forget? It’s not like you to be careless about your uploads.

He exhales through his nose, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket. It’s not the right time to ask about it. Maybe you decided to delay it for some reason. Either way, he pushes the thought aside for now and exits the bathroom.

As he walks down the dimly lit hallway, his steps slow when he catches sight of the bedroom at the end of it. The door is slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of the soft, unmade sheets. His mind instantly goes back to earlier—to the way the three of you had sprawled on that very bed, laughter mixing with the sound of the camera shutter, the lingering scent of Sienna’s perfume still clinging to the air. But more than that, he remembers you. The way you had leaned into him, how your lips had pressed against his in that fleeting yet electrifying moment. The way your voice had lilted with teasing when you whispered, To be continued.

Hyunjin swallows, fingers twitching at his sides. Would tonight be the night you pick up where you left off?

The thought sends a rush of heat through him, but he quickly tamps it down. He shouldn’t assume anything. But as he glances at the bedroom again, his heart thrums with anticipation, wondering—hoping—that you’ll pull him into that room again before the night ends.

Hyunjin flinches slightly when he hears Sienna’s voice calling his name from the other side of the hallway, snapping him out of his thoughts. He exhales, shaking his head as if to clear the lingering images in his mind before making his way toward the kitchen.

The moment he steps in, he finds you and Sienna moving around, setting dishes on the counter. You glance at him briefly, sending him a small smile before going back to arranging the food.

“Set the table, will you?” Sienna says, not looking up as she uncorks a bottle of wine. “And add another plate.”

Hyunjin grabs the plates and pauses mid-motion. “Another plate? You invited someone else?”

Sienna smirks knowingly as she pours herself a drink. “Yep.”

He narrows his eyes slightly. “Who?”

Sienna simply takes a slow sip of her wine before flashing a teasing grin and then gives him a nonchalant shrug in answer.

Hyunjin presses his lips together, feeling a twinge of curiosity—and something else he can’t quite place. As he sets the extra plate down, he wonders who exactly this mystery guest is and why Sienna seems so pleased about it.

“Is your boyfriend coming?” you ask, directing the question at Sienna.

She shakes her head, spearing a piece of food with her fork. “Nope. He’s busy with work,” she answers with a brief eye roll as if she's fed up with it and then she smirks as she casts a quick glance at Hyunjin. “But this particular guest is special.”

Hyunjin glances between the two of you, his curiosity only growing. “Are you going to tell us who it is, or do we have to keep guessing?”

Sienna just shrugs, clearly enjoying keeping the suspense. “You’ll know soon enough.”

Despite the lingering mystery, the three of you begin eating dinner, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—Sienna talking about her latest projects, you sharing something funny from earlier in the week, and Hyunjin chiming in with an occasional sarcastic remark that makes both of you laugh. But every now and then, Hyunjin’s eyes drift back to the empty plate, wondering who exactly was important enough for Sienna to invite to such an intimate gathering.

A sudden knock on the door interrupts the flow of conversation. Sienna's eyes light up, and without missing a beat, she pushes back her chair and practically skips toward the door. Hyunjin watches her disappear down the hallway, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of his plate. You, on the other hand, sip your drink with a calm expression, as if you already have an idea of who the guest might be.

Hyunjin tilts his head slightly, trying to catch snippets of the conversation at the door. He hears Sienna’s voice—cheerful and welcoming—followed by a familiar, softer one that makes his stomach twist before he even fully processes it.

And then, Sienna reappears, a wide grin stretching across her face as she gestures toward the guest trailing behind her.

Felix.

Hyunjin barely has time to mask his expression before Felix steps forward, his warm eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He gives you a small smile—one you return with ease—and then he greets Hyunjin casually, as if this is nothing out of the ordinary.

Sienna claps her hands together, clearly satisfied with the turnout. “Now that everyone’s here,” she announces, “we can officially start the party!”

Hyunjin forces a small smile, but as Sienna and Felix laugh about something, his gaze flickers toward you. You look perfectly at ease, and for some reason, that bothers him more than it should.

-

As Hyunjin and Sienna huddle by the fireplace, debating over how to get the flames going, you focus on getting the drinks ready in the kitchen. The clinking of glasses fills the space as you pour each drink carefully, making sure everything is set before bringing them to the others.

Just as you reach for another glass, Felix appears beside you, casually leaning against the counter with that ever-present smirk. “You don’t look happy to see me,” he teases, his voice light.

You pause mid-pour, blinking up at him. “What? That’s not true.”

“So... Does that mean you're happy to see me?” he playfully guesses, tilting his head.

You let out a chuckle while resuming what you were doing. “It’s Sienna’s birthday, and she’s free to invite whoever she wants.”

Felix hums, unconvinced. “So, if it weren’t for Sienna, you wouldn’t have invited me?”

You sigh, exasperated, before shaking your head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Felix chuckles at your reaction, clearly enjoying your frustration. “Relax, I’m just messing with you,” he says, nudging your arm lightly.

Rolling your eyes, you move to grab the last glass and hand it to him. “Yeah, okay, I'm happy to see you.”

“There we go,” he quips before glancing toward the living room, where Hyunjin and Sienna are still struggling with the fireplace. “So, what kind of party does Sienna usually throw?”

You shrug honestly. “No one really knows.”

Felix raises an eyebrow at that, intrigued. “Sounds like we’re in for a surprise.”

You give him a knowing look. “With Sienna? Always.”

You nudge Felix with your elbow and nod toward the birthday cake sitting on the counter. “Help me carry this?”

Felix grins and steps in, carefully picking up the cake stand while you steady the top to make sure the candles don’t flicker out. Together, the two of you make your way toward the living room, where Hyunjin and Sienna are still caught up in their attempt to get the fireplace going.

The moment you step in, you start singing the birthday song, your voice leading the way. Felix joins in, and soon, Hyunjin catches on, his head snapping toward the two of you with realization. Sienna turns around at the sound, her eyes widening as she spots the cake with the glowing candles.

Her gasp is loud, hands flying to her mouth as a delighted smile takes over her face. “You guys!” she exclaims, eyes flickering between all of you.

Hyunjin, never one to miss a good moment, scrambles for the camera he left on the couch, quickly adjusting the lens to capture Sienna’s reaction. The flickering glow of the candles reflects in her eyes as she laughs, looking overwhelmed by the small but thoughtful celebration.

“Make a wish,” you remind her, giving her an encouraging nod.

Sienna closes her eyes for a second, the room falling into an anticipatory silence, before she blows out the candles in one smooth breath. Cheers erupt as you all clap for her, and Hyunjin continues snapping pictures, capturing every moment.

With the candles blown out and the cake safely set on the coffee table, Sienna grabs her drink and raises it high. “Alright, everyone! Since we’re doing this right, let’s have a proper toast.”

Hyunjin, Felix, and you follow her lead, lifting your glasses as she clears her throat dramatically.

“To another year of being fabulous, unbothered, and thriving!” Sienna grins, eyes shining. “May this year bring me even more money, more success, and—” she pauses, smirking, “—a lot of love.”

You chuckle, clinking your glass against hers. “You mean more fans falling at your feet?”

Sienna winks. “That too.”

Hyunjin shakes his head with a smile, and Felix chuckles before adding, “To Sienna. May your ego never deflate.”

Sienna gasps in mock offense, but before she can retort, everyone clinks their glasses together and takes a sip of their drinks.

With that, the party officially begins. Laughter fills the cozy villa as the four of you settle in. Music plays softly in the background, the fireplace finally crackling with warmth, and the night stretches ahead, promising more fun, games, and a few surprises yet to come.

Hyunjin swirls his drink in his glass, letting the warmth of it settle in his chest as he leans back in his seat. The fire crackles softly, casting a golden glow across the room, but his eyes are drawn elsewhere. You and Felix sit together on the sofa, far too close for his liking. Felix leans in, murmuring something to you as if you’re in a crowded club instead of a quiet villa.

Hyunjin catches faint glimpses of the conversation—your giggles, Felix’s low teasing voice, the way you lightly shove his shoulder but don’t move away. He takes another sip of his drink, jaw tensing slightly. He tells himself he doesn’t care. That he shouldn’t care. But the longer he watches, the harder it is to ignore the feeling creeping up his spine.

A sudden bump to his shoulder snaps him out of it. He turns to see Sienna smirking at him, one brow raised.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” she teases.

Hyunjin exhales, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

Sienna rolls her eyes. “Sure you are.” Then, without warning, she claps her hands together and declares, “Alright, enough lounging around. It’s time for games!”

Felix groans dramatically, leaning his head against your shoulder. “Sienna, we’re adults.”

Sienna grins. “Exactly! Which means we’re playing adult games.”

Hyunjin has no idea what she means by that, but the way her smirk widens tells him he’s about to find out.

-

The four of you sit in a loose circle on the carpet, surrounded by plush cushions and the lingering warmth of the fireplace. The drinks are flowing, laughter comes easily, and everyone is comfortably relaxed in the dim glow of the villa’s living room.

Sienna, always the life of the party, reaches into her bag and pulls out a small velvet pouch. The moment you see it, you already know what’s inside. She loosens the drawstring, tilting the pouch, and a handful of small, pastel-colored pills spill onto her palm.

Felix watches with interest. “And what do we have here?”

You lean back on your hands, tilting your head. “How do you always have these?”

Sienna grins, tossing a pill between her fingers before handing them out. “I have this friend—Jane. She works at a pharmaceutical company and hooks me up with these.” She winks. “Nothing crazy, just enough to keep the good vibes going.”

Next to you, Felix picks up his pill, turning it between his fingers as if he’s studying it. He gives you a questioning look, and you smirk. “It’s harmless,” you assure him.

Without another thought, Felix pops it into his mouth and washes it down with a sip of wine. Sienna follows suit, tipping her head back easily. You do the same, feeling the cool slide of the pill down your throat, the familiar anticipation settling in your stomach.

But when you glance at Hyunjin, he’s still holding his between his fingers, hesitating. His gaze flickers to yours for a brief second before he finally places it on his tongue and swallows. You don’t miss the way his throat bobs, or the way he exhales afterward, as if bracing himself.

Sienna pulls something out of her duffel bag this time and from the box, you can tell that it's Jenga blocks, she's putting it in the middle, the flickering light from the fireplace casting soft shadows over the game.

You glance at Sienna, raising a skeptical brow. “Jenga? This is your idea of fun?” you ask doubtfully.

Sienna waves you off with a smirk. “Just wait.” She reaches forward and carefully pulls out the first block. As she flips it over, she grins and reads out loud, “Do a love shot.”

Felix chuckles, already intrigued. Hyunjin, on the other hand, simply watches with mild curiosity.

Sienna grabs two shot glasses, fills them with liquor, and then turns to Hyunjin, who happens to be sitting on her right. “Guess it’s you and me,” she says teasingly, handing him one of the glasses.

Hyunjin raises a brow but doesn’t refuse. They link their arms together, bringing the glasses to their lips at the same time. Sienna takes her shot smoothly, but as soon as the alcohol burns down her throat, she gasps dramatically, shaking her head at the bitter aftertaste.

She turns to you with a playful smirk. “And that,” she says, setting her glass down with a clink, “is how you play.”

Sienna gently elbows Hyunjin’s side, signaling that it’s his turn next and Hyunjin hesitates for a second before carefully pulling a block from the stack. He flips it over and reads the instruction silently, his brows twitching slightly. Before he can say anything, Sienna leans over impatiently and snatches the block from his hand.

“Spank someone three times on the ass,” she reads out loud, chuckling in amusement before looking at Hyunjin expectantly. “Well? Who’s the lucky one?”

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. “I guess the birthday girl deserves it.”

Sienna rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. “Ugh, I should’ve known.” But then, without hesitation, she turns and offers her ass, wiggling her hips slightly as if to encourage him.

Hyunjin scoffs but goes along with it. He raises his hand and lands a gentle spank on her ass, barely making a sound.

Sienna immediately whirls her head around and rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, come on. Harder.”

Hyunjin blinks before raising his hand again, this time delivering a firmer smack.

Sienna only grins. “That was better, but you can do better than that. Come on! Harder!”

Hyunjin gives her a deadpan look but complies, swinging his hand back and landing a sharp spank on her ass. Sienna yelps at the impact, her body jerking slightly.

For a split second, Hyunjin looks alarmed. “Shit—sorry, did I go too hard?”

Sienna whirls back around with a smirk, completely unfazed. “Please. I’ve taken harder than that.”

Felix bursts out laughing, and you shake your head, chuckling at the ridiculousness of it all. Sienna, always the chaotic one, is enjoying every second of this.

Since you're sitting next to Hyunjin, it's time for you to take your turn. You reach for a block near the bottom of the stack, carefully wiggling it free, holding your breath as the tower wobbles slightly. Once it’s out, you flip it over and read the instruction printed on it. Kiss the person you think is the hottest.

Sienna immediately gasps before breaking into laughter. “Oh, this is a good one!” She turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But it’s not an easy decision, huh? You’ve got two sexy boys right here.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. This is easy.”

Both Felix and Hyunjin straighten slightly, waiting for your choice. You glance at them both, dragging out the moment, then shake your head with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, boys,” you say, shifting onto your hands and knees. “The hottest person here is Sienna.”

Sienna grins as you crawl over to her. She meets you in the middle, tilting her chin up expectantly. “You better give the boys a good show,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a smirk.

You slide your fingers under her jaw, tilting her head just right before pressing your lips to hers. She responds instantly, kissing you back with confidence, and as the teasing tension in the air thickens, you deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue past her lips.

The kiss turns messy, heat building between you as your mouths move together, the taste of alcohol and something undeniably Sienna filling your senses. Your fingers tighten on her jaw, and she lets out a soft hum of approval. By the time you finally pull away, you’re both slightly breathless, lips tingling, your gazes locked in amusement and heat.

“Holy shit.” Felix is the first to break the silence. His voice is awed, his eyes wide. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but when you glance at him, his fingers are wrapped tightly around his drink, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His gaze flickers between you and Sienna, something unreadable lingering in his expression.

It's Felix’s turn now and he leans forward, eyes scanning the tower carefully before pulling a block from the middle of the stack with ease. He flips it over, reads the instruction silently, then lets out a soft chuckle before reading it aloud. "Remove one article of clothing."

Sienna immediately lets out an excited squeal, clapping her hands together. “Oh, hell yes. I love this game.”

Felix smirks, clearly enjoying the attention, and takes a moment to consider which piece to remove. Then, he turns to you. “What do you think? What should I take off?”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

Felix holds your gaze, a teasing glint in his eyes, waiting for your answer. Heat rushes to your face as you quickly shake your head. “I’m not answering that.”

“Alright then,” Felix says with a grin, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. His fingers work through them one by one, taking his sweet time. As he parts the fabric and shrugs it off, revealing his toned torso, Sienna lets out a dramatic gasp before breaking into loud cheers.

“Felix, you absolute menace,” she laughs, fanning herself exaggeratedly.

Felix tosses his shirt aside, leaning back with an amused expression. “Hope that was worth it.”

Sienna, still grinning, suddenly pauses before snapping her fingers. “Oh! We finished the first round.”

She grabs the bottle of liquor and starts pouring shots for everyone. “House rule—one shot for every round we complete!”

She hands each of you a shot glass, lifting hers in the air. “Cheers!”

Everyone clinks their glasses together before downing the shots, the burn of alcohol warming your throat instantly. The game is only getting started.

-

The game has gone on for multiple rounds, the tower now hollow in places and dangerously close to toppling. The atmosphere is thick with warmth, alcohol, and something else Hyunjin can’t quite put into words.

Sienna is sprawled on her stomach, clad only in her matching underwear, lazily watching the game. Felix, shirtless, lounges beside you, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispers something that makes you giggle. Hyunjin, only in his boxers, feels the heat of the liquor swirling in his veins as he reaches for a block, his movements slow and precise.

The tower wobbles slightly, and he holds his breath. After a tense moment, he successfully pulls a piece free. A small, relieved laugh escapes him as he flips the block over and reads the instruction, his voice slightly slurred. "Make a hickey on someone's neck."

His mind blanks for a second. His hazy gaze flickers across the room. Sienna watches with mild curiosity, propping herself up on her elbows. Felix still lingers close to you, his breath brushing against your skin. A strange feeling twists in Hyunjin’s chest, and before he can second-guess himself, the words tumble out of his mouth.

“You.”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening slightly in surprise. But before you can react, Hyunjin is already moving, scooting closer until he’s right beside you. His fingers gently push your hair away, exposing the delicate slope of your neck. His hand hovers for a second as if giving you the chance to pull away. You don’t.

He leans in and his lips meet your skin first, warm and soft. Then, he sucks, slow and deliberate, letting his mouth linger, knowing the mark will bloom there in the morning. A quiet gasp escapes your lips, and the sound makes something coil tight in Hyunjin’s stomach. His teeth graze against your skin before he soothes the spot with a final kiss, his lips pressing over the fresh mark one last time before he pulls away.

The moment is brief, but it feels like an eternity, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. When Hyunjin finally leans back, his gaze flickers up to meet yours, his lips tingling, his heart pounding.

The game continues, but for a fleeting moment, you seem to be stuck in a daze until you realize that you have to take your turn. You lean in, concentrating on which block to pull that won't cause the tower crumbling down.

Hyunjin watches as you struggle for another minute, your fingers trembling slightly as you reach for a block. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if it’s because of him—because of the mark he just left on your skin, the lingering warmth of his lips still pressed against your flesh.

But you manage. Somehow, you pull a block from the tower, and to your luck, it’s blank.

Sienna groans. “Boring.”

You laugh softly, and then it’s Felix’s turn.

He eyes the tower carefully before reaching for a piece near the bottom. The entire structure wobbles dangerously as he slides it free, but miraculously, it doesn’t fall. He flips the block over and reads the instruction aloud, his voice dripping with amusement. "Remove someone’s article of clothing."

Hyunjin barely has time to process it before Felix’s gaze lands on you, sharp and certain. You nervously giggle, already knowing what’s coming.

Felix shifts closer, his palm gliding down the length of your dress, considering. But instead of going for the obvious choice, he hums in thought and slips his hand beneath the hem, his fingers ghosting against your bare thigh. The air thickens instantly.

“Oh, I know which clothing I’m taking off,” Felix announces, his tone playful but firm.

Sienna lets out an exaggerated coo, propping a hand under her chin, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before her.

Hyunjin, however, can only watch as Felix’s hands move with ease, sliding higher, disappearing under your dress. His fingers hook around the band of your underwear, and he tugs. Instinctively, you lift your hips, allowing him to pull the lacy fabric down. Slow. Deliberate.

Hyunjin’s throat goes dry as Felix drags the black lace down the curve of your thighs, past your knees, until he finally slides it off completely. The moment hangs heavy in the air, charged with something indescribable.

Felix grins triumphantly, twirling the underwear between his fingers before—without shame—bringing it up to his nose and sniffing.

Sienna groans. “God, you’re such a perv.” She tosses a piece of chip at him, which bounces off his bare shoulder.

But Felix doesn’t care. He holds your gaze, mischief dancing in his dark eyes. Then, with a smirk, he stuffs the delicate lace into his pocket. “I’m keeping this,” he murmurs.

Hyunjin swallows hard, gripping his drink a little too tightly as a strange, heated feeling coils in his gut so he shifts his focus on Sienna now as she takes her turn. She narrows her eyes at the tower, steadying herself as she reaches for a block. But in her drunken state, her fingers fumble, and with one wrong move, the entire stack comes crashing down.

A chorus of cheers erupts from you, Felix, and Hyunjin—except for Sienna, who groans dramatically, throwing her head back.

“Noooo!” she whines. “I was so close!”

“You really weren’t,” Felix chuckles, watching as the wooden pieces scatter across the floor.

Sienna huffs, but then she suddenly smirks. “Fine. I lost. But you all are drinking with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not how punishments work.”

“It is tonight,” she insists, grabbing the last bottle of liquor. “One last toast before I die.”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he grabs his glass anyway. Hyunjin does the same, though there’s a faint flush to his cheeks—probably from the alcohol, but maybe from something else.

Sienna raises the bottle. “To birthdays, bad decisions, and hot people.”

You and Felix clink your glasses with hers, and Hyunjin hesitates for half a second before following suit. Then, everyone downs their shots.

And as a punishment, Sienna doesn’t stop there, she tilts the bottle back and chugs. For a moment, it looks like she might actually finish the whole thing—until she suddenly coughs, breaking away with a gasp.

“Shit. Okay. I can’t.” She shoves the bottle at Hyunjin. “You finish it.”

Hyunjin blinks at her, startled. “What? Why me?”

“Because it's my birthday,” she says, as if that explains everything. “And because you’re the best.”

Hyunjin sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Fine.”

With that, he lifts the bottle and drains the rest in one go. The moment he lowers it, Sienna throws herself at him, knocking him back slightly as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, my gentleman,” she purrs, and them she kisses him.

It happens so fast that Hyunjin barely has time to react. Her lips press firmly against his, warm and liquor-sweet, and for a split second, everything else fades away. Little does he know—this is the start of it all.

-

You lose count of how many drinks you had but you can tell that if you have one more, you're done. You steer yourself away from it, propping a hand against the carpet to steady yourself as you begin to feel lightheaded.

Felix leans in, his arms braced on either side of you, caging you in. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek as he speaks, low and deliberate.

"Should we catch up to them?" he asks, voice laced with mischief.

You glance to the side, eyes landing on Sienna who’s now straddling Hyunjin, her hands tangled in his hair as their lips move in sync, lost in their own world. The sight stirs something in you—curiosity, heat, maybe both. But before you can properly register it, you turn your head back to Felix… and find him even closer. His hand rests your thigh, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, warm and steady. Then he leans in further, nose skimming along your neck, breathing you in like you're something rare.

"You smell so heavenly," he murmurs, lips grazing your skin.

A shiver runs down your spine just as he begins to trail kisses—up the curve of your throat, along your jaw—before his mouth finds yours.

The kiss is hard and deep and hungry. His hands, once tentative, now roam with growing confidence as he presses you back into the plush cushions. Your body yields beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he hovers above you, his weight settling just enough to pin you beneath him without crushing you.

And then he kisses you again—deeper this time, with more intent. You feel it in the way his fingers tighten on your thigh, in the way his chest pushes into yours, in the way he makes it known he wants to keep going. Your thoughts are scattered, drowned out by the warmth of his touch and the dizzying weight of everything happening around you.

The room is cast in the soft, flickering glow of the fireplace—shadows dancing along the walls, licking across skin, outlining bodies in warm amber.

You melt into the cushions beneath you, the velvet brushing your skin as Felix deepens the kiss, his hand skimming up the outside of your thigh, slow and reverent. The crackle of the fire fills the silence, punctuated by the soft hitch of your breath when his fingers graze under the hem of your dress.

Somewhere in the background, you hear it—Sienna’s breathless laugh, the muffled sounds of Hyunjin’s voice close against her skin. You don't have to look to know what they’re doing. You can feel it in the room, the heat and intimacy hanging heavy in the air like perfume.

Felix pulls back just slightly, his forehead pressed to yours as he catches his breath, his eyes searching yours. There's a flicker of something playful there, but beneath it—a quiet hunger.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are in my eyes,” he murmurs, brushing his nose against yours.

Your hand finds his chest, the steady beat of his heart pounding against your palm, grounding you even as everything feels like it's floating.

And then he’s kissing you again, softer this time. Slower. One of his hands cradles your jaw while the other stays on your thigh, his thumb brushing gentle circles into your skin. The room is warm, your body warmer, and Felix—he’s all over you now. Not rushing. Not forcing. Just… being there. Completely.

Behind you, Sienna’s breath hitches—Hyunjin’s quiet murmur follows. But you don't turn to look. You're far too gone in the way Felix is holding you and the way he deepens the kiss again, slow and sultry, the kind that leaves you dazed and wanting more.

His hand, still resting on your thigh, shifts with purpose—fingertips brushing up, exploring. The hem of your dress lifts ever so slightly, caught in the slide of his wrist as he glides it higher, baring more of you to the warm air and his touch. He doesn’t rush. His palm moves with confidence, with intention, as he maps the curve of your thigh and slips beneath the fabric like it’s second nature. Your breath catches—just a flutter in your chest—but Felix notices. His lips curve into a faint smirk against your mouth, as if he’s proud of the effect he has on you.

You gasp softly as his fingers find your heating core where you’re warm and aching for him, and your hips shift—subtle, instinctive. The cushions beneath you muffle the sound, but not the sensation. You feel the brush of his knuckles, the slow and deliberate pressure on your clit that has your mind going hazy. The fire crackles again, casting shadows across Felix’s bare chest as he leans over you, watching your reaction through hooded eyes.

He presses a kiss to your temple, whispering something you barely catch—but you don’t need words. You feel it in the way his fingers move, teasing and coaxing on your wet cunt, in the way he’s so attuned to your body like he’s studied it in secret.

The rest of the room falls away. Sienna’s soft moan, Hyunjin’s quiet groan, the faint rustle of skin on fabric—all of it blends into the background, a distant echo to the way Felix has you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your thighs part instinctively, and in that moment—with the firelight painting gold across your skin, and Felix moving like he already knows how to break you apart—you surrender to it all. To the heat. To the hands. To the night that’s only just beginning.

-

The room spins gently around them, firelight flickering behind his closed lids. He’s not sure when the last piece of clothing came off—maybe it was a moment ago, maybe longer—but he feels the sudden coolness against his skin, followed by the contrasting warmth of Sienna's mouth trailing lower.

Hyunjin's head leans back against the couch, eyes fluttering as Sienna’s lips press against his again—hungry, languid, tasting like wine and something darker. His hands find her waist, her skin warm beneath his palms, and every breath he takes feels heavier than the last.

She kisses his jaw, his throat, then lower still. Every place her lips touch feels like it’s burning, like she’s leaving marks only he can feel. His fingers twitch against the floor, trying to stay grounded, but she keeps dragging him under.

Then her hands are on his cock—firm, knowing, wrapping around his length that’s already aching from how long he’s been wound up. Hyunjin lets out a shaky breath, the kind that escapes when he stop trying to hold anything in.

Sienna doesn’t rush. She moves with the same confidence she always carries—deliberate, playful, in control. Her hand strokes his cock slow at first, then a little tighter, a little faster, just enough to make his hips shift, chasing friction.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter open just enough to catch a glimpse of her looking up at him from beneath her lashes, her lips curved into a grin that promises she’s not even close to done. His pulse thunders in his ears, mixing with the crackle of the fireplace and the soft sounds of movement from across the room. He knows he should feel self-conscious, but in this haze—with Sienna between his legs and nothing left to hide—he only feels raw and alive.

But then—he turns his head.

Just across the room, his gaze lands on you. You're half-reclined on the cushions, dress hiked up around your hips, your head thrown back. Felix is between your legs, his shoulders moving with purpose, and your fingers are tangled in his hair. The sight freezes something in Hyunjin’s chest.

He can’t hear you, not over the crackling fireplace and the pulse pounding in his ears—but he can see the way your mouth parts in a silent gasp, the subtle arch of your back, the way your body responds to Felix’s every move. Sienna's hand trails along his thigh, grounding him for a moment, but his eyes don’t leave you.

Hyunjin’s fingers curl against the cushion behind him, his knuckles pale as Sienna’s mouth works him over—slow, practiced, indulgent. Her tongue traces the length of his cock with purpose, her rhythm coaxing low, shaky breaths from his chest. The room is warm from the fireplace, but the heat pooling low in his stomach burns hotter. He lets his head fall back, eyelids heavy—but he can’t stop himself from glancing sideways again.

You’re still there. Still spread out like a dream, like a scene from something he shouldn’t be watching. Felix is hidden between your thighs, his dark hair tousled from your grip. The soft sounds you make—breathless gasps, stifled moans—cut through the haze like a spark to dry leaves.

The world narrows.

Hyunjin’s lips part. He shouldn’t be watching, but he does.

You move—your hips lifting gently to meet Felix’s mouth, your hand fisting into the cushion beneath you. And then your eyes flicker open, landing right on him.

There's a burn rising in him now—not from the alcohol, not from Sienna—but from the sight of you, unraveling in someone else’s hands. He clenches his jaw, swallowing thickly as a mixture of heat and something else—something sharper—twists inside him.

Your gaze holds his. Just for a second, maybe two. But it’s enough to make Hyunjin’s breath catch, his muscles tense. It’s enough to make him feel everything—Sienna’s mouth on him, your eyes on him, the sound of your pleasure threading through the air like a song written just for him. He moans, low and quiet, his body tightening under the weight of it all. Sienna doesn’t notice. But you do.

And when you finally close your eyes again, falling deeper into Felix’s touch, Hyunjin’s head tips back once more—lost between the girl kneeling before him and the girl who haunts his every thought.

-

Your breath catches as the climax finally hit, warmth unraveling deep in your core. Felix doesn't stop—his mouth still working over your drenching cunt through the high, steady and precise, until you're trembling beneath him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there just a moment longer, before you finally go slack against the cushions.

He rises slowly, his lips tracing a path up your body, soft and coaxing. By the time his mouth finds yours again, you’re still reeling from your high. He kisses you hard, hungry, his tongue tasting the aftermath of your pleasure, and you hum into it—weak, breathless, but sated.

“You were so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “So damn sweet, coming just like that.”

Your laugh is slow and sultry as it slips past your lips, brushing against his. “You make it sound like I had a choice.”

Felix chuckles, the sound deep and satisfied, and kisses you again, slower this time. One of his hands slides up your side, dragging the hem of your dress along with it. The fabric slips away, inch by inch, and you lift your hips, helping him pull it off completely. And just like that, you’re bare beneath him.

Felix sits back on his heels, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. There’s a silence in the room—except for the fire crackling low in the background and the soft sounds of Sienna and Hyunjin nearby—but his gaze is loud. Full of heat. Full of reverence.

“You’re…” he starts, then stops, biting his lip. His hands rest on your knees, thumbs stroking gently. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You tilt your head, a little smirk curling on your lips. “I know.”

That makes him laugh, but he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t touch you further just yet. He just watches, like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. And for a moment, you let him until you sit up slowly.

Your hands find his hips in an instant and you make an eye contact with him as your fingers find the button of his jeans. You undo it with ease, your touch deliberate, slow—teasing while maintaining eye contact with him. Felix watches you, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open as if waiting to feel your touch again. And when the zipper drags down, he lets out a quiet breath, deep and expectant. He takes over then, pushing his jeans down and off with practiced ease, until he’s kneeling there in front of you—undressed, warm, and waiting. He reaches for your hands, guiding them to him, placing them on his skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Touch me,” he murmurs, voice deep and rough at the edges.

You do. Your hands move over him slowly, feeling the way his muscles shift under your touch, how his breath stutters with every glide of your fingers. He makes quiet, breathless sounds in response, like each one is pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands are still on yours, not controlling—just grounding, as though needing the contact as much as the pleasure.

And then, with ease, he pulls you toward him, closing the space between you. You end up straddling his lap, your bare skin pressed to his, heat meeting heat. He groans softly, resting his forehead against yours as his hands run along your waist, your back, up your sides—like he needs to touch everywhere all at once. His lips find yours again, slower this time, deep and searching. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers, that says everything without words. And all the while, his hands continue moving—greedy and reverent, coaxing and praising, mapping out every inch of you as if he can’t get enough. There’s nothing hurried about it. Just heat. Want. And the quiet, undeniable ache building between your bodies.

Felix's lips trail down your jaw, then to your neck, where he nuzzles into the curve just beneath your ear. His breath is hot, his kisses deeper now. His hands explore you in tandem, firm and familiar, sliding up your back, down your waist, grounding you in the moment even as everything around you blurs at the edges.

You tilt your head to give him more space, and just beyond him—across the firelit room—you catch a glimpse of Sienna. She's straddling Hyunjin now, her body flushed and lit by the golden flicker of the flames. Your gaze shifts to him, and you see the way his head tilts back against the sofa, lips parted, eyes heavy with heat as Sienna slowly sinks down onto his cock. He shudders visibly, and you feel your breath hitch at the raw intimacy of it.

With your half-lidded eyes, dazed and dizzy from Felix's touches, you can’t look away. The way Sienna starts to move—bouncing on Hyunjin’s cock with a rhythm that speaks of knowing, of teasing, of claiming—does something to you. It arouses you, undeniably. The sight is like something out of a fever dream, surreal in its beauty, in its brazenness. But it also stirs something else inside you. Something deeper. Something you can't quite name.

You inhale slowly, lips parted as Felix continues kissing you, whispering something against your skin that you barely register. Because all you can see is the way Hyunjin reaches up to hold Sienna’s waist, how his fingers tighten as she moves, how his mouth falls open in silent pleasure.

And though Felix’s hands are on your body, though his kisses still send heat curling low in your belly, your eyes stay on Hyunjin—and that unfamiliar, aching twist inside you refuses to fade.

-

Sienna moves above him like she’s dancing to music only she can hear—fluid, purposeful, and utterly intoxicating. Her hands rest on his chest, her nails digging lightly into his skin as she rocks her hips with practiced ease. Hyunjin’s hands find her waist, guiding her rhythm, grounding himself in the way her body fits against his.

“You feel so good,” he mutters, voice thick and hoarse, the words falling from his lips like a secret.

Sienna only smirks at him in return, her breath catching in laughter as she leans down to kiss him, her pace quickening. The heat between them builds, every movement syncing like waves crashing on a shore—messy, relentless, beautiful.

Hyunjin closes his eyes for a beat, lost in the sensation. But then he opens them again—and that’s when he sees you. You’re across the room, bathed in the warm flicker of the firelight, your body tucked against Felix, your back resting on his chest. His arm is draped around you, and though you look soft and pliant in his hold, Hyunjin doesn’t miss the way your fingers grip Felix’s wrist where his hand disappears between your thighs. But what captures him, what makes his breath stutter and his hands slow against Sienna’s waist… is the way you’re looking at him. Your eyes are on him. Not the room. Not Felix. Him.

Time hangs thick and suspended in the space between blinks. Sienna keeps bouncing on his cock, drawing pleasure in each movement, chasing something deeper, sharper, but his mind lingers on the intensity of your gaze—heavy, unreadable, like it’s saying something you won’t speak out loud. Hyunjin’s throat goes dry. The haze doesn’t lift, but something inside him stirs. Tightens. Shifts. And when Sienna leans in to kiss him again, he closes his eyes… but all he sees is you.

A moment later, Sienna collapses against him, her breath warm and ragged as she rides out the final waves of her high. Hyunjin keeps his arms around her, holding her close as her body trembles gently in his lap. His fingers trail slowly up her spine, grounding her while she murmurs something he doesn’t quite catch, giggling softly into his neck. But even in the haze of it all, his eyes drift across the room—drawn to you.

You’re on your stomach now, your cheek pressed to the cushions, lips parted in a blissed-out smile. Felix is behind you, hands and mouth worshiping every inch your skin. Hyunjin watches the way you lift your hips in response, a soft sound escaping you as Felix leans over, whispering something into your ear before kissing you.

Then—Hyunjin sees the way your body arches, the subtle shift of Felix’s position as he aligns his swollen member to your entrance and slowly pushes it in. Your eyes flutter shut, your brows pulling together for a moment as a quiet moan slips past your lips, barely audible over the soft crackle of the fire. And then your eyes open. You eyes immediately look at him. Right at him.

The heat in his body no longer just a result of the liquor, the pill or the girl in his lap—it’s you. It’s the way you’re falling apart for someone else… but still looking at him.

Sienna shifts against him and presses her lips to his jaw, her hand slipping up into his hair, but Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t leave you. Not yet. Not when you look that beautiful. Not when he wishes—just for a second—that he was the one making you feel that way.

-

Felix moves behind you in a rhythm that makes your breath hitch, each steady thrust sending little tremors through your body. His cock is hot and throbbing inside you, his chest is warm against your back, his hand splayed across your stomach to hold you close, and his lips brush over your shoulder, up your neck, murmuring how good you feel—how perfectly you fit around him.

You're lost in the haze of his touch until your eyes drift across the room. Hyunjin is laying Sienna down gently on the plush carpet, her hair spread like a halo as he lowers himself between her legs. You watch as he lines his cock to her entrance, the slow glide of his hips, the way Sienna gasps and arches beneath him as he finally sinks into her. Her head tilts back, lips parted with a moan, fingers curling into the cushions as she whispers something you can't hear—but it's clear she’s unraveling under him.

Your body clenches in response, and Felix growls low into your ear, noticing the change from the way you clench around him. But it’s Hyunjin who catches your eye. Even as he begins to move, his pace steady and deep, it’s you he’s looking at. Something inside you twists—hot and restless and wanting.

Felix’s hands slide under your stomach, his touch steady and sure as he slowly lifts you, guiding your back to arch against him. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you firmly in place, and his breath is warm against your ear as he murmurs something low—words lost in the haze of it all.

The rhythm between your bodies falls into something deeper, slower, more consuming. Every movement draws a quiet gasp from your lips, and when his mouth finds yours, it’s hungry—desperate, like he needs the taste of you to anchor himself.

His hand slips lower to where heat pooling between your legs, fingers brushing against your sensitive clit that already pulses with need, and he applies gentle pressures as he rubs on the bundle of nerves. The next thing you know, your knees begin to give way. Felix catches you before you can falter, slowly guiding you down, your palms pressed to the soft carpet beneath as he settles behind you again.

Around you, the room blurs—the warmth of the fireplace, the muffled moans, the soft rustle of movement. But all you feel is Felix, the steady press of his body, the drag of his cock against your walls, the way he moves like he knows you inside out. And still, in the back of your mind, you’re aware of Hyunjin’s gaze. That quiet, burning presence you can’t seem to ignore.

-

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of bodies and breath and pleasure winding through the air like smoke. Hyunjin’s breath comes out ragged as Sienna moves against him, her warmth surrounding him in waves that make his thoughts blur. But then, just as he’s finding a rhythm, she suddenly presses a hand to his chest and breathlessly tells him to stop.

His body stills, heart pounding in his ears. “Was I—too much?”

But Sienna only gives him a teasing smirk. “You know I like it rough.”

And before he can reply, she shifts beneath him, turning onto her hands and knees, casting a glance over her shoulder that makes something coil tightly in his gut. She takes what she wants, wrapping her hand around his cock and slides it back into her slowly, his hands immediately gripping her hips, and resumes his pace, now deeper, more deliberate.

Just then, Sienna’s eyes flick forward—and Hyunjin follows her gaze. You’re there, just inches away, your mouth already parting as Sienna reaches for you. The kiss that follows between you two is slow at first, all lips and teasing tongues, before deepening into something raw and greedy. It’s impossible not to watch. Felix lets out a low curse behind you, clearly just as affected. His pace shifts slightly, more intent, more desperate.

Hyunjin can feel everything building again—the tension, the pleasure, the strange heat curling in his chest as his eyes lock with yours across Sienna’s shoulder. For a moment, it feels like the four of you are caught in something heavier than desire, something that blurs all the lines and makes everything taste a little too sweet.

The moment stretches, blurs.

Hyunjin can barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, over the rhythm of Sienna’s breath mixing with his, over the soft moans curling into the air from where Felix moves behind you. But all he can focus on—all he can feel—is you.

You’re looking at him. Your gaze, half-lidded and hazy, finds his through the haze of movement and heat. And for some reason, the world shrinks down to just that connection. The way your lips part with every breath. The way your eyes cling to his. The way it suddenly feels like you’re the only one in the room with him. His hips keep moving on instinct, but his mind is locked on you, watching as your body tenses, your expression shifting—pleasure building just beneath the surface of your skin. And he knows. He knows you’re close.

It hits you first—Hyunjin sees it all happen in your eyes. The way they flutter. The way your mouth falls open. The way your back arches in that beautiful, vulnerable way. And something about it unravels him completely.

He groans low, the sound rough and desperate, as the rush overtakes him—intense and fast and consuming. It’s like falling, like burning, like touching something just out of reach and finally catching it. He holds onto Sienna’s hips tight, riding the wave out, but his eyes never leave yours.

It feels like a different kind of high. Raw. Unfiltered. Intimate in a way he doesn’t fully understand. And somehow, in the quiet aftermath that follows, the only thing he can think about is you.

-

Felix’s breath grows heavier, his thrusts turning more desperate—each movement more intense, more hungry. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he twitches inside you, the way his grip on your hips tightens as he edges closer to release. His forehead drops to your shoulder, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he pulls out just in time.

A hot rush spills across your back, warm and slick, painting your skin in the pearly white of his seed as he shudders behind you. For a moment, the world slows—just the sound of his breath against your ear and the thundering of both your heartbeats. Then he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, murmuring something low and breathless. You turn your head, catching the dazed, satisfied look in his eyes, and a small smile pulls at your lips in return.

You stay on your stomach, body sinking deeper into the softness beneath you as the warmth of the room settles over your skin. Felix’s touch is gentle now, careful, as he wipes you clean with a wet cloth and you're too spent to notice. His lips find your shoulder, pressing light, lingering kisses along the curve of it, as if he's savoring you even in the quiet aftermath.

He doesn’t say much at first—just the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours—but then he shifts, nestling beside you and pulling you into the cradle of his arms. His body is warm against yours, chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. He kisses you again—lazy and unhurried—and between each kiss, he whispers praises that make your lips curl into a dazed smile.

“So good,” he breathes against your mouth. “You feel like heaven.”

You hum in response, your hand finding his as the two of you settle into the hush of the moment, wrapped in each other and the afterglow.

Felix’s arms are warm around you as you lie nestled against him, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into calm. He brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, planting a soft kiss on your temple. "You’re kind of adorable like this," he whispers with a teasing smile, and you chuckle under your breath, nudging his chest.

"Kind of?" you ask, raising a brow.

He grins. "Okay, very adorable."

You roll your eyes and pretend to groan, but the comfort of his touch, the way his fingers gently trace patterns on your skin, makes you feel light. Safe. The two of you fall into an easy conversation, filled with quiet laughs and soft murmurs, like the world has momentarily narrowed down to this moment — just the two of you under a soft blanket of warmth and afterglow.

Then, from the corner of your eye, something shifts. You glance across the room and see Hyunjin lying on his back with Sienna curled on top of him, her cheek resting against his chest. He’s brushing her hair back with slow, affectionate strokes, his gaze soft, unreadable. You don’t know why, but something stirs inside you. A tug — not painful, just... confusing. Like watching something you weren’t meant to see but can’t look away from.

Felix doesn’t notice. He’s still talking, still playing with your fingers. You force yourself to focus on his voice, but your thoughts linger elsewhere — not fully formed, not heavy, just floating in the back of your mind.

Eventually, exhaustion wins. Your body sinks deeper into the cushions, your breathing evens out, and you let your eyes slip closed — the weight of the night finally pulling you under.

-

Hyunjin doesn’t know how long he’s been staring. You’re lying there, curled up against Felix, his arm draped protectively over your waist. Your face is turned slightly toward Hyunjin’s direction, but your eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly, soft and serene in sleep. Felix shifts beside you, murmurs something incoherent, but doesn’t wake. He just tightens his hold on you.

Hyunjin’s chest feels tight. He doesn't know why — or maybe he does, but he doesn't want to admit it. As if sensing his thoughts are too loud, Sienna stirs against him. She makes a soft sound, a content little hum, and he thinks maybe she’s still dreaming. But then her head lifts from his chest, and she blinks slowly up at him. Her eyes meet his, and she tilts her head slightly.

“It’s just sex,” she says, as if she’s answering a question he never asked out loud.

Hyunjin blinks. “What?”

Sienna smirks, sleepy and sly. “What you and I did.” She stretches her limbs a little, then settles again. “Just sex. That’s what it was.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet.

She doesn’t seem to mind. “Same with them,” she adds, nodding subtly toward you and Felix. “It’s all physical. Fun. Nothing serious.”

Hyunjin knows what she’s doing — offering him an out, an explanation, maybe even a defense he didn’t ask for. He understands what she means. He understands it a little too well. Still, he plays dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sienna chuckles, low and amused, brushing her fingers lazily across his chest. “You’re cute when you lie.”

His heart stutters. She lays her head back down, getting comfortable again, but just before closing her eyes, she murmurs, “You should tell her how you feel you know.”

Hyunjin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move. And luckily, Sienna doesn’t press. She only leans up slightly to place a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she says softly, already drifting back into sleep.

However, Hyunjin stays awake. His eyes drift once again to where you sleep, unaware of everything swirling in his head. And for the first time all night, it feels like he’s completely alone with his thoughts.

-

A soft movement against his chest pulls him from sleep.

Hyunjin blinks, disoriented, the remnants of a hazy dream slipping from his mind as Sienna shifts beside him. She lets out a small sigh, snuggling closer, her bare skin warm against his. For a second, he lets himself sink back into the comfort of it, eyes heavy, body sluggish from exhaustion.

Then Sienna’s lips brush against his ear, and in a sleepy murmur, she whispers, “You’re losing brownie points.”

Hyunjin furrows his brows. “What?” His voice is hoarse from sleep.

Sienna only hums, her fingers lazily tracing circles against his chest. “You’re still here, meanwhile they’re already up and cooking breakfast together.”

That wakes him up completely. He fumbles as he sits up, his body aching from spending the night on the carpeted floor. The space around him is a mess—scattered cushions, crumpled blankets, empty glasses from last night’s drinking game. The fireplace has dimmed to glowing embers, casting the room in a warm, lazy light. But none of that matters once he turns his head toward the kitchen.

There you are, standing beside Felix at the stove, a bright smile on your face as you cook breakfast together. You’re dressed casually now—your hair a little messy, your face still fresh from sleep—but you look… normal. As if nothing happened last night. Or maybe as if something did happen, but it doesn’t mean anything. Hyunjin’s stomach twists at the thought.

Felix says something, and you laugh—soft and easy. Hyunjin watches the way Felix leans in slightly, how comfortable you look standing next to him. He can’t tell if there’s a shift between you two, if the night before changed something, or if you’ve already moved past it like it was just a fleeting moment of pleasure.

Sienna chuckles beside him, watching the way his expression subtly changes. “Told you,” she murmurs.

Hyunjin doesn’t respond because for the first time in a long time, he isn’t sure how he feels.

The scent of toast and fresh fruit fills the villa's open kitchen, warm light pouring in through the tall windows. Hyunjin sits across from you at the long wooden table, watching as you reach for your cup of tea with a soft, sleepy smile. Felix is beside you, animated as always, while Sienna stirs her yogurt, her leg tucked under her.

It feels almost normal. Too normal.

Until Felix leans closer and grins at Sienna, mischief in his voice. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, “how was your sleep, Sienna?”

Sienna barely glances up, her tone casual but sharp. “Not as good as yours, apparently.”

Felix chuckles. “Yeah, probably the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

You snort at the exchange, and Hyunjin catches it—that faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips, that glint in your eyes. It’s so small. So quick. But it splits something open in him.

His fork clinks against the plate as he sets it down. “I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he mutters.

No one stops him. No one even looks twice. Maybe it’s better that way.

He locks the door behind him, pressing his back against the wood for a second. The silence is too loud in here. Too heavy. He pulls out his phone, fingers already moving toward the Lustre app. Maybe he shouldn’t. But he does.

Your page loads, soft colors and curated thumbnails filling the screen. He scrolls. Scrolls. Nothing new. Not the one you filmed together. Not the one where you smiled into the lens for him, touched him like you meant it. It shouldn’t matter. You didn’t promise him anything. But it does.

The cold knot in his chest coils tighter, confusion and disappointment swirling until it turns into something unnameable. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. Just something to prove that it wasn’t just for show. That it mattered. Even a little.

His phone screen dims, and he doesn’t bother turning it back on. He just slips it into his pocket, leans over the sink, and stares at his own reflection. Why does it hurt so much? Hyunjin doesn’t have the answer. He just knows it does.

-

The road stretches out ahead, quiet and empty in the soft afternoon light. The low hum of the engine fills the silence in the car, but Hyunjin barely hears it. His hands grip the steering wheel loosely, eyes on the road, but his mind is miles away.

Flashes of last night blur in and out of focus—soft moans, heated kisses, tangled limbs, the fire casting shadows over skin. The way your body arched into Felix’s. The way you looked at Hyunjin.

He doesn’t notice you talking until your voice comes through again, gentle but amused. “Hyunjin.”

He blinks, startled. “Yeah?”

You chuckle. “I asked if I could borrow your jacket.”

“Oh—yeah. Yeah, of course.” He simply takes the jacket he hung on the headrest of the seat and hands it to you.

You pull it on, nestling into the soft fabric. “Is it okay if I nap?”

He nods again. “Go ahead.”

You shift in your seat, curling up slightly as you lean against the door. Within minutes, your breathing evens out.

Hyunjin glances at you at the next red light. You’re already asleep. There’s something painfully tender about the way you look right now—hair falling into your face, lips slightly parted. His gaze trails to your neck and that’s when he sees it. A hickey. The one he left.

His fingers twitch against the steering wheel as the memory hits him—his mouth on your skin, your soft gasp, the way your hands had pulled at his hair, grounding yourself. He remembers the heat of your skin under his touch, the way your eyes fluttered shut, the sound of his name from your lips. And then—Felix. And now—this.

You, asleep beside him, wearing his jacket, peaceful and unaware that Hyunjin’s thoughts are anything but calm. He swallows hard, eyes flicking back to the road.

God, what the hell is happening to him?

-

The stairs feel endless after the long drive, and you're already regretting not taking the elevator—but Hyunjin didn’t complain, so you didn’t either. The two of you climb in silence, steps echoing faintly off the stairwell walls. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He hasn’t said much since you woke up in the car, and something about the quiet feels… different.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow as you reach the final flight. “Everything okay?”

“Just tired,” he simply answers without looking at you, voice low and distant.

You nod, accepting it for now, though it doesn’t quite sit right with you.

When you reach your shared floor, he doesn’t hesitate to take your bags from you, his hands brushing yours for the briefest second. The touch makes your stomach twist—not in a bad way. Just… twist.

“Thanks,” you say as he carries them inside your apartment for you. You close the door behind him and watch as he sets the bags down by your couch, then stands there awkwardly like he’s not sure if he should stay or go.

You smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, wanna grab lunch before you head back to your place?” You pause. “My treat.”

Hyunjin lifts his head slowly. His eyes meet yours. There’s something unreadable in them, something that steals the humor from your voice and leaves a strange weight in the air.

He doesn’t answer right away and your smile falters.

“Hyunjin?”You take a step closer. “Are you okay?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His brow furrows. And for the first time in hours, you feel genuinely uneasy. Like you’re standing on the edge of something, and all it would take is one step—forward or back—for everything to shift.

You wait for him to say something. Anything. But when he finally speaks, the words hit harder than you ever could’ve braced for.

“I want to quit.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I want to quit,” he says again, clearer this time, and his voice is steady—too steady for someone who’s about to blow your world sideways.

It takes you a second. Maybe longer. “You want to quit… working with me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Yeah.”

“Why?” You blink, stunned, trying to search his face for an answer that makes sense. “Hyunjin—what happened?”

“I just…” He exhales sharply, jaw tight. “I just want to quit.”

There’s something final in the way he says it. Like the decision’s already been sitting heavy on his shoulders, and now that he’s let it out, he’s not going to take it back.

You reach for him instinctively, maybe to stop him, maybe to understand—but he’s already moving toward the door. “Hyunjin, wait—”

But he doesn’t. He opens the door without looking back and walks out, leaving you alone in your apartment, the silence crashing down so suddenly it echoes and just like that, he’s gone.

You stand frozen by the door long after it’s closed, still half-expecting him to come back. Maybe tell you he was joking, or that he didn’t mean it, that it just slipped out because he was tired or overwhelmed. But he doesn’t come back.

The silence rings louder than the sound of the door shutting. It rings in your ears, sits in your chest, and settles like a weight that only seems to grow heavier by the second. You slowly move back, the steps feel like you’re walking through water—thick, heavy, wrong. Your apartment looks the same, but something about it feels different now. Like he took something with him when he left.

You drop your bag by the kitchen counter and just stand there, staring at it like it might hold the answer to why this is happening. Why he said what he said. Why he looked so serious. Why he wouldn’t explain.

A part of you wants to be angry. But the stronger part—the one winning right now—is just confused. And sad. An unbearable kind of sad.

You press your hand against your chest, like maybe you can soothe the ache building there. You don’t even realize your eyes are watering until you feel the first tear slide down your cheek. You wipe it away quickly, like maybe that’ll make the sadness go with it. It doesn’t.

You sink down onto the couch, arms wrapping around yourself as you try to piece together where it all went wrong. Was it last night? Did something change for him? Did you do something? Or was it always leading to this? You don’t know and not knowing is the worst part.

-

✨ The final chapter of Cam is available on my Patreon ✨

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[hyvneluv]

CAM.

CHAPTER II

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (23,4k words)

Author's note: Forgot to mention this was a late bday fic for Hyunjin. Hope you enjoy it and pls leave a feedback ♡

The past week has been a blur of paint-stained hands and sleepless nights. Hyunjin barely has time to think about anything else, buried in preparations for his school's upcoming exhibition. His apartment is a mess—canvases stacked against the walls, discarded sketches littering the floor, and his camera resting untouched on his desk. For once, his world isn’t revolving around late-night shoots and Lustre content. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

His brush glides across the canvas, layering deep strokes of blue over the rough outline of a figure. He’s been obsessed with movement lately, trying to capture fleeting emotions in abstract shapes and colors. His professors say his work has soul—that it feels raw, intimate. But he wonders if they’d still say the same if they knew where his inspiration truly came from.

Hyunjin sighs and sets his brush down, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His eyes wander around his cluttered space, landing on an unfinished canvas propped up against the wall.

Your painting.

It’s a portrait, though he never intended it to be one. It started as a simple study—your figure bathed in warm light, the way your eyes softened when you were deep in thought. But then he kept coming back to it, adding layer after layer, unable to stop himself from trying to capture the quiet allure that had him tangled in knots.

Now, it’s only half-done. The outline of your face remains, delicate but unrefined. Your lips are sketched in, parted just slightly, as if caught mid-breath. Hyunjin swallows, gripping the brush tighter. He should be working on his exhibition piece, but his fingers itch to reach for this one instead.

It’s been days since he last saw you, yet here you are, lingering in the space between his thoughts.

-

The next day bleeds into the afternoon before Hyunjin even stirs awake. The weight of exhaustion still lingers in his limbs, his body aching from hours spent hunched over canvases and standing in front of easels. He barely remembers crashing onto his bed sometime in the early morning, the remnants of dried paint still on his fingers.

A sharp knock at the door pulls him from the haze of sleep. Hyunjin groans, pushing himself up with effort. The room is dim, sunlight seeping through the closed blinds, casting soft shadows over his cluttered space. Another knock follows, more insistent this time.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffles to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before swinging it open. You're standing there, a warm smile curving your lips. The sight of you in the soft glow of the afternoon sun makes him blink twice, as if he isn’t sure whether he’s still dreaming.

“Wow, you look awful,” you tease, eyes flicking over his disheveled hair and the oversized shirt hanging off his frame. Before he can respond, you lift the paper bag in your hand. “Brought food. And coffee. Thought you might need it.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, words catching in his throat. He wasn't expecting you—not today, not like this. But the scent of coffee and something delicious wafts toward him, grounding him in the moment. “…You didn’t have to,” he mumbles, voice still rough with sleep.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Are you gonna let me in, or should I just eat this myself?”

The two of you sitting cross legged on his worn-out couch with take-out containers in hands. Hyunjin eats in slow bites, his body still shaking off the remnants of sleep. Next to him, you sit with your coffee in hand, fingers curled around the cup as you sip at it leisurely. He doesn’t think much of it at first—just you, keeping him company like you have before. But after a while, he notices it. The way your gaze lingers on him, thoughtful, as if you’re weighing something in your mind. You barely touch your food, just sipping at your coffee, lost in thought.

Hyunjin stops chewing, setting his chopsticks down. His brows furrow slightly as he studies you. “Do you have something to say to me?” he asks, tilting his head.

You blink, as if caught off guard, and glance down at your coffee. “No, not really,” you answer quickly, but there’s something in your tone—hesitation, uncertainty.

He doesn’t buy it. He puts down his chopsticks and looks at you. “Come on,” he presses gently. “You obviously have something to say. Just say it.”

You hesitate again, biting your lip as you lower your cup. For a moment, you seem to debate whether to speak at all. He watches you closely, his heart picking up its pace as you finally part your lips to speak.

“I was going to wait until after the exhibition to ask you this,” you begin, your fingers nervously tracing the rim of your coffee cup. “But… the thought of waiting has been making me uneasy.”

He stays quiet, letting you gather your words, his anticipation growing.

You take a deep breath and meet his gaze. “Now that you’ve paid off your debt… I was wondering if you still want to work with me. You know, help me with my content.”

Hyunjin gets a little taken aback. He expected something different, something more final—but this? He studies your face, the way your expression tightens with genuine worry, as if you’re afraid of what he might say. Instead of answering right away, he asks, “Why are you so worried that I’d stop?”

Your lips press together before you sigh. “Because it’s hard to find someone I can trust to do this with.” Your voice is softer now, more vulnerable. “And I trust you, Hyunjin.”

A strange fluttering feeling stirs in his chest at those words. Trust. You trust him.

You continue before he can respond, your words spilling faster as if you’re scared of what his answer might be. “I mean, obviously, you don’t have to say yes just because I asked, and if you want, we can negotiate the numbers—”

Hyunjin chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against his chair. “Hey, slow down,” he says, amusement laced in his tone.

You shut your mouth quickly, looking embarrassed, aware that you were a second away from rambling on and on. Then, without hesitation, he gives you his answer. “Yes. I’ll continue working with you.”

The tension in your shoulders melts instantly. A smile blooms across your face, bright and relieved, and Hyunjin can’t help but stare for a moment, thinking to himself how effortlessly you light up a room.

The mood in the room shifts into something lighter, something comfortable after that talk. He sees that you can finally pick up your chopsticks and start eating, the sound of utensils clinking against the takeout containers filling the space between easy conversation.

“You really need to eat more proper meals,” you chide playfully as you watch him practically inhale the food.

He chuckles between bites. “I do eat properly,” he argues, though the evidence says otherwise.

Once the food is finished, Hyunjin gathers the trash and tosses it away, wiping his hands on a napkin. Meanwhile, you stand and wander around the room, eyes roaming over the canvases scattered throughout his workspace. Some lean against the walls, others rest on the floor, each one carrying a story in its strokes.

“These are for the exhibition?” you ask, tilting your head at one particular piece.

He nods, stepping beside you. “Yeah, I’m almost done with them. Just a few more details here and there.”

You take your time admiring each one, letting your fingers hover just above the dried paint as if you could feel the emotion embedded in them. Then, your gaze lands on a canvas tucked away in the corner, covered by a white cloth. Your curiosity sparks instantly. “What about that one?”

Hyunjin stiffens. His reaction is subtle, but you catch it.

“It’s nothing,” he says too quickly, stepping forward as if to block your view. “Just a failed one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A failed one?”

“Yeah,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is just a little too even. “Didn’t turn out the way I wanted, so I scrapped it.”

You don’t push, but you do glance at the covered painting again, wondering what could possibly be underneath. Unbeknownst to you, Hyunjin swallows hard, keeping his expression neutral as he prays you don’t try to unveil it. Because hidden beneath that cloth is something he isn’t ready for you to see.

He shifts his focus back to you, watching your gaze lingers on the paintings, your fingers tracing the air just above the dried brushstrokes. The way you look at them—at his work—makes something warm settle in his chest.

“So,” he starts, hands tucking into the pockets of his sweatpants, “are you going to come to the exhibition?”

You turn to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod and with a soft smile, you say, “I’d be more than happy to come.”

Somehow, in the pause that follows, your eyes find his, and for a moment, neither of you look away. There’s something lingering in the air between you, something unspoken. Hyunjin wonders if you feel it too.

Then, after what feels like a beat too long, you break into a smile and glance toward the door. “I should probably go so you can work on your paintings.”

He barely manages to hide his disappointment. He wants you to stay. He likes having you here, in his space, talking to him like this. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he nods, forcing himself to play it cool. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

You give him one last smile before heading for the door, and when it finally clicks shut behind you, Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair. The room feels quieter now, a little emptier and he hates how much he wishes you had stayed.

-

As you step into your apartment, the air-conditioning greets your skin, a cool relief after your morning run. You set your phone down on the counter, make yourself a smoothie, and settle into your usual spot by the window. The city hums faintly outside, but inside, it’s quiet—just the way you like it in the mornings.

You take a sip of your smoothie and open Lustre, scrolling through notifications. A few messages from subscribers—some predictable, explicit ones—but one stands out.

mag.shawn

The profile picture is simple: a bunch of purple tulips. No face, no suggestive username. Curiosity piqued, you tap on the message.

"The more I see your pictures, the more convinced I am that you're not just beautiful from the outside, but on the inside too. I hope you have a lovely day, beautiful."

You take another second to reread the words. You’re used to messages from men, but they usually come with crude compliments, detailed fantasies, or straight-up requests. This, however, is just… sweet. A small smile tugs at your lips. You type a reply.

"Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I hope you have a lovely day too."

After sending it, you lean back, taking another sip of your smoothie. It’s such a small thing—a simple message—but somehow, it lifts your mood. As you're about to have a sip of your smoothie, another notification comes and catches your eye.

Felix [Lustre]: Hey, do you want to meet up today?

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You knew this was coming—he had already reached out about a collaboration and texted you a few times talking about it—but something about it makes you pause. Maybe it's the uncertainty of working with someone new, or maybe it's the fact that Hyunjin's face flashed in your mind the second you read Felix’s message. You chew on your lip, tapping your nails against the glass of your smoothie. What should you say? Your screen stays lit, Felix’s message waiting for an answer.

-

You pull your car out of the parking lot, the engine humming softly as you ease onto the road. Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you spot Hyunjin walking along the sidewalk, hands shoved into his pockets, his hair is tied into a loose ponytail, his bag slung over his shoulder.

You slow down, rolling down the passenger-side window. “Hyunjin!” He looks up, surprised. “Need a lift?”

He stops on his track and then slightly bends down to look at you as he kindly refuses your offer. “It’s fine, I can take the bus.”

“At least let me drop you off at the bus stop.” You insist, offering him a look that says you won’t take no for an answer.

With a sigh, he caves in, pulling the door open and settling into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

As you start driving, you glance at him. “So, where are you going?”

He nods, gazing out the window. “I’m heading to school to help set up the exhibition.”

You hum in response, but before you can say anything else, he shifts slightly in his seat and looks at you, noticing the way you're dressed. “How about you?”

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel for a second. You don’t know why you hesitate, but you do. Then, after a pause, you ask, “Do you remember Felix?”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “The creator who wants to collab with you?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’m meeting him today.”

His gaze flickers to you before returning to the road ahead. “Does that means you’re doing the collab?”

Another hesitation. You wonder if it's a good idea to share when nothing is decided yet. Then, you exhale. “I’m still considering. I just want to meet him first, get to know him a little before deciding.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. As you focus on the road ahead, you don’t know why, but you feel like you told him something you shouldn't have shared.

When you finally pull up at the bus stop, Hyunjin unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door. Before stepping out, he turns to you with a small, polite smile. “Thanks for the ride.”

You nod, watching as he shuts the door behind him. As you drive away, you steal one last glance at the rearview mirror, catching sight of him standing there, hands back in his pockets, staring off at nothing in particular.

-

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods lingering in the air as you step inside the café. You scan the room, searching for him, and it doesn’t take long before your eyes land on the person you're looking for.

Felix. He’s already there, sitting by the window with a cup of coffee in hand. The afternoon sun casts a glow over him, highlighting the soft waves of his long, bleached blonde hair. You knew he was good-looking from his pictures, but in person, he’s even more striking—sharp jawline, deep brown eyes, freckles dusted his cheeks and a natural pout to his lips. You get it now. You understand why he’s one of the most popular creators on Lustre.

But when he looks up and spots you, a smile breaks across his face—warm, inviting, nothing like the sultry, smoldering persona he portrays online. “Hey, glad you made it,” he greets, standing up to shake your hand. His voice is deep, laced with a natural rasp that takes you by surprise.

You nod, shaking his hand. “I hope I didn't make you wait too long.”

“Nah. Not at all,” he grins before gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please, have a seat. I already ordered for you—hope you don’t mind. I just figured a vanilla latte suits you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how effortlessly charming he is—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that makes you feel at ease. Sitting down, you take a glance at the drink he ordered for you, a small smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually my go-to order.”

Felix chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.”

The conversation flows easily between you and Felix as you sip on your coffee, talking about Lustre, content creation, and the experiences that come with it. He’s easy to talk to—engaging, charming without trying too hard, and surprisingly down-to-earth despite his popularity.

Eventually, curiosity gets the best of you, and you tilt your head slightly. “May I ask why you suddenly want to do a collab with me?”

Felix hums, stirring the remnants of his coffee with his straw. “Honestly? I’ve never done a collab before. I always worked solo, but then I saw the one you did with Sienna.” He leans back against his chair, a small grin tugging at his lips. “And I just thought… that looks fun.”

A smile tugging at your lips, slightly flustered. “Fun?”

He nods. “Yeah. The way you two work together, the chemistry—it felt natural, not forced. And I could tell you put a lot of effort into it, not just in front of the camera, but in the way everything was presented. It wasn’t just content; it was… artistic.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself lowering your gaze, a hint of warmth creeping up your neck. Still, another question lingers in your mind. You glance at him again, hesitating only for a second before asking, “But why me? There are so many other creators on Lustre—some even more popular than I am. Why choose me?”

He doesn’t hesitate for a second to answer. “Because I like you.”

Your breath catches slightly, eyes widening at his direct answer. He seems to realize the weight of his words, quickly raising his hands with a sheepish chuckle. “I mean, I like your content—your artistry, your aesthetic. It’s different from the rest.”

But then, after a short pause, he tilts his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though… yeah, I guess I also just like you. You’re beautiful—it’s impossible not to like you.”

You feel your heart skip, caught between surprise and something else you can’t quite place. And from the way Felix watches you, as if amused by your reaction, you know he notices it too. As if you weren't flustered enough, he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table as he watches you with quiet curiosity. “So, what do you think? About collabing with me?”

You let out a small breath, fingers idly tracing the rim of your coffee cup as you think of how to answer. Before you can, Felix speaks again.

“I honestly think this would work,” he says, his voice light but certain. “One, because I like your style—it’s different, and I think our aesthetics could blend well. Two, because I know how to bring out the best in my content partners.” He pauses for a second, a smirk playing on his lips. “And three… because I can already tell you and I have chemistry.”

His confidence is disarming, and you can’t help but smile at his words. He says it so naturally, like it’s a fact rather than a guess.

Still, you take a moment before answering, meeting his gaze. “I only collaborate with people I trust.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods in understanding, his expression softening. “I get that,” he says. “Trust is important in this line of work. I’d probably be the same way if I were you.”

You expect him to push further, but instead, he leans back, completely relaxed. “I just hope you’re not completely closed off to the idea.” His eyes meet yours again, sincere and patient. “Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready, give me a call.”

The weight in his words lingers between you, an unspoken promise that he won’t rush you into anything and for some reason, that makes it harder to look away.

Being a gentleman that he is, Felix insists on walking you toward your car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, his steps unhurried like he has all the time in the world. The late afternoon sun casts a soft glow on his blond hair, making him look even more ethereal than he already does.

When you reach your car, he turns to you with an easy smile. “I really hope we get to do this collab,” he says, his voice gentle but firm.

You raise a brow at him, smirking. “No pressure, huh?”

He chuckles, tilting his head slightly. “None at all. Just putting it out there.”

There’s something about the way he looks at you—warm, expectant, and just a little mischievous—that makes your chest feel light. You unlock your car, and before you can reach for the door, Felix beats you to it, pulling it open like a perfect gentleman. “Here,” he gestures, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Allow me.”

You laugh softly but step inside, settling into the driver’s seat. As you adjust your grip on the wheel, Felix leans down, resting his arm on the top of your car, his gaze meeting yours through the open window. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more serious—more intense.

“Whether there'll be a collab or not, please give me a call.” His voice is deeper and lower now, smoother, and for a brief second, it feels like he’s asking for something much more than just a call.

Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel as your heart does a tiny, unexpected flip. And then, just like that, he steps back, flashing you one last, heart-melting smile.

You drive away, glancing once in the rearview mirror to see him standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. By the time you turn the corner, you realize that you’re smiling too.

-

The gallery is alive with murmurs of appreciation, soft footsteps against polished floors, and the occasional clinking of glasses from the refreshment table. Hyunjin should be basking in the compliments, engaging in conversations with professors and fellow artists, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances toward the entrance again, pretending to survey the crowd, but really, he’s just looking for you.

The anticipation coils tight in his chest. He’s not even sure why. Maybe because you promised you’d come. Maybe because you looked at him that way—the way that made him feel like he was someone worth looking at. He shifts his weight, nodding along to a professor’s comment about his brushwork, but his thoughts are elsewhere. You’ll come. You said you would.

Hyunjin excuses himself, turning around on his feet and about to check his phone when he hears your voice.

"Hey."

He turns to the side, and there you are, standing by the entrance, holding a bouquet of flowers. His breath catches for a second—maybe from surprise, maybe from something else—but he quickly recovers, walking toward you.

"You're here," he says, relief evident in his voice.

You flash him a grin and hold out the bouquet. "These are from Sienna. She wanted to congratulate you but couldn’t make it."

Still smiling, he gestures toward the gallery. "Come on, let me give you the grand tour."

As the two of you walk through the exhibition, Hyunjin explains his paintings to you, his voice softer than usual. He doesn’t even realize how closely you’re listening, how intently you’re watching him as he talks. But when he finally meets your gaze, something about the way you’re looking at him makes his heart race.

Just as Hyunjin is about to say something else, a voice cuts in.

"Hyunjin, I didn't know you have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin turns to see Edgar approaching, one of his classmates and a fellow artist in the exhibition. Edgar's gaze flickers between the two of you, curiosity evident in his expression.

"This is not my—" Hyunjin clears his throat and then gestures toward you. "She’s my neighbor and a... friend of mine."

You briefly glance at Hyunjin before offer a polite smile and extend your hand at Edgar. "Nice to meet you."

Edgar takes your hand with an easy grin. "Nice to meet you too. You a fan of Hyunjin’s work?"

You glance at Hyunjin playfully before nodding. "Yeah, you could say that."

Before Edgar can respond, Hyunjin hears his name being called from across the room. His professor waves him over, motioning for him to come quickly. He exhales sharply, hating the timing.

"I have to take care of something," he tells you, regret in his tone. He looks at Edgar. "Hey, can you take over for me? Show her the rest of the exhibition?"

Edgar nods easily. "Yeah, with pleasure."

He looks at you one last time with a gentle smile on his face. "I’ll be back soon, okay?"

You nod with a reassuring smile. "Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine."

Still, as he walks away, Hyunjin can't shake the feeling of guilt for leaving you behind.

His professor had kept him occupied longer than expected, and now that he’s free, his first instinct is to find you. He immediately scans the room, searching for you amidst the crowd.

When his eyes land on you, he stops in his tracks. You’re still with Edgar, standing near one of the paintings, laughing at something he just said. There’s an easygoing warmth in your expression, the kind that makes it obvious you’re enjoying the conversation. Edgar, on the other hand, is leaning slightly toward you, a smug grin on his face like he’s proud of making you laugh.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why it bothers him, but it does. It’s not like you’re his. He has no right to feel like this. And yet, the longer he watches, the stronger the irrational urge becomes—to interrupt, to pull you away, to remind you that you came here for him, not Edgar. Before he can talk himself out of it, he makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the conversation as casually as he can manage. His eyes flicker between you and Edgar, but his focus lingers on you. “Having fun?”

You turn to him with a bright smile. “Yeah, Edgar’s been telling me all kinds of stories about you.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at Edgar, who only smirks in response. “Oh yeah?” Hyunjin crosses his arms. “What exactly have you been saying?”

Edgar chuckles. “Just a few fun facts.” He glances at you with a teasing look. “Your friend here thinks you’re impressive.”

Hyunjin feels his heartbeat pick up at that, but he masks it with a scoff. “Yeah, well, I hope you weren’t exaggerating.”

Edgar waves him off and then turns to you with a grin. "So, what do you say? A drink after this? A little celebration for Hyunjin’s big night?"

You blink in surprise, then glance at Hyunjin, who suddenly looks like he wasn’t expecting this either. A smirk tugs at your lips as you tease, “Oh? Hyunjin never mentioned anything about drinks.”

Edgar crosses his arms together and chuckles. “That’s because I just came up with it. But come on, it’ll be fun.”

You shake your head, smiling politely. "I appreciate the invite, but I think I’ll have to pass this time."

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his posture subtly shifts, like he’s relieved. Taking the opportunity, you turn to him. “Speaking of leaving, I should probably get going.”

His expression falters slightly, just for a second, but he quickly recovers. “Oh… already?”

You nod, offering him a warm smile. “Yeah, but congratulations again. The exhibition is amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

Something flickers in Hyunjin’s eyes at your words, but before he can say anything, you take a small step back. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He nods, and just as you turn to leave, Edgar playfully nudges Hyunjin. “Damn, man. You didn’t even try to convince her to stay.”

Hyunjin ignores him, watching as you disappear into the crowd. And as much as he wishes you had stayed just a little longer, he holds on to your words—letting them replay in his head, over and over again.

-

You take a sip of your iced coffee as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. Most of them are the usual—likes, tips, and messages ranging from sweet to outright explicit but one message catches your attention. The one user with the purple tulips picture on his profile. You open it, your curiosity piqued.

mag.shawn: “I really liked your new photos. The silk dress suits you beautifully, but what suits you best is the smile on your face.”

You pause for a moment, rereading the message. It’s simple, kind, and—like before—different from the usual messages you receive. There’s something almost personal about it, like he actually sees you beyond just the photos. You type out a quick reply.

"Thank you! That’s really sweet of you to say. I’m glad you liked the photos. Hope you’re having a good day, sweet baby!"

Hearing the knocking on your door, you set your phone down and walk to the door to open it. You don't have to check to know that it's Hyunjin. You step aside to let him into your apartment, he walks in without hesitation, setting his bag down near the couch.

“Want to have a drink first?” you offer because he seems like he's just ran from his art school in a rush.

He uses the hair tie he carries around in his wrist to tie his hair into a low ponytail. “Maybe later. We have a lot to do now.”

The two of you don’t waste time, moving around in quiet understanding as you begin rearranging one of the spare rooms to turn it into a proper photo studio. You adjust the lighting, shift furniture, and clear out unnecessary clutter while Hyunjin sets up his camera equipment, occasionally checking the angles and backdrop.

The silence is comfortable, but after a while, you feel the weight of something unsaid pressing on your chest. You take a deep breath and break it.

“Hey…” You glance at Hyunjin, who is adjusting his camera settings. He hums in response, looking up.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long at your exhibition,” you say softly, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

He straightens up and calmly responds. “It’s alright.” But then, after a beat, he tilts his head and asks, “Why, though?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s just… safer that way,” you finally say, your voice quieter. “I don’t want to risk getting recognized by people.” You lower your gaze, feeling oddly vulnerable. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

Hyunjin frowns slightly. “Embarrass me how?”

You let out a small, breathy chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “For being... with me. For being associated with what I do.”

He shakes his head, almost scoffing. “I don’t care about all that stuff.”

“Yeah,” You lift your gaze to him and, without thinking, murmur, “But other people do.”

Hyunjin falls silent at that. His expression shifts—like he wants to argue, to tell you that it doesn’t matter what others think. But deep down, you both know that’s not entirely true.

The room stays quiet for a moment before you clear your throat, forcing a smile. “Anyway, I'll get the cake.”

He watches you as you get up from the floor and walk out of the room but the weight of your words lingers between you both.

The concept for today is simple—just you against the clean, white backdrop, playing with food as a prop. The first choice is a small, frosted cake, one that you picked up specifically for this shoot. You sit on the floor with the cake in front of you, dressed in a soft, pastel-colored outfit that contrasts nicely against the backdrop.

Hyunjin lifts his camera, adjusting the focus. “Are you ready?”

You give him a thumbs-up. “I'm ready.”

The second he aims the camera at you, you dip a finger into the frosting, bringing it to your lips with a playful smirk. The camera clicks. You swipe a bit of frosting onto your cheek, pouting dramatically, and Hyunjin chuckles before snapping another shot.

"Try smearing some on your lips,” he suggests, his voice more focused now.

You do as he says, dabbing frosting on your bottom lip before licking it off slowly. The camera clicks again.

“Perfect,” he mutters while keeping his focus on getting good shots.

The shoot continues like this—innocent yet teasing, fun but undeniably intimate. You pretend to feed an imaginary person, tilt your head back with a bite of cake on your tongue, even press a bit of frosting onto your collarbone. Each time, Hyunjin captures the moment with an artist’s precision, his eyes trained on you through the lens.

But at some point, you glance up at him, and for the briefest moment, your eyes meet—not through the camera, but directly. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that makes your stomach flutter. You quickly look away, dipping your fingers back into the frosting, pretending you didn’t notice the way Hyunjin swallowed hard before lifting the camera again.

As the shoot winds down, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a content sigh. “That was fun,” you say, glancing at the mess you made. There’s frosting smeared on your fingers, your face, on your chest and you’re sure there’s some in your hair too.

He lowers his camera and looks at you, his lips pressing together as if he’s holding back a smile. “Yeah, fun for you,” he mutters. “I have to clean all this up.”

You grin, swiping a bit more frosting onto your cheek just to be annoying. “Well, you’re the photographer. That’s part of your job, isn’t it?”

Hyunjin sighs, shaking his head, but he grabs a cloth and steps closer. “You’re impossible.”

The warmth of his fingers ghosts over your skin as he wipes the icing from your cheek first, his touch careful and lingering longer than necessary. You stay still, watching him through your lashes as he works his way down—your jaw, the curve of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can’t help but tease him.

“You sure this isn’t part of your job description too?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly.

He briefly stops moving, his eyes flicking to yours. There’s something in his gaze—something warm, something restrained. But then he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves to clean the frosting from your hair. “And you have to pay me extra for it.”

You laugh softly, letting him continue. But there’s no denying the shift in the air, the tension settling between you both as his fingers linger just a little too long. Even after he wipes most of the frosting with wet wipes, you feel the remnants of sugar still clinging to your skin. "I need a shower," you announce, already heading toward the bathroom. "Order dinner while I'm in there. Get whatever you want."

Hyunjin, now cleaning the mess on the floor, nods absentmindedly. "Got it."

The sound of running water fills the bathroom as you step inside, letting the warmth wash away the sticky remnants of the shoot. The sweet scent of frosting lingers on your skin, but soon it’s replaced by the familiar comfort of your body wash. You’re halfway through rinsing your hair when you faintly hear Hyunjin’s voice outside the door.

"Hey—what do you want to drink?"

You blink through the water running down your face, unable to make out his words clearly. "What?"

"I said—" His voice comes again, a little louder this time, but still muffled by the sound of the shower.

Sighing, you shake your head. "Just come inside, I can't hear you!"

There’s a pause. A long one. Then, the door creaks open hesitantly. "I'm—uh—I'm coming in," He mumbles, clearly uncomfortable.

You smirk to yourself, picturing the way he must be avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead. "Relax, it's not like you haven't seen me naked before."

He scoffs but doesn't comment. "I was asking what you want to drink," he says stiffly, keeping his gaze locked on the tiled floor as he stands awkwardly by the sink.

Still grinning to yourself, you peek your head out from behind the shower curtain, water dripping down your face. "Just get me iced tea or something," you say casually.

He glances at you for only a second—before his eyes go wide, and he quickly looks away, his ears turning pink. "Okay—iced tea. Got it."

Before you can tease him further, he spins on his heel and nearly stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door a little too quickly behind him. Laughing to yourself, you shake your head and return to your shower, amused at how flustered he still gets around you.

-

Steam clings to your skin as you step out of the bathroom, your hair damp and dripping onto the collar of your bathrobe. The scent of warm food fills your apartment, making your stomach growl. You pad barefoot toward the kitchen, finding Hyunjin setting out containers of takeout, his sleeves pushed up as he arranges everything neatly. Without hesitation, you reach over and snatch a crispy fry from the plate.

"Hey!" He glares at you, swatting at your hand too late. "At least get dressed first!"

You grin as you pop the fry into your mouth. "Why? Does it bother you?" you tease, clutching your robe loosely around you.

He huffs, narrowing his eyes. "No. It’s just basic hygiene. Also, your hair is dripping everywhere."

You glance down, noticing a few stray droplets landing on the table. Shrugging, you steal another fry. "Guess I'll have to eat fast before I make a mess, then."

He groans, grabbing a napkin and pressing it into your hand. "Go. Dry off, get dressed, and then you can eat like a normal person."

You roll your eyes but turn on your heel, waving a hand as you walk away. "Ugh, okay, fine. But don't eat all the fries before I get back."

The two of you sit across from each other at the small dining table, the scent of fried food and warm rice filling the space between you. With your hair still wrapped in towel, you twirl your chopsticks absentmindedly, picking at your food while Hyunjin quietly eats. The atmosphere is comfortable, a peaceful kind of quiet settling between you both—until he suddenly speaks up.

"So…" He pauses, looking down at his plate before glancing up at you. "How did your meeting with Felix go?"

You stop mid-bite, not expecting him to bring it up. "It went fine," you answer, chewing slowly.

He nods, as if contemplating your answer, before continuing, "And what do you think of the guy?"

You shrug, poking at a piece of chicken. "He's nice."

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to say more. When you don’t, he asks, "So, have you decided? Are you going to collab with him?"

You let out a small sigh, setting your chopsticks down. "I don’t know. I mean, he’s great—charming, professional, all that. But…" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "I’m not fully sure about it yet."

He stays quiet, nodding slowly but a while later, his gaze flickers to you. "Why not?"

You purse your lips, unsure of how to explain it. "I guess… I just don’t jump into things like this. I like to trust the person I work with, and trust takes time, you know?"

He hums in response, stabbing a piece of food with his chopsticks. "Yeah. Makes sense."

As you and Hyunjin clean up after dinner, the rhythmic clinking of dishes and running water fills the room. You pass him a plate to dry, your fingers brushing for a fleeting second before you turn back to the sink. You thought that Hyunjin has dropped the conversation until, out of nowhere, he speaks up. "If you're still considering," he starts, voice casual but careful, "then maybe you should do a test shoot with him."

You glance at him, surprised. "A test shoot?"

Hyunjin nods, keeping his eyes on the dish he’s drying. "Yeah. Just to see if you really have the chemistry. That way, you don’t have to commit right away, and it’ll help you decide."

You lean against the counter, thinking. "I never thought about that…"

"It makes sense, right?" He finally looks at you, his expression neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something unreadable. "If it works, great. If not, then you won’t waste your time."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words. He has a point. And yet, something about him bringing it up makes you hesitate. "You think I should do it?"

He nonchalantly shrugs. "It’s just a suggestion."

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge what he's really thinking. But his face gives nothing away. Instead of pressing, you nod slowly, wiping your damp hands on a dish towel. "Maybe I will."

The night continues with the two of you settling onto the couch with cans of drinks in hands, checking the result of today's photoshoot. Your laptop balanced between you, the soft glow of the screen lights up your faces as you scroll through the photos. Some shots capture the playful chaos—the smears of icing on your skin, the mischievous glint in your eyes—while others are more poised, effortlessly seductive in a way that even surprises you.

"You did a great job," you say, nudging Hyunjin lightly with your elbow. "They all look amazing."

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze fixed on the screen. "You made it easy."

A pleased smile tugs at your lips, and as you keep scrolling, a random thought pops into your head. "The cake was delicious by the way. Should stick to that bakery shop." You glance at him. "Which reminds me—what kind do you want for your birthday?"

He freezes for half a second before slowly turning his head to look at you, eyes narrowing. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

You grin sheepishly, caught red-handed. "Uh… I may have accidentally found out when I was at your apartment. Your mail was just sitting there, and I—"

"You went through my mail?" He squints at you, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

"Not on purpose!" you defend yourself, hands up in surrender. "It was just there, and I happened to see it. That’s how I know your birthday is next Friday."

He leans back against the couch, his legs parting apart. "Well, don’t get any ideas. There will be no cake."

You nod dramatically, pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. "No cake. Got it."

But then he narrows his eyes at you again, like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head. "And no gift either."

You gasp and then frown. "No gift? At all?"

"None," he confirms.

You pout, crossing your arms. "How come you don't want anything for your birthday?"

"Because I just don’t," he replies simply, as if that’s enough explanation. "And before you ask, no party either. No surprises, no celebrations, nothing."

You lean back against the couch, tilting your head as you study Hyunjin’s expression. He’s still watching the laptop screen, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

With a playful smirk, you decide to test him. "Okay, no cake, no gift, no party," you repeat. "But what if…" You pause, letting the anticipation build before continuing, "what if I was the gift?"

Hyunjin’s entire body stiffens. His eyes widen slightly, and he finally looks at you, clearly caught off guard. "Huh? What?"

You bite back a laugh at how flustered he looks, his ears already turning red. "I mean, if you won’t accept a present, maybe I could be the present," you tease, tilting your head. "Would you accept that?"

Hyunjin blinks rapidly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to come up with a logical response, but failing miserably.

You scoot a little closer, watching his reaction with amusement. "What’s wrong? You look nervous."

"I’m not," he mutters, but his voice betrays him.

You chuckle. "You’re totally flustered right now."

"I—" Hyunjin abruptly stands up from the couch, nearly knocking over the laptop in his rush. "It’s, uh—getting late. I should go."

You laugh, watching as he practically scrambles to gather his things. "So that’s a no on accepting me as your gift?"

He shoots you a glare, but it’s weak at best, his face still slightly pink. "Goodnight."

With that, he heads straight for the door, leaving you grinning to yourself as you hear it click shut behind him.

-

You sit in your parked car, drumming your fingers lightly on the steering wheel as you wait for Hyunjin to be done with his class. With nothing else to do, you pull out your phone and open Lustre, skimming through notifications until a new message catches your eye.

mag.shawn: "I’m a little nervous today. I’m meeting someone, and I don’t know how it’ll go. But anyway, I just wanted to say I hope you’re having a lovely day."

You smile softly, touched by his honesty. Without thinking too much, you type out a response.

"I’m sure it’ll go well! Just be yourself, and everything will fall into place. Wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day too!"

Just as you send the message, a sudden knock on your window makes you jump. You turn to see Edgar grinning at you through the glass. With a sigh, you roll down the window. "Please don't sneak up on people like that."

Edgar chuckles, resting his arms on the top of your car door. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." He tilts his head. "Waiting for Hyunjin?"

"Yeah," you reply, glancing past him as if you might spot Hyunjin approaching.

"Perfect timing, then," Edgar says, leaning in slightly. "Did you know it's his birthday this Friday?"

You nod. "I do, actually."

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. "Oh? He told you?"

"Not exactly," you admit. "I found out by accident."

Edgar laughs. "Figures. He’s not the type to bring it up." Then, as if suddenly remembering, he adds, "A few of us are taking him out for drinks that night. Just something chill, nothing crazy. You should come."

You blink at the unexpected invitation. "I—"

"It’s at The Blue Moon, around nine," he continues, not giving you a chance to refuse. "No pressure, but I think he’d be happy if you showed up."

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. "I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try."

"That’s good enough for me," Edgar says, pushing away from your car just as you spot Hyunjin walking toward you.

Edgar gives you one last wink before stepping away, leaving you with a strange feeling as Hyunjin approaches and slides into the passenger seat.

Hyunjin glances toward Edgar, then at you. "What did he want?"

You start the engine, glancing at him with a small smile. "Nothing much."

Hyunjin tosses his backpack to the backseat of the car before putting the safety belt on. “So, where are we meeting him?”

You turn the car engine on and it roars to life. “It’s at this hotel not far from here,” you answer, showing him the route on the GPS.

-

The elevator dings as you and Hyunjin step into the dimly lit hallway of the hotel, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. Room 716—you stop in front of the door and knock twice.

Within seconds, the door swings open, revealing Felix on the other side. His warm smile is the first thing you notice, followed by the familiar brightness in his honey-brown eyes. His long bleached-blond hair is tied back loosely, a few strands framing his sharp yet inviting features.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, pulling you into a brief but firm hug that smells like vanilla and something subtly musky.

"Of course," you reply, pulling back with a small smile. You turn slightly to gesture to Hyunjin. "And this is Hyunjin—my photographer. He’s the man behind all those amazing photos."

Felix’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and he extends a hand. "Nice to finally meet you. Your work is incredible."

Hyunjin shakes his hand but remains quiet, only offering a polite nod. You can tell he’s reserved, but you’re not sure if it’s because he’s just naturally like that or because of the situation.

You clear your throat and turn back to Felix. "So, I just want to make it clear—this is a test shoot. Just to see how well we work together, how the chemistry flows. No pressure."

Felix’s lips curve into a confident smile, his gaze holding yours as he playfully responds, "Oh, I don't feel pressured at all."

His words hang in the air for a second longer than necessary, and you glance at Hyunjin, who remains expressionless, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Something about this moment makes your stomach flutter—but whether it’s excitement or nerves, you can’t quite tell.

The soft click of Hyunjin’s camera echoes through the hotel room as you and Felix stand near the edge of the bed, facing each other under the warm glow of the studio light he set up.

Felix shifts beside you, then pauses, tilting his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice is gentle, respectful, his dark eyes searching yours for permission.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

With that, Felix lifts his hand, fingertips grazing your wrist before sliding up to your elbow, guiding you subtly closer. The two of you hold the pose, looking into each other’s eyes and he looks at you in a way that makes you feel nervous that you can’t help the way your lips twitch, and after a few seconds, you burst into laughter, flustered.

“Sorry, sorry!” you gasp, covering your mouth as you glance at Hyunjin, who lowers his camera slightly, his expression unreadable.

Felix chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re cute when you get flustered.”

The photoshoot continues, Felix adjusting his stance, letting his touches remain light and respectful—a hand on your waist, fingers grazing your jaw as if to brush imaginary strands of hair away. Hyunjin keeps clicking, staying quiet as he captures each moment.

Between shots, Felix leans in, his voice just above a whisper. “You have the prettiest smile,” he murmurs.

You blush, biting your lip as you try to hold your pose.

Another click of the camera. “Your skin is so soft.”

You giggle, shaking your head slightly as the warmth in your cheeks deepens. Felix just grins, enjoying your reaction. The camera keeps clicking, capturing every moment—but you can’t help but wonder what’s going through Hyunjin’s mind right now.

“That’s enough for now,” Hyunjin suddenly announces, lowering the camera from his face. His voice is steady, but something in his chest feels tight, like he’s been holding his breath for too long.

You turn to look at him, blinking as if pulled from a daze, while Felix exhales a soft hum, tilting his head in thought.

“Actually,” Felix says, still holding onto your waist, “Can we try one more thing?”

Before you can ask, Felix glances down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “How about a kiss?”

-

The camera in his hands acts as a barrier, separating him from the scene unfolding in front of him. But it doesn't stop him from seeing everything—the way Felix holds you so effortlessly, the way you laugh when Felix murmurs something in your ear, the way your body relaxes against his touch.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why he’s noticing these things. He shouldn’t be. But as he adjusts the focus, framing the next shot, he can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t belong here—like he’s intruding on something intimate, something that doesn’t need a spectator.

It’s ridiculous. He’s here for work. Nothing else. Still, he feels like a third wheel.

Felix and you—you make sense together. Felix is confident, charming, a natural in front of the camera. He knows how to play up the chemistry, how to draw reactions from you that look effortlessly beautiful through the lens.

Hyunjin, on the other hand—he’s just behind the camera. A quiet observer.

And when Felix suddenly suggests a kiss, the thought cements itself deep in his stomach.

Hyunjin stills and you freeze, eyes widening as you pull back slightly. “What?”

“A kiss,” Felix repeats, like he’s merely suggesting a new camera angle. “Just a light one. I think it would look great in the photos. Plus—” he smirks now, “—it's how we know for sure if we have that chemistry.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, fingers twitching over the shutter button on the camera. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much—the way Felix is looking at you, the casual way he suggests kissing you, as if it’s nothing more than another pose to try.

You, on the other hand, look completely flustered. “I—” You glance at Hyunjin for a fraction of a second before looking back at Felix, hesitating.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just waits. And after a moment of silence, you crack a sheepish laugh and nod.

You and Felix are now sitting on the end of the bed and Hyunjin presses record. The camera’s screen frames the moment perfectly—too perfectly. Felix starts slow, his fingers tucking every stray strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes Hyunjin’s stomach knot. Then, Felix’s hands cradle your jaw, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.

“You’re comfortable, right?” Felix murmurs, his voice so soft that the mic barely picks it up. He doesn’t move forward just yet, just holds you like he has all the time in the world. “You can stop me whenever, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing.

Felix smiles—gentle, reassuring. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Then, he tilts forward—but not toward your lips. Instead, he kisses the corner of your eye.

Hyunjin remains calm but his grip tightens on the camera. The way you suck in a sharp breath, your lashes fluttering at the unexpected touch—it’s too much to watch through the lens. But before you can react, Felix does it again, placing a kiss on the other eye.

The moment is intimate, more than Hyunjin expected. And yet, his hands don’t lower the camera. And then—before you can process it—Felix finally presses his lips to your slightly parted mouth. It’s gentle at first. Barely there. Just the soft press of his lips against yours, his hands steady on your face as if holding something delicate. Hyunjin feels something crawl up his throat as he keeps his hands steady.

Felix pulls back, searching your gaze. “Can I continue?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted. And then—you nod.

Hyunjin swears he sees the exact moment Felix’s expression changes—from gentle to something else entirely. Because this time, when Felix kisses you again, it’s deeper. More insistent. He watches—forced to watch—as the kiss grows, slow and unhurried, but still more intense with every second.

Felix tilts his head, his fingers slipping down to your neck, pressing you closer. Your hands finally move, fingers clutching at his sleeves.

Hyunjin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the burning in his chest forces him to exhale and for the first time since picking up a camera, he wishes he wasn’t here. He clears his throat. Loud enough. Sharp enough. Enough to cut through whatever moment was unfolding between you and Felix.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice flat, carefully void of emotion. He lowers the camera, stopping the recording. “I got what we needed.”

But Felix—he doesn’t let go. Instead, he keeps his hands steady on you, his thumbs absently brushing the skin of your jaw. His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s not ready to pull away just yet. Then, finally, a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You’re a good kisser,” he muses, his voice low, filled with something teasing but also… something else.

It takes you a second to react, like you’re only just registering what happened. Your eyes widen and warmth spreads across your face.

Felix chuckles at your flustered expression, his hands finally releasing you. “You okay?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone.

Despite still dazed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, you nod. You scoot to the edge of the bed, walking toward Hyunjin.

“Can I take a quick look on the photos?”

The three of you sit together on the sofa, scrolling through the shots and the video, the room quiet except for the occasional click of Hyunjin’s camera as he reviews the footage.

Felix leans in slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. Then, softly, just for you to hear, he mutters, “Told you. We have chemistry.”

You glance at him, catching the smirk playing on his lips. It’s confident—almost knowing. You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head, but you don’t deny it.

Felix leans back, stretching. “So, how about I treat you both dinner? My way of saying thanks.”

You smile but shake your head. “I appreciate it, but we should get going.”

Felix pouts dramatically. “Not even a quick bite?”

“I’ll take a rain check,” you say. “Besides, you have another shoot, right?”

Felix sighs, pretending to be put out, but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Work never stops.”

You stand, and Felix follows suit. Before you leave, he pulls you into a quick, warm hug, his arms squeezing lightly around your shoulders.

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” he murmurs.

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Felix tugs at your elbow and says, “Any kind of call.”

You smile as you step back, and as you turn toward the door, Hyunjin—who had remained noticeably quiet—only gives Felix a brief, wordless nod before heading out.

During the car ride home, Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind is elsewhere. He glances at you briefly before saying, “I have to admit, I was a little surprised you turned down the dinner.”

You smirk, keeping your eyes on the road. “Oh? Are you disappointed?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No. Just… surprised.”

“Well, if you want, I can buy you dinner instead,” you offer, sparing him a quick glance. “But I can’t tonight. I have somewhere to be.”

That piques his curiosity. He tilts his head slightly. “Where?”

You only smile mysteriously. “That’s a secret.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at you, watching as you pull up in front of the apartment building. Before he can ask again, you unlock the doors, silently telling him to get out. He hesitates for a second, still wondering where you’re going, but he knows you won’t tell him even if he asks. With a sigh, he steps out of the car and carries his backpack in hand.

“See you later,” you playfully say to him just before he shuts the car door

As you drive away, Hyunjin stands there, hands in his pockets, watching your car disappear down the street and he can’t help but wonder.

-

Hyunjin has never liked celebrating his birthday. It’s not that he hates it—it’s just another day to him, one that he doesn’t see the need to make a big deal out of. Growing up, birthdays were quiet affairs, just a simple meal with his family, sometimes a cake if his mom had the time. Now that he’s older, he prefers to let the day pass without much attention. No parties, no gifts, no unnecessary fuss.

So when his class ends and he slings his bag over his shoulder, he’s already planning a quiet evening—maybe sketching, maybe watching something mindless until he falls asleep.

But as soon as he turns the corner, Edgar is waiting for him, grinning like he’s up to something. “There you are! Come on, we’re heading out.”

Hyunjin tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack. “Heading where?”

Before he can take a step back, Edgar throws an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the exit. Two more of their friends appear, flanking him on either side like bodyguards.

“The bar, of course!” one of them chimes in.

Hyunjin groans, knowing well what Edgar planned for him. “I didn’t say I was going—”

“Too bad,” Edgar cuts him off. “We’re celebrating your birthday, and you don’t get a say in it.”

Hyunjin sighs, already regretting not taking a different route out of the building. “You guys planned this?”

“Obviously,” Edgar says, rolling his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let your birthday pass without doing anything?”

That’s exactly what Hyunjin had hoped for. But seeing the determined looks on his friends’ faces, he knows there’s no escaping this. “Fine,” he mutters. “One drink.”

Edgar smirks. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what they all say.”

With that, they drag him out of the building, and Hyunjin resigns himself to the fact that his quiet night is officially ruined.

-

The second you step into the bar, you weave through the crowd, scanning the room until your eyes land on Hyunjin. He’s standing by the bar, drinks in both hands, his expression neutral as he waits for the bartender to return with the rest of the order.

A smile tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Without a second thought, you close the distance between you and, just as he turns slightly, you throw your arms around him from behind. “Got you!”

Hyunjin tenses for half a second, startled, and nearly spills the drinks in his hands. You hear a sharp inhale, a quiet grunt of protest, but before he can say anything, you take full advantage of the fact that his hands are full. Leaning in, you press a quick, sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday!” You cheerfully whisper into his ear and you can feel his whole body stiffens in reaction.

You pull back just enough to look at him, grinning as you meet his eyes. He stares at you, his lips slightly parted, clearly caught off guard. The dim lighting of the bar does nothing to hide the way his ears redden.

Hyunjin shifts the drinks in his hands and glances at you, still looking slightly flustered from the surprise hug and kiss. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone more curious than accusatory.

Before you can answer, he exhales sharply and mutters, “Wait. Let me guess—Edgar?”

You grin and nod, confirming his guess. Right on cue, Edgar appears beside the two of you, a wide smile on his face as he claps Hyunjin on the back before turning his attention to you. “You made it! I knew you wouldn’t miss it.”

You chuckle. “I wouldn't miss a little fun.”

“Now, what are you drinking?” Edgar gestures towards the bar. “First round’s on me.”

Before you can reply, you shoot Hyunjin a playful look. “See? Edgar’s offering me a drink. Meanwhile, the birthday boy didn’t even ask.”

Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes as he finally sets the drinks down on the table nearby. “You showed unannounced and ambushed me. You barely gave me a chance.”

You scoff and dramatically roll your eyes at Hyunjin. “Excuses.”

Edgar laughs. “Alright, alright, let me get you something. What’s your poison?”

The bar is alive with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone in high spirits as they celebrate Hyunjin’s birthday. The moment someone starts singing the birthday song, the rest of the group drunkenly joins in, their voices off-key and words slurred from all the alcohol.

Hyunjin groans, lifting a hand. “God! Please, shut up already.” His protest only makes them sing louder, and you laugh as you watch him shake his head in defeat.

Once the song ends with a chaotic cheer, the night continues with games, and somehow, you and Hyunjin end up locked in an intense match of darts. The two of you stand side by side, taking turns as the others watch and place bets on who will win.

“You’re going down,” you tease, lining up your shot before releasing the dart. It lands close to the bullseye, and you turn to Hyunjin with a smug smile.

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, picking up his dart. “We’ll see about that.”

He lines up his shot, eyes locked on the dartboard with unwavering focus. His fingers grip the dart, his stance firm as he calculates the perfect angle.

Smirking to yourself, you step closer, just enough to lean in near his ear. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you blow a soft puff of air against his skin.

Hyunjin instantly flinches, his body jerking as a shudder runs through him. “What the—?!” His grip on the dart slips, and it flies off-course, landing embarrassingly far from the bullseye.

You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as you watch him slowly turn to glare at you.

“That was sabotage,” he mutters, jaw tightening as he runs a hand through his hair.

Before he can even think about payback, your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention away. You look at it to check caller ID. “I need to take this,” you say, stepping back.

Hyunjin watches you go, still looking slightly flustered, a dart in hand, but his eyes linger on you for a moment before he finally turns back to the game.

-

Stepping out of the bar, you take a deep breath of the cool night air. The muffled sounds of laughter and music fade as you slip into the quieter back alley, away from the chaos inside. You glance at your phone screen before swiping to answer.

"Finally," Felix sighs dramatically on the other end. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

You smirk, leaning against the brick wall. "And what if I was?"

"Then I'd have no choice but to call you every hour until you gave in," he teases, his voice warm and playful.

You roll your eyes. "You sound desperate."

"Of course, I’m desperate," he admits easily. "You still haven’t called me back. A lesser man would take the hint, but not me."

"You’re persistent," you muse.

"And charming," he adds smoothly. "And funny. And—"

"Annoying?" you finish for him.

Felix gasps in mock offense. "I was going to say irresistible, but sure, let’s go with annoying."

You chuckle. "Did you even call to talk about the collab at all?"

Felix hums. "Nope. I called because I wanted to."

Your stomach flutters slightly at his honesty, but you keep your voice light. "How bold of you."

"Always." He pauses, then asks, "So, when can I see you again?"

"As a good girl, I have to refuse the first time," you say teasingly. "You have to ask me again in two days."

Felix groans. "Two days? That’s cruel."

"You’ll live," you reply with a smirk.

"Fine," he grumbles. "But can I at least call you tomorrow?"

You pretend to consider. "You can… but I can’t promise you that I’ll pick it up."

Felix lets out a dramatic sigh. "Playing hard to get. I see how it is."

You grin. "Goodnight, Felix."

"Sweet dreams, beautiful," he replies smoothly before the call ends.

Your heart is still racing as you turn back toward the bar’s entrance, shaking off the uneasy feeling that Felix’s call had left behind.

Just as you’re about to step inside, you nearly bump into Edgar. The smell of alcohol clings to him, and his smile is loose, his movements sluggish. "There you are," he says, his voice slightly slurred. "I was looking for you."

You force a small smile. "I just stepped out to take a phone call." You move to walk past him, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

"Stay with me for a bit," he says.

Your shoulders stiffen. He’s drunk—you can see it in his unfocused eyes. Keeping your distance, you shake your head. "I'd better go back inside."

Edgar frowns. "Hey, come on, just stay with me for a minute."

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. "I don’t want to make Hyunjin waits."

But then, before you can step back, Edgar’s grip tightens, and he pulls you closer. You freeze. "Edgar, please let go," you say firmly, trying to pull away.

Instead, he pulls you in even tighter, his face dangerously close to yours. "Come on, why are you so shy?" he chuckles.

You twist in his grip, but he only holds you tighter. Your stomach churns with unease. "You’re drunk," you tell him, keeping your voice as calm as possible. "Please, let me go."

Edgar only smirks. "Just one kiss."

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back, his back hitting the stacked crates of empty beer bottles. For a second, you think it’s over, but then he looks at you, his expression darkening. "How much?"

Your brows knotted. "What?"

Edgar tilts his head. "How much should I pay you for a kiss?"

Disgust and disbelief surge through you. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. I know who you are." His voice drops lower, more sinister. "So how much to fuck you?"

Your body goes rigid, the word alone making your skin crawl. "You're disgusting."

Before you can move, Edgar lunges toward you. Your back slams against the brick wall as he pins you there, his hands gripping your arms. Panic flares in your chest. You struggle, trying to push him off, but he’s stronger than you expected. "Get off me!"

And then, suddenly—The back door flies open with a loud bang.

"Get the fuck off her!"

Hyunjin’s voice is sharp, furious. He’s standing in the doorway, his whole body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burn with anger as he takes in the scene before him—Edgar pinning you against the wall, your expression twisted in fear.

Edgar only scoffs, barely glancing at Hyunjin. "Relax, man—"

Before he can finish, Hyunjin strides forward and roughly grabs him by the shoulders, yanking him away from you and shoving him backward. Edgar stumbles, cursing.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate—he turns to you, his expression shifting. He reaches out, his hand grasping yours, pulling you up and steadying you. His touch is gentle despite the rage in his eyes.

Then Edgar laughs, low and taunting. "Why are you friends with a whore like her?"

The words hit like a slap and it makes something in Hyunjin snaps. He lunges at Edgar, landing a hard punch straight to his face. Edgar barely has time to process it before Hyunjin punches him again—once, twice. Edgar collapses onto the ground, but Hyunjin doesn’t stop. He gets down, grabbing Edgar by the collar, and raises his fist again.

"Hyunjin!" you cry, rushing forward.

Hyunjin is still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements. His fists remain clenched, his knuckles already turning red from the force of his punches. Edgar groans on the ground, a hand pressed to his bleeding nose, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem satisfied yet. His body is still tense, ready to throw another punch.

Without thinking, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, holding him back. "Hyunjin," you plead, your voice quiet but urgent. "Please stop."

His whole body is trembling, heat radiating off him, but at your touch, his breathing hitches. He doesn’t move right away, as if still caught in the grip of his anger.

You tighten your hold, pressing your cheek against his back. "Let’s just go," you murmur.

Hyunjin’s fists slowly loosen. His breath is still uneven, but the tension in his body begins to ease. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is Edgar’s groaning and the distant noise of the bar inside. Then, finally, Hyunjin lets out a slow, shaky breath and nods.

You release him, stepping back just enough to see his face. His jaw is tight, his eyes still burning with anger, but he’s calming down. He turns away from Edgar without another glance. You take his hand—gently, reassuringly—and lead him away.

-

Hyunjin sits on the couch, his hand resting in yours as you carefully dab at his bruised knuckles with a damp cloth. His skin is raw, swollen, and angry-looking, but he barely flinches. Instead, he watches you. The way your brows knit together in concentration, the way your lips press into a tight line, the way your hands—gentle yet firm—move with such care.

“You shouldn’t have fought him,” you murmur, your voice laced with both scolding and concern. “What if you seriously hurt your hand? What if you couldn’t paint anymore?”

Hyunjin has been trying to hold himself together, trying to push down the emotions still swirling inside him, but hearing you go on and on about him—worrying about him instead of yourself—something inside him snaps.

"Why do you keep worrying about me?" he suddenly bursts out, his voice sharp. “You should worry about yourself!”

He immediately regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. He watches as your lips part slightly, your breath hitching, and then—your eyes get red. His heart clenches.

Shit.

He inhales, forcing himself to calm down before his voice softens. "Are you okay?"

Your gaze wavers as you stare at him. For a second, it seems like you’re trying to hold it together, but then, barely above a whisper, you shake your head. "Honestly, no," you admit as tears spill from your eyes, "I'm not okay."

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist—instead, you bury yourself against him, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break. He holds you tight. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

The two of you stay like that with Hyunjin holding you close as if he tries to absorb part of you sadness. He doesn’t let go even as your sobs quiet, even as your breathing evens out, he keeps holding you, his arms wrapped securely around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. His hand moves gently over your hair, smoothing it down, while his other rubs slow circles against your back. He doesn’t say anything—he just lets you cry, lets you release everything you’ve been holding in.

Minutes pass like this, the silence filled only by your uneven breaths. Then, finally, you stir against him. You pull back just enough to look at him, your face still wet with tears, eyes glassy and tired. Hyunjin meets your gaze, his heart aching at the vulnerability written all over your face.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, your voice small, fragile.

Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate as he nods. "Of course," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, but you manage a tiny, grateful smile.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "Come on," he murmurs, guiding you gently toward your bedroom. "Let’s get you to bed."

You and Hyunjin lie side by side on your bed, neither of you saying anything at first. Just breathing, just existing in the same space. Then, after a while, you break the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

He turns his head slightly, though he can barely make out your face in the dim light. "For what?"

"For… causing what happened."

At that, Hyunjin tenses. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of the city outside. Then, finally, he exhales.

"Why are you apologizing for getting assaulted?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s trying to hold back his frustration. "That wasn’t your fault."

You don’t say anything, just stare up at the ceiling.

"If anything, what happened only showed me what kind of person Edgar really is," he continues. "And I don’t want to be friends with someone like that."

Silence settles between you again. Then, after a long pause, you shift closer to him. He feels the mattress dip under your weight, feels the warmth of your body inching toward him. When he looks over, he catches the faint gleam of your eyes in the dark, watching him.

Then, softly, you whisper his name. "Hyunjin."

He hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," you say, your voice barely more than a breath.

Hyunjin swallows. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods, even though you probably can’t see it. Another stretch of silence follows, before you whisper again, "Goodnight."

He watches as your breathing evens out, your body relaxing as sleep slowly takes over. He tells himself he’ll leave once you’re asleep. He should go. He should get up, go back to his own apartment, and try to put everything that happened tonight behind him. But he doesn’t move. He stays.

-

Hyunjin wakes up to the unfamiliar weight of a blanket draped over him and the soft glow of morning light kissing his skin. His mind is slow to catch up, disoriented by the unfamiliar scent of the sheets and the way the bed feels different from his own. Then it hits him—he’s in your apartment. His eyes snap open fully, and he turns his head toward the space beside him, only to find it empty. The warmth lingering on the sheets tells him you must have been there not too long ago.

Hyunjin sits up, running a hand through his messy hair as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the events of last night. Still, he forces himself to get up, his movements sluggish as he fumbles out of bed.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. He steps out of your bedroom, his bare feet padding against the floor as he looks around. His gaze sweeps over the small living space, searching for you. For a second, a strange unease creeps up his spine—until he finally spots you.

You’re perched on the window sill, one knee pulled up to your chest, a steaming mug of coffee resting in your hands. You look lost in thought, your gaze fixed outside, watching the world slowly wake up.

He lingers in the doorway, unsure if he should say something or if he should just leave quietly. But then, as if sensing his presence, you slowly turn your head to the side.

Your eyes meet his, and then, just like that, you smile—soft and warm, like the morning itself. "Good morning," you greet, your voice still laced with sleep.

Hyunjin debating whether he should stay or make up an excuse to leave. But before he can make a decision, you tilt your head toward the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” you ask, taking another sip of your coffee.

He shakes his head almost immediately. “I should probably go—”

Before he can finish, you slide off the window sill, setting your mug down on the counter. “At least have some breakfast first.”

Hyunjin hesitates. He’s not really in the mood to eat, but before he can refuse, you’re already walking toward him, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder as you steer him toward the dining table.

“Sit,” you say, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He exhales through his nose but doesn’t fight it, dropping himself onto the chair. His fingers drum idly against the tabletop as he watches you move around the kitchen.

A few moments later, you place a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Here. This should help wake you up.”

He glances at you, then at the cup. He hesitates for a second before finally wrapping his fingers around it, letting the warmth seep into his palms. He takes a slow sip, the bitterness grounding him a little.

You smile in satisfaction. “Good. Now sit tight while I make breakfast.”

Hyunjin hadn’t planned to stay, but now, with a warm meal in front of him and the air feeling oddly peaceful, he finds himself grateful that you insisted. As he takes the last bite of his toast, he feels your gaze on him. He glances up and catches you staring, your expression unreadable. His brow lifts slightly.

“What?” he asks, setting his fork down.

You hesitate, like you’re debating something internally, before finally reaching for something on the chair next to you. Hyunjin watches as you pick up a small, neatly wrapped package and place it on the table between you. His eyes flicker to the gift, then back to you.

“I didn’t get the chance to give this to you last night,” you explain, sliding it toward him.

“You got me a gift?” His voice comes out more hesitant than he intended.

Before he can say anything else, you quickly add, “I didn’t spend much money on it or anything. I made it myself.”

That catches his attention. His fingers twitch against his coffee cup as he stares at the package. He hesitates to reach for it, unsure if he deserves something so thoughtful. Seeing his reluctance, you gently nudge it closer. “Go on. Open it.”

He swallows, then carefully picks it up and begins unwrapping it. His fingers move slowly, peeling back the wrapping until he uncovers a leather-bound case. He unfolds it, his curiosity piqued when he sees the compartments inside. It takes him a moment to process—until realization dawns on him. It’s a paintbrush case. He runs his fingers over the stitching, taking in the effort that went into it.

Before he can say anything, you quickly interject, “I know it’s not perfect—”

“I like it,” He cuts you off, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His eyes meet yours, sincere and unguarded. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin barely has any words left to say after that. He just sits there, running his fingers over the smooth leather of the paintbrush case, admiring the craftsmanship and the effort you put into it. Every stitch, every fold—it’s clear that you made this with him in mind. He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so instead, he keeps his gaze on the gift, hoping you understand his silence for what it is: gratitude.

A smile slowly blooms on your face at his words, and something warm unfurls in his chest at the sight. Then, you break the quiet, your voice gentle but casual. “And don’t forget that we have that shoot tomorrow.”

He looks up at you, your expression easy and composed, as if nothing had happened the night before. His brows furrow slightly. “Shouldn’t you be… slowing down and maybe take a break?”

You shake your head and absentmindedly stabbing pieces of scrambled egg with your fork. “Nah. Making content takes my mind off things.”

Hyunjin watches you for a moment, studying the way you say it so lightly, like you’re brushing everything off as if last night didn’t shake you to your core. He wants to say something—maybe push you to take a break, to take care of yourself—but he can tell you don’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but if this is what you want, he won’t argue. So instead, he just nods. “Alright.”

-

The air still humming with the energy of the shoot as you lie on your stomach on the thin mattress, your bare legs lazily swinging behind you as you scroll through Lustre notifications. The sheets beneath you are slightly rumpled from all the movement earlier.

Hyunjin is across the room, busy checking the result of the shoot. You let yourself get lost in your notifications, tapping through comments and messages until one catches your eye.

mag.shawn: I really liked your new set. You look beautiful as always. But I think what I love the most is your smile. Whenever I see it, it makes me wish for you to always be happy. That way, I get to see you smile every day.

There's something about his message feels different from the usual compliments you receive—more genuine, maybe. Less about desire and more about… you.

You: That’s really sweet. Thank you for your message. I appreciate it.

You hit send and glance up, only to find Hyunjin standing by the tripod, watching you with an unreadable expression. You don’t know how long he’s been looking.

“What?” you ask, propping your chin on your hand.

He shakes his head, turning away to grab his jacket. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at him, “Dinner?”

“Sure, I'll order,” he calmly responds, taking his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and begins tapping on it.

“And how about we watch a movie after?” you ask out of a whim.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone to look at you and casually says, “Sure.”

The soft glow of the living room lamps mixes with the flickering light from the movie playing on the screen, creating a cozy atmosphere. Hyunjin sits on the sofa, his plate resting on his lap as he absentmindedly takes small bites of his cake. His plan had been simple—stay a little longer to keep you company, maybe distract you for a while. But somewhere between the hearty dinner, and now, sitting here in the warmth of your apartment with you beside him, he realizes something he hadn’t expected. He’s enjoying himself.

It’s not just the food or the movie, though both are nice. It’s the easy, unspoken comfort of the moment. The way you’re curled up next to him, completely immersed in the film, your spoon slowly scraping against the plate as you savor each bite. The occasional hum of satisfaction you make. The way he feels… at ease. He had meant to leave. He always does after the shoots. But now, he isn’t in a hurry.

You suddenly nudge him with your elbow, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It's good, right?” you motion toward his plate.

He glances down at the half-eaten slice of cake before looking back at you. A small smirk tugs at his lips. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Then your phone rings, shattering the comfortable silence. You don’t hesitate to pick it up, casually bringing it to your ear as if you’ve been expecting the call. At first, he doesn’t think much of it, keeping his focus on the movie, but then he can't help but catches glimpses of the conversation.

Your voice, soft and teasing, the slight lilt in your tone as you speak. A light chuckle here, a playful hum there. It doesn’t take much for him to piece together the kind of conversation you’re having.

He doesn’t want to care. He really doesn’t. So he keeps his eyes on the screen. By the time you finally hang up and set your phone aside, he barely lasts a second before blurting out, “Who was that?”

You glance at him, completely unbothered. “Felix.”

He keeps his expression neutral as he asks, “What did he want?”

“He asked if I’ve decided about the collab yet,” you say, stretching your arms above your head before settling back against the pillows.

Hyunjin hesitates before asking, “And… do you want to do it?”

“I think it’s a good opportunity to start something new.”

He frowns. “After what happened?”

You sigh, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. “I know,” you meekly admit.

“Then do you have to do it?”

“Not necessarily,” you say, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t just keep doing the same content and expect a different result.”

He exhales through his nose, still uneasy. “Do you trust him enough to do this with him?”

A small smile plays on your lips as you tilt your head. “The only man I trust to do this with is you.”

And then, before he can even process that, you add, “But since you obviously don’t want to, that means I don't exactly have any options.”

“Let’s do it.” The words slip out of him before he can stop them.

You freeze for a second. “What?”

He swallows, his grip tightening around his plate. “Do it with me.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing, shaking your head as if he just told the funniest joke. "Yeah, right," you scoff, waving a hand dismissively.

But Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His expression remains serious, eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your laughter waver. “I mean it,” he says, setting his plate down. “I want to do it.”

You arch a brow, still unconvinced. “You? Hyunjin, are you actually serious?”

“Yes,” he insists. “If you want, we can do it now.”

That only makes you laugh harder. “Oh my God, stop,” you say, pressing a hand against your forehead. “This is funny, okay, you've got me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of offense crossing his features. His brows pull together as he watches you laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” you chuckle, wiping at your eyes. “You saying all that with a straight face.”

He exhales sharply. “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.”

You sigh, finally regaining your composure, and shake your head with a small smile. “Even if you want to do it, we can’t just jump into it immediately.”

“Why not?” he challenges, tilting his head.

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbow on your knee. “Because,” you say, meeting his gaze, “there’s something else you have to do first.”

-

You remember, almost absentmindedly, that your friend’s wedding is this weekend. The realization comes as you sip your morning coffee, scrolling through your phone. A few mutual friends have posted about their excitement—outfit choices, travel plans, well wishes.

That’s when you glance toward the kitchen counter and spot the wedding invitation, half-buried beneath a pile of unopened mail. You set your mug down and pick it up, running your fingers over the elegant gold lettering. The date is clear. It’s happening in just a few days.

But instead of excitement, a heavy feeling settles in your chest. The memory of their engagement party resurfaces, uninvited. The way the night had ended for you. The way you had driven home with a lump in your throat, gripping the wheel too tightly. The way you had collapsed onto your bed, drowning in emotions you couldn’t quite name. You exhale sharply and set the invitation down. You already know your answer. You’re not going.

Turning away, you head toward your closet, pulling out the dress you had bought specifically for the occasion. It’s still in its garment bag, tags still attached—a waste, really. You take it out, letting the fabric slip between your fingers, admiring it for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no point in keeping it now.

Grabbing your phone, you check the return policy. Still eligible. Good. You drape the dress over your arm, grab your keys, and head for the door.

The store is far from crowded when you arrive. You step inside, the dress slung over your shoulder, and make your way straight to the customer service counter. A staff member greets you with a polite smile, and you return it as you place the garment bag onto the counter. “I’d like to return this,” you say, unzipping the bag to reveal the dress inside.

She nods and begins the process, asking for your receipt. As you dig through your bag, you hear footsteps approaching the counter beside you. Then, a familiar voice. “Uh—same here, actually.”

You freeze for a second before turning your head to the side. And there he is—Felix, standing next to you, looking just as surprised to see you. He’s holding a neatly folded tie, still in its box. His brows raise. “What are you doing here?”

You gesture toward the dress on the counter. “Returning this. You?”

A small laugh escapes him. “Returning this,” he says, lifting the tie slightly.

Before you can say anything else, the staff member turns her attention back to you. “May I know what’s the reason for the return?”

You hesitate, not exactly in the mood to explain the real reason behind it. Instead, you go for the easy answer. “I... don’t really like the cut.”

The staff nods, then looks at Felix. “And how about you?”

Felix grins, eyes glinting with mischief as he shrugs. “Yeah, same. Don’t really like the cut.”

It takes a second for the words to settle in before you both burst into laughter. The staff watches, clearly amused but keeping professional as she processes the returns. You shake your head, still chuckling, as Felix leans slightly against the counter. “Guess we both had second thoughts,” he muses, still grinning.

You and Felix found a cozy café not far from the store, the two of you sit by the window, your drinks in hand, watching people pass by outside.

Felix stirs his iced coffee lazily, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he starts, “I’ve been holding myself back from calling you again.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your drink. “Oh? Now I can't help but think that maybe returning your tie was just an excuse to see me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Damn, you caught me.” Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “But for real, my mom’s been pushing me to go to these job interviews. That’s actually why she got me the tie.”

You tilt your head. “Job interviews? For what?”

“Office jobs. Boring ones,” he says, rolling his eyes. “The kind where you sit at a desk all day and pretend to care about spreadsheets and meetings.” He takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “I know she means well, but it’s just not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “So, you didn’t even go?”

“Nah,” he admits, grinning unapologetically before adorablg scrunches his nose. “I told her I’d think about it, but I don’t really want to. I like what I do. I don’t care what people think about it. It makes me money, I enjoy it, and that’s enough for me.”

Hearing that, you feel a flicker of understanding settle in your chest. You know exactly what he means. “Yeah,” you murmur, tapping your fingers against your cup. “I get that.”

Felix props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you. "And how about you? Why’d you really return the dress?" he asks casually before taking another sip of his coffee.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Didn’t like the color."

He hums, unconvinced. "All colors suit you. Please find a better answer. "

You roll your eyes at him but let out a small laugh. He sees right through you. There’s no point in dodging the question, so you sigh, setting your cup down. "Fine," you admit. "It’s for a wedding this weekend… my friend's wedding."

Felix nods slowly, waiting for you to continue.

"I was supposed to go," you say, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "But I think I'd better not."

His expression shifts slightly, more attentive now. "Why?"

You exhale, looking out the café window for a moment. "I went to their engagement part and it wasn’t exactly a fun experience for me," you say with a wry smile. "People whispering, looking at me like I don’t belong there, some even making comments loud enough for me to hear. I just…" You shake your head. "I don’t want to deal with that again. I don’t want to cause any inconvenience at their wedding."

Felix frowns as he absentmindedly stirring his iced coffee with the straw. "Inconvenience?"

You nod, finger fiddling with the handle of your coffee mug. "It’s their special day. The last thing they need is people gossiping about me in the background."

He clicks his tongue in disapproval, leaning back in his chair. "That’s bullshit," he says, blunt as ever. "If your friend invited you, it means they want you there. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because some people don’t know how to mind their own business."

A part of you knows he’s right, but another part still hesitates. You give him a small smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. "It’s easier this way."

Felix studies you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "Easier, maybe. But is it what you really want?"

Hearing no answers from you, he leans forward, resting his arms on the table, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours with an almost mischievous glint. "I think you should go," he says firmly. "Screw those people. It’s your friend’s wedding, not theirs."

You exhale, shaking your head. "Felix—"

"I’m serious," he cuts in. "And if you don’t want to go alone, then I’ll go with you."

That makes you pause and then snort in disbelief. "You’d do that?"

"Of course. I’ll be your date. Your supporter. Your personal hype man. Whatever you need." He gestures at himself dramatically. "I’ll make sure no one says a damn thing to you. And if they do, I’ll just blind them with my dazzling presence."

You let out a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you—so eager to help, so understanding—makes your chest feel warm. Felix is just that kind of person. Confident, carefree, and unapologetic about who he is. And that confidence? It’s infectious.

You find yourself nodding before you even realize it. "Okay," you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I’ll take you as my date."

Felix beams at that until you add, "But," you tilt your head playfully, "I get to pick the tie."

His grin only widens. "Fine. But in that case, I get to help you pick the dress."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Deal."

He raises his coffee cup. "To proving people wrong and looking damn good while doing it."

You clink your cup against his with a quiet chuckle, a strange but pleasant feeling settling in your chest. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

-

Lately, there’s been one message you always expect—one you’ve started looking forward to more than you’d admit. You take a slow sip of your smoothie, the cool sweetness spreading across your tongue as you scroll through your Lustre notifications. And, as expected, there it is.

mag.shawn: I can’t wait for your new post. But what I look forward to the most is seeing your beautiful face—it always brightens up my days.

A small smile tugs at your lips as you read it. You type out a quick reply, letting the warmth of his words settle over you.

You: That’s so sweet of you to say. I’ll do my best to keep brightening your days then ❤️

Just as you’re about to take another sip of your smoothie, a sudden knock echoes through your apartment. You stare at the door for a second longer before unlocking it and pulling it open.

Hyunjin stands there, his long dark hair slightly disheveled as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. One hand grips the strap of his bag, the other tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. His gaze flickers to yours, then away, before he clears his throat. "Hey," he says. "Can I come in?"

You don’t say anything, just step aside and open the door wider. He takes it as an invitation and walks in, dropping his bag near the couch. Without a word, you walk to the fridge, grab a can of drink, and hand it to him. He takes it with a quiet thanks, cracking it open but not taking a sip yet. Instead, he glances at you, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face.

"Can I use your laptop?" he asks. "I need to check something."

You raise a brow but nod, grabbing your laptop from the coffee table and passing it to him. As he opens it and starts typing, you settle beside him on the couch, bringing your smoothie to your lips.

For a while, the only sounds in the room are the soft clicks of the keyboard and the occasional sip of your drink. You don’t press him for details, simply letting him do whatever he needs to do. Then, after a few minutes, he exhales through his nose and turns the screen toward you.

You glance at him before looking down at the laptop. The moment your eyes land on the screen, your breath catches. Displayed in clear text is the result of his STIs test. Negative.

The confirmation settles something deep in your chest. You had asked him to do this before the two of you could make content together, and now here it is—the proof that he actually went through with it. Your gaze lifts back to his, and for the first time since he arrived, Hyunjin looks directly at you. His expression is unreadable, but his fingers drum against the side of the can in his hand, a telltale sign of his nerves.

“Well?” he asks, voice quiet.

“Well,” you echo, taking another sip of your smoothie, swallowing slowly before answering.

A while later, you set your smoothie down on the table, eyes still locked on Hyunjin as you tilt your head slightly. "I just have to ask you one more time. Are you sure you really want to do this?"

"Yeah," he answers without a beat.

His answer is immediate, but you don’t let it slide that easily. You lean back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other as you study him. "You know there’s no turning back once you do, right?"

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You keep saying that like I haven’t already thought about it."

"Have you, though?" You arch a brow, unconvinced. "Because I’m not just talking about the content itself. I’m talking about everything that comes with it. The comments, the assumptions people will make about you, the way this could change things—"

"I don’t really care." His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. A certainty that makes your stomach twist.

You watch him for a moment, searching for any hint of doubt in his expression, but there’s none. He holds your gaze, unwavering, and it’s only then that you realize—he’s already made up his mind. Still, you hesitate. "...Why?"

Hyunjin exhales, running a hand through his hair before leaning back against the couch. "Because I want to help you." He pauses, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. "And maybe I just want to do it with you."

That last part makes your heart skip a beat, but you push past it, keeping your voice light. "You say that like you don’t have better options."

Hyunjin scoffs as he rubs his lower lip with his finger. "You say that like I care about other options."

You stare at him, lips pressing together. He stares back, waiting. Then, finally, you sigh and shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Okay, let's do it then."

-

At this point, Hyunjin treats your apartment like his own, he moves around with practiced ease, pulling the sheer curtains open just enough to let the afternoon light spill into the room. The soft glow is exactly what he wants for today’s shoot—natural, warm, and intimate. He glances over his setup, adjusting the white cloth draped over the couch, smoothing out any wrinkles. The space is nearly ready.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and when he looks up, you’re walking toward him with two cans of drinks in hand. Your hair is slightly tousled, and there’s a relaxed air about you as you offer him one of the cans.

Hyunjin steps forward, wiping his hands on his jeans before taking the drink from you. His fingers brush against yours for a split second, and he wonders if you notice. "Perfect timing," he murmurs, bringing the can to his lips for a quick sip. The warmth seeps into his fingers, and he exhales softly. "Thanks."

You nod, taking a sip of your own before glancing around the setup. "So... everything ready?"

"Almost," he says, rolling his shoulders. "I want to play with the light a little, see how it looks on camera." He steps back, scanning the room, his mind already piecing together the angles and shots. The sunlight highlights the shapes of the couch, creating soft shadows. It’s exactly what he envisioned.

You lower your can of drink and glance at Hyunjin, who is still surveying the setup with a focused look on his face. “So, what’s the plan for today?” you ask, shifting your weight onto one leg.

He turns to you, his dark eyes settling on yours. “I want to use the light as much as possible. It’ll create a really soft effect, like…” He gestures vaguely with his free hand, trying to find the right words. “Like something dreamlike, almost natural. I’ll direct you, but I also want you to move how you feel comfortable.”

You hum, tilting your head as you process his vision. “So, more candid, less posed?”

He nods, sipping his coffee. “Exactly.”

You shift closer, peering at him over the rim of your cup. “And… Do I have your consent for the part after?”

Hyunjin blinks, then a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “You have my consent,” he says smoothly, his voice steady, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—anticipation, maybe.

You let out a short laugh, arching a brow as you tease him, “You sound so eager for today’s shoot.”

He rolls his eyes, but the way his fingers tap against his can of drink betrays him. “I’m just committed to making this look good,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

You grin, stepping past him toward the couch. “Sure. Let’s call it that.”

Hyunjin adjusts the camera in his hands, his fingers instinctively finding the right settings as he looks through the lens. The natural light floods the room, casting soft shadows across your skin. You’re draped across the couch in nothing but a loose white sweater and matching underwear, your body relaxed, effortlessly beautiful.

He’s done this before—countless times now—but there’s something about this moment that makes him pause. Maybe it’s the way the light caresses the curves of your body, or how the sweater slips just enough off your shoulder to reveal more of your skin. Or maybe it’s just you. No matter how many times he’s taken your pictures, Hyunjin realizes he never gets tired of looking at you. Admiring you.

You shift slightly, pulling one knee up and resting your head against the back of the couch. The motion is so natural, so effortlessly alluring, that Hyunjin forgets to press the shutter button for a second. When he finally does, he exhales a quiet breath.

"You’re staring," you tease, your voice light but knowing.

He lowers the camera slightly, meeting your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, but also something else—something softer. He swallows, rolling his shoulders like he can shake off whatever this feeling is. "Why? Are you shy now?" he teases, bringing the camera up again.

Done taking your pictures, Hyunjin moves around the room for the second time to set the cameras to their tripods at different angles, making sure everything is set up just right. He’s meticulous about it, double-checking each frame, making small tweaks to the lighting. When he’s finally satisfied, he steps away and joins you on the couch.

As soon as he sits down next to you, you turn to him, your gaze soft but playful. Without a word, you reach up and tug the hair tie from his dark locks, setting them free. His long hair falls around his face, a few strands brushing against his cheek.

You hum in approval, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back before letting it slip through your fingers. There’s something intimate in the way you touch him, something gentle that makes his breath catch for just a second. A smile tugs at your lips as you look at him. “Are you ready?”

Hyunjin swallows, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you for a moment before exhaling through his nose, a small, knowing smile appearing on his lips.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice lower than before.

You lift your hand and rest it on Hyunjin’s stomach, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. His muscles tense for just a second before he consciously relaxes, his dark eyes still locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

Slowly, you lean in, closing the small space between you until your lips are just beside his ear. You can feel the warmth of his skin, hear the soft hitch in his breath. "Get comfortable," you murmur, your voice soft yet firm, your lips nearly brushing against the shell of his ear. "And follow my lead."

Hyunjin exhales, a quiet, shuddering breath. His hands press into the couch beside him, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to touch you. His jaw clenches for a moment before he gives you a small, almost amused smile. "Alright," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You move with unhurried confidence, shifting onto his lap and settling yourself comfortably as you straddle him. His hands instinctively find purchase on your hips, but he doesn’t grip—just rests them there, warm and solid. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt. You take your time, carefully unbuttoning each button one by one, your touch light and deliberate. He doesn’t rush you—he simply watches, his lips parting slightly when you finally part the fabric open and slip the shirt off his shoulders, exposing the lean definition of his torso.

Laying your palm flat against his chest, you let your fingertips trace over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him, the subtle twitch of his muscles under your touch. Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath hitching just slightly, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. His hands on your hips flex subtly, his gaze flickering between your face and the way your hands explore his skin. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, voice lower than before when he finally speaks.

“You’re really taking your time with this,” he murmurs, a teasing edge to his tone, but there’s something else underneath.

You simply smile, letting your fingers trace a slow, featherlight path over his collarbone. “Of course,” you say softly. “What’s the rush?”

You tilt your head, watching the way his gaze lingers on your face before dropping lower, his hands still resting on your hips as if he's trying to ground himself. Then, with a soft smile, you murmur, "Aren't you going to help me too?"

His hands tightening slightly before he reaches for the hem of your sweater. His fingers brush against your skin as he gathers the fabric, and he hesitates just for a moment, his dark eyes flickering up to yours as if silently asking for permission one last time.

You give him a small nod, and with that, he slowly lifts the sweater up, savoring the moment as he peels the soft fabric from your skin. His touch is gentle, careful, as he pulls it over your head and lets it slip from his fingers, tossing it aside.

Now bare before him, you feel the cool air graze your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you. Hyunjin’s eyes trace over you, his gaze slow and reverent, like he's taking in a painting he's never seen before, committing every detail to memory. His breath is unsteady when he finally meets your gaze again. His hands remain on your waist, but this time, they grip just a little tighter, like he's afraid to move too fast.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The only sound is the soft hum of the camera in the background, recording every fleeting touch, every unspoken exchange.

You take Hyunjin’s hands in yours, guiding them up your body, over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, and then higher, letting him feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips. His hands are warm, his touch hesitant but eager, and you can feel the way his fingers tremble slightly as you place them exactly where you want them, cupping the underside of your breasts. Then, slowly, you let go.

His hands remain where you left them for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the expanse of skin beneath his palms. When he finally moves, it's deliberate—his hands tracing over you, reveling in the way you feel. He drags his fingertips lightly over your skin, tracing lines only he can see, and the way he does it, so careful, so in awe, makes your breath shallow.

You rest your arms on his shoulders, letting your fingers trail along the nape of his neck, playing with the strands of his dark hair. Hyunjin tilts his head back slightly, his long hair falling away from his face as he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable at first, but then—he smiles. Not a smirk, not a teasing grin, but something softer, something real.

His eyes drink you in, as if seeing you this close, this bare, makes you even more breathtaking to him. And for a moment, he just lets himself admire you, his hands still exploring, mapping out every curve, every line, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you feel beneath him.

He continues his exploration. His fingers trail up from your shoulders, over the curve of your neck, his touch featherlight. He maps out your skin with delicate strokes, tracing along the slope of your throat, the line of your jaw. His fingertips glide over your cheekbone, then dip lower, ghosting over the bridge of your nose before finally brushing against your lips.

Then, gently, he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it away from your face. But instead of letting go, he keeps his hand there, holding your hair in place as his thumb idly caresses the side of your neck.

You watch him closely, your own hands moving to explore him in return. Your fingers drift up, brushing through his soft dark hair before trailing down to his face. You trace the arch of his brow, the sharp yet delicate bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheekbone. Then, without thinking, your thumb sweeps across his lips.

His lips are soft beneath your touch, plush and warm, and they part just slightly as your thumb glides over them. You meet his gaze, your own fingers lingering against his mouth as you softly ask, “Do you want to kiss?”

Without answering, Hyunjin leans in, his dark eyes locked onto yours, but just as his lips are about to brush against yours, you pull back ever so slightly. A teasing smile tugs at the corner of your lips as he instinctively follows, chasing after the kiss you’ve withheld. He exhales sharply through his nose, catching on to your game. His head falls back against the couch, and he lets out a dramatic sigh, his bottom lip jutting out in a soft pout. His hands rest on your waist, fingers idly pressing into your skin as he looks up at you with mock betrayal.

Despite his sulking, you giggle. There’s something so endearing about seeing Hyunjin—usually confident, effortlessly charming—reduced to a pouting mess just because of you.

Still smiling, you cup his jaw, your thumbs tracing the shape of his cheekbones. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way he holds himself still, waiting. Then, slowly, you lean in and press your lips to his.

Hyunjin kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s thought about it more than he’d ever admit. His lips move against yours, soft at first but it doesn’t take long before his desire seeps through. He sucks on your lower lip, teasingly slow, before tugging it between his teeth, just enough to make you shiver. Despite the bite, you sigh into his mouth, the sensation sending warmth through your body.

Hyunjin swallows the sound, his grip on you firm but never forceful. His lips move against yours with a growing hunger, hungry for the taste of you. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His warmth engulfs you, and the way he holds you—tight yet careful—makes your heart pound just as much as his kisses do. His lips move against yours with more urgency now, deepening the kiss, his breath mixing with yours. Then, without warning, he drags his lips away, trailing a path down your jaw to your neck. The first press of his mouth against your skin is soft, almost teasing, but then he sucks lightly on the spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch.

A gasp escapes you as he continues, alternating between kisses and gentle bites, marking you in ways that feel both dangerous and thrilling. His hands explore your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, skimming over your sides, pressing into the small of your back. His touch is everywhere—palms smoothing over your bare skin, thumbs brushing over sensitive spots, sending shivers coursing through you.

The room feels smaller, hotter, as the two of you stay tangled together, lips and hands lost in each other. Hyunjin has his hands splayed across your back as his lips continue their path down your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver through you as he lingers just above your collarbone. You shift slightly in his lap, adjusting your position, but the movement draws a quiet, unbidden sound from deep within him.

Your hands tangle in his dark hair, threading through the soft strands as he buries his face against you while you decide to continue to tease him, rubbing yourself against his growing erection. His lips brush lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin. The warmth of his mouth makes you exhale shakily, your fingers instinctively gripping his shoulders. As you continue slowly grinding on him, the friction between you both grows, drawing an almost involuntary reaction from him. His breath hitches, his fingers flex against your sides, and when you roll your hips just a little more, a quiet curse slips past his lips.

Hyunjin's hands slide down, gripping you gently but firmly, guiding you as though he wants you closer—if that were even possible. His lips part against your skin, and you feel the soft pull of his mouth, a teasing scrape of his teeth that has you gasping.

For a moment, the two of you simply move together, unhurried yet undeniably in sync. It’s intoxicating—the way he holds you, the way his body reacts to yours, the way the warmth between you seems to build with each slow grind against his swollen bulge.

You kiss him again, capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that deepens with every second. Hyunjin responds just as eagerly, his hands roaming your body, his grip tightening when you roll your hips against him again. His breath stutters when you pull away, but before he can protest, you tilt your head and press your lips to his jawline, then lower—to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, to the column of his throat where you can feel his pulse quicken.

His fingers dig into your flesh as you trail your lips down his neck, your mouth leaving a warm path over his collarbone, his chest. His skin is hot beneath your lips, his breath uneven as you continue your slow descent. You can feel the way his body tenses, anticipating your next move. And then you shift, slipping off his lap with deliberate slowness, your hands skimming down his sides as you lower yourself to the floor. Standing in front of him, you press your palms to his thighs, feeling the subtle tremor in his muscles before you gently part his legs, making space for yourself between them.

Hyunjin looks down at you, his dark eyes clouded with something heavy and overpowering, his lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something—but he doesn’t. Instead, he swallows hard, watching you intently as you kneel between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs. A quiet beat passes between you, charged with tension. Then, you lift your gaze to meet his, your fingers trailing slowly along the denim of his jeans.

"Still comfortable?" you ask, your voice light, teasing.

Hyunjin exhales a soft, breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he responds. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Very."

Your fingers begin to move, tracing the waistband of his jeans before dipping lower. Hyunjin's breath hitches as you work the button open, then the zipper, the sound cutting through the silence in the room. His hands, which had been resting on his thighs, twitch—like he wants to touch you, to stop you, or maybe to urge you on. But he doesn’t move. He just watches, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly, his lips slightly parted as if he’s forgotten how to breathe.

You take your time, easing the fabric down just enough, and when you finally free his member out of its confine, his head falls back against the couch, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. "Are we good?" you ask softly, fingers teasing, barely touching his erection.

Hyunjin exhales a shuddery breath, his lips curving into a crooked, breathless smile. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough.

For a moment, you do nothing—just let your fingers ghost along his hardening length, featherlight, teasing. You hear the sharp inhale he takes, see the way his stomach tenses as you rub your thumb around the crest of his cock. He’s beautiful like this—vulnerable in a way that makes warmth curl in your stomach, his dark hair tousled, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

"You're so hard, so big..." you sigh, slightly tightening your fingers around him.

You glance up at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze as you begin giving his cock slow, deliberate strokes. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, filled with something heady and unspoken. You take your time, watching him, waiting until he meets your gaze before lowering yourself, you press a kiss to his hip, then another, trailing lower, savoring the way his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a quiet groan when your lips finally brush over the tip of his cock.

The first sound he makes when you take his cock into your mouth is something between a sigh and a moan, his head tipping back against the couch. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just resting, as if he needs something to hold onto. You hollow out your cheeks and give him a good suck before slowly pulling away. You quickly replace your mouth with your hand to keep the stimulation going.

With your lips wet from saliva, you ask, "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," he breathlessly answer before letting out a shaky exhale.

You lick your lips before taking him in again, little by little until half of his length disappeared into you. Then, you beging moving, moving your mouth to testing, to tease while watching the way his stomach tenses and his lips part with every careful motion.

"Fuck..." he breathes out, voice wrecked.

His breaths grow uneven, his grip tightening slightly, and when you flick your gaze upward, the sight of him—eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted, completely undone—sends a wave of satisfaction through you.

You hum against him, reveling in the way he shudders beneath you, completely at your mercy. You give him a second to gather some senses and using your hand to pump his cock.

"Don't tell me you're going to come just from this," you tease, dragging your lips down the underside of his length before putting him into your mouth again.

Hyunjin’s breath stutters, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your slow, teasing pace. His body is completely at your mercy, and he knows it—you can feel it in the way he trembles beneath you, in the soft, choked sounds that slip past his parted lips. His other hand moves to the back of the couch, gripping it like he needs to anchor himself, his head tilting back as he exhales a shaky breath. "You're—" He cuts himself off with a groan, his body tensing for a moment before melting back into the cushions.

You glance up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his chest rises and falls with each unsteady breath, the way his brows knit together as he fights for control. There's something intoxicating about watching him like this, unraveling under your touch, his usual confidence slipping away little by little.

"What do you think? Am I doing good?" Your lips graze the tip of his cock as you speak.

"You're too good at this," he finally manages to answer, his voice breathless, rough.

You smile, dragging your hands up his thighs as you pull back just enough to whisper, "Just let it go when you feel like it. Swallowing is not a big deal to me "

His eyes snap open, dark and hazy as he looks down at you. There's a pause, his lips parting slightly, and for a moment, you think he might actually hesitate. But then his fingers tighten in your hair, his gaze burning into yours as he rasps, "I–I can't do that."

A thrill rushes through you at his words, at the sheer need in his voice. You hum in satisfaction, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his hip before resuming your pace, taking your time, savoring every reaction he gives you.

Hyunjin curses under his breath, his hand slipping from your hair to cradle the side of your face instead, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze never wavers, never strays from you, even as his breaths turn ragged, even as his body tenses beneath your touch.

"I'm about to come" he murmurs, his voice strained, almost desperate.

You glance up at him again, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile before pushing him just a little further, just enough to make him lose himself completely.

And when he does—when his body stiffens and his lips part in a silent gasp, his head tipping back as pleasure overtakes him—you know you've won.

You feel his release floods your tongue, hot and distinctly salty, filling your mouth. Then, silence. The only sounds left in the room are your steady breathing and his own ragged exhales.

When he finally dares to look at you, his eyes widen in horror as he sees you sticking your tongue out just enough to show him the white sheen of his seed before you swallow it all down your throat.

The sight stirs something deep within him that he reaches for you and roughly presses a kiss on your lips, his tongue pries open your mouth until you let him taste the remnants of himself on your tongue. Once he pulled away from the kiss, reality dawns on him. His flushed face deepens in color, and he quickly brings a hand to his face, covering his eyes as if that would make the situation disappear.

“Oh my God—” he mutters, voice filled with mortification as he sees a drop of his release landed on your chin. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

You blink at him before breaking into a soft laugh, reaching for a tissue nearby. “Hey, it’s fine.”

But he groans, shaking his head, clearly struggling with embarrassment. “No, it’s not! That was— I should have warned you—”

You smile, dabbing at your skin, before tilting your head at him. “You were a little too lost in the moment. I get it.”

Hyunjin groans again, this time burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this…”

Shifting closer, you gently pull his hands away from his face, meeting his flustered gaze with warmth. “Relax. It’s not a big deal.”

He exhales slowly, still clearly embarrassed, but your reassurance eases him slightly. He watches as you clean up without a hint of discomfort, and for some reason, that makes his heart squeeze a little.

You nudge his knee playfully. “If anything, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You simply grin, standing up and holding your hand out at him. “Come on, let's shower before you start overthinking this to death.”

With a sigh, he follows, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what just happened—but there’s something else in his eyes too. A flicker of something deeper, something more than just physical attraction. And as he watches you head toward the bathroom, he realizes just how dangerous it is to let himself feel that way.

-

It's a successful first shoot with Hyunjin.

Even though he handled the camera like a pro, guiding you through poses and capturing you in the most flattering ways, the moment things shifted—when you turned the tables on him—he completely fell apart. And now, despite how smooth he usually tries to be, he can't stop being embarrassed about how he lost control, especially about how he came in your mouth and your face.

You think about it as warm water cascades down your body, the memory playing in your mind like a highlight reel. The way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled against your skin, and especially the way his face turned crimson afterward, looking utterly wrecked yet so, so cute. You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

Hyunjin—always composed, always confident—reduced to a flustered mess because of you. You’ll never let him live this down.

After finishing your shower, you throw on something comfortable and head out to the dining area, where Hyunjin is already setting the table. His hair escaping the loose ponytail, and he's deliberately avoiding your gaze, focusing too hard on arranging the plates.

You slide into your seat, watching him for a moment before smirking. "You know… technically, I already had an appetizer before dinner."

He freezes mid-motion, his shoulders tensing. He slowly looks up, eyes wary. "Huh?"

You take a sip of your drink, feigning innocence. "I mean, I had a little taste of you before we sat down to eat."

His entire face turns red. He immediately drops his chopsticks, groaning as he buries his face in his hands. "Oh my God."

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. "Why are you acting so shy now? You weren’t shy earlier."

Hyunjin peeks at you between his fingers, shooting you a look of pure suffering. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you tease, grinning. "If anything, you loved it."

He groans again, leaning back in his chair dramatically. "You're not going to let me live this down, aren’t you?"

Despite himself, Hyunjin breaks into a helpless smile, shaking his head. As you both settle into comfortable conversation, the teasing lingers in the air—a reminder of just how much the dynamic between you is shifting, whether either of you is ready to admit it or not.

As you finish cleaning up after dinner, you grab an envelope from the counter and hand it to Hyunjin. "Your pay for this month," you say with a smile.

Hyunjin takes it, grinning as he flips it between his fingers. "Ah, my hard-earned money," he jokes, tucking it into his pocket. Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he leans forward slightly. "Since I’m less broke now, how about I treat you to a movie tomorrow? There’s this screening I wanted to check out."

You chuckle at his enthusiasm but shake your head. "I’d love to, but I already have plans for tomorrow."

He tilts his head, curious. "Oh? Where are you going?"

You set your chopsticks down, wiping your lips before answering, "I'm going to my friend’s wedding."

His expression shifts slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Is it the one friend you were avoiding back at the restaurant?"

You nod. "Yep. That one."

He blinks, clearly surprised. "I thought you weren’t going."

You shrug. "At first, yeah. But then I thought… why not?"

Hyunjin nods slowly, as if processing your words. But you don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, or how he suddenly seems more focused on the remaining food in his bowl. He’s disappointed. You don’t point it out, but you notice it.

"Sounds fun," he says, his voice light, but there’s something subdued in it.

You watch him for a moment, then smirk. "You sound like you’re sulking."

He scoffs, sitting up straighter. "Me? Sulking? Never."

You arch an eyebrow, amused. "You’re literally stabbing your rice right now."

He looks down at his bowl, realizing how aggressively he’s been poking at the food. Clearing his throat, he sets his chopsticks down and leans back in his chair. "I just think my plans sounded cooler, that’s all."

You laugh, shaking your head. "I’ll make it up to you, okay?"

Hyunjin pouts slightly, but the teasing glint in his eyes gives him away. "You better," he mutters, stealing one of your dumplings as revenge.

-

The morning sun shines through the high windows of the apartment building as Hyunjin walks back from the farmer's market, a bag of fresh produce in one arm and a bouquet of flowers in the other. The scent of them—sweet and delicate—lingers in the air, and he glances down at them, suddenly second-guessing himself.

Was this a bad idea?

He doesn’t know what compelled him to pick them up. Maybe it was the way they reminded him of you. Maybe it was just a habit—bringing home something nice, something that adds a little warmth to a space. Either way, he now stands in front of your door, unsure if you've already left for the wedding. A part of him hopes you have, just so he doesn’t have to go through the embarrassment of handing you flowers like some lovestruck fool.

Before he can turn around and retreat to his apartment, the door swings open. You're standing there, already dressed for the wedding, a bright smile greeting him.

"Oh, morning, Hyunjin!" you say, sounding rushed yet cheerful as you step aside to let him in.

He planned to just hand you the flowers and go. But now, with the door wide open and you ushering him in without a second thought, he finds himself stepping inside, still holding the bouquet a little awkwardly.

You move back toward your vanity, where your makeup is halfway done, brushes and compacts scattered across the table. "Sorry, I’m running a little late," you say, adjusting your earrings in the mirror. "What’s up?"

Clearing his throat, Hyunjin lifts the flowers. "I, uh… brought these for you."

You turn, eyes widening in surprise before a teasing smile tugs at your lips. "Flowers? For me? What’s the occasion?"

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. "No occasion. Just thought you’d like them."

You take them from his hands, inhaling their fresh scent before flashing him a soft, genuine smile. "They're beautiful. Thank you, Hyunjin."

Seeing you flustered for once makes him feel a little less embarrassed. "I'll put them in a vase for you," he offers, not wanting to stand there while you get ready.

"That’d be great," you say, turning back to the mirror to finish up.

As Hyunjin moves around your kitchen, filling a vase with water, he sneaks glances at you. The way you carefully apply the last touches to your hair, the way the dress hugs your figure just right—it all captivates him. Then, you turn around, smiling brightly at him.

"How do I look?" you ask.

Hyunjin quickly averts his gaze, setting the vase down on the counter as if that requires all his attention. He swallows. "You look… beautiful."

Your smile softens. "Thank you."

Before the moment lingers too long, your phone rings, breaking the air of quiet admiration. You pick it up quickly, saying, "Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute," before ending the call.

Hyunjin assumes someone is picking you up and he also takes that as his cue to leave.

As you both step out of your apartment, he lingers for a moment before saying, "Have fun at the wedding."

You flash him one last grateful smile. "I will. Thanks again for the flowers, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin steps into his apartment, closing the door behind him with a quiet sigh. He toes off his shoes and runs a hand through his hair, shaking off the lingering feeling of something he can't quite name.

But as he walks toward the window, curiosity tugs at him. He tells himself he's only looking to see what kind of car picks you up—maybe a fancy one, maybe not. But when he spots the vehicle pulling up in front of the building, what catches his attention isn't the car at all.

It's the person stepping out of it. Felix.

Hyunjin hadn’t expected that. You’re going to the wedding with Felix?

The thought alone stirs something uneasy inside him, but he pushes it aside, watching as you step out of the building. He tells himself that’s the end of it, that he should look away, go about his day. But then—

You walk straight into Felix’s arms, slipping into his embrace like it’s second nature. Despite the tightening feeling in his chest, Hyunjin watches as Felix leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger door for you. You slip inside easily, smiling up at him before he shuts the door and rounds the car to the driver’s side.

Hyunjin lets out a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his face as if to wipe away the thoughts creeping into his mind. What was he even expecting?

A part of him wants to shake it off, to go about his day like this means nothing. But another part of him—one he’s not quite ready to acknowledge—already knows that today, for the first time, he’s feeling something he shouldn’t.

Jealousy.

He scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at himself. Then, without another glance at the window, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the room in silence.

-

✨ Chapter III of Cam is available on my Patreon page ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[hyvneluv]

NEPTUNE.

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: In a distant future where an app can predict your death, a retired dancer and an ambitious swimmer cross path by chance. With their final day looming, they choose to share it together, finding unexpected connection in the fleeting hours they have left. (19,6k words)

Author's note: With this fic, I hope that you get to realize that no matter how small your achievement is, it matters. You are matter. Happy new year, everyone! ❣

In the distant future, death isn’t a mystery. It’s an appointment.

It started with a breakthrough—an algorithm said to be so precise it could predict the exact day someone would die. Governments called it progress, a tool to manage the chaos of an overburdened planet. They named it Mortem. What they didn’t expect was how quickly the app would seep into the fabric of life.

People stopped planning for the long term. Relationships became fleeting, careers lost their permanence, and calendars filled with expiration dates. Death notifications became part of the noise—just another alert blinking alongside weather updates and dinner reservations.

But Mortem wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t tell you the when—only the day. That meant hours, minutes, or fleeting seconds could separate you from the end. For some, it was a mercy. For others, a torment.

Tonight, the city pulses with quiet tension, as it always does. Neon lights flicker against a backdrop of endless skyscrapers, their glass walls reflecting a future built on progress and control. Somewhere, phones buzz softly, notifying their owners of an unchangeable truth: Tomorrow is your last day.

For those who receive the message, there are choices to make. Will they cling to the comforts of routine, pretending the day ahead is like any other? Or will they seek something different—a chance to hold onto life for just a little longer?

Two strangers will soon find themselves asking that same question. Their lives have never crossed before, but by the time tomorrow ends, they will have shared something no one else can understand.

-

5:00 a.m.

The alarm pierces the early morning silence, jolting Hwang Hyunjin awake. With practiced ease, he silences it, sitting on the edge of his bed as he stretches his long arms. His back arches slightly, muscles awakening as he bends forward to gather his thoughts.

The world outside is still cloaked in darkness, but Hyunjin is already lacing up his running shoes. A quick double knot secures them before he presses play on his playlist, music flooding his ears and sharpening his focus.

The crisp, cool morning air greets him as he steps outside. It stings against his skin, but he welcomes it, inhaling deeply as he begins to run. His strides are steady, powerful, each one cutting against the wind. His long, dark hair bounces with the rhythm of his movement, dampened slightly by the early morning mist.

After completing his route, Hyunjin stops by his favorite bakery, where the warm aroma of freshly baked bread envelops him. He orders his usual: a selection of warm pastries and a steaming cup of coffee to go. Back at his apartment, he settles by the window, the city stirring to life beyond the glass. He takes slow bites of his breakfast, sipping his coffee as the first golden rays of sunlight paint the skyline.

It’s moments like this, quiet and unassuming, that he treasures most. They remind him of the beauty in simplicity, grounding him before the demands of the day.

By ten o’clock, Hyunjin arrives at the training center, his focus razor-sharp. He begins with a grueling gym session, pushing his limits to strengthen his arms and back. The burn in his muscles is a familiar companion, one he embraces with resolve. Sweat drips down his chin as he finishes his final set, his determination unwavering.

But this is only the beginning.

Hyunjin steps into the aquatic center, the sharp scent of chlorine filling his lungs. In the locker room, he changes into a sleek pair of swimming briefs.

"How are you feeling, my man?" A friendly pat on his back pulls him from his thoughts.

"Excellent," he replies confidently, catching his reflection in the mirror as he adjusts his swim cap. His friend's grin widens, sensing the energy radiating off him.

"What's your current record?"

"For the 100 or the 200 medley?" Hyunjin asks, slipping the last strands of his hair beneath the cap."You know which one I'm asking."

"47.12." A proud smile curves his lips.

"Bet you can take it to 46 today," his friend challenges, tossing his shoes into his locker.

The words hang in the air, lighting a spark in Hyunjin. He doesn’t need the push—he’s already determined—but the encouragement fuels his fire.

Hyunjin steps onto the pool deck, his reflection shimmering on the surface of the water. Memories of his younger self flicker in his mind, the boy who first discovered the joy of being in the water. Back then, it felt like another world—quiet, weightless, serene.

That love hasn’t faded.

He dips a hand into the pool, splashing the cold water onto the back of his neck. It’s a small ritual, an anchor before the dive. His goggles are snug against his face, a protective barrier between him and the world above.

Hyunjin climbs onto the starting block, his heart steady, his goal clear. He holds the current record in the 100-meter freestyle, but today isn’t about records or accolades. It’s about pushing himself to the edge, chasing a version of himself he’s yet to meet.

The whistle shrieks, and Hyunjin dives.

The water welcomes him, enveloping him in its familiar embrace. Each stroke propels him forward, every kick slicing through the resistance. His body moves in perfect harmony, years of training reducing the act to instinct.

To Hyunjin, the sky isn’t the limit—it’s just the beginning. And soon, he knows, he won’t just swim among the clouds. He’ll soar beyond them.

-

8:02 a.m.

The studio is quiet, save for the soft creak of polished wood beneath your bare feet. Sunlight streams through the high windows, casting long beams across the mirrored walls. You breathe in the familiar scent of resin and faintly worn leather, grounding yourself in this sacred space.

This is how you always start your mornings: alone, warming up in the quiet before the day begins. It’s a small luxury, one you’ve come to cherish in a world that feels anything but certain.

You stand in the center of the room, your reflection poised and still. Slowly, you move through the routine, arms lifting, legs extending, muscles lengthening with every step. The rhythm flows from memory—an old habit, a comfort that never falters.

Then, it happens.

A sharp ping breaks through the silence, echoing off the walls.

You freeze mid-pirouette, your balance wavering. Across the room, your phone sits on the bench, its screen lit up with a single notification. For a moment, you don’t move. It’s not unusual for your phone to chime—messages from parents, reminders for classes—but something about the sound feels heavier this time.

You exhale, lowering your arms. Whatever it is can wait. You’ve always finished what you started, and today will be no different.

You push forward, completing the warm-up with careful precision. The movements are second nature, your body carrying you through muscle memory. But there’s a weight in the air now, and with each step, your focus frays a little more.

Finally, you stop.

The studio falls silent again as you walk toward the bench. Your pulse quickens when you see the notification’s source: Mortem.

You stare at it, your breath catching in your chest. The app sits there, waiting, the message unread. Tomorrow is your last day. Is that what it will say? Or will it be another date, far off in the future?

For a moment, you consider turning away. Dancing has always been your escape, your solace. Maybe one more routine will help you clear your mind.

You step back toward the center of the studio, muscles coiled and ready to begin again. But something stops you. A voice, faint but insistent, whispers at the edge of your thoughts: Face it.

Your hands tremble as you pick up the phone. You swipe the screen, heart pounding in your ears, and open the notification.

Your eyes lock onto the date, and for a moment, everything freezes. Confusion flickers in your chest, followed by the sharp pang of disbelief. You’d told yourself you were ready for this, that the day would come eventually, but seeing it spelled out so plainly shakes you.

And then, as quickly as it came, the chaos fades. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself as you’ve done countless times before. The truth is undeniable, and no amount of fear will change it.

You’ve made your peace with death. You always knew it would come soon. And now, soon is here.

-

3:22 p.m.

Dahlias.

Your mother’s favorite flowers. They stand out vividly against the muted tones of the hospital’s inpatient ward, clutched close to your chest as you make your way to her room.

It started with an ache—sharp and unrelenting—but she didn’t see a doctor until the nausea and loss of appetite became impossible to ignore. Six months ago, the diagnosis came: stage 3 pancreatic cancer. The doctor gave her six months to a year to live, and with every agonizing moment, you’ve come to understand why she wishes the end would hurry along.

But the notification she hopes for never arrives.

“Honey, I haven’t gotten my notification yet,” she mutters the moment you step into her room. Her voice is flat, a mix of irritation and resignation, as her eyes glance at the flowers in your hands.

She’s always irritable after chemo, so you don’t let her tone sting. Instead, you walk to the sink, filling a vase with water.

After the nurse checks her IV and blood pressure, you’re left alone with her. The silence isn’t new, but it feels heavier today.

“They said six months. Why am I still here?” she groans, struggling to adjust her pillow.

You hurry to help, carefully setting the vase of dahlias on the bedside table. They brighten the room immediately.

“They’re beautiful,” she finally says, softening just a little.

“I’m glad you like them,” you reply with a faint smile.

Your mother has always lived with vivacity. She wasn’t one for small dreams; she lived a thousand of them. In her teens, she wanted to be a singer. By her twenties, fashion called her, leading to an internship at a fabric shop. There, she befriended a chef who inspired her to pursue culinary arts. It was during that chapter of her life that she met a classical musician—your father.

And you.

Her dreams shifted then, morphing into family and love, and for years, she poured herself into creating a home filled with warmth. When your father passed, she found a new dream: becoming a florist. She turned it into a thriving business.

Until six months ago.

“Are you eating well?” she asks suddenly, her concern for you breaking through her fatigue.

You nod. “Yes.”

“What did you eat this morning?”

It’s a routine question, part of her new reality where food tastes like nothing. Asking you lets her imagine the flavors she misses.

“I had cranberry ciabatta from the bakery across the street,” you lie gently.

She hums contentedly, closing her eyes. “They make the perfect ciabatta.”

“Mom,” you say softly, taking her frail hand in yours.

“Yes, my darling?”

“What would you cook for your last dinner?” You smile to hold back the lump in your throat.

Her face lights up, pleased by the question. She’s always loved sharing her stories, and now they’re all she has left to give.

“For an appetizer, I’d make eggplant croquettes,” she says with a teasing grin.

“Mom, not the eggplant,” you protest, wrinkling your nose.

Her laugh is weak but genuine. “Okay, okay. How about scampi bruschetta?”

“Now that’s more like it,” you say with exaggerated approval.

She closes her eyes, envisioning her creation. “With thyme and lemon. I’d toast the ciabatta for five minutes—just enough for a crunch—and sear the shrimp with olive oil and a pinch of salt. Then sauté spring onions with thyme, lemon zest, and honey. Acacia honey.”

As she speaks, her voice gains strength, her enthusiasm igniting memories of her former self. Between recipes, she slips in anecdotes, turning her imagined last meal into a tapestry of her life.

You hang on every word because you know these stories matter. They are her, distilled into moments you’ll carry forever.

And yet, the cruel irony doesn’t escape you.

You were supposed to be the one holding her hand at the end, not the other way around. The thought pierces through your heart as you sit there, smiling at her stories. She has spent six months longing for death, only for it to come for you first.

She deserves to rest, to find peace after everything she’s endured. You would have done anything to give her that. But the universe is merciless. It has flipped the natural order, leaving her with the unbearable task of outliving her child.

The injustice of it sits heavy in your chest, threatening to choke you. How is it fair that the one who wants to die must keep fighting, while you—her child—are robbed of the chance to live?

By the time she moves to selecting drinks, her eyelids grow heavy.

“You’re sleepy, Mom,” you whisper, smoothing the duvet around her.

She nods, offering a tired smile. “I’m just a little tired these days.”

You watch her closely, memorizing every line of her face, every glimmer in her weary eyes. “You look beautiful today.”

Her smile deepens, faint but radiant. “I know.”

“You’ve always been beautiful,” you add, unable to stop yourself.

She chuckles weakly. “I look good with cancer, huh?”

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, committing her image to memory.

As you stand to leave, her hand clasps yours, pulling it to her chest. For a moment, it rests there, and just when you think she’s asleep, she lifts her other hand to pat your head.

“You’re a superstar,” she whispers. “I adore you so much.”

Those were her bedtime words to you as a child, and now they hit deeper, wrapping around your heart with bittersweet comfort.

In her eyes, you will always be her child, no matter how much of the world you’ve seen or what you’ve become.

As she drifts to sleep, you kiss the back of her hand, releasing it gently. You take one last look at her before leaving the room.

This isn’t goodbye. It’s not the last mother-daughter moment, either, because in life and in death, she will always be your mother.

For you, death isn’t the opposite of life. It’s simply a part of it.

-

6:16 p.m.

“46.92!”

The words ring out in the humid air of the locker room as Hyunjin’s friend pats his back enthusiastically. They’re both standing under the shower, letting the day’s fatigue wash away.

“I see a gold medal in your near future,” his friend adds, grinning.

Hyunjin can’t stop the smile that creeps onto his face. The thought of victory is intoxicating, the image of standing atop the podium almost tangible. He can taste it—sweet, like honey.

“Beers? What do you think?” another teammate calls out as Hyunjin turns off his shower head.

For a moment, he’s tempted. He deserves it, doesn’t he? Breaking his personal record, getting closer to his dream—surely, a small celebration wouldn’t hurt.

But discipline pulls him back. His body is his temple, and the bread he allowed himself this morning was already a rare indulgence.

“Not tonight,” Hyunjin says, his tone polite but firm.

“Next time, then,” his friend replies easily, shrugging it off as he heads for the lockers.

The others filter out, their laughter and chatter fading down the hallway until silence envelops the space. Hyunjin is alone now, drying his damp hair with a towel. He moves methodically, packing his bag, folding his towel, tucking everything neatly into place.

When he pulls out his phone, a cluster of notifications greets him. Most are messages from his teammates—congratulations, plans for the weekend, harmless banter. He skims through them absentmindedly until one notification stops him cold.

It stands out like a blot of ink on an otherwise pristine page.

Mortem: Tomorrow is your last day.

For a moment, Hyunjin forgets to breathe. The locker room feels impossibly quiet, the white noise of the air conditioning fading into nothingness.

He reads the notification again, hoping—no, praying—that he’s misunderstood. But the words remain the same.

Hyunjin’s legs feel unsteady as he forces himself to move, his bag slipping from his shoulder as he stumbles toward the pool. He steps onto the edge, the scent of chlorine sharp in the air. The water is eerily still, reflecting the overhead lights in perfect symmetry.

He looks down at his reflection, and what he sees isn’t the confident, ambitious swimmer who broke his record earlier today.

It’s someone hollow. A boy with dreams just out of reach, crushed under the weight of a cruel truth.

His fists clench at his sides as anger rises in his chest, hot and unrelenting.

“FUCK YOU!” he screams, his voice tearing through the silence, reverberating across the chamber.

The sound ricochets off the walls, rippling across the surface of the water. His reflection distorts, breaking apart into fragments before settling again, unfamiliar and unkind.

They say death comes at the right time. A gentle visitor, arriving only when it’s supposed to.

But that’s a lie.

It doesn’t care about dreams or sacrifices. It doesn’t care that Hyunjin has spent years of his life in pursuit of one thing, pushing his body and mind to their limits.

It doesn’t care that he’s so close.

And now, when victory is within his grasp, it will take everything away.

He closes his eyes, chest heaving as he fights to steady his breathing. The rage doesn’t subside—it sits in his chest, a molten core of grief and frustration.

Hyunjin knows there’s nothing he can do to stop what’s coming. But for tonight, he lets himself curse the unfairness of it all, his voice echoing into the void until there’s nothing left but silence.

For Hyunjin, death is a thief.

-

7:22 p.m.

Alcohol is never your first choice. You’re not a fan of the bitter aftertaste or the burn as it slides down your throat. But tonight, you need something to dull the ache.

Your phone lies face-up on the bar, the notification glaring at you like a cruel joke. It’s accompanied by offers—a funeral service arrangement, a hotline for counseling.

You stare at the screen, unsure how to even begin processing it all. Sadness feels too small a word for the heap of emotions weighing you down. Beneath the sorrow lies a sliver of joy at the thought of not having to endure another day. And beneath that, a fragile sense of relief that it will soon be over.

How do you explain that to anyone? How do you untangle that mess of feelings, let alone share them with a therapist?

The bartender doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Your sadness is written all over your face.

An hour passes, your drink long since gone, and you finally decide to leave. The bartender approaches, not with the check but with a bottle in hand.

“Here,” he says, taking your empty glass away.

You blink at him, confused. “I’m ready to pay—”

“I’m not taking your money,” he interrupts, pouring liquid from three different bottles into a pair of shot glasses with precise movements.

It clicks belatedly in your mind—some unspoken gesture, one you wouldn’t have recognized if you didn’t spend most of your nights at home.

“May I ask what this is?” you say, eyeing the amber liquid as he slides the shot glass toward you.

“The Three Wise Men,” he says with a faint smile.

“And who are they?”

“Johnnie Walker, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels,” he explains, gesturing to the bottles on the counter.

“Ah...” A small laugh escapes you. “Very wise indeed.”

He lifts his shot glass, holding it up in a silent toast. “Ready?”

You hesitate, your hand wrapping around the glass. “Any tips for this?”

“Don’t think. Just swallow.”

You nod, mirroring his stance.

“To the three wise men,” he says.

“To the three wise men,” you repeat, exhaling before tipping the shot back. The liquid burns all the way down, leaving a warmth in its wake.

“Whoo...” the bartender exhales, slamming his glass upside down on the counter.

You mimic him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “That was…” You pause, laughing nervously. “…something.”

He chuckles, leaning on the counter as his gaze sweeps the bar. “They say you’re either living to die or dying to live.”

The room feels quieter for a moment as his words settle.

He sighs, his voice softening. “But you know what? I only pity the living.”

The statement strikes you in a way you can’t quite articulate. You don’t want to die, not really. But the thought of living, with all its weight, feels far worse.

“Another round?” he offers, holding up one of the bottles.

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I haven’t eaten dinner, so I don’t think that’s… wise.”

“See? You learned from these men,” he teases, capping the bottle with a grin.

You pull out your wallet, sliding a card toward him. “At least let me pay—”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Use the money to buy yourself a nice dinner, okay?”

There’s no arguing with him, so you reluctantly tuck your card away. “Thank you,” you say softly, your voice heavier with gratitude than the words can carry.

He nods, his smile kind. “Hey, I needed that shot too.”

You rise from the stool, glancing back as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Have a great night.”

The bartender is busy with another order, but a few steps later, his voice calls out to you.

“See you on the other side,” he says, raising a hand in farewell.

For a moment, you pause, then nod, offering a faint wave before stepping out into the night.

-

7:45 p.m.

There's nowhere to go.

You’ve been walking aimlessly since leaving the bar, letting your feet lead the way. Your hands are stuffed into your jacket pockets as you stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. The thought of returning to your apartment, where silence lingers like an unwelcome guest, feels unbearable.

You could visit your mother again, but the idea of seeing her only to leave her forever—it's too much to handle.

There are so many things you want to do, yet none of them feel right.

The light finally turns green, and you step off the curb. But before you can take another step, something grabs your shoulders and pulls you back. A motorcycle speeds past, narrowly missing you.

Your mind goes blank. Instead of your life flashing before your eyes, everything shuts down for a moment.

"Come on!" a voice urges. A hand takes yours, pulling you across the street just as the light turns red again.

You don’t realize what just happened until you’re safely on the other side. Someone has just saved you. If they hadn’t stopped you, that motorcycle might have dragged your body halfway down the street.

You turn to look at your savior and freeze. He’s beautiful—stunning, even—and for a moment, you’re speechless.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice gentle but tinged with concern.

His words snap you out of your daze, and you hurriedly compose yourself. "Yeah, I’m sorry, I was—"

"No, no, it’s not your fault. That motorcycle ran the light," he interrupts, shaking his head.

Why are you apologizing? You should be thanking him. But when you look at him, the words catch in your throat, so you glance away. "Thank you… for, uh, earlier," you manage to say.

He smiles, and his eyes curve along with it, warm and genuine. But then his next words take you by surprise.

"Your death isn’t today, right? I’m pretty sure it said tomorrow."

You freeze again, alarm bells ringing in your head. How does he know that? You take a step back, suddenly wary.

Realizing he’s scared you, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I’m sorry—I should’ve explained first."

He lowers his hands and exhales before continuing, "I was in the bar earlier. I accidentally saw the notification on your phone when I was getting my drink. And then I followed you..." He grimaces. "Wait, that makes me sound like a creep."

He stops rambling and pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, tapping the screen until it lights up. He turns it toward you, revealing a notification identical to yours.

His death is tomorrow, too.

"I guess we’re doomed, huh?" he says with a shrug, his tone oddly lighthearted.

You’re at a loss for words, staring at the screen and then at him. How is it possible that someone like him—this beautiful, radiant man—is doomed?

He puts his phone away and looks at you earnestly. "I know this is sudden, and random, and... probably really weird. But do you want to have dinner with me?"

It is sudden, random, and undeniably strange. But as you look at him—this stranger who saved your life—one thought crosses your mind: What’s the worst that could happen?

You’re going to be dead in a matter of hours anyway.

"Okay," you say.

-

08:10 p.m.

The two of you decide to walk to dinner, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, his adjusting his beanie every few steps. He finally breaks the silence as you pass the second block from where you met.

"I'm Hyunjin, by the way," he says.

You glance at him and give your name in return. When you expect the exchange to end, he extends his hand, and you shake it, feeling the chill of his skin against yours. His long fingers, adorned with rings, seem oddly delicate.

"Nice to meet you," he says with a small smile, pulling his hand back to adjust his beanie again.

“So... when did you get your notification?” he asks after a beat.

“This morning,” you reply, freeing your hands from your pockets now that the silence has been broken. “You?”

He tilts his head back slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “Two hours ago.”

A strange feeling of unease stirs inside you, but he doesn’t let the conversation falter. “How do you feel about all this?”

“All this?” you echo.

He nods, waiting for your response. You search for the words, trying to name the whirlwind of emotions you’ve carried since the moment you opened that notification.

“I feel... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin stops mid-step, turning to look at you with incredulity. “Alright?”

You shrug, unsure how to elaborate.

“You’re not angry? At all?” His tone sharpens, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

Angry? That hadn’t crossed your mind. There’s an odd peace in accepting what you can’t control, a clarity you never expected. You shake your head. “No.”

His eyes darken, and he mutters, “Well, I am.” He starts walking again, this time faster, his strides growing wide and purposeful.

“I’m livid,” he says through gritted teeth. “If death had a face, I’d punch it.”

You pick up your pace to match his, almost jogging, until he notices and abruptly halts.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his frustration dissolving into concern.

You nod, panting slightly.

He chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons. “Sorry, I tend to walk fast when I’m angry.”

The two of you fall into a slower, more deliberate pace, hands swinging at your sides. You want to ask what exactly makes him so angry, but before you can, he stops again.

“We’re here,” he announces, holding the door open for you.

You step inside and immediately feel out of place. The restaurant is elegant, full of people dressed to the nines. Self-consciousness creeps up your spine, and you spin around to look at him—only to bump into his chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, looking down.

Hyunjin steadies you with a firm grip on your shoulders. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, stepping back to stand behind him.

“Table for two, please,” he tells the hostess.

She leads you to a table by a large window overlooking the city, the full moon casting a gentle glow over the skyline. As she places menus in front of you, Hyunjin mutters a polite thank-you, his attention already elsewhere.

You glance at him as he removes his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of his chair. He seems unbothered by the setting, completely at ease. He flips open the menu, his eyes scanning the options.

“Any ideas on what to have?” he asks, glancing up at you.

You fumble to open your menu, pretending to read it while avoiding his gaze. Finally, you lean forward and whisper, “Don’t you think we’re underdressed?”

He gasps dramatically, as if your words remind him of something crucial. Tugging off his beanie, his dark hair tumbles down, slightly damp and shiny, framing his small face. He ruffles it quickly, then shrugs.

“Steak? Pizza? Pasta?” he suggests, ignoring your question entirely.

You hesitate. When he offered to take you to dinner, you’d imagined a casual spot, maybe a pizza joint or noodle bar. Not this. And while you’re trying not to think about money, the menu’s prices make your stomach turn.

“I think we should go somewhere else,” you say quietly, your eyes darting over the options.

“Why?”

“It’s... too expensive.”

Hyunjin laughs, low and amused. “Do you think I can’t afford it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“I’m kidding,” he interrupts with a grin. Leaning forward, he drops his voice to a whisper. “Honestly? I can probably only afford a plate of pasta and garlic bread.”

Your eyes widen, but his sly smile makes it clear he’s joking again.

“Good thing we’ve got the pity card,” he says, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug.

You freeze, reminded of the pity card. It’s a small perk that comes with the notification—a free pass to almost anything, covered by taxes. A gesture from the system to say, “Sorry you’re dying soon—here’s a little something.”

But the thought of using it makes your skin crawl.

“No,” you say, shaking your head firmly. “Not the pity card.”

“Why not?”

You struggle to explain. “It just... feels wrong. I don’t want their pity.”

Hyunjin raises a brow. “Who cares? We’ll be dead in a few hours.”

Before you can respond, a waiter approaches to pour water and set down a plate of bread. Hyunjin thanks them softly, then turns back to you.

“It’s not like we’re taking their pity with us to the grave,” he says, lifting his glass. “So, what do you say?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. Four hours left. Soon, none of this—money, pity, pride—will matter.

“We only die once, right?” you say, lifting your glass awkwardly.

Hyunjin laughs, his grin lighting up his face. “We only die once,” he echoes, clinking his glass against yours.

-

8:20 p.m.

You're not much of a conversationalist, so Hyunjin takes it upon himself to break the silence, his curiosity about you driving him forward. He has a myriad of questions on his mind but decides to start simple.

"May I ask what you do?"

His question makes you look up at him, and after a moment's hesitation, you place your hands under the table and answer with a sheepish smile, "I'm a ballet instructor."

The pieces click into place for him—the flowy skirt, black tights, and your hair tied neatly into a bun.

"So, you're a ballerina," Hyunjin remarks, nodding thoughtfully.

"I was," you correct him softly.

He tilts his head, his brows furrowing slightly. "Was?"

"I'm retired," you say briefly, offering another shy smile.

Hyunjin blinks in confusion. Retired? You seem far too young for that. "May I ask why?"

You adjust the cutlery in front of you, your hand steady despite the weight of your words. "I got into an accident a couple of years ago. I badly injured my leg, and the doctor insisted I stop dancing if I wanted to keep walking..." Your voice trails off, and your lips curve into a sad smile as you avert your gaze.

The weight of your story hits him. He can empathize with the sense of loss; after all, his situation is eerily similar. You had to give up your passion because of an accident, while he faces an abrupt end because of the ticking clock. Both of you are here, grappling with the unfairness of it all on what could be your final hours.

"It's like that saying," you continue, "‘Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.’ So that’s what I’m doing now." You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and flash him a reassuring smile, but Hyunjin isn’t convinced. He recognizes the facade; he’s worn it himself.

"And you're not mad about it?" he asks, fully aware he might be treading into private territory.

"I was, for a long time. But eventually, I realized there’s no point in drowning myself in anger."

This time, your smile is different—genuine, even serene. It’s as if you’ve made peace with the cruelty of life, embracing it with quiet strength. Hyunjin admires it, though he knows how hard it must’ve been for you to reach that place.

He takes a breath and shifts the conversation, sensing the need to lighten the mood. "So, you’re teaching at a dance company?"

"A dance academy," you correct him with a nod. "I teach girls between the ages of seven and sixteen."

He can picture it easily—you, guiding a room full of eager young dancers, patient and warm. You probably make their favorite teacher list without even trying.

"And what about you?" you ask, lifting your glass of water for a sip.

"I'm an athlete," he replies.

"Ah..." you murmur, intrigued. "What sport?"

"Take a guess," he says with a playful grin, leaning back in his seat.

Your laughter fills the air, and you give him a once-over, your eyes narrowing as you search for clues. After a moment of deliberation, you venture, "You’re tall and lean so... basketball?."

Hyunjin chuckles, pleased with the compliment but shakes his head. "Nope."

You purse your lips in thought. "Soccer?"

"I like soccer," he admits, leaning forward, "but that’s not it."

You groan in mock defeat, covering your face with your hands. "I’m terrible at this!"

Hyunjin laughs, finding your reaction endearing. "I’m a swimmer," he reveals.

Your eyes widen in surprise. "That’s amazing!"

"I was scouted for the national team," he says, a hint of pride in his voice. "I was supposed to compete this summer."

The realization of his words hits him mid-sentence, and the excitement drains from his face. Summer is two months away—a future he knows he won’t see.

"That’s incredible," you say gently, your empathetic smile offering comfort.

Just then, the waiter arrives with the menus, saving the atmosphere from slipping into melancholy.

"Would you like to order some wine?" the waiter asks, presenting a list.

You scan the menu and suggest, "I think I’ll have white wine."

Hyunjin glances over the options, muttering to himself, "Vanilla and peach... sounds nice."

"Viognier, sir?" the waiter recommends.

Hyunjin looks to you for approval, and your small nod seals the deal. "We’ll have that," he says.

The wine arrives alongside your meals, and the two of you fall into a rhythm of eating, sipping, and conversing between bites.

"How long have you been swimming?" you ask.

"Since I was eight," he replies, pausing to take a sip of wine.

"Wow. I didn’t even realize I wanted to be a ballerina until I was twelve," you admit.

He’s struck by how much more at ease you seem now, whether it’s the wine or simply warming up to him. "What did you want to be before that?"

"A lot of things. An astronaut, a doctor, a ventriloquist..." You pause, your cheeks flushing with a laugh. "A vampire slayer."

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You really wanted to be everything."

"My mom broke my heart when she said I couldn’t be a vampire slayer," you say, your expression deadly serious.

"Honestly? I’d be sad too," he jokes, grinning.

You lean in, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. "Then she told me this: ‘It’s okay if you can’t achieve your dream. You can always go back to sleep and live a new dream.’"

Your laughter carries across the table, and Hyunjin smiles faintly, though the sentiment hits too close to home. Finding a new dream is one thing—but having the time to chase it is another entirely.

You finish your meal and dab your lips with a napkin. "The academy I teach at isn’t far from here, just a few blocks away. I actually have to stop by to grab a few things."

You glance at him, your expression soft. "Do you want to come with me?"

The invitation catches him off guard, but the warmth behind it makes it impossible to refuse.

"I’d love to," Hyunjin answers, smiling. For a fleeting moment, he feels less alone in facing the inevitable—because now, at least, he has a friend.

-

09:15 p.m.

"We'd like to pay with this," Hyunjin slides his phone across the table to the waiter.

The waiter studies the screen for a moment. You can see the subtle shift in his expression as realization dawns—Hyunjin's pity card, stark proof of his limited time, is what he offers as payment. The waiter looks back at both of you, his eyes softening, probably assuming this is some kind of farewell dinner.

He forces a smile and says, "We'll process it right away."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you, a small grin tugging at his lips as if to say, Here it comes.

Sure enough, the waiter, taking a step away, turns back around and says solemnly, "We're very sorry."

Both of you burst into quiet laughter, your shared amusement breaking the gravity of the moment.

"That's one!" you tease, raising your coffee cup as if to toast.

When the waiter returns with Hyunjin's phone and the bill, his demeanor is still tinged with melancholy. As Hyunjin signs, the waiter fidgets slightly, clearly wrestling with unspoken words. In the end, all he offers is another subdued, "I'm very sorry."

You glance at Hyunjin with a smirk. "Two," you whisper under your breath.

The waiter departs, but not before the lady at the till calls after you as you're leaving. "Thank you, and we're very sorry."

The moment the door closes behind you, you and Hyunjin burst into unrestrained laughter.

"A hat trick!" he says, shaking his head, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

As you stroll to the academy, you find yourselves critiquing the meal like professional food critics, though the details blur in your slightly tipsy haze. The wine stands out—delicious enough that you’d kept asking for refills. Thankfully, the cool evening air helps clear your head by the time you reach the academy.

You unlock the studio door, the faint scent of wood polish and faint traces of rosin welcoming you. The dim overhead lights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the polished floor and mirrored walls. Hyunjin steps inside, his eyes widening as he takes in the space.

"This is where you work?" he asks, his voice tinged with awe.

You nod. "My second home."

Hyunjin walks around the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the floor. He pauses by the ballet barre, running his fingers lightly over the smooth wood. "This place is beautiful," he murmurs.

You smile, setting your bag down. "It has its charm, doesn't it?"

His gaze falls on the wall of framed photos—groups of smiling children in costumes, candid shots of performances. "Are these your students?"

"Yes," you say, walking up beside him. "They’re the reason I still love what I do."

Hyunjin glances at you, his expression soft. "I can see why they'd love you as a teacher."

The compliment catches you off guard, and your cheeks warm. Quickly, you motion to the barre. "Want to try something?"

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you offering to teach me ballet?"

"Why not?" you say, grinning. "You’re an athlete. It’ll be fun."

-

10:25 p.m.

You stand in front of him, arms crossed, as Hyunjin tentatively grips the barre. His tall frame looks comically out of place in the elegant studio.

"Okay," you begin, stepping closer. "We’ll start with something simple—a plié."

Hyunjin looks at you skeptically. "A what?"

You laugh softly. "It’s just bending your knees. Easy."

Demonstrating, you lower yourself gracefully, your knees bending outward as your back stays straight. Hyunjin watches, nodding, and attempts to mimic you.

His execution is… not as graceful.

"No, no," you say, laughing, stepping behind him to adjust his posture. "Straighten your back. And don’t forget to keep your heels on the ground."

You place your hands lightly on his shoulders to guide him. The moment your hands touch him, he stiffens, looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

"Relax," you say softly, your gaze meeting his.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and finally eases into the position. You step around to face him, studying his form critically.

"Not bad," you tease. "But your turnout needs work."

"What’s that?" he asks, genuinely curious.

You tap his knee gently. "It’s the angle of your legs. Let me show you."

You crouch slightly, your hands brushing his calf as you adjust his stance. He watches you intently, his dark eyes following your every move. When you glance up, you find him staring.

"Something wrong?" you ask, standing upright.

He blinks and shakes his head. "No, it’s just… you’re really good at this."

You chuckle, stepping back. "It’s my job."

Encouraged by your patient coaching, Hyunjin tries another plié. It’s still a little stiff, but he manages to get through it without wobbling.

"See? You’re getting the hang of it," you say, clapping lightly.

"Don’t lie," he says, laughing.

"Okay, you’re still stiff," you admit with a grin, "but that’s expected. Ballet is all about control and precision."

Hyunjin straightens up, rolling his shoulders. "It’s harder than it looks."

"Now you understand why ballerinas are tough," you say, playfully nudging him.

He laughs, the sound light and carefree. "Okay, what’s next?"

You hesitate, considering. "Maybe a pirouette?"

"A what?"

You demonstrate the spin, moving with effortless grace. Hyunjin stares, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, no," he says, laughing nervously. "I’ll break something."

You step closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I’ll guide you. Trust me."

As you position him for the spin, your hand lingers on his waist. The closeness brings an unexpected tension between you, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

"You ready?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin nods, his eyes locked on yours.

"Okay. One… two… three."

He spins—clumsily, of course—but the two of you dissolve into laughter as he nearly stumbles into you. You catch his arm to steady him, the laughter fading as you find yourselves standing mere inches apart.

"Not bad for your first time," you say softly, your hand still on his arm.

Hyunjin smiles, his gaze lingering on you. "Only because I had a good teacher."

-

10:55 p.m.

The quiet of the studio wraps around you like a soft blanket, interrupted only by the faint hum of the overhead lights. Hyunjin leans against the barre, watching you adjust your pointe shoes with practiced precision. The thought has been circling his mind since you both left the restaurant, but now, in this space that seems so deeply a part of you, he can’t hold back his curiosity.

“So…” he begins cautiously, his voice light but uncertain, “how did it happen?”

You pause, looking up at him with a flicker of confusion.

“I mean, your accident,” he clarifies quickly, his expression apologetic, as though he’s afraid he’s overstepped. “If it’s okay to ask.”

A faint smile touches your lips, and you straighten, leaning against the mirror. “Two years ago,” you say softly, the words feeling fragile yet certain, as if the memory lives just on the edge of your voice.

Hyunjin stays quiet, giving you space to continue.

“I was preparing for an audition—Swan Lake,” you say, your eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and pain. “I’d been working on my fouettés for weeks, trying to perfect all thirty-two of them. It was… everything to me.”

He can see it in your expression, the longing for something lost yet deeply cherished.

“The morning of the audition, I was rushing to catch the bus,” you continue, your hand gesturing lightly as though retracing steps from that day. “I was almost out the door when I realized I’d forgotten my shoes—the ones I believed would bring me luck. So, I ran back to get them.”

Your voice falters, and Hyunjin feels a pang of dread, already sensing what comes next.

“When I stepped out of my apartment building, a car came out of nowhere.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers brushing over the edge of the barre. “It wasn’t even going that fast, but the way I fell… My leg took the worst of it. Surgery, physical therapy… the usual.”

Hyunjin swallows hard, unsure what to say. “Do you… regret going back for the shoes?”

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. “Every day.”

The silence that follows feels heavy and fragile, a moment suspended between reflection and grief.

“Can you dance at all now?” Hyunjin asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper, unsure if he wants to hear your answer.

You surprise him by smiling. “Why don’t I show you?”

Standing in the center of the studio, a quiet determination settles over you. The space transforms as you raise your arms, your posture suddenly regal, every movement deliberate and graceful.

“This is the introduction to Black Swan, Act III,” you say, your voice steady. “It’s what I’d prepared for the audition.”

Hyunjin nods, unable to take his eyes off you as you begin to move. You are mesmerizing, every gesture steeped in a passion he can feel even in the silence of the room. But as you transition into the fouettés, he notices the strain in your expression. Your balance falters, your leg wobbles, and before he can call out, you tumble to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin rushes to your side, dropping to his knees as you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Instead of answering, you let out a loud, breathless laugh that echoes through the studio. You collapse back onto the polished floor, holding your stomach as the laughter spills out, unstoppable.

Hyunjin blinks, confused at first, but the sound of your laughter pulls him in. A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, lying down beside you.

The quiet returns, the two of you staring up at the ceiling.

After a moment, you speak, your voice softer now, almost wistful. “Sometimes, I like to think there’s another me out there, one who made it to the audition, who got to live that dream.”

Hyunjin turns his head to look at you. Your expression is calm, tinged with longing but also a quiet acceptance.

“And you know what?” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m happy for her and that’s enough for me.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say, so he simply stays beside you, sharing the silence. There’s something achingly beautiful about your acceptance, the way you’ve found peace in the life you have now.

In that moment, he realizes how much strength it takes to smile at what could have been and quietly say, That’s enough.

-

11:13 p.m.

The studio falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels like a warm embrace. After a while, you sit up, brushing your hands over the smooth wood of the floor, and glance at Hyunjin lying beside you. He looks peaceful, almost lost in thought, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as an idea forms.

“I showed you my dancing,” you say, breaking the quiet. “Now I want to see you swim.”

Hyunjin’s head turns toward you, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “You want to see me swim?” he asks, his voice soft yet curious.

You nod, leaning back on your palms. “It’s only fair. I want to see you doing what you do best.”

For a moment, he studies you, as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious. Then, a small chuckle escapes him, and he pushes himself up to sit beside you. “Alright,” he says, a playful smile spreading across his face. “If you really want to.”

He rises to his feet effortlessly and extends a hand to you, his fingers warm and steady as they wrap around yours. With a strong tug, he pulls you up, but the motion catches you off guard, and your body stumbles forward, colliding with his.

Your breath hitches as you find yourself pressed against him, your hands instinctively landing on his chest for balance. Hyunjin’s hands settle on your waist, steadying you, and for a moment, the world feels still again—but this time, it’s charged with something unspoken.

You glance up at him, and your heart skips a beat when you notice his gaze lingering on your lips. The air feels heavier, your pulse quickening under his touch. His expression is unreadable, his eyes soft yet intense, as if caught in a moment of indecision.

Flustered, you look away quickly, stepping back to put some distance between you. “I should, um, clean out my locker first,” you say, your voice slightly rushed. “Then we can go.”

Hyunjin blinks, the spell broken, and his lips curve into a small, understanding smile. “Alright,” he replies simply, his tone easy and light, as though nothing happened.

You turn toward the studio door, your cheeks warm as you try to steady your racing thoughts. Behind you, Hyunjin’s footsteps follow quietly, his presence a steady comfort in the stillness of the room.

-

11:49 p.m.

As the taxi pulls up in front of the aquatic center, Hyunjin is the first to step out. The cool night air brushes against his skin as he circles around to your side, offering his hand to help you out of the back seat. You take it with a quiet "thank you," and he smiles softly in response, his fingers lingering for a moment before he lets go.

Inside, the center is quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a pale glow over the sleek, tiled interior. Hyunjin leads the way, his footsteps echoing lightly in the stillness, but after a few steps, he notices you’re no longer beside him.

He turns around, his brows knitting together in concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You hold up your phone, its screen glowing in the dim light, and his eyes fall to the numbers displayed there. It’s past midnight. The date has turned, and the realization hits him like a weight in his chest—this is it. The day has come.

“It’s today,” you say quietly, your voice steady but tinged with sadness.

Hyunjin studies your face, searching for any sign of fear. “Are you scared?” he asks softly.

You don’t answer right away, your lips curving into a sad smile instead. Then, with a steadying breath, you meet his gaze and say, “Promise me something.”

His heart tightens at your tone. “What is it?”

“If my time comes first,” you begin, your voice cracking slightly, “I want you to move on. Keep going. Finish your day, okay?”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens, his head shaking before you can even finish the thought. “No,” he says firmly, stepping closer to you. “I can’t do that. Not unless you promise me the same thing.”

You hesitate, your eyes glistening under the soft glow of the lights. After a moment, you nod, your voice a whisper. “Okay. We’ll both keep going.”

He takes your hand in his, his grip firm but comforting. “We’ll do it together,” he says, his voice steady and resolute.

You smile at him then, soft and bittersweet, and he feels his heart ache at how brave you are in this moment.

Hyunjin squeezes your hand gently and tilts his head. “So,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips, “do you still want to see me swim, or is there something else you’d rather do?”

You shake your head, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I still want to see you swim,” you insist, your determination making his heart feel lighter.

He chuckles softly, releasing your hand and motioning toward the pool. “Alright then,” he says. “Let’s make this count.”

With that, he turns and walks with you into the aquatic center, the weight of the clock pressing on both of you, but your shared promise holding it at bay for just a little longer.

-

12:07 a.m.

The sharp, unmistakable scent of chlorine stings your nose as you step inside the aquatic center. The lights overhead cast shimmering reflections across the vast, still water, and you pause, taking it all in. The pool is immense, almost intimidating in its size, with the kind of quiet that feels both peaceful and eerie.

You walk to the edge, peering over cautiously. The water glimmers below, deceptively inviting, but as your gaze shifts downward, the sheer depth of the pool sends a chill through you.

“Can you swim?” Hyunjin’s voice cuts through the stillness, pulling your focus to him.

You shake your head, your lips pressing into a tight line. “No,” you admit softly. “I almost drowned once when I was ten. I’ve been afraid of swimming ever since.”

Hyunjin studies you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, with a small smile, he says, “It’s not too late to learn, you know.”

You hesitate, your arms wrapping around yourself. The idea alone sends your pulse racing, the memory of water filling your lungs still too vivid in your mind. “It’s… not that easy,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

Hyunjin steps closer, holding out his hand to you. His voice is gentle but insistent. “Come with me. I can teach you how to swim… without the water.”

You glance at his outstretched hand, uncertainty swirling inside you. But the way he looks at you, so patient and reassuring, nudges you forward. Slowly, you nod.

“Alright,” you say, placing your hand in his.

He leads you to a smaller pool, its drained interior revealing its tiled floor. Hyunjin climbs down the ladder first, but the rungs don’t reach all the way to the bottom, and you watch as he drops the last few feet with an easy, practiced grace.

“It’s not so bad,” he calls up to you, extending his arms. “Come on. I’ll guide you down.”

You grip the ladder, your knuckles whitening as you lower yourself carefully. Hyunjin watches you closely, his gaze steady and encouraging. But as you near the bottom, your foot slips on the slick metal.

Your heart lurches as you lose your grip, your body tilting backward into the empty pool.

“Hyunjin!” you cry out, the name leaving your lips instinctively as panic seizes you.

For a split second, the world tilts and blurs, your breath catching in your throat. The feeling of falling stretches out endlessly, your chest tightening with dread. Is this it? Is this the moment everything ends?

The silence in the pool amplifies the rush of your heartbeat, drowning out everything else.

-

12:15 a.m.

It all happens so fast that Hyunjin doesn’t fully register the moment until you’re lying at the bottom of the drained pool, unmoving. A jolt of fear grips him as he rushes to your side, kneeling beside you.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice trembling. His hand hovers over your shoulder, unsure whether to shake you or give you space. Your eyes remain closed, and there’s no reaction. For a second, his breath hitches.

Then, just as his chest tightens with panic, you let out a low whine, your hand reaching for the back of your head. Relief crashes over him so strongly that he nearly laughs out loud.

“You scared me!” he exclaims, leaning closer as he gently brushes his fingers against the back of your head to check for any injury. “Does it hurt here?”

You wince but then immediately chuckle, brushing him off. “That would’ve been such an anticlimactic death,” you joke, trying to sit up.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky laugh, torn between exasperation and amusement. “I don’t think I’d recover from that,” he mutters, helping you up. To make sure you’re okay, he holds up three fingers with a mock-serious expression. “Alright, genius. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his hand away, a grin tugging at your lips. “I’m fine, Hyunjin.”

“You sure?” He narrows his eyes, clearly still worried.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you reply, waving him off. “Now, are you going to teach me how to swim or not?”

He laughs and takes a step back, gesturing for you to follow him to the center of the empty pool. “Alright, since you’re so eager. Do you have a swimming style in mind?”

“Uh… backstroke?”

“Backstroke, huh? Fancy choice.” He teases, listing a few others—freestyle, breaststroke, butterfly—all with a playful grin. Shrugging off his hoodie and tossing it to the side, he positions himself in front of you, standing tall and confident.

“Okay,” he says, holding his arms out in front of him. “Rest your back on my arms. I’ll guide you.”

You hesitate, your brows knitting together. “I don’t know, I might be too heavy—”

“Seriously?” He rolls his eyes and interrupts you. “I’m an athlete. I’m strong enough to hold you. Just trust me.”

Still unsure, you eventually take a deep breath and lean back, letting your weight settle onto his arms. His grip is steady, firm, and reassuring.

“See? No problem,” he says, his voice soft now, coaxing you to relax. “Alright, keep your body straight, like you’re floating on water. Flap your arms back and kick your feet forward, just like this.”

You follow his guidance, mimicking the movements, and he begins to move backward, gently carrying you along. It feels so real that for a moment, you let yourself believe you’re actually swimming.

But then your focus drifts as you glance at him—his sharp features illuminated under the pool’s dim lights, the concentration in his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world.

He catches your gaze and quirks a brow. “What?”

Flustered, you quickly look away, and your hand smacks against the tiled wall at the end of the pool. Startled, you sit up.

“Whoa, swimmer!” Hyunjin teases, his laughter echoing in the empty pool. “If this was real, your head would’ve hit the wall instead of your hand.”

You can’t help but laugh with him, the moment so lighthearted and surreal that it temporarily pushes the looming reality of the day out of your mind.

Hyunjin chuckles as your laughter fades, his hand brushing back his damp hair. The glimmer in his eyes is playful, but there’s an undercurrent of something softer, almost protective, as he watches you sit up fully, still smiling from his teasing.

"Alright," he says, crossing his arms. "You’re not bad for someone who’s never been in the water."

You roll your eyes but can’t help grinning. “Thanks to my amazing teacher, right?”

He bows theatrically. “Obviously. Natural talent helps too, but I’ll let you take some credit.”

You shake your head, standing up as you stretch your arms. “Well,” you say with mock seriousness, “now that I’ve impressed you with my not-so-real swimming skills, it’s your turn to show me what you’ve got.”

Hyunjin straightens, his grin widening. “Oh, you want to see me swim for real?”

“Of course,” you reply, stepping aside and gesturing toward the other end of the pool. “How else am I supposed to judge if you’re actually any good?”

He smirks at your challenge, the competitive spark in his eyes lighting up. “Alright, I’ll show you,” he says confidently, already pulling his hoodie back on. “But don’t blink—you might miss how fast I am.”

You laugh, following him as he leads the way out of the drained pool, anticipation bubbling in the air between you.

-

12:55 a.m.

The aquatic center feels almost otherworldly in its stillness, the faint scent of chlorine hanging in the air. When Hyunjin finally reappears, dressed in nothing but his swimming trunks, towel, and goggles in hand, it takes you by surprise. His tall, lean frame seems even more striking now, the hoodie he'd worn earlier having hidden the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his physique.

You catch yourself staring, and before you can stop it, an awkward giggle slips out. Hyunjin tilts his head, confused but amused. "What?" he asks.

Shyly, you admit, "Nothing, I just— I was starting to get creeped out being here all alone when you went to change."

He chuckles softly, walking to the edge of the pool. He crouches to scoop water into his hand, splashing it onto the back of his neck before straightening up.

"I need to warm up first," he says casually. You nod, stepping back to give him space.

Hyunjin drops to the ground and starts doing push-ups, his muscles flexing with each movement. You’re mesmerized despite yourself, your gaze tracing the way his body moves with fluid strength. Feeling the heat creep up your face, you force yourself to look away just as he finishes, bouncing lightly on his feet to shake out his wrists and arms.

"Don’t blink," he says, smirking as he heads toward the pool. "I swim so fast, you might miss it."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you respond with a teasing, "I’ll try to keep up."

Hyunjin dives in, his body cutting through the water with ease. The rhythmic splashing fills the air, and you can’t help but admire him. Watching him move with such precision and grace, he looks almost otherworldly—like a god emerging from the sea as he surfaces and climbs out of the pool.

The sight of water beading on his skin makes you avert your gaze, your heart racing. Grabbing the towel he'd left behind, you hand it to him without meeting his eyes.

"What did you think?" he asks, running the towel over his hair.

"Eh, it was alright," you tease with a grin.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow at your playful jab but chuckles, grabbing a stopwatch from his things. "Alright, critic. Let’s make it official. Time me this time."

"I don’t know if I’ll get it right," you protest, but he waves your concerns off.

"It doesn’t have to be perfect," he reassures you, securing his swimming cap and goggles. Once he’s ready, he asks, "You ready?"

You move closer to the pool’s edge, holding up the stopwatch. "Ready when you are."

Hyunjin steps onto the starting block, his form taut and focused. You start the countdown, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "Three... two... one!"

At the sound of "one," he dives in, and the water comes alive with his movement. Squatting down, you watch intently as he powers through the length of the pool and then back again, his speed almost unbelievable. The closer he gets to the edge, the tighter your grip on the stopwatch becomes.

When his hand finally slaps the wall, you hit the button, exhaling in relief.

Hyunjin surfaces, wiping his face. "What’s the time?"

You glance at the stopwatch, still catching your breath. "Forty-six point six-five," you announce, your voice tinged with excitement.

For a moment, Hyunjin looks puzzled, then his expression lights up. Dropping his towel, he strides over and lifts you effortlessly by the waist, spinning you around.

"Wait—did you break your record?" you ask, half-laughing and half-stunned.

He nods, grinning, but the elation fades quickly. As he sets you back down, his smile dims, his joy giving way to something more subdued.

"Hyunjin, what’s wrong?" you ask, concerned.

He shakes his head, forcing a small smile. "It’s nothing," he murmurs. Without another word, he excuses himself to wash up, leaving you alone with the faint ripples in the pool and a lingering sense that something deeper is on his mind.

-

01:08 a.m.

The hot shower does little to clear Hyunjin’s mind, the cloud of thoughts stubbornly lingering as he dries off and dresses. He sighs, running a towel halfheartedly through his damp hair before giving up and heading out.

The sound of his footsteps echoes softly as he exits the changing room, and he sees you standing by the bulletin board, seemingly engrossed in its contents. At the sound of his approach, you turn, your face lighting up with a soft smile. Hyunjin feels something warm unfurl in his chest—a comfort he hadn’t expected.

“You didn’t dry your hair properly,” you tease gently, pointing to the still-dripping strands clinging to his neck.

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, and you tilt yours thoughtfully. “How about some hot drinks after this?”

Hyunjin arches a brow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Hot drinks, huh? I’ve got just the thing.”

The short walk to his apartment is quiet but companionable, and when Hyunjin opens the door, he apologizes for the small, bare setup. His apartment is modest and practical—one room with everything visible at a glance—but he doesn’t seem embarrassed, just matter-of-fact.

He heads straight for the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. “This is what I mean by hot drinks,” he says, smirking as he pours two glasses.

You both take a sip, and the burn of the alcohol draws simultaneous gasps. Laughing, Hyunjin suggests snacks to enjoy the drinks with and disappears back into the kitchen.

While he’s gone, your attention is drawn to a shelf lined with photos, medals, and trophies. You step closer, taking in the collection of memories. There’s Hyunjin on a podium, his face glowing with pride as he holds up a medal; Hyunjin mid-dive, captured in perfect form; Hyunjin smiling so brightly that the photo seems to radiate his joy.

When he returns, balancing a plate of snacks, he pauses beside you, his gaze falling on the same shelf. For a moment, there’s silence, just the two of you standing there, and then Hyunjin lets out a soft sigh.

Hyunjin sets everything down on the small table, but his eyes linger on the shelf filled with memorabilia. The once-vivid memories of his accomplishments now feel distant, like faded photographs of a life that no longer feels like his own.

He steps closer, his gaze tracing over the medals hanging neatly on hooks, the trophies gleaming faintly under the dim light, and the framed photos of him on various winner's podiums. He can almost hear the echo of applause, the feel of a medal being draped around his neck, the weight of victory sitting proud on his shoulders.

But the applause has long since faded, and what hangs over him now is a heavier truth: it will all become nothing.

Hyunjin swallows hard, the realization pressing against his chest like a stone. Every record he broke, every trophy he held high—soon, none of it will matter. No one will remember him or the things he did. The glory, the pride, the recognition—it will all vanish as if it never existed.

He lets out a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of this... it’s meaningless now. Everything I’ve done—it’s nothing. Soon, it’ll all be forgotten.”

The weight of his words fills the room, thick and suffocating. His shoulders slump as he drops his gaze, unable to meet your eyes. For a moment, he feels like the water he’s so accustomed to—a surface rippling with movement, but underneath, a deep void pulling him down.

You stand beside him, quietly taking in his anguish. Finally, you turn to him, your voice steady, a soft but unyielding anchor against the tide of his despair. “I disagree with you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks at you, surprised by your tone.

“This is... your whole life and it shows that you achieved a lot of great, wonderful things. You can see how far you've become, your triumphs and failures, everything that makes you who you are now,” you say, your eyes locking with his. “And just because the whole world doesn't know how great you are this doesn't mean it's nothing. This is not nothing, this is everything.”

He watches you intently, your words weaving through the storm of his thoughts like threads of light. For a moment, he feels the weight on his chest lift, just enough for him to draw a deeper breath.

It's true that his dream is to make a mark in the world, he wants to be remembered by the world but as he looks at you, Hyunjin realizes that it only takes one person to know what he capable of. He doesn't need the whole world to know that he's great, he only needs one that fully acknowledges him as one.

-

01:22 a.m.

Hyunjin's words linger in the air, heavy with vulnerability, and for the first time since meeting him, you realize just how deeply he craves to make a mark on this world. It isn’t just about the trophies on his shelf or the accolades he’s earned—it’s about the story he wants to leave behind, the proof that he existed, that he mattered.

You see it in the way his fingers hover over the medals, in the wistful look in his eyes as they trace the photos on the shelf. For all his confidence and charisma, there’s a quiet fear beneath it all—a fear of being forgotten, of fading into obscurity when his time is up.

“Hyunjin…” you say softly, stepping closer to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, his gaze fixed on a photo of him on a podium, his smile bright but distant, like a memory that no longer feels real.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, the words spill out. “You are something and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.”

That catches his attention. He turns to look at you, his expression unreadable, and for a second, you worry you’ve said too much. But then his lips part, as if he’s about to say something, and he stops himself.

Instead, he just looks at you. Really looks at you. And in his eyes, you see something shift—a softening, a quiet acknowledgment of your words sinking in.

You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you charged with something unspoken. “And I know that we'll go into oblivion soon,” you continue, your voice steady but quiet, “but I'm still here and I know, I know how remarkable you are.”

Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t waver, and for the first time, you see him without the walls he’s so carefully built around himself. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to steady himself—or maybe you.

“I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it’s almost a whisper. “But… thank you.”

The way he’s looking at you now feels different—like he’s searching for something, something only you can give him. And as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of it shift into something warmer, something that pulls you closer to him without either of you realizing it.

When Hyunjin leans in, it isn’t sudden. It’s slow, deliberate, as if he’s giving you every chance to step back. But you don’t. You hold your ground, your breath catching as his face inches closer to yours.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s soft, almost hesitant, like he’s asking a question he’s too afraid to voice aloud. But as you kiss him back, the answer becomes clear. For this moment, at least, he isn’t alone.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you both stay there, caught in the stillness of the moment. His gaze searches yours, hesitant but vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something—validation, reassurance, or maybe just the courage to believe in himself.

Before he can say anything, you lean in again, capturing his lips with yours. This kiss is different, deeper, more intentional. You pour everything you want him to know into it—all the words he needs to hear, the things you can’t quite say aloud.

You are something. You are remarkable. You are a wonder, both in the water and outside of it.

Hyunjin responds immediately, his hands sliding to your waist, holding you like you’re the anchor he didn’t realize he needed. You can feel the way his lips tremble slightly against yours, the way his touch tightens just enough to keep you close but not trap you.

Through the kisses, you try to tell him everything you feel. That his achievements aren’t meaningless. That his existence isn’t something that will fade into nothingness. That even in the face of the inevitable, he has already left a mark—on you, on the world, on everyone lucky enough to know him.

His hands move to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if grounding himself in this moment, in you. His lips press harder against yours, the kiss turning fervent, desperate, as though he’s trying to absorb every ounce of comfort and affirmation you’re giving him.

You can feel the tension in his body begin to melt away, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in this small, quiet space.

When you finally pull back, it’s not far—just enough to catch your breath. Hyunjin’s eyes remain closed for a moment, his expression unreadable, but when they open, they’re shining with something you can’t quite name. Gratitude, maybe. Hope.

“You’re…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. But he doesn’t finish. Instead, he leans in again, his lips finding yours once more, and this time, it feels like a promise.

The two of you melt into each other, the kisses growing slower but no less intense. You lose track of time, caught in the warmth and closeness, as if the weight of the world has lifted, if only for a little while. For this moment, at least, you’re both enough—just as you are.

-

01:52 a.m.

Hyunjin's forehead still resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. His fingers trail softly down your arms, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. There’s no hesitation now, no doubt in the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every curve, every moment.

Without a word, he cups your face, his touch both gentle and steady, as if grounding himself in you. His thumbs trace slow circles over your cheeks, and you feel your breath hitch as his lips find yours again, softer this time, yet filled with a quiet yearning.

The world around you feels muted, distant, as he leads you toward the bed. The dim light casts soft shadows, and the room seems to shrink until it holds only the two of you.

“You're breathtaking,” Hyunjin murmurs with a low, sultry voice.

"Wait, wait. I'm..." you protest in breathless sighs, your hips arching, lifting off the bed.

He rushes a kiss on your open mouth, his lips graze yours as he says, "Let go. I've got you."

Your abdomen flexes under his arm as you clench around his fingers so hard it nearly pushes him out of you. His cock has never been so jealous than when you begin to come. Your eyes grow big, and your mouth drops open on a silent scream, and your wall clutches around his long, dainty fingers harder with each pulse.

Unreal. Hyunjin says in his head as he looks at you with a pair of big, lustful eyes.

"Look how gorgeous you are, coming on my fingers." He coos, his eyes traveling down your naked body that feels small in his arms. You moan louder in response and he knows he hits his mark.

Eventually, looking is not enough for him so he uses his free hand to touch you. "Look at your eyes, your mouth, your breasts. This soft, soft skin..."

Hyunjin softly smiles at your beauty as you fall apart around him. "So beautiful..."

You're still climaxing and you need this more than he realized. Which means you haven't had it in a while, at least not this good.

"Hyunjin!" You shriek, almost in a panic.

He presses his plush lips to your ear, his breath hot and tickling. "You look perfect like this."

Low moans are spilling out of you, still coming and struggling to breathe through it. Hyunjin curls his fingers and taps you right in the spot in a quick rhythm, and your eyes roll back a little.

"Good girl, keep coming for me. You're doing so well. That's it, be my greedy girl."

When you collapse onto the bed, he ushers you onto his lap, then cradles your spent body in his arms. As soon as he pulls his fingers out, your thighs press together.

"Don't close your legs." Hyunjin rests a hand on your inner thigh, wanting to see every spasm as he tastes your lips. "You're done hiding from me."

You lie side by side, and Hyunjin hesitates for a moment, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. His gaze searches yours, as if silently asking for permission, for reassurance. You respond with a small nod, your fingers reaching to trace the curve of his jaw.

When he leans in again, it’s slow, deliberate. His lips move with yours in a rhythm that feels like a conversation, one that needs no words. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing as he presses you closer, as if trying to erase the space between you.

“At least, we don't have to worry about condoms,” Hyunjin makes a funny remark as he settles himself between you.

A chuckle escapes your mouth in response, your head falls back onto the pillow. “That’s one way to see it!”

Hyunjin lowers his mouth on you, his trail of kisses begin from your ribcage, he goes lower and sideways, placing kisses on your abdomen that tenses as his lips get closer to where you want him the most. He flashes you a sly smile before placing the gentlest of kiss on your clit. As if that isn't enough to make you wet, he lands a few licks between your folds and drags his tongue upward only to swirls it around your clit and finishes it with another kiss on your clit, briefly sucking at it before letting go.

“I'm going in, yeah?”

You nod in consent, opening your legs wider for him and trying not to stare too much as Hyunjin will only stare back at you, and you'll likely crumble under his intense gaze.

“Oh...” you bite back a gasp the second you feel him entering you, just the tip but you can already feel that his size is above average.

Hyunjin props his hands on each side of you, deciding to hover above you as he pushes the rest of his length by motioning his hips. In this proximity, you can see the way his pupils gradually dilated and his eyelids fluttering the more of him being inside you. Overwhelmed, Hyunjin throws his head back and pushes the rest of his cock until he's fully sheathed in your warm, velvety walls.

“Argh...” his moan raw and broken as if something wounded him.

The world feels suspended, reduced to just the two of you and the quiet rhythm of your breaths. His bare skin glows in the dim of the light, the contours of his body sculpted with an almost otherworldly beauty.

As he thrusts into you at a slow, steady pace, you reach up, your fingers tracing the elegant lines of his collarbone, the smooth expanse of his chest. Every touch feels like discovering him for the first time, each detail making your heart ache with something too profound to name.

“You’re staring,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice soft, almost teasing, though a faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Can you blame me?” you whisper, your voice filled with awe as your fingers trail over the curve of his shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Hyunjin.”

His lips twitch into a small, shy smile, but his eyes stay locked on yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You make me feel like I’m more than I am,” he says quietly, the vulnerability in his voice wrapping around you.

You shake your head, your hand sliding to the slope of his waist, marveling at how perfectly he fits into the moment, into you. “No,” you whisper. “You’re exactly as you are. And that’s perfect.”

He lowers himself slightly, his long hair brushing against your skin as his lips hover near yours. Your hands continue their exploration, tracing the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his hips, and the strength of his arms as they're now propped in each side of your head.

“You’re not real,” you murmur, your fingertips brushing along his jaw, marveling at how soft yet strong he feels. “You can’t be.”

Hyunjin laughs softly, the sound vibrating through both of you. “I’m real,” he assures you, lowering his lips to brush against yours in a kiss that feels as light as air. “But if I’m not,” he whispers against your mouth, “then I’m glad I get to exist in this moment with you.”

Your hand finds his face, cupping his cheek as you pull him down into a deeper kiss, your body pressing against his as if to anchor him to the earth, to you. And in this moment, as you touch and hold and feel him, you believe in the magic of him, in the impossibility made real, and in the fleeting beauty of this shared, perfect moment.

The rest of the night unfolds in whispers and warmth, every touch and movement filled with quiet intimacy. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the two of you discovering and rediscovering each other, as if this fleeting moment is all that matters.

Eventually, the room falls into a soft silence, broken only by the sound of your breathing. Hyunjin’s arm wraps around you, pulling you into the curve of his body. His hand rests lightly against your waist, his thumb drawing lazy patterns on your skin.

In the stillness, he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re remarkable too,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with sincerity.

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you nestle closer to him, your fingers brushing against his. For the first time, the weight of the day seems to lift, leaving only this shared moment, this connection, that feels infinite despite the inevitable.

-

02:59 a.m.

The early dawn filters softly through the curtains, casting a bluish glow over the room as you lay next to Hyunjin, your head resting on his arm while his other hand lazily traces small patterns along your back. His warmth surrounds you, and for a moment, the world feels still and quiet.

With a curious smile, you tilt your head to look up at him. “Hyunjin?” you call softly, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Hyunjin turns his head to the side and softly gazes into your eyes. “Yeah?”

“What would your perfect day look like?”

Hyunjin grins, a playful gleam in his eyes. “This,” he says, gesturing to the two of you tangled together under the covers. “Right here, right now. Best way to be found dead.”

You laugh and gently swat at his chest, shaking your head. “Stop saying things like that,” you scold, though the smile on your face betrays your amusement. “I want a serious answer.”

Hyunjin hums thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as he considers. “Okay,” he finally says. “I’d start the day early, maybe before sunrise. I’d drive to this lake I used to visit when I was younger. It’s peaceful, surrounded by trees, and the water’s always so calm in the morning.” His voice softens as he speaks, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words. “It must be beautiful this time of year.”

You shift slightly, propping yourself up on your elbow to get a better look at him. “Is it far?”

“Not too far,” Hyunjin replies, turning his head to meet your gaze. “About two hours by car.”

A spark of determination lights up in your eyes, and you sit up, pulling the blanket with you. “Then let’s go,” you declare, your voice filled with excitement. “Let’s create a perfect day. It’s the last chance we have, so why not make it count?”

Hyunjin looks up at you, his expression softening as his lips curve into a tender smile. For a moment, he says nothing, just gazes at you like you’ve just handed him the world.

“No, let’s just stay here. It's perfect like this,” Hyunjin says with a sly grin.

You gently slap his chest and whine, hoping to put some senses into him.

Slowly, he sits up, leaning closer until his lips brush against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like a promise. When he pulls back, his face lingers close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady. “Let’s go.”

-

03:25 a.m.

Hyunjin is scribbling something on a piece of paper when you return, holding two bags of snacks and drinks from the convenience store. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration catches your attention, and you pause for a moment, noticing he's using your red hairtie to tie his hair into a low ponytail and engrossed on writing something on a piece of paper.

You step closer and knock on the windshield, grinning as his head snaps up, startled. His wide eyes make you laugh, the sound light and teasing as you shake your head. He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance but leans over to push the car door open for you.

“Need help with those?” he asks, already reaching for the bags in your hands.

“Thanks,” you say, handing them over as he places them neatly in the backseat.

“Did you get everything?” he asks, glancing at the bags.

You nod. “Yep, all set.” Then, reaching into your pocket, you pull out something small and hold it up. “Oh, and this,” you add with a smile.

Hyunjin tilts his head, curious. “What’s that?”

“For you,” you say, showing him the little star-shaped pin in your hand. “Your reward for breaking your time record today.”

His expression shifts, his gaze softening as he looks at the pin. A smile spreads slowly across his face, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Without waiting, you lean in and carefully attach the pin to the lapel of his jacket. “There,” you say, stepping back slightly to admire your work. “Congratulations, Hyunjin.”

He looks down at the pin, his smile widening, and when his gaze lifts to meet yours, there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “You're not going to kiss me?” he asks, his voice teasing yet warm.

You let out a soft laugh and lean in, brushing a quick kiss against his lips. But before you can fully pull away, Hyunjin’s hand comes up to the back of your neck, and he pulls you in for another kiss—deeper, slower.

You giggle against his lips, your laughter muffled between you, and he smiles into the kiss before finally pulling back. The warmth in his gaze lingers, leaving you breathless and smiling.

“Alright,” he says, settling back into his seat and starting the car. “Shall we?”

You buckle your seatbelt, excitement bubbling up as you nod. “Ready when you are.”

Hyunjin glances at you, his own excitement mirrored in his expression. “Alright, here we go,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, the perfect day waiting just ahead.

-

04:11 a.m.

The hum of the car fills the air as you and Hyunjin drive down the winding road, the sun rising higher with each passing mile. You’re both relaxed, trading stories and laughing as a small mountain of snack wrappers begins to pile up between you. Hyunjin occasionally glances your way, his smile soft but constant, as if the moment itself feels too perfect to break.

Reaching into the bag beside you, you pull out a can of soda and hand it to him. “Here,” you say, passing it over without thinking.

Hyunjin takes it with one hand, his other still loosely gripping the steering wheel. As he shifts his attention to crack the tab open, the can slips from his fingers. The drink spills across the front of his t-shirt in an instant, cold liquid spreading like a stain across the fabric.

“Ah, shit!” Hyunjin exclaims, pulling the car slightly to the side as you grab a handful of tissues.

“Hold still,” you say, leaning over to help dab at the spill.

Hyunjin laughs, the sound tinged with embarrassment as he attempts to help, both of your hands awkwardly brushing against each other. “You’re worse at this than me,” he teases.

“Hey, it’s your fault for spilling in the first place!” you counter, trying to keep your tone light as you both focus on cleaning up the mess.

But then it happens—Hyunjin’s attention strays too long from the road, and neither of you notice the dog suddenly darting into the street.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice sharp with panic as your hand instinctively shoots out to grab his arm.

His eyes snap forward, and his body reacts instantly. The tires screech against the asphalt as he slams on the brakes, the force jerking both of you against your seatbelts. The world feels as though it’s spinning for a second, the weight of the abrupt stop pressing hard against your chest.

The car comes to a halt just inches away from the small, trembling dog, its wide eyes staring at you through the windshield.

Your heart is racing, your breaths shallow and shaky as you sit frozen, staring out at the still figure on the road. Hyunjin grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he exhales a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and thick with concern.

You nod numbly, your voice catching in your throat as you try to answer. “Y-yeah. Are you?”

He glances at you, his expression softening when he sees your trembling hands. “I’m fine,” he assures you, though his voice is quieter now, more careful.

The two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the sound of your racing hearts almost audible in the stillness. Then, Hyunjin glances at the dog, who scampers away unscathed, disappearing into the brush.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as he turns to face you fully.

You shake your head quickly, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” you say, though the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your words waver.

Hyunjin’s hand hesitates for a moment before it finds yours, his fingers squeezing gently. “We’re okay,” he whispers, almost as if convincing himself.

You nod again, letting out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, we are.”

As the car slowly starts moving again, the tension lingers, but there’s a quiet understanding between you—a shared moment that feels heavier than words, as if both of you silently acknowledge how fragile this perfect day could have been.

-

05:22 a.m.

The car ride is quiet now, the earlier tension still lingering in the air. Neither of you speak for a while, each lost in your thoughts as the road stretches ahead. The sun begins to crest over the horizon, its warm light spilling across the landscape, painting the morning in hues of gold and soft pink.

You reach for the window switch and roll it down, letting the cool morning breeze rush into the car. It sweeps through your hair, refreshing and light, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation calm your nerves.

When you glance over at Hyunjin, he’s already looking at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You can’t help but smile back, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of the breeze.

“Look at the sky,” you say softly, nodding toward the view. “It’s beautiful.”

Hyunjin tears his gaze from you, his eyes following your gesture. The sky is breathtaking, streaked with the first slivers of sunlight that break through the faint morning mist.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and reflective. “It is.”

His hand leaves the steering wheel, searching for yours. When he finds it, he laces his fingers with yours and rests them gently on his lap. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent reassurance that everything is okay now.

Hyunjin keeps his eyes on the horizon, the soft glow of the sun reflecting in his gaze. “It’s beautiful,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is heavier, almost wistful, as if he’s savoring the moment in a way he never has before.

You tighten your hold on his hand, the simple gesture conveying what words can’t. Together, you sit in the quiet, watching the morning unfold, the world outside feeling peaceful and endless as the car moves forward.

-

05:40 a.m.

The car comes to a halt, and you step out into the crisp morning air. Hyunjin joins you, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied sigh. You glance around, the scent of pine and damp earth filling your lungs as you take in the scenery.

After a short walk, the lake comes into view, and you gasp, unable to contain your amazement. The water is perfectly still, a mirror reflecting the sky and the towering trees surrounding it. The faint golden light of the morning casts everything in a dreamy glow. The trees, just beginning to turn with the season, stand like silent sentinels guarding this little piece of paradise.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the soft rustling of leaves.

Hyunjin looks at you, his smile growing at your reaction. He reaches for your hand and takes it, his fingers warm and steady against yours. “Come on,” he says, leading you toward the water’s edge.

The two of you stop just where the land kisses the lake. You peer down at the water, its surface so calm it feels like stepping into a painting.

“It must be freezing,” you say, giving Hyunjin a wary glance.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “That’s what makes it perfect for a morning swim.”

You shake your head firmly, taking a step back. “No way.”

Hyunjin laughs, undeterred. “Trust me. Once you’re in, it’s not that bad.”

You laugh nervously, shaking your head again. “Hyunjin, I still can’t swim, remember?”

His expression softens, and he takes both of your hands in his. “And I told you— No worries, I’ll hold you.” His tone is earnest, his dark eyes unwavering.

Despite your protests, he’s relentless, coaxing you closer to the edge until you’re standing there, shivering slightly in your underwear. You grip his hand tightly, trying one last time to dissuade him.

“Hyunjin, I’m serious—”

Before you can finish, he sweeps you off your feet, his arms locking around your waist. You let out a startled squeal, clinging to him instinctively.

“Hyunjin, don’t you dare—”

But it’s too late. He steps into the water, pulling you with him. The cold shocks your body the second you make contact, and you scream, the sound piercing through the stillness of the lake.

Hyunjin doesn’t stop until the two of you are submerged waist-deep. You’re clinging to him for dear life, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, your legs curling up to avoid the icy water.

“See? It’s not as bad as you think,” he says, his voice light with amusement as he looks down at you.

Your teeth are chattering, and you tighten your hold on him. “You’re right,” you say through gritted teeth. “It’s worse than I thought it would be.”

Hyunjin throws his head back and laughs, his warm breath misting in the cool air. The sound is infectious, and soon you’re laughing too, your voices echoing across the serene lake.

He then adjusts your arms around his shoulders and gives you an encouraging look. “Hold on tight,” he says, his voice warm with reassurance. You do as he says, gripping him as he begins to move through the water with ease.

The cold from earlier feels less harsh now, your body gradually adapting to the temperature. As Hyunjin swims farther from the shore, you cling to him, feeling the strength in his movements as he effortlessly cuts through the water.

“Not so bad now, huh?” he teases, glancing over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes but can’t help a small smile. “I’m still debating.”

When he slows down, you notice just how far you’ve come from the shore. The lake stretches around you, a perfect circle of serenity framed by towering trees. Hyunjin turns to face you, still holding you securely as you float together.

“Relax,” he says, his voice softer now. His hands guide you gently, helping you stay afloat. You take a deep breath and allow yourself to loosen your grip, trusting him.

The stillness of the moment washes over you as you look around. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the calm water under the open sky. The reflection of the trees and clouds ripples gently with every movement.

“Still as bad as you think?” Hyunjin asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

You shrug, pretending to be unimpressed. “It’s... alright, I guess.”

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, his joy infectious as it echoes across the lake. He leans in slightly, his arms finding their way around your waist. Before you can react, he pulls you down with him, both of you plunging beneath the surface.

The cold water shocks you as it rushes over your head, and you instinctively hold your breath. A moment later, you break the surface, gasping for air.

“Hyunjin!” you sputter, wiping water from your face. “What was that for?”

He’s already laughing, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. “You should’ve seen your face!”

You glare at him, about to launch into a scolding, but he interrupts by cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss.

Your protest dies on your lips, muffled by his. You try to hold on to your indignation, muttering complaints against his mouth, but his kiss is too warm, too insistent. Eventually, you give in, melting against him as his laughter hums through the connection.

When you finally pull away, Hyunjin grins at you, water dripping from his face. “Still want to complain?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You’re lucky I can’t swim away from you right now.”

“Exactly,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “That’s why I had to bring you out here.”

The water is cold, but in this moment, surrounded by the beauty of the lake and the warmth of Hyunjin’s arms, you’ve never felt more alive.

-

06:21 a.m.

The sun climbs higher into the sky, warming your skin as you sit on the smooth rocks by the shore, your clothes drying slowly in the gentle breeze. Hyunjin’s jacket is draped over your shoulders, a welcome layer against the cool air still lingering from your swim. You glance at him and murmur your thanks, to which he responds with a small, warm smile.

Opening a can of soda, you take a sip, the drink now lukewarm but refreshing nonetheless. You tilt your head toward Hyunjin. “So, what’s next on your perfect day itinerary?”

Hyunjin sets his can down and grins, his eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. “There’s this diner I used to go to. It’s not too far from here. They make the best waffles.”

“Waffles, huh?” you ask, raising a brow, though his enthusiasm already has you smiling.

“They’re amazing,” he insists, his hands gesturing animatedly. “Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, with this maple syrup that’s just—” He sighs in exaggerated bliss, making you laugh.

“Alright, alright,” you say, holding up your hands. “I’m sold. Waffles it is.”

Hyunjin chuckles and shifts closer, his hand reaching up to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle, his fingers lingering for a moment before he tucks the strand behind your ear. Without a word, he leans in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s soft and slow, like the morning sun warming your skin.

When he pulls back, his smile is tender, and it makes your heart ache. “I'm glad I met you.”

“Me too,” you say back while placing your hand on his and hold it tightly.

The sunlight hits right on Hyunjin’s eyes, making them shine as he stares at you. You know you've only known him for barely a day but Hyunjin knows things most people doesn't know about you. He knows your prefers your flowers to be red than blue, he knows your dreams you never say out loud but you secretly wish to come true and that makes you feel significant to him as he is significant to you. You believe that is how Hyunjin going to make a mark on you.

“I’m going to take one more lap around the lake before we go,” he says, his voice quiet yet certain.

You nod, but before he can move, you catch his wrist, pulling him back toward you. This time, it’s you who closes the distance, pressing a kiss to his lips. It lingers, a silent plea that feels like it’s carrying the weight of everything you can’t say aloud. You wish for more time—just one more day, one more perfect morning.

Hyunjin seems to sense it, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he gazes at you, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. He leans in to press a featherlight kiss to your lips before pulling away completely.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink, his voice lighter now. “I won’t take too long.”

As you watch him dive back into the water, the sunlight catching on the ripples he leaves behind, you feel a fleeting, impossible sense of forever. For this moment, at least, Hyunjin makes you believe that forever is within grasp.

-

06:51 a.m.

The warmth of the morning sun wraps around you, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin. The sky is alive with soft hues of gold and blue, a masterpiece unfolding before your eyes. Overhead, a flock of birds glides effortlessly, their formation cutting gracefully through the stillness. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to marvel at it all—the simplicity, the beauty, the life you’ve taken for granted.

But the moment fractures.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find Hyunjin slicing through the water, to hear the rhythmic splashes that have become so familiar. Instead, there is only silence. The lake mirrors the sky, undisturbed, serene, and empty.

A flicker of unease takes root in your chest. You scan the shoreline, your gaze darting to every shadow, every ripple. The stillness feels wrong now.

“Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice tentative, breaking the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the cool rocks pressing into your bare feet, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, but the name hangs in the air unanswered.

The warmth of the morning sun seems to mock you now, its gentle rays brushing against your damp skin as the sky stretches overhead, a canvas of soft gold and endless blue. The flock of birds that once felt like a sign of life now drifts aimlessly, their formation a cruel reminder of how fragile everything truly is.

You glance toward the lake, expecting to find him slicing through the water, his laughter echoing in the stillness. Instead, there is only silence. The lake reflects the sky perfectly, undisturbed, as if it had swallowed him whole and left no trace.

Your chest tightens. “Hyunjin?” you call out, your voice soft at first, hesitant to break the quiet.

No answer.

You step closer to the edge, the rocks digging into your bare feet as your pulse quickens. “Hyunjin,” you try again, louder this time, your voice trembling. But the name dissipates into the air, unanswered.

A flicker of unease blooms into full-blown panic. You scan the water frantically, your eyes darting across every ripple, every shadow. “This isn’t funny!” you yell, your voice rising with desperation. “If you’re hiding, just stop it and come out!”

Still nothing.

Fear grips you like a vice, and before you can stop yourself, you wade into the water. The cold seeps through your skin, biting and relentless, but you don’t care. You splash forward, the ripples spreading around you, as though trying to reach him through sheer force of will.

“Hyunjin!” you scream, your voice cracking under the weight of your fear. “Answer me!”

The water clings to you, dragging you down as if conspiring with your helplessness. You tread forward a little more, but you can’t go far. Your feet leave the ground, and you freeze, paralyzed by the sudden depth. You try to push forward, but your body resists—muscles locking up with the knowledge that you can’t swim.

Frustration and panic mix into a volatile cocktail in your chest. You slap the water with your hands, gasping for breath, tears streaming as you scream his name again.

“I can’t do this! Hyunjin!” you cry out, the words breaking apart into sobs. The lake offers no comfort, its silence an unbearable void. You flail for a moment, trying to search the surface, but every movement feels futile.

You cling to the thought of him, to his smile, his laughter, the warmth he carried with him like a shield against the world. But now, that warmth feels so far away, unreachable in the depths of the water.

“Hyunjin!” you cry again, weaker this time, the weight of your helplessness pressing down on you. You force yourself back toward the shore, stumbling onto the rocks as you collapse to your knees, breathless and shaking. “Please, don't— don't leave me...”

The water stills behind you, its surface reflecting the endless morning sky. You look out at it, broken and trembling, your heart refusing to accept what your mind is beginning to believe. It can’t be over. Not like this.

“Hyunjin...”

-

08:01 a.m.

The rocks beneath you feel sharp, unforgiving, but you barely notice. You sit there, knees pulled tight to your chest, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you watch the rescue team comb through the lake. Every moment stretches painfully, the weight of silence crushing you with each passing second.

Your fingers dig into your arms as if grounding yourself can keep you from unraveling completely. Then, a shout echoes from the water. You see them—a group of rescuers—working together to pull a body from the depths.

Your breath catches in your throat.

They move with careful precision, carrying the body to shore in a black bag. You feel your body trembling uncontrollably as they approach. One of them steps forward, their expression solemn, as they lower the bag in front of you.

"Is this him?" they ask, their voice heavy with the weight of what they know must be unbearable.

You freeze, staring at the zipper of the bag, your entire being screaming to look and yet refusing at the same time. You can’t do it. You can’t see him like that.

But then your eyes catch something—a flash of red against the black. It’s your hair tie, wrapped around his wrist. You had given it to him, smiling at how absurdly adorable he’d looked wearing it. And now, it’s the confirmation you never wanted.

Your breath hitches as tears flood your vision. "It’s him," you whisper, the words breaking apart as they leave your lips.

Slowly, you reach out, your trembling hand finding his through the body bag.

With shaking fingers, you reach at the lapel of his jacket you're wearing and take off the star-shaped pin, the one you had given him just hours ago. It glints faintly in the sunlight, a small reminder of the joy he carried with him. Carefully, you place it in his palm and fold his fingers around it.

"Keep it," you say softly, tears dripping onto the bag. "It’s yours."

It’s cold—his hand is so cold it sends a shiver through you. But you hold it tight, pressing his lifeless hand to your lips. "Wait for me," you murmur, your voice cracking as the tears spill over. "I’ll see you soon, Hyunjin."

You step back as they zip the bag closed, sealing him away from you forever. The sound cuts through the air like a blade, leaving you raw and hollow.

The ambulance arrives, and they load his body inside. You stand there, watching, your hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. As the vehicle pulls away, your fingers brush against something—a folded piece of paper.

Curious and aching, you pull it out and unfold it with trembling hands. It’s his handwriting, messy but unmistakably his. A list of things he wanted to do today.

Swim in the lake.

Watch the sunrise.

Have waffles for breakfast.

Visit the art gallery.

Hot cocoa at the park.

The last line reads, Buy roses for...

Your lips tremble as you remember the promise you’d made to each other—the promise to keep moving forward, no matter who went first. The memory feels like a cruel joke now, but as you stare at his words, something inside you hardens.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper as you say to the empty air, "I’m keeping my promise, Hyunjin."

The ambulance disappears down the road, and you stand there, the morning sun casting long shadows around you. Still, you refuse to believe that Hyunjin’s gone. He is not, he just goes to sleep to live a new dream.

-

09:14 a.m.

You sit in the corner booth of the diner, the same one Hyunjin had gushed about just hours ago. The waffles arrive, golden and drenched in syrup, the butter melting into small pools on the plate. You take a bite, the sweetness coating your tongue, but it tastes hollow. Your chest tightens as you remember how Hyunjin’s eyes had sparkled when he described them to you, as though they were a treasure worth crossing the world for.

Now, it feels like swallowing shards of glass.

The drive back to the city is quiet, the hum of the engine filling the void Hyunjin once occupied. His note sits folded on the passenger seat, a reminder of the day you’re piecing together without him. You glance at it at every stoplight, as if his handwriting might come alive and guide you forward.

Your next stop is the art gallery. You find his favorite painting almost instinctively, a swirling masterpiece of color and emotion. Sitting on the bench before it, you let your mind wander. You picture Hyunjin here, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted slightly as he studied the strokes.

"Do you see how the colors bleed into each other?" he would say. "It’s chaotic but still… perfect."

The memory slices through you, and you blink away the tears that threaten to spill.

From the gallery, you walk to a nearby café, the warmth of the cup of hot cocoa in your hands doing little to soothe the chill in your heart. You sit on a bench overlooking the river, the city split in two by its calm flow. The world moves on around you—people walking their dogs, children laughing in the distance—but you’re trapped in stillness.

You think of Hyunjin, of how he was alive and laughing mere hours ago. You think of his voice, his touch, the way he could make the ordinary feel extraordinary.

And now he’s gone.

For the first time, anger stirs beneath your grief. It rises like a storm, raw and uncontrollable. You clench the cup tightly, your knuckles whitening. How could death be so cruel? How could it take someone so vibrant and leave you tethered to feelings that have nowhere to go?

Death is so unfair. It takes the person, but not the love.

-

04:02 p.m.

The world has grown quiet around you, the buzz of the city dimmed to a distant hum as you sit alone on a park bench overlooking the river. The sun dips low in the sky, painting the water with hues of gold and amber. You clutch Hyunjin's jacket tighter around your shoulders, the scent of him still lingering faintly, a bittersweet reminder of everything you've lost—and everything you're about to gain.

The list he left behind is tucked into your pocket, crumpled and worn from your grip throughout the day. You pull it out, scanning the list. There’s only one thing left, unfinished: “Buys roses for…”

He hadn’t finished the sentence. You remember startling him as he jotted it down, and now the incomplete thought feels like a cruel echo. But you know what to do.

You find the nearest florist and step inside, the smell of flowers overwhelming you. "Roses," you tell the florist, your voice quiet but firm. "A bouquet of red roses."

They hand you the bouquet, the petals deep and vibrant, reminiscent of Hyunjin’s flushed cheeks and his soft lips. You trace a fingertip over the delicate blooms before asking for a card.

Sitting at a small table in the corner of the shop, you stare at the blank card. The weight of all you want to say crushes you, an endless stream of emotions that can’t possibly fit onto a single piece of paper.

Still, you write:

For what it’s worth, you showed me that there is such a thing as a perfect day. You made a mark on me, Hyunjin.

Your hand shakes as you finish the words. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, willing the tears to stay at bay. When you’re ready, you fold the card and slip it into the bouquet.

You stand at the corner of the street, clutching the bouquet of roses close to your chest as you wait for the light to turn. The city hums around you, alive and indifferent, the world moving on as it always does. But your mind drifts elsewhere, carried away by memories.

This was the place you met Hyunjin for the first time. You can almost see him standing there, smiling like the world belonged to him. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet so vivid it could have been yesterday. You replay the moment in your mind, the way he held himself with an effortless grace, the way his eyes met yours and lingered, as if he'd been waiting for you his entire life.

The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. Lost in your thoughts, you follow them, stepping onto the street.

A distant sound reaches your ears—a horn blaring, tires screeching—but it feels far away, as if it belongs to another world. By the time you register the rushing car, it’s too late. There’s no time to scream, no time to run.

This is it.

-

06:11 p.m.

The world comes back to you in fragments: the cool roughness of asphalt beneath your body, the distant murmur of voices, the sharp tang of blood in the air. Your vision swims, but when it clears, the twilight sky is the first thing you see.

It’s beautiful, painted in hues of lavender and gold, with the faintest blush of pink at the edges. The sight feels distant yet oddly comforting, like a gentle reminder of where you are—and where you’re going.

Your body is heavy, the pain a dull throb that seems to ebb and flow, fading as the seconds stretch on. You’re dimly aware of the rose petals scattered around you, spinning lazily in the air with every gust of wind. They look like they’re floating, as if gravity itself has softened its grip.

You close your eyes briefly and feel something shift inside you—a strange sense of clarity. This is it. You know it, feel it in your very bones. This is your ending.

But there’s no fear. Instead, a deep, resounding calm washes over you, carrying with it the promise of reunion. Hyunjin’s face fills your mind, vivid and bright, his laughter echoing in your ears, his touch still lingering on your skin.

You force your eyes open again, taking in the petals that now rest lightly against your arm, the faint scent of roses mingling with the cool evening air. A soft smile tugs at your lips, even as your breaths come slower, shallower.

Death is not an end, you think. It’s a reunion. It’s a promise kept. It’s my happy ending.

Somewhere in the distance, you hear sirens, but they feel like they belong to another world entirely. You’re beyond that now. Your heart slows, the pain dulls, and in its place is an overwhelming sense of peace.

The light in the sky begins to blur, stars flickering faintly above as if welcoming you home. You can almost feel him, his hand in yours, his voice calling your name like a melody you’ve always known.

Tears slip down your cheeks, but they’re not from sorrow. They’re from relief, from the quiet joy of knowing you’ll see him again, touch him again, love him again.

As the world fades, you exhale one last time, your voice barely a whisper in the wind. “I’m coming, Hyunjin.”

And then there’s nothing but light.

-

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[hyvneluv]

Im so weak for inferno Hyunjin it’s not even funny anymore

「𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘」 · chapter 14

DAY 25: PASSION ⋮ PART 2 ➥ Hyunjin wishes to be compensated for your insolence, and he only accepts unmitigated passion as a form of payment.

➥ 1.7k (~7 min. read)

⚠ — Explicit sexual content (see masterlist for more)

He asked you a question. In layman’s terms. Quite straightforward.

How do you plan on making this up to me, darling?

It required days’ worth of contemplation to properly answer it, but Hyunjin was demanding your response right now, staring at you with eyes darker than the night and slowly erasing the distance between you by one millimeter per second. There was no telling what was going to happen if you failed to reply in that arbitrary amount of time he had allocated for you.

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to say anything at all, but…

“Name it,” you glued your gaze to his lips, breathing more erratically as you pictured all the blasphemous things you wanted to do with them. “Anything you want.” 

The delights longed for in secret. The pleasures craved in complete silence. He had told you he was willing to fulfill all of them, and you had welcomed him to do the same. Maybe you would loathe him if he explicitly told you what he wanted to do to you. How much he wanted to disrespect you. He claimed no responsibility—this was your fault in its entirety for being this beautiful, turning him into this despicably debauched man looking to drown himself in all kinds of depravity.

But only with his lady.

“Anything,” he caressed your pussy like he was lovingly stroking your hair. “So if I wish to drag you to the backyard right now and have you out in the open, you will say yes?”

“Is that what you are secretly craving, my lord?”

“Fuck your lord. I am your man,” he harshly pulled you close by your waist. “You are to address me properly.”

Your breath unwittingly hitched in your throat. His stern demeanor was bleeding all over his coyness, tittilating something inside you. He sneakily dragged your underwear down and let it pool around your ankles, only ghosting his lips on your skin to deny you any gratification until you fucking knew your place.

“Then anything my man wishes,” you iterated as your eyes fluttered close. “I deserve the punishment.”

“Punishment?” he tsked in dispproval. “Is your opinion of your husband that low, darling?”

He slid your nightgown up to your waist, using your hands as clothespins to keep it there, then slowly kneeled before you. Your nakedness was never not going to get to him; that was a given, but Hyunjin was having the hardest time trying to make sense of a strange occurrence. He should have been used to it by now. He knew what he was going to see; he had committed every nook and cranny of yours to memory, but every time he laid his eyes on your exposed skin, he was reacting even worse than the previous time he saw you bare, burning alive as if cauldrons of boiling oil was being poured all over him.

“So you wanted to know what I write about,” he licked his lips, staring at you like a ferocious predator ready to devour. 

“Yes,” you breathily answered.

“It’s about my compulsive thoughts of you,” his voice subsided into a loud whisper that felt like a hurricane making landfall on your body. “It’s about how I can’t stop thinking about defiling you. Are you satisfied now?”

You jerked in your place when his lips found you, placing kisses after kisses on your pussy. Those velveteen pecks were deepening again, trapping your clit within his lips and gently sucking on it.

“V–Very much,” you gulped, “but if you could… recite something for me, my lord.”

“What did I just fucking say to you?”

He spread your lips apart and directly faced his target, closing his mouth on your cunt completely. You were already dissolving on his tongue, rolling your hips for more wet friction, but something else held dire importance at that moment. You extracted the last drop of your willpower and reluctantly squeezed his shoulders, signaling him to come up.

“Recite something for me,” you held his beautiful face between your hands, “my treasure.”

Even in the pitch black room, even in the darkest of nights, you could always see the shooting stars in his eyes every time you called him that. It was as if there was a piece of amber slowly burning inside him, keeping him wide awake even well into the night, and it refused to die down at any cost.

The amber… It was in the shape of you.

“Breathe life into me,” you brushed your lips against his.

And he took that to mean Love me to death.

Your essence on his lips was the most decadent flavor to indulge in, the late hours of the night somehow condensing it in your mouth. As he courteously shared your own taste with you, swirling his tongue around yours, you were thinking about what made it so pleasurable to be kissed by Hyunjin. Was it the shape of his lips? Was it how full they were? Was it because he didn’t know how to kiss other than trench-deep?

Or was it how his hands didn’t know where to caress you throughout the whole thing, desperately wanting to hold you in his arms?

“A nectar she bears,” he pulled the chair closer with his foot and placed your leg on it. “I long for the taste. I long for you.”

One arm around your waist, firmly holding you in place. Slender fingers prodding your entrance and thumb caressing your clit. How merciful. He at least had the decency to show you how he was going to kill you so you could brace yourself.

“The gods envy the stars in her eyes. They envy me when I’m trapped in her thighs,” he brushed his nose against your neck, filling his lungs with your scent. “Even when I lay next to you, darling, I long for you.”

Your entire body shuddered when the breeze of his breath blew on your body. Those kisses on your neck were the gentlest thing ever, like a feather tickling you. Slow. Soft. Meant to be savored. But they were so wet. They were so loud.  

They were the deadliest assault weapons to ever exist.

“You are the air I breathe. You are the curse that makes me seethe. Even when we become one, darling, I long for you.”

The sounds his fingers made while sinking into you were maddeningly satisfying. The suspicious squelch was turning more lewd with each flick of his wrist, making him more rabid as his palm rubbed against your clit.

“When I’m in your deepest recesses,” his breathing escalated to match yours as he beckoned you faster, “When I’m lost in your crevices…”

He pressed his forehead against yours, grabbing onto your waist as if you would disappear otherwise, and listened. He listened to your breathing. He listened to your heartbeat. He listened to your muffled moans that would echo in this room if it weren’t the dead of the night. He listened to your looming demise about to turn your entire vision white.

“When you kill me with your bare hands, darling, I long for you,” he confessed into your lips again. “I long for you. I long for you.”

You wouldn’t know if the poem ended there or if the rest of it indeed went like that; all he did was whisper I long for you in between every kiss he placed on your skin. Everything he said, every single one of those words, was your very own thoughts coming to life through him. It wasn’t enough when Hyunjin shielded you in his arms as you drifted to sleep. It wasn’t enough when you let him take shelter inside you as deep as he wished. It wasn’t enough to just gaze at him from afar when you could be kissing him instead. You longed for him. Everything that made you, every single one of those atoms, deliriously longed for Hyunjin.

“Let me witness you unravel again,” he panted. “Don’t deprive me of your luster.”

“In… In me… Please… God… I… I lo—”

You removed his hand and reached for his waistband, risking a sizeable tear in the fabric of his nightwear when you tugged on it hard. God, that sight… The arousal of the man that owned your heart. The flesh of the man that you wanted to tear apart. Smooth like a pebble but firm like a rock, flushed so dark pink that there was no way even a drop of blood was circulating his brain right that moment. You spread your legs as wide as you could on the desk, obscenely sucking on his fingers as you let him inside you, and Hyunjin’s groan came out a lot louder than intended, fully audible through the dense hush of the manor.

“Quiet!” you loudly whispered in panic, covering his mouth with your hand. “You are going to wake the entire house.”

“How I love my wife at this hour of the night is nobody’s fucking business,” Hyunjin growled through his clenched teeth as he picked up his pace to a feverish rhythm. “I love you. You have consumed me, darling. I do not exist anymore.”

The loud scream that almost ripped from your throat was immediately silenced by Hyunjin’s lips on yours, sucking on the moist flesh along with your soul out of you. You felt something violently erupt and do an entire lap throughout your bloodstream as he spilled and spilled and spilled inside. Dousing you. Drowning you. Claiming and reclaiming you for himself for all eternity.

“To our bed now,” he put your arms on his shoulders and suddenly lifted you for a bridal carry, “where I can worship you all through the night. I’ll recite as many confessions as you want.”

What was it that he said? 

You have consumed me, darling. I do not exist anymore.

Well… 

Neither did you.

「© 2025, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[hyvneluv]

The Game...

Hyunjin x Reader

🔞Minors DNI

For my love @skzdreamer13 & my darling @neverendingstay ♡ One Day ♡

✰ Pairing: Secret Boyfriend Hyunjin x Fem Reader

✰ Genre: SMUT with a bit of fluff at the end

✰ Info: MxF, FxM, Unprotected Sex, longing and desire

Word count: 3000

It’s your favourite game.

A game no one knows you play.

Not the fans. Not the press. Not even the ones closest to him.

They’re all a part of it, without realising.

No one knows.

Except your boyfriend.

You don’t have to check your phone. You already know what the message will say.

But you check anyway.

Him: Here

Just a single word. No punctuation, no flourish. But you can feel the weight behind it, the restraint wrapped in familiarity.

You don’t reply. You never do. That’s part of the game, too.

From your spot in the foyer, you watch as the convoy halts outside, dark-tinted doors swinging open one by one. The air shifts. People straighten. A hushed excitement weaves through the space, palpable even in its silence.

The members move in quickly, seamlessly. A well-practiced routine. Hoodies up, caps low. The perfect blend of noticeable and unnoticeable.

One of them—Chan—glances your way. Just for a second. A flicker of curiosity, something bordering on recognition. But then he’s gone, moving past you without a second look, laptop bag in tow.

Hyunjin is the last to enter.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to look. But his body moves with a kind of precision—an extra slowness, an awareness only you can read.

And that’s enough.

That’s all you need.

You already want him. Crave him. The cool bite of ice water lingers on your tongue as you sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. Your thighs press together, restless.

He looks divine.

The sharp lines of his buzzcut, blonde and gleaming like gold under the lobby lights. No one knows you were there when he took the clippers to it. When he stood in front of the mirror, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours in the reflection.

A moment of impulse. Of need. Of want.

God, he fucked you hard that night.

You set your glass down on the table in front of you. Smooth. Unhurried.

Then, without looking up, you return to your book.

This part of the game requires patience. A technique you’ve mastered. One Hyunjin still struggles with.

Your phone buzzes.

Again. And again. And again.

Him: fuck. You look so good.

Him: room number. Now.

Him: don’t make me wait, baby.

You don’t reply. You don’t need to.

Instead, you return to your quiet observation.

You’ve been here for two days, watching from a distance as the hotel shifted around them. Staff busied themselves, preparing. Shutting off floors. Pulling in extra security before Stray Kids’ own team arrived.

Then came the luggage. Then the staff.

And even now, the arrivals haven’t stopped.

Because Stray Kids being here doesn’t mean the world slows down.

If anything, it moves faster now.

Staff hurry to finalise details, voices hushed but urgent. A last-minute check at the front desk with the head manager and their assistant—were all the key cards collected? Were there any last-minute changes to the room requirements?

A quiet word exchanged between security—the hotel’s and the team assigned specifically to Stray Kids. Someone rushes past with a clipboard, disappearing toward the kitchens.

Your phone buzzes again.

Him: don’t make me come and find you.

You close your book and stand, making your way to the elevator.

You don’t rush. There’s no need.

Hyunjin isn’t going anywhere. He’ll be tied up for at least another hour—luggage to sort, schedules to adjust, managers to appease.

And besides, you’re under the same roof now.

The elevator doors glide open, and you step inside, pressing the button for your floor. The ride is smooth, silent, giving you a moment to settle into the next phase of the game.

Your room is just as you left it. The curtains drawn, the air cool, the scent of your perfume lingering from earlier. You slip off your shoes, padding across the plush carpet as you set your book down on the bedside table.

Hyunjin isn’t the only one who needs patience.

You take your time.

A slow stretch, rolling out the tension from sitting so long downstairs. A glance in the mirror. You already look good, but you could look better.

You undress. A deliberate choice. You dig through your suitcase, fingers trailing over lace, silk, the softest things you own.

Something easy to slip on. Something even easier to take off. You opt for a silk and lace camisole with matching underwear. The perfect amount of tease.

Your phone buzzes again.

Him: baby

You smile, reaching for your lip gloss.

Let him wait. Not too long, just a little longer.

You take your time finishing up. A spritz of perfume at your pulse points, the faintest shimmer catching on your collarbones under the soft glow of the room’s lighting.

Your phone buzzes again. And again.

You don’t check it. You already know the pleas.

Hyunjin is impatient. Maybe a little desperate. All the better.

You slip on a pair of heels— because you know he likes them. Likes the way they change your posture, the way they sound against the floor when you walk toward him.

You sit on the edge of the bed and send the room number. Then, you set your phone down and wait. How he gets to you, alone, without raising eyebrows. That’s on him. That’s his game to play.

You wait.

Not long.

A few minutes, maybe. Just enough to let the anticipation build.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Firm. Measured.

Not rushed, not frantic, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.

You smile.

Finally.

You wait, trying to steady your heartrate which spikes at the sound. You exhale slowly as you pull the door open.

Hyunjin stands before you, his usual polished look swapped for something more casual—sweats, a loose hoodie, and the same lazy confidence he wears like a second skin. His excuse is obvious, and you can already guess what’s coming: “Just escaping to the gym for a bit,” his voice low and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth tugging upward.

I’ll be sure to give you a workout, you think to yourself, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to. His eyes gleam, scanning you for only a moment before his lips twitch into a knowing smile, dragging his full bottom lip through his teeth. The tension thickens.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. The silent exchange crackles, a thousand unsaid things hanging between you.

And then, before you can even manage a greeting, his body surges forward. His hands wrap around you with a force that makes you gasp as he presses you against the wall.

His lips are on yours before you can catch your breath. He kicks your room door closed, the sound a signal you are finally alone. Alone and together.

His kiss is urgent, almost desperate, with the pressure of his body against yours leaving no space between you. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for—the tension breaking, the silence snapping, his familiar heat flooding you.

You melt into him, the world outside that door fading away completely as he presses you back against the wall, his lips devouring yours with a hunger that makes your pulse race. You don’t need words right now. His actions speak louder than anything you could say.

The waiting game? It’s over.

Now, it’s just him.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over you with a sense of urgency, as if he’s been starving for this just as much as you. You gasp against his mouth as his fingers slide under the hem of your camisole, his touch hot against your skin, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

The kiss deepens, his lips, his tongue, demanding, but still soft, as though savouring the moment while devouring it at the same time. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body is wound tight with need, but there's also a careful precision to his movements. He wants this, wants you, but he wants to control it too, holding back just enough to make you crave more.

Your fingers move to his hoodie, tugging it up, desperate to feel more of him. His lips trail down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation. He pulls back just a fraction, eyes dark, intense, a warning in them. A promise.

"Patience," he whispers, his voice low and rough, as if he’s barely holding on himself. As though he hasn’t been the one pleading with you for the past hour and a half.

You can’t help the smirk that curves on your lips. "You first."

Without another word, he lifts you effortlessly, his strength surprising and familiar all at once, before pressing you back against the bed. His lips return to yours in a searing kiss, and you can feel the control slipping away, his body moving over yours in perfect sync with your own mounting desire.

His lips leave yours, a soft, breathless sigh escaping him as his eyes lock onto yours—dark, hungry, desperate. You don’t give him a chance to regain control.

With a swift motion, your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers digging into the fabric. You yank it over his head without hesitation, the action rough and urgent, matching the pounding of your heart.

His breath catches, but it only fuels the fire between you. His gaze flickers down to your hands, then back to your face, as if in disbelief, but there’s no time for hesitation now.

Your fingers are already on his sweats, pushing them down, exposing his skin, inch by inch. His body tenses under your touch, muscles rippling as he steps back slightly to kick them off. You catch sight of his hard and glistening length and your walls clench in anticipation. Fuck. You need him. You need him now. You’re already there, pulling him closer, not giving him a moment to breathe.

He groans, a low, throaty sound that sends a thrill through you, as his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer with an urgency that mirrors your own. There’s no soft teasing anymore, no buildup. Just pure, raw desire.

You meet him halfway, your hands roaming over his chest, the feel of his heartbeat matching your own. You can’t get enough of him. His skin, the way his body moves beneath your fingertips, how it feels to have him so close.

Your lips crash against his again, this time harder, more desperate, both of you hungry for the contact, the intimacy. Every kiss feels like it could consume you whole. He groans again, his hands leaving your waist to work on the straps of your camisole. The fabric falls away, and you can see the hunger in his eyes as he looks at you, and you know—this is it.

He lowers his head, mouth tracing the contours of your breasts before his tongue swirls over your sensitive buds. Finally his hands move lower, stripping you of your underwear. Your heels. Until you are finally bare beneath him.

He pulls back slightly, settling on his knees, his gaze sweeping over you—slow, deliberate, reverent. His eyes trace every curve, every contour, as his fingers ghost over the paths he’s already memorized, mapping you like sacred ground. Each touch is featherlight, almost worshipful, like a brushstroke against your skin. A shiver runs through you.

What does he see?

What kind of picture is he painting with his hands?

You can’t take the distance, not with the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. You pull him closer, feeling the firm planes of his body against yours, the heat of him branding into your skin. His length glides through your folds, teasing, torturous, and you sigh as you slide your fingers over the short buzz of his hair, smooth forward, rough back. Like golden velvet against your palm.

Fucking intoxicating.

“Hyun,” you breathe, raising your hips, desperate for him.

His lips find your throat, tongue flicking against your pulse, and his breath is hot as he whispers, “You ready for me, baby?”

“Always.”

A quiet curse slips from his lips as he sinks into you. The stretch is familiar, but no less breathtaking, no less consuming. His fingers flex against your hips, as if he’s trying to hold back, even now. He shudders slightly, forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling in staggered breaths.

Your noses brush, your breaths mingle. It’s quiet, intimate. Every movement, every shift, feels like a silent promise.

You roll your hips, urging him to move, and he obeys without hesitation. The rhythm between you is instinctive, second nature, but tonight, it carries more weight, like the space between you—every second spent apart—shrinks with each thrust.

His fingers weave through yours, grip tightening. Holding you, grounding you. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire but softened by something deeper. Unspoken, but there.

He moves within you like he’s trying to carve his name into your body, like he can’t get close enough, deep enough. His chest presses against yours, skin to skin, sweat-slicked and burning.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he rasps, voice rough.

His pace is steady, deliberate, dragging pleasure from you with each slow roll of his hips. The heat of him surrounds you, his scent flooding your senses. Every thrust feels like a slow burn, and you let it consume you, let him consume you.

You reach up, fingertips brushing his jaw, and his eyes flicker closed for a moment before they open again—seeing you clearer, deeper, like he’s looking straight through to your soul.

You’re the only one who gets to see him like this.

You’re the only one.

Your knee lifts to his hip, and he moves instinctively, rolling with you, his hand flattening against the small of your back as he shifts you both. He settles beneath you, his thighs firm beneath yours, his heart beat thundering against your palms and you gasp at the new depth as you sink down onto him.

His hands find your waist, your hips, then lower, gripping your ass as he helps you move. You rock against him, pace unhurried but purposeful, each movement drawing out the pleasure, intensifying it.

A deep groan rumbles through his chest as he tilts his head back, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you. Watches the way you take him, the way you move for him.

“Fuck, baby…” he hisses, pressing you down harder, pulling you deeper.

Your thighs burn, but the pleasure is too much, too consuming to care. You chase more, more, more.

“Sound so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, his voice frayed at the edges. “Feel so fucking good.”

Encouraged by his words, you pick up the pace, grinding down, gasping as the friction sends you hurtling closer to the edge. His hands roam over you—your waist, your thighs, up your spine—before gripping you tighter, guiding you, coaxing you toward that breaking point.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice thick, raw.

Your eyes snap to his, and the moment they lock, it’s over.

Pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves, shattering you from the inside out. Your head tips back, a sharp cry breaking free as your body tightens around him, pulsing, trembling. He rises up, pressing his forehead to your chest, his breath ragged, lost in the way you come undone above him.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you go.

He grinds you down onto him, thrusting up into you again, again, again—prolonging it, pulling more from you, until you’re gasping, your whole body quaking from the force of it.

Then his mouth is on yours, desperate and consuming, swallowing every sound as he thrusts one final time. A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he follows you over the edge, his grip tightening, body trembling beneath you as he spills inside you. The pleasure drags him under, pulling you down with him.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You just breathe. Tangled, spent, lost in the haze of each other. Your chests rise and fall in sync, pressed flush together, still feeling the echoes of what just was.

You trace the line of his collarbone bone, dragging the sweat that has gathered there.

As your breaths steady, Hyunjin’s fingers trail lazily up and down your spine, his touch featherlight, absentminded. You shift slightly, your lips grazing the damp skin of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin and he exhales, his arms tightening around you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The silence is easy, comfortable. But then, his voice comes, low and almost contemplative.

“One day,” he murmurs, “we won’t have to play the game.”

You still, absorbing the weight of his words. He doesn’t say it like a promise, doesn’t paint some unrealistic dream—just states it, quiet and certain, like he’s already imagined it.

Like he already knows.

Your fingers press lightly into his ribs, grounding yourself. “One day,” you echo, softer still.

Hyunjin’s lips brush your temple, the touch lingering, his breath warm against your skin. But then, the moment shifts—like he won’t let himself linger on the thought too long. Because one day isn't today. And it won't be tomorrow.

But it will happen.

One day.

A beat later, he sighs dramatically. “But until then…”

And just like that, he flips you onto your back, grinning as he settles over you, hands bracketing your waist. The sudden motion makes you gasp but before you can say anything, he smirks, voice dropping into something playful, teasing.

“You kept me waiting forever. Now, I think it’s only fair that you make it up to me.”

You giggle against his lips. “Everyone knows you don’t gym like the others. Someone will come looking for you.”

“Just part of the game, Y/N.” He murmurs trailing kisses over your jaw.

♡ If you made it this far, thank you so much for your support!

♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog. I love hearing your thoughts!!

♡ ©2025Intrikatie

[hyvneluv]

Who else out here sobbing

Not a lot, just forever.

🪷 In which you make flowers bloom in a heart hyunjin saw as lifeless.

pairing: (tortured) painter!hyunjin x florist!yn.

genre: fluff. strangers to lovers. angst (but not between the characters). just very soft and tender.

wc: 10.2k

a.n.: this entire fic is inspired by the fact that hyunjin has his florist’s number. so i ran with it and it gave way to this!! i really love this fic so i hope you’ll love it in return 🫶🏻 and, of course, happy birthday to my spring, my light, my hyune. thank you for being such an easy person to love. i hope happiness always finds you wherever you may go❣️you deserve it. (pic is mine which is #crazy still can’t believe i’ve been in monet’s home!!!!)

In theory, a heart is simply a heart—an organ, no more sacred than the others, pulsing to pump blood into our veins, working tirelessly to keep one alive.

But to Hyunjin, a heart is a bit more than that. To him, the heart is a graveyard, a hollow, decaying thing where his dreams are laid to rest before they ever bloom. He finds it cruel, almost laughable, that the very thing meant to sustain him is the tomb beneath which he perishes—day after day, night after night.

Hyunjin never understood the notion of ending one’s own life. Weren’t there always reasons to stay? Beautiful things to gaze at, to hold on to— the slant of golden light through a window, the swell of waves as they kissed the shore? Wasn’t the sun always there patiently waiting to be seen?

But now he understands. It doesn’t matter if the sun is there or not. For the sun rises every day, yet Hyunjin can no longer see it.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen the sun for a long time.

He wasn’t always like this. In fact, he loved existing. He loved finding beauty in the smallest of things, in the details that mortal eyes don’t often stop to admire, too busy running, too busy surviving. But Hyunjin was different. He craved living. So, he paused. Almost reverent in the way he’d breathe in the sweet perfume of roses, soak in the way the sea folded itself around his ankles.

And he liked commemorating his feelings, he didn’t have the strongest memory, so he painted. He liked painting. No, he loved it, since he was a child and he found out what a brush is. He loved it the way the ocean loves the shore, relentlessly, endlessly, painted until his hands ached and his bones grew weary. He painted the way he loved too— excessively, hungrily, until the first threads of light stretched across the sky, his fingers stained in oil and watercolor, in reds deep as longing and blues heavy as sorrow.

It felt like a waste not to spend every waking moment painting, loving, yearning. it felt a waste not to feel as grandly as the mountains, as vastly as the stretch of oceans.

It felt like a waste for Hyunjin not to love Scarlet.

It must have felt like a waste, too, for the universe not to let him die at her hands.

So it did.

Hyunjin has not been alive for a long time. He does not think he will ever be again.

He’s staring at the blank canvas before him, a cruel expanse of white that’s almost mocking him. If he looks long enough, he can almost see a shape forming, lips moving to whisper the same word, over and over—worthless. worthless. worthless.

His fist drives through the cloth. The canvas falls to the ground in a thud so loud Hyunjin has to cradle his temple to ease the pang of pain it shoots through him. The wood easel splatters to the floor, though it does not look out of place in the ruins of his studio. Not when his brushes are scattered everywhere, palettes smashed against the walls, paint smeared in angry streaks against his floor.

His chest heaves as he stands there, amidst the wreckage that he caused, the place that once used to be his sanctuary. When did it all change? Perhaps when there was nothing left worth painting. Nothing worth breathing for.

He has always known it. A life does not end when one is laid underneath the soil. A life ends when nothing stirs wonder in your heart anymore, when you pass through the days but they do not pass by you, when they leave you untouched, unchanged.

He buries the sob wrapping around his throat. He has cried enough for things he cannot change, hasn’t he?

With trembling hands, Hyunjin reaches for his phone, thumb pressing Felix’s name—his publicist, his friend.

“Did you paint something?” Felix’s voice is bright, unshaken as he replies instantly.

Hyunjin closes his eyes.

“No,” he breathes. Not anymore.

A pause. Then, “Would you book me that trip to Giverny?”

“Giverny?”

“I’m giving myself one last chance.”

“To paint?” Felix asks, tone too eager, too hopeful.

“Mm,” Hyunjin nods absentmindedly. He can’t find it within him to break Felix’s hope, to whisper bleak things when his voice is so cheerful.

It’s not about painting anymore.

This is Hyunjin’s last chance to live.

—

The bell above your florist shop chimes sweetly as someone pushes open the large wooden doors. You glance up, slipping off the gloves you wore to tend to the newest arrival of white roses, carefully removing every damaged leaf and petal.

Your smile falters.

A man stands in the doorway—not just any man, but the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

You’ve had many visitors in the short year you’ve been in Giverny—locals and tourists alike. There is always a certain gentleness to the people who choose to step inside, those who pause in the midst of their days, their travels, to admire flowers, to buy them for their loved ones. You’ve seen it all—honeymooners exchanging delicate bouquets, old couples finding the smallest excuses to gift each other roses, solo travelers picking their favorite flowers to commemorate their journeys.

But never have you seen someone so heartbreakingly beautiful, so unbearably sad stepping into your shop.

“May I help you?” you ask.

He jolts, as if pulled from deep waters. His eyes meet yours across the shop, and it strikes you then—how effortlessly he belongs among the flowers. How his eyes resemble withering petals, how his sunken cheeks remind you of a bloom left untended.

You take pride in the way you’ve arranged your small shop. No flower is placed randomly, rather, you wanted them to speak to one another, talking in a language only few can understand. All your visitors have never failed to mention just how beautiful it looks. And yet, here he stands, untouched by its light.

“I’m just looking,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, and you have to lean in to catch its fragmented pieces. His gaze skims over the flowers, never lingering, never seeing.

“Is it your first time in Giverny?” you ask.

He nods, tucking his hands into his pockets. A white graphic tee clings to him, a plaid shirt tied loosely around his waist. A cross dangles from his neck. Your eyes trace the hollows of his cheeks—he is beautiful in the way shattered glass is. In the way standing amidst a storm is.

“It is,” he says curtly, then hesitates. “I’ll be here for a little while, though. Three or four months… We’ll see.”

“That’s exciting!” You smile, sidling closer. He smells of something sweet—flowers and musk, warmth and rain. “So, you don’t know what kind of flowers you’re looking for, do you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He whispers it as if ashamed of not knowing.

“Then I’ll make you a welcome bouquet! On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, your eyes locking on his. all you see is his sadness, it’s everywhere, dripping over his face, staining his clothes, the very air around him. He’s so sad it makes you sad too.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’d like to.”

A pause, then, something uncontainable prompts you to add—

“I know what it’s like to need to get away. Even if just for a little while.”

Your cheeks warm under his scrutinizing gaze. You’ve never been this bold with a stranger. Did you overstep?

But he only holds your eyes a moment longer before exhaling, a quiet breath through his nose.

“Thank you.”

You get to work. He lingers by your desk, watching as you deliberate over which flowers to pick. Minutes pass, and you can feel his gaze, burning as it traces the nape of your neck.

You know what to pick then. White Freesia—delicate, trumpet-shaped, the star of the bouquet. You pair them with Delphinium, deep blue against soft white, and baby’s breath, like a scattering of stars. A touch of foliage, then—

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask suddenly.

His eyes widen.

“Hm? Oh. Um—blue.”

You grin, reaching for blue wrapping paper. Scribbling a note, you tuck it into the bouquet before placing it in his hands.

“Ta-da,” you smile. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

It’s a courtesy to say to all your clients, but somehow you find yourself meaning it more when it comes to him. His sadness startles you, you do not know what must be roaming inside his mind for him to be this sorrowful— like an open wound, gushing droplets of blood for everyone to see.

“Will I? Right?” you suddenly add, a touch eager, worried.

His fingers delicately brush the petals.

“Yeah. You will.”

—

It is many hours later, the sky is dipped in an exquisite shade of midnight blue. Yet, sleep still refused to visit Hyunjin.

He lies awake, staring at the bouquet by his bedside. The note you wrote him itched behind his eyelids: Listen to the flowers. They’re always talking :)

He exhales, finally reaching for his phone. He types in a quick search: meaning of Freesia.

Friendship.

A small smile tugs at his lips.

Would you like to be his friend?

He doesn’t have much to offer. But maybe you’d like it if he just sat by your side while you tended to your flowers. He’ll make himself small too. You wouldn’t even feel his presence.

—

Hyunjin hesitates at your shop entrance— Anthomania, the dusty pink sign reads, swaying softly with the breeze. It’s around nine a.m., the quaint town slowly buzzing with life, like a swarm of bees swirling around the first blooms of spring. He’s clad in a white blouse, its first two buttons undone. His jade necklace rests comfortably by his collarbones, and he itches to touch it, to ground himself away from the anxiety thrumming right beneath his skin.

Is it too soon? To see you again in the very first hour of the next day? What if he had misread your gesture? What if the bouquet was nothing more than kindness, a simple marketing strategy? He must not be the only one you’ve given flowers to-

“Oh, hey!” you greet cheerfully, suddenly appearing beside him, a basket of fresh yellow tulips balanced on your hips. The scent of roses clings to you. Your eyes are so bright as if morning dew dripped into them too. You look happy, and it’s nine a.m., and Hyunjin doesn’t regret coming by as much as before.

“Hi,” he smiles, hesitant, awkwardly, only to wince inwardly. Is this what he has come to? Second guessing everything he does, even something as instinctive as smiling?

“I, um... I brought you croissants?” The statement tilts into a question as he lifts the paper bag, the warmth of the bakery still clinging to it. “As a thank you. For the bouquet. For—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering downward. “The Freesia. And… the friendship.”

Your lips curve into a smile, the morning sun catching on the glitter dusted across your eyelids. “So, you did listen to what the flowers had to say.”

You push the wooden door open, and he quickly follows.

“I looked up their meaning, if that’s what you mean.”

“It doesn’t sound nearly as romantic when you word it this way,” you pout, plucking the croissants from his hands. Hyunjin has to smile, pretend as if your words did not just stab him right across his chest in the middle of your shop. A gruesome act in the midst of beauty.

He too used to look for romance in everything. Not anymore. The more you seek it, the more it learns how to wound you.

He clears his throat, swallowing the phantom taste of blood before it can spill past his lips—before it can stain your flowers, stain you.

“I also looked up the meaning of Anthomania, an obsession with flowers in Latin. Are you?”

“Obsessed? You mean?” you giggle softly. “Given that I packed my bags and opened a florist shop in this town despite everyone’s warnings… I’d say yes.”

“Why Giverny?”

“I don’t know,” you muse, gaze drifting toward the window. Two children are walking hand in hand past Anthomania, their giggles make you smile for a fleeting instant. “Some places just feel right to our souls. Maybe because they know before we do that something beautiful is meant to happen there.”

You turn back to him, eyes warm. “Coffee?” You gesture toward the machine, and he nods, lost in thought.

“You seem distant,” you muse, gently placing a steaming cup of coffee before him. The scent of freshly ground beans drifts through the air, but it doesn’t spark anything within him—nothing like it once did. Not anymore. “Like your heart is elsewhere,” you finish.

“My heart?” He smiles softly, a breathy laugh escaping him. “Doesn’t the expression say your mind?”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Our minds wander all the time, that’s natural,” you say, voice trailing off as you study his face. “But you…” You hesitate, unsure. “You look like someone who’s been separated from their heart, and now, you’re almost grieving for it.”

He flinches.

Your eyes widen, and in a panic, you cover your mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said that I didn’t mean to—fuck, I’m sorry, I never think before I speak—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head, his voice gentle. You quiet down, the color rising to your cheeks, and he feels it—seen, in ways he hadn’t thought possible. By a florist on the other side of the world, a stranger, a kind one, a beautiful one.

“You’re right.” His fingers tighten around the cup, his grip a little too tight. “I don’t think I can get my heart back. It feels like it’s buried somewhere far from me… I think I buried it,” he adds in a choked whisper, “that makes it worse.”

It strikes him how easily the words fall from his lips, how terrifying they are to say aloud. Yet, they slip out before you with no resistance, no shame. Maybe it’s the flowers—the thought that their petals might absorb the ugliness of his words, carry them away. Or maybe it’s just you, and the warmth of your gaze, that makes it feel safe to speak.

“Do you know where the lotus grows?” you suddenly ask.

He shakes his head, caught off guard by the shift in conversation.

“Their seeds are buried deep into the mud, forgotten at the bottom of still water. But then they germinate. They break through the darkness, reaching for the sun rays, until one day, they bloom, floating atop the water, untouched by the ugliness of where they have been, beautiful.” Your gaze softens. “Maybe your heart is simply being reborn. Give it time. It will find its way back to you.”

—

Hyunjin sits on a bench overlooking the Epte River, a fresh bouquet beside him—white lilies and pink tulips. Hope and warmth. He insisted on paying this time, slipping you a tip far too generous against your loudest protests.

For the first time in six months, something stirs within Hyunjin. Not quite sadness, not quite grief—something else.

His fingers itch for his charcoal pens, for his pastel watercolors. not to sketch the bouquet at his side, not to capture the river’s beauty. No, only to try, attempt to trace the memory of your smile.

He clenches his fingers into a tight fist. Not yet. But maybe… soon. When he finally learns the sound of your name.

That happens quicker than Hyunjin thought it would.

For three days, Hyunjin has watched his flowers with bated breath, waiting for the first petal to give in, for the first sign of decay. Then, at last, the freesia wilts, one trumpet falling to his bedside. And before he can think, Hyunjin is already out the door, following the familiar path that leads him to Anthomania.

“Back so soon?” you tease, grinning as he steps inside, the bell above chiming sweetly.

He falters beneath your gaze, almost self-conscious, as warmth creeps up his neck, blooming across his cheeks in shades of pink. “I—uh—sorry, I can just—” He gestures toward the door, flustered, but you only laugh, reaching for his wrist and pulling him deeper into the shop.

“Oh my god, I’m kidding! You’re always welcome here.”

The ghost of your touch lingers on his skin, almost burning him right where your fingers rested. It feels unfamiliar, strange—to feel anything other than sorrow resting in his bones.

“I wanted new flowers,” he finally says.

You giggle. “Are you opening a flower shop?”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Competing with yours, actually.”

You pout, snipping the stems of the sunflowers piled up before you. “That’s unfair. People will keep coming to you just because you’re pretty.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” He grins, a smile that does not feel rehearsed, nor heavy on his face. He’s smiling because he simply wishes to.

“Well, you are. Aren’t you?” you simply say, as if there is no reason to be coy about something as evident as this.

His smile softens, so does his voice. “You’re very truthful.”

“Isn’t it a waste of time to hide how you feel about things? Flowers are beautiful, right? Why is it so easy to say? Why should it be any different for people?”

You aren’t lying, that is your philosophy, you’ve found that lies sit heavy on your lungs, as if you’re caging your breaths in. Hiding the truth feels even heavier, like stones wrapped around your ankles, pulling you down. But still, complimenting Hyunjin makes you feel uncharacteristically shy.

You don’t know what to make of him—this stranger who keeps on returning to see you, his sadness trailing him like a shadow, his eyes dimmed, as if he had to snuff out their light, to pretend as if no soul inhabits his body, so he’d be left alone. So he’d survive.

“You’re right,” he says, gaze flickering toward the street. “I hate lies. I really, really hate them.” he grows quieter, smaller.

Something within you tightens at his words, at the sincerity within them mostly. You set your flowers down, turn to face him with your pinky extended.

“Then I promise that I’ll never lie to you.”

He exhales, his shoulders releasing some of their tension. And after a moment, his pinky hooks around yours. “Neither will I.”

Your fingers are soft, delicate, and he notices that your eyeshadow matches your shirt today. Auburn, a color that makes your irises gleam. He wants to tell you you’re beautiful, but the words feel too fragile in his mouth. Not as easy for him as they are for you.

Hyunjin had come for flowers, but you do not rush him. Instead, you bring him a glass of fresh lemonade, mint leaves and lemon slices swirling in ice, and pull up a stool by the window. The shop is quiet, save for the music floating from the speakers—Neon Moon by Cigarettes After Sex. His pick. You have similar tastes.

He watches you, not in a way that unsettles you, but in a way that makes you hyper-aware of your hands, of your breath, of your heartbeat. Mostly, he looks at the flowers, asking questions, his curiosity insatiable—What does this one symbolize? And this one? And this? But still, it is you who feels scrutinized, as if bathed in a bright, glaring neon light.

A soft hour passes then—soft like the moon light brushing against the window, soft like the way he speaks, voice never rising above a murmur when he answers your questions.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s your name?”

“Hyunjin.”

You taste it, let the letters settle on your tongue before swallowing it down. It will take root within you and bloom into something beautiful later, though you do not yet know it.

You say yours.

“And what do you do, Hyunjin?” his name already feels familiar for you to speak.

“I’m a painter. Was. I… I’m not really sure.” he almost cowers in his place, you pretend as if you don’t notice, but your grip on the scissors falter.

“Was?” you echo.

“I haven’t painted in six months.”

Oh.

“Are you taking a break?”

“No. I… I actually,” he pauses, sighing. “I don’t want to lie to you, so I’d rather not answer,” he says, voice quiet, almost pleading, as if baring a wound too raw to support the weight of his words.

“It’s okay,” you smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. You can see his moles from this up close, the shape of his velvety lips as they part to exhale.

“I’d like to tell you, it’s just…”

“Does it hurt you?”

He nods, sudden tears glistening in his waterline. The sight makes something within you crumble. You know this pain—the kind that lingers just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest touch to release it.

“The burden will ease with time. And then you’ll be able to speak of it. Your pain will be released into the wind, and the wind will scatter it away. it always does.”

“Will it still hurt this much?” he asks, lip trembling as he gazed up at you, pupils wide and lost

“It will be bearable. and soon you’ll grow accustomed to it. And then it will become a friend.”

“I suck at making friends though,” he says earnestly and you both burst into giggles.

“I don't think so. Look, you have befriended me.”

“Yeah, you’re my friend.” he smiles like the afternoon sun, like he has forgotten the warmth he used to carry at his zenith. “I'm happy you are.”

—

Hyunjin first met Scarlet in his art gallery, where the winter winds seemed to carry her in, sweeping past the doorway with each click of her heels.

She moved gracefully through the room, pausing before every painting, her crimson lips pressing together as she tilted her head to the side. Contemplating. Now and then, a hand would drift to her raven hair, tucking it behind her ear, twirling it between her delicate fingers. He was drawn to her— to her olive skin, the depth in her brown eyes, the curve of her neck that seemed to call his name.

Scarlet was a sculptor, and like the name she bore, she was vivid, untamed, catching the eyes of everyone around her. And she basked in their gaze, feeding on their admiration like it was the very oxygen she breathed.

She loved Hyunjin loudly, extravagantly, parading him through the world as if to say, Look what I have found. An artist who only has eyes for me. She draped him in praise, her voice ringing clear for all to hear. And for a while, he believed it.

But Scarlet did not love him—not in the way he had hoped. She loved his brightest hues, the fire in his hands, the sound of his name murmured in circles of art and acclaim. She stood beside him in the gallery, basking in the applause for his paintings as though it belonged to her. She loved the lights, the cameras, the way his gaze softened when it landed on her.

But she did not love his blues—the quiet ache that spilled from him when inspiration faded. She did not love the weight in his voice when he longed for a hand to hold, for a shoulder to rest upon. When the fire in him dimmed, when he was no longer the sun with planets orbiting at his feet, she withdrew. almost bored. He saw it in the flicker of her eyes, in the way her attention wandered elsewhere. As if he was a burden to care for, to tend to.

Hyunjin came to understand that Scarlet did not love him. Not truly. Not despite the way she swore she did. Not despite the way she kissed him before what turned to be his final work trip, her lips scorching against his skin. “So you’d carry me with you,” she had whispered, winking, leaving a mark on his neck like a signature, like a brand.

And he did carry her, he still does—like a weight wrapped around his ankles, like smoke filling his lungs, thick with the taste of his own shortcomings. He was not enough for her. And if he was not enough for her, then perhaps he would never be enough at all. in anything he does.

But the sting on his neck eases when he’s near you.

A month has passed since he arrived in Giverny. He has seen little of it—only the lake that stretches beyond his window, and you.

You do not shy away from his silence. If anything, your smile brightens when you see him. You do not speak of his withering career, his lost passion. You do not question why he needs flowers twice a week, and why he needs to talk to you for an hour—sometimes two, sometimes three—before deciding which blooms to pick. what words he’d like to convey to you without speaking.

Except for once.

He was lingering by the lilies, his fingers gently caressing their pink petals, tracing the lines of crimson right in their middle. Though it took him all his will to not look at you, again, more than what’s deemed socially acceptable. To capture you in his mind since he cannot do so with his pens.

“I saw your paintings,” you suddenly said, words coming out in a rushed string. He froze in his place, hand hovering over the rosy flowers. You sidled up to him. You smelled sweeter than all the blooms combined.

“I looked you up. I was curious and I… I can’t stop thinking of your paintings. They are exquisite Hyunjin.” you said with a conviction that seemed to rekindle something with him, a fire to paint even better so you’d compliment him more.

“Really?” he asked, turning to look at you. His eyes searched yours, looking for something, a reassurance, that he wasn’t a lost cause, that you’d look at him the way you do withering flowers, with the same affection as fully blooming ones.

“Yes. Your use of color… it’s breathtaking. It’s as if you give them voices, emotions, a soul almost. Especially that blue painting, the man screaming. His eyes… they feel endless, like sorrow spilling over. It’s so—” You stopped yourself, laughing. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No—no,” he rushed to say, stepping closer, a flush creeping up his neck. “Please. Tell me more.”

And you did.

Over a chocolat chaud at your favorite pâtisserie, you pulled up each of his paintings, tracing every detail you loved with words only an outsider to art could offer—unpolished, unrestrained, but brimming with wonder. You asked him questions, too. What inspired you? Why this color, this shape, this technique? Which one was your favorite? Your hardest? Your loneliest?

You talked and talked, until the drink grew cold but his heart felt lighter than it had in months.

Hyunjin was no stranger to praise—he was South Korea’s youngest millionaire-painter, after all. His work was admired, auctioned, owned. And yet, no compliment had ever felt quite like yours—so eager, so sincere, so soothing.

That evening, he walked you home, stopping just before your front door, neither of you quite willing to part.

“Can I have your number?” he asked suddenly.

You tilted your head, smiling.

“For… for the flowers,” he added, a little too quickly. “So I can order them, you know, in advance?”

“Right,” you giggled, typing your number into his phone. His fingers brushed against yours, his soul felt like it was cleaved wide open.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at your empty conversation, heart thrumming. Finally, he types a message.

thank you for today :) i dont think i expressed it well, but your words made me happy

really

Two seconds.

of course!!!

And then—

idk what happened hyunjin, but… i think art will find you again,, i don’t think a painter like you could ever stop painting

it’d be a waste for our world, really

He reads your words again and again, a quiet smile curling at the corners of his lips. They linger in his mind as his fingers brush the worn spine of his sketchbook, as he coaxes it open after months of neglect. And then he draws for the first time in months—nothing grand, nothing worth sharing, surely. Just a rose at first, simple and familiar, like the path to Anthomania.

Then, he turns the page. His posture shifts; he leans into his desk, back curved, brow furrowed in concentration. Time spins forward unnoticed. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath till he finally exhales it, putting his pen down. he sees it then, what he painted in his insatiable frenzy. it’s you, smelling the rose.

He sleeps with a blooming blush on his face that night, as the inks in his dream bleeds into the color of your lips, the lines of his sketches softening into those of your silhouette.

—

Hyunjin started texting you more after that—on the days he forced himself not to drop by your flower shop. Because, yes, you said he was your friend, still, he didn’t know how many visits it’d take for you to realize he’s not worthy of friendship, or love, or the warm way you gaze at him.

But he was still greedy, drinking in the way conversations between you flowed as easily as rushing water. You spoke of everything and nothing: your favorite flower—tulips, his favorite painter—Monet. The way he missed the iced americanos from home, his deep disdain for eggplants, your love for glittery eyeshadow, and the names of the stars outside your window.

Your messages became a breath of fresh air to him, a little sanctuary hidden within his phone, filled with pictures of the blooms you carefully arranged each morning. He had no paintings to send in return, so instead, he captured his walks by the river, the way sunlight draped over the fruit he laid on his checkered picnic cloth.

Then, it turned to calls, and Hyunjin’s world shifted when your voice rang like an answered prayer through his phone. He was initially timid, calling you to check if you had sunflowers in your shop. It was an excuse, really, because it was nearing midnight and he felt terribly lonely in a way only you can soothe.

Your conversation didn’t stop then. Instead, it continued like the turning of books, spilling from one page to another. You were both so curious about one another, that it seemed as if you never ran out of questions to ask.

“When did you think of becoming a florist?” He asked you one night, the rustling of your sheets told him you were shifting in bed, in search of comfort.

“When I was five.” His eyes fluttered shut, as if to better listen, to pretend you were near. “My mom used to have lots of flowers in our backyard, and I’d tend to them on the weekends and vacation. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life surrounded by beauty, and wisdom.”

“Wisdom?” he asks.

“Mm.” And he can imagine you lying on your back, staring up at your ceiling. He suddenly wishes he was next to you, holding your hand as you spoke. “Everything I know is from flowers.”

“What’s the most valuable lesson, you think?”

You’re quiet for a long while, only the softness of your breathing ringing through the phone. It lulls him to a peaceful place he hasn’t set foot in in a long time. Somewhere where his worries drift away, carried by the tide of your presence.

“That flowers always bloom again. Even when the winter stretches for months and months, and the cold feels so harsh you forget what the sun ever felt like. Even then, the flowers will bloom once more. Winter passes, and spring comes.”

He bites his lip, as if trying to sew shut his mouth, physically stopping the strings of words from rolling off his tongue. And yet, they win.

“You feel like spring, little florist.”

A sharp inhale. Yours. A breath, unsteady. His. He wishes to bury himself within his covers. He wishes he could teleport to you.

“Thank you, Hyune.” The nickname settles against the sore places in his chest. He felt bruised by it, split open in the gentlest way.“I hope you have dreams as sweet as you.”

Hyunjin didn't sleep that night, not when his heart hadn’t felt this alive in an eternity, bursting with colors he hadn't seen in so long.

The phone calls continued, night after night, your voice coming to him as his own breath. still, no matter how much he enjoyed seeing your name light up his screen, nothing compared to you in person. Watching your expressions shift with his every word, witnessing your hands coax life into each bouquet, the warmth you pour nto every customer you spoke to.

People seemed to leave your shop a little lighter, as if you had tucked something magical between their petals. Hyunjin knew why. It’s because you understood flowers beyond their beauty, saw meaning even in the ones with bruised roots and browning leaves. And it is that same compassion you extended to humans. Though you seemed unaware of how much grace you carried within you.

It moved him. It unraveled him.

Hyunjin hadn’t known what he had been yearning for these past six months. The ache had been constant, an insatiable hunger for something nameless, a restlessness settling right beneath his skin, an itch he could not scratch. But now he knows—he has always been longing for kindness.

Your kindness, to be exact.

“You haven’t been to Monet’s house?!” you exclaim, eyes wide in disbelief. It’s your lunch break, and Hyunjin has brought you seafood pasta from a place he discovered on one of his walks.

“No, I haven’t seen much of Giverny, to be honest,” he admits.

“But you’ve been here for forty-five days.”

“Have you been counting?” he smirks, teasing.

“No,” your voice grows an octave higher, “it just coincided with a big shipment of roses, that’s all.” (That is a half-truth.)

You clear your throat, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Anyways, let’s go tomorrow!”

Hyunjin’s heart plummets to his knees. You must notice it—the flicker in his expression, the slight falter in his gaze.

“Don’t you want to go?”

He says nothing. Your voice softens.

“Do you want to go alone?”

Hyunjin sighs, taking a long sip of the strawberry lemonade you prepared that day. The sweetness of the fruit makes it easier for him to speak.

“I told you that Monet is my favorite painter, right? When I started painting, I’m talking thirteen, fourteen, I was obsessed with technique, with proving that my paintings could be as realistic as possible. But then I discovered impressionism. And I… I fell in love with it. I realized that abstraction could hold even more emotion, even more depth than realistic paintings. And I… I’ve always wanted to see Monet’s gardens, to see what inspired so many of my favorite paintings.” He sucks in a deep breath, “but I’m scared… I’m terrified I’ll sit there amidst so much beauty and still feel nothing. That I won’t feel inspired. That I won’t wish to paint again.”

You nod, understanding, your eyes softening like silk honey. A quiet settles between you before your face brightens.

“Isn’t it good then? If you don’t feel inspired right away then we’ll have an excuse to visit such a beautiful place again.”

He exhales, something in his chest loosening.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Find a silver lining in everything I say.”

You smile, almost melancholic, your gaze lost somewhere else. “I believe life is made up of lots of sorrows and lots of silver linings.” Your eyes meet his again. “Since my house burned down, I now own a better view of the moon… It’s a Japanese quote,” you clarify after a heartbeat. “I’m not that good with words.”

“Really? I find that I like your words much more,” he says, earnestly.

Both your fingers twitch at the same time.

Do yours hungrily want to reach for his too?

—

You like Hyunjin.

It seemed to be an inevitable outcome, one you didn’t even try to outrun, a tide you did not resist, instead, letting the water carry you wherever it saw fit. It’s as if you knew it was bound to happen when he set foot into Anthomenia for the first time, when his eyes glazed over the flowers with so much sorrow it felt like thorns curling around your throat. When he returned, again and again, when you started awaiting him with your breath clenched between your teeth. When you selfishly wished your flowers would wilt faster just so you’d be able to see him again.

It was inevitable for you to like Hyunjin. The beautiful man who sees beauty in everything but himself. The tortured painter with a heart so bruised you’re scared a single press of your thumb would be his undoing, like an overripe fruit, so sensitive to any touch, aching to be treated with tenderness.

You do not expect anything out of this crush. You do not expect him to reciprocate your feelings. You don’t think he ever would; even fantasizing of him thinking of you as fondly as you think of him makes you feel like you’re floating on cotton clouds. But then, the plummeting would only hurt even more, wouldn’t it? The sweetest dreams always ache at their zenith right before they dissolve into nothingness.

But you understand Hyunjin, in ways even you can’t fully describe or explain. In ways you aren’t sure he would himself. You can’t fault him for that— Hyunjin can only see your glittering surface. After all, you’ve gotten better at concealing your anguish, worn it for so long it has become a second skin to you.

But what matters is that you understand Hyunjin. It is because you understand that you wish for his spark to come back.

A life with no spark is no life, after all.

Hyunjin is growing increasingly nervous as you wait in line to enter Monet’s home and gardens. He’s fiddling with his Vetements t-shirt, tucking his hand into his jeans only to remove them once again. His fingers twist his jade necklace, then spin the rings adorning his hand, only to reach for his necklace once more.

You stare right ahead as you finally take hold of his fingers, entwining them softly with yours. You can feel him staring at you, his gaze burning the curve of your neck as his hand goes limp in your hold. He looks at you, and you look ahead. You’re scared of what he will read in your trembling irises if you dare hold his gaze.

But he doesn’t let go. Only holding on to you tighter, his thumb swiping gently across your palm. Your wrist. Anywhere its softness can reach.

You’ve been within these colorful gardens countless times before. On your first day in Giverny and once per month since, without fail, except when it closes for Winter.

Yet, you are always as bewitched by how beautifully arranged the gardens are, by how vastly their greenery stretches before your eyes. There is beauty to behold wherever your eyes rest, conversations between blooms to catch at every corner. You smell the mingling fragrances— the sweetness of roses and the citrus of orange blossoms. You hear the birds, singing and rejoicing in seeing another day, the rush of water carving its path through stones.

It is buzzing with life, the nature that seems to stretch its hand at you, beckoning you into the warmest of embraces.

Though today, you do not heed its call. Today, you hold on to Hyunjin’s hand.

He doesn’t let go of your hold as he slowly strolls around, stopping by the dahlias, breath caught in his throat as a bee buzzes around a nearby crimson peony. He leans into a yellow rose, his nose nearly brushing the dewdrops gathered on its petals. He breathes in beauty, lets it fill the hollows within him, and you watch—because seeing it through his eyes makes it all the more beautiful.

He smiles as he climbs the stairs of the home. As he pauses in the living room, taking in the dozen paintings hung on the wall—A Woman with a Parasol, The Water Lily Pond, Impression, Sunrise, Poppies, Bouquet of Sunflowers. Then, the lively bedrooms scattered around the home, the vibrant blue kitchen, the Japanese prints, and the pink orchid.

There is a little magic to his step as you follow the flowery path to the Water Lily Pond, with bamboo trees greeting you on your walk. He pulls you onto a bench, his eyes fixed on the turquoise and the floating water lilies, rootless yet still as happy, as beautiful. Like Hyunjin.

You can’t be as truthful as you wish around him anymore. Every compliment is starting to taste like a confession to you.

“I was in love with a girl,” he says, resting your interwoven hands upon his thigh. Your breath stumbles. You did not expect the sharp, sudden sting of jealousy latching onto your ribs, the burn of it. You look at the pond, hoping the water will rise from its place and douse the fire in your chest.

“She was my muse for the longest time. I was foolish, so I… I placed my heart within her palms. Here, take it, it’s yours, I told her. I was too blinded by my own need to be loved to realize that she didn’t love me.”

You steal a glance at him to find his eyes closed, his head leaning back. He’s so beautiful it almost feels like a dagger pressed against your throat.

“She cheated on me. In my own bed. While I was away for work,” he whispers, but his words still ring loudly in your ear. His words are so violent they feel out of place in such a beautiful setting. You swallow them. You don’t let him bear their weight alone.

“I don’t love her anymore. I think it evaporated the moment I saw her with him. But what hurts–” His voice trembles, and when he turns to you, his eyes are glistening, “what kills me is that I showed her all of me. I bared my soul to her, and it did not matter. It wasn’t enough for her to love me. And I… I don’t paint out of thin air, I paint out of my soul. I pour from myself onto the canvas. And if what makes me me isn’t worthy, then how could my paintings ever be enough? How could I ever be enough? In anything, to anyone?”

What do you do when someone hands you their bruised heart, bloody and butchered, when they unveil their deepest pains under the scorching sunlight, out in the open, with nowhere to hide it, nowhere to cancel it? What do you do with this violence? How do you undo it? How do you soothe it?

You don’t know. You wish you knew, more than ever before, as Hyunjin looks at you—almost expectantly, pleadingly—as if he has been waiting for months to speak these words to another soul. To unveil it.

Release me. You could almost hear it on the tip of his tongue. Please. Please. Please.

“Hyunjin,” you choke, your thumbs sweeping away the reflections of the swaying branches on his tear-streaked skin. “Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin,” you repeat, as if he could hear the weight his name carries, the way it has taken roots within your ribs. “You are enough. You were enough before her, and you will remain so after.”

His lower lip trembles and quakes; you can feel that he’s standing on the precipice of unraveling, completely, loose threads falling apart at the slightest gust of wind. You can’t stitch him back together, you can’t order the wind to pause in its travels. But you can speak.

“Don’t torture yourself over things that aren’t your doing. She may have been your inspiration, but she was never the sole core of your talent. That is all you, Hyunjin. Your kindness is you, and your paintings are you. No matter who you loved, or if you had loved no one at all. You still would have made it here. Because you are Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin exhales, a sound between a sigh and a sob. “What if I feel like nothing without her?”

“She’s only everything because you’ve given her your entire self. She’s everything because you see in her a reflection of yourself. Your beautiful self.” You exhale softly. His tears gather at his lashes like petals trembling before the fall.

“We promised not to lie to one another, didn’t we?” you say, voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been lonely here, Hyunjin. Not physically. But something has been missing. A friend. You. Having you here makes me happy. And someone who isn’t beautiful could never make the world more beautiful just by being in it.” You smile, your nose tip almost resting against his. “You are enough, Hyunjin. Her wrongdoings aren’t your fault.”

He nods, closing his eyes, leaning into the warmth of your palm, his lips almost brushing against your skin. “I want to paint again. I miss it terribly.”

“You will.”

His next words are softer than the wind rustling the trees. “I drew you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Did I turn out pretty?”

He smiles like a spring sun, warm and kind on your soul. “Of course. It would be impossible for you to be otherwise.”

—

Something has shifted.

Like sailing winds catching the perfect speed to carry a boat to safety, something within Hyunjin has clicked into place. Eased is the better way to describe it, as if his heart, once sinking like a stone in his chest, now floats weightlessly along his ribs, unrestrained.

He has been happier since stepping out of Monet’s house, his smile blooming the way flowers do in spring, the way water rushes down a waterfall, like a second nature.

He pauses before you, the sun that has pulled him from the dark, clasping his hands together. You smile, tilting your head, and his heart swoons at the simple motion, swaying as if caught in the wind.

“Should we rent bikes?” he asks, grinning. “There’s so much I haven’t seen in Giverny.”

You pout, teasing. “Is my shop no longer enough for you?”

He shakes his head fervently. “No, no, your shop is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” His eyes widen with (exaggerated) sincerity. “I think all the other florists never stood a chance against you. In fact, every flower shop in the world should close right now!”

You laugh as he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. He leans into you instinctively, as if he belongs there, inhaling your flowery scent, borrowing your warmth.

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, “I’ll be your tour guide, then.”

True to your word, the two of you spend the afternoon biking—past the river, through the narrow streets of Giverny, past the old Mill of Vernon and the Impressionism Museum where flowers sketch your path. The sun sinks behind you, spilling watercolors across the sky. The wind tousles Hyunjin’s hair, and he feels it for the first time in a long time—what it must be like to be a bird. Free. Unbound. Guided by nothing but the pull of his own heart.

You keep glancing over your shoulder as you bike ahead of him, tossing excruciatingly beautiful smiles his way. He feels them in his chest, burning and ablaze where coldness once sat.

By the time you stop to rest, you’re both breathless, slightly sweaty but pleasantly exhausted.

He can already sense it– you’re only seconds away from saying you should head back, but he’s still not satiated of you, he doesn't think he ever will. “Come home with me. I want to cook for you. As a thank you.”

His cheeks are rosy, his chest rising and falling as he awaits your response. He prays you won’t say no. He thinks he’s ready to beg at your feet if you refuse.

But your smile is warm, your gaze soft as it traces the contours of his face. You’re already saying yes with your eyes.

“Depends. What will you cook for me, Mr. Hwang?”

“Anything you’d like.”

That turns out to be just ramyeon as Hyunjin quickly realizes his fridge is unfit for anything more elaborate. He peers inside, dismayed, and you burst into laughter at his expression, clutching the sides of your stomach. But as you watch him move around the kitchen, speaking excitedly about all the paintings he’s inspired to create now, your laughter slowly fades.

Because you see it then—a vision. Hyunjin cooking you breakfast tomorrow. And the day after. And the years to come. You see yourself standing up, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. It’s so vivid, so sweet to imagine that it disarms you. Leaves you aching and pulsing for nothing. Like a heart beating with no blood flowing through it.

The vision lingers, syrup-thick, as Hyunjin hands you a steaming bowl of noodles. And when he gently wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of your lips—when he licks it from his own thumb without thinking—your pulse stutters. His gaze darkens, storms brewing behind his irises. You feel as if he’s kissing you with his eyes alone, touching you as he stands a few feet away.

Hyunjin only manages to steady himself when you both settle in the canopy in his backyard, sipping the peach lemonade you made for him days ago, listening to the cicadas humming far away. The breeze is cool against his collarbones. The full moon bathes you both in silver light.

It seems closer tonight, as if watching over him. As if urging him to speak.

“Can I paint you?” he asks suddenly. “I… I’d like to paint you with you here.”

You blink, caught off guard, before placing your hand over his.

“I’d love that, Hyune.” You smile softly. “But tonight, I’d rather you paint yourself. I think it would help you see that you don’t need any muse but you.”

The sincerity in your voice makes him ache, makes him want to collapse into your arms with the certainty that you would catch him. You didn’t run when his pain shadowed you, when his tears slipped down your palm like salty rivulets. You didn’t let go.

He feels you within him now—a soft mass of stars and sunlight, resting below his ribs, expanding, glowing, loving.

So he does exactly that.

As the night weaves itself forward, the two of you settle into his room—you curled up on his bed, thumbing through a book, while he brings out his oil paints, the scent of turpentine invading his senses at once, like an old friend. The sight of you in his room drives him to the edge of delirium. You belong in his home, in his heart, so effortlessly that it makes something deep in his chest ache.

The conversation drifts in and out between you, like waves kissing the shore—never fully retreating, never fully letting go. Shadows stretch and soften beneath the moonlight. You are half-asleep when his voice stirs you awake.

“What do you think, little florist?”

He tilts the painting toward you, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

It is a portrait of himself—but not as the world sees him. Rendered in deep Prussian and Manganese blue, abstract save for his eyes, which shimmer with unshed tears caught in the waterline. Yet his expression is not sorrow. No, it speaks of reverence. As if he is gazing upon something unbearably beautiful. Something so profound, it threatens to undo him.

You.

Your breath catches as you push yourself up, eyes widening.

“My God, you are so talented,” you whisper, stepping beside him, drawn in by the painting. He almost—almost—lets his head rest against your side but stops himself. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder, grounding, warm. You squeeze gently.

“How you ever thought you weren’t good enough is beyond me. This is the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”

His ears burn. He feels their warmth creeping down his neck, this unbearable, tender shyness you seem to bring out in him every time.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

Your gaze flickers to the window, to the darkened sky. “It’s 3 a.m. already?” you murmur, blinking as exhaustion settles over you.

He hesitates for only a moment before reaching out, fingers curling lightly around your wrist.

“Stay the night.” It isn’t a demand, nor is it casual—it is hesitant, hopeful. “Unless you want me to take you home. I will, of course, but—I’d like you here.”

A pause. Two paths forging before you.

“I’d like that too.”

You change into the oversized T-shirt and pair of shorts he hands you, the fabric hanging loose around your frame. It smells like him—like paint and something sweet, something flowery too, as if he carries Anthomania on his skin like you do.

As you climb into his bed, he lights a single vanilla candle, its flame wavers, and you watch it for a while, thinking. The bed is wide enough that you do not have to touch. And yet—like a moth to a flame, like a flower bending instinctively toward the light—something in you aches to move closer. To rest against him. To rest in him.

He feels the same.

It starts with his hand, inching toward yours.

Then, the slow, tentative brush of his pinky against your skin, gently tracing the contours of your palm. Your fingers slide over his, resting there.

“You’re still awake,” he murmurs, voice low and drowsy.

“So are you.”

He hums softly, and his thumb begins to move—small, absentminded circles against your skin. As if his body has decided to reach for you before his mind can catch up.

You shift onto your side, edging closer, and now you can see him fully—the candlelight catching on his cheekbone, the way his dark hair spills onto the pillow. His eyes flicker open at the movement, lazy and heavy-lidded, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

A pause. A heartbeat.

Then, softer, more vulnerable, he whispers, “Can I hold you?”

Your heart stumbles. For a moment, neither of you breathe.

“Can I tell you something first?” you ask, fully turning toward him, and he follows suit. Your fingers inch toward his face, ghosting over the mole by his eye, the one near the bridge of his nose, then down to his jaw, tracing his pulse where it beats wildly beneath your touch.

“Anything, little florist.”

You swallow. “I’ve never been in love before. And I’ve never been loved. I’ve spent the better part of my life craving a feeling that always seemed just out of reach.” A sad smile tugs at your lips. Hyunjin’s eyes soften at your confession. “It’s as if I’ve been deprived of something monumental and grand, something I searched for in everything I did.” You bite your lip. “And I like you, Hyunjin. I like you a lot. As silly as it is, because you are you and I am me, but it would kill me if you only wanted to hold me as a friend.”

“Shh, what are you saying?” he whispers, his thumb brushing over your lips, soft and reverent. “can’t you see it? you are the one who brought me back to life. I was a wilted thing before you. i feel as if you watered me, like one of your flowers.”

“Well, you are as beautiful as a flower.” A tear slips past your lashes. “And I am just a florist.” Perhaps it’s the late hour, or the way his warmth lulls you toward something soft, something safe. Or maybe it’s because the most beautiful person you’ve ever met is looking at you as if you are something holy.

But you start crying, unyielding tears coating your cheeks in their wetness. You don’t cry prettily nor quietly, but Hyunjin doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t leave before this gushing wound you’ve carried—this thirst for love you could never quench—now overflowing, too much, too much, too much.

Instead, he gently takes your hand, and presses it over his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart pounds wildly, you cannot fathom that it is your doing.

“I think you’re more beautiful than all the flowers combined.” His knuckle tenderly wipes your tears away. “And I adore you, my little florist. Not as a friend. In case that wasn’t clear.” He giggles, and so do you, something light and giddy coming to life between you.

“Then, can you hold me? Please.”

And he does. Instantly, greedily—his arms curling around you, pulling you into the warmth of him. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, letting him breathe you in. You both sigh at once, as if you’ve been waiting your whole lives to reach this moment. As if you have spent too many years with no safe space to exhale.

“So, you like me?” he asks, pressing a tender kiss to your hair.

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear.” You smile, and he laughs.

“You feel warm,” he whispers, voice quieter now. “And safe. I never thought I’d feel this way again.” His nose tip grazes yours tenderly. “Please don’t hurt me, my little florist.”

“I think I’d rather hurt myself,” you confess, gently tucking away strands of his hair behind the cuff of his ear.

“Then, never mind. Hurt me instead,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to cry anymore.”

“Are you trying to outdo me?”

“Mm, just need to prove I like you more.”

You giggle quietly, blushing. It’s nearly five a.m. now.

“I feel like I’m dreaming, Hyunjin. I’m scared I’ll wake up and won’t find you near.”

“I’m here,” he reassures, placing a tender kiss on the crown of your head. “I won’t leave. But would you wait for me? There are parts of myself I still need to heal before I can love you properly. You understand, right?”

“Love?” you echo.

“Is it too soon?” He shakes his head. “You know, I don’t care. I know that if we continue this way, I’ll only end up loving you. I think I’ve always known.”

“So did I,” you grin like the sun. “But I won’t wait for you from afar. I’ll hold your hand till you become even happier.”

He exhales, eyes fluttering shut. It looks like the milky way is swimming within his eyes once they lock on you. “I want to love you so much you’ll forget what it felt like to not be loved. I will. I promise you.”

And you believe him.

“Can you start tonight?”

It happens then—both of you moving at once, drawn together like tides to the moon, like roots seeking water. Your lips meet and something inside you quakes, shatters, is born again. His kiss is gentle, reverent, the kind of softness that makes your skin prickle, makes you ache in places you didn’t know could.

He tastes like peaches, like flowers, like the way his name sounds in your mouth. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into the curve of you, tracing the length of your spine as if memorizing the shape of you, as if afraid you might slip away. And you are floating, slipping in and out of consciousness, dizzy with warmth, with his touch, with the way his lips seek yours again and again, as if he could kiss you for eternity and it still wouldn’t be enough to quench his thirst.

Your hand is the first to move beneath his shirt, fingertips grazing over his fevered skin. He shudders, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

And Hyunjin swears he could die like this—if this is death, he would meet it ten times over at your hands.

He is everywhere, all-encompassing, warm, and tender, the weight of him pressing into you, anchoring you to this moment. Still he keeps asking, voice unsteady— Would you like me to stop? Tell me and I will. His fingers slip down the ridges of your stomach, tracing every dip, every line of yours, and your answer remains the same, pleading— No, keep going, please. please. You are a flower cracking through the hard soil, unfurling, meeting the light for the first time.

You have your answer then— why Giverny? It was to find him. It was to be found. It drapes over you like a certainty a year later, when his arm wraps around your shoulders, his chin resting on the crown of your head. As you gaze at the series of paintings he’s created over the past seven months— every bouquet you’ve ever made him since his first visit to you. Your gaze drifts to the central piece of his newest exposition— you, looking out of his window, laying on a bed of wildflowers, the light grazing your bare back like a lover.

He titled it Anthomania. An obsession with you.

[hyvneluv]

「𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜」

➥ Bang Chan x Hyunjin — 6k (~25 min. read)

➥ Boys' Love, Angst with fluff frosting, Childhood Friends to Lovers

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve tension and some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Juvenile delinquency, references to domestic violence (non-graphic), violence, explicit sexual content

➥ Neither of them cares about much in this life, but even then there are things they will never ever give up.

Such as the only places that feel like home to them.

The sky is burning.

That was what Hyunjin called the azure sea above his head when it took on a fiery hue. Sunsets were his most cherished time of the day; he found comfort in the blood sun for some reason. It felt harmless in the evening hours, possibly because it didn’t hurt his eyes to directly look at it. It felt like a declawed tiger.

Today, the sky was burning, but that comfort was missing. He thought spring was just around the corner, but today it was snowing. His teeth were chattering as he was sitting in the passenger seat of the car, shriveling into a ball like a hedgehog.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” Chris interlocked his fingers with Hyunjin’s and squeezed his hand tight. “You have me.”

Today it was snowing.

But it wasn’t snow falling from the burning sky.

“Mom, I want to learn sign language.”

Molly’s eyebrows formed the highest possible arch when her ten-year-old blurted that out at the kitchen table out of nowhere. 

“Where did that come from all of a sudden, baby?” she continued to peel potatoes. 

“The boy nextdoor,” Chris rested his chin on his hands. “He never talks. I saw him do stuff with his hands at the grocery store, so I’m gonna learn how to say I want to be friends with him.”

Her heart swelled to the point of combustion. She hadn’t been able to give much to her baby, but the conscience he had was her most proud achievement whether she had anything to do with it or not.

“We will go to the community center tomorrow morning, okay?” she ruffled his rebellious curls.

The boy nextdoor was very reserved, not leaving the house much, but once Chris started signing him the things that he learned, the boy started to come out of his shell a little. A little more. A little bit more every day. At one point, he even started waiting outside when it was time for Chris to come back home from school. Even though most of their communication took place on an Etch A Sketch, it didn’t prevent the two boys from merging into conjoined twins.

Molly wasn’t home much with all those double shifts she was working, naturally failing to notice this boy sooner. Turns out there were a lot of things she hadn’t been noticing, and everything forced itself into her field of vision when she suddenly got laid off one day. 

“Here, baby,” she put headphones on her boy to allay his fear and hugged him tightly. “I’m right here, okay?” 

It was a miracle how that tyrant nextdoor still had his vocal cords intact with all that drunken yelling, and yelling wasn’t the only thing he was doing. She was trying so hard to calculate the chances of Chris becoming an orphan if she were to intervene herself because a call to the police was not going to yield any result. Just the usual slap on the wrist and they were going to fuck right off. Who would give a damn about what was happening in the wasteland that was the South Side anyway?

She was about to go crazy with how helpless she felt. 

If it was her son in there, there was no way anyone could stand in her way. She felt ashamed. She felt ashamed of her fear. Her shame slowly morphed into a tumor in her heart and eventually popped, splattering the puss of rage everywhere.

“ENOUGH!!!”

She leaped off the bed and raided her closet to find the gun she’d been hiding with the hopes of never having to use it. She barged into the house nextdoor through the back door, immediately cocking the hammer when her eyes found the man. 

“Get the fuck away from the kid, or I’ll blow your brains out,” she threatened, eyes maniacally wide, then kneeled and extended her hand towards the boy. 

“Bitch, what are yo—?”

She shot at the bottles lying on the coffee table, thankfully managing to scare the man. This was good. If she played the crazy bitch card, she could maintain the upper hand. 

“I said away!” she spat through her teeth and turned to the boy again. “Come, sweetheart. Chris is waiting for you.”

As soon as he heard the name, the boy ran into her arms, and Molly’s maternal instincts went into overdrive. In a momentary lapse of sanity, she dashed to the front door, turned the keys dangling in the lock, then rushed to the back entrance with the boy holding onto her for dear life and locked the door from the outside.

“Shh, shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, baby, Auntie Molly’s here now,” she kept kissing the boy’s head, leaving the angered screams and the bangs on the door behind her. The second she crossed the threshold of her own home, she put the kid down, and her knees gave way with an overwhelming sense of relief. Once she managed to muster enough strength, she brought a small kit from the bathroom and sat down to clean the boy’s wounds with Chris watching everything in silence.

“T–Thank… you.”

The mother and son froze solid in shock, looking at each other to see if the other heard the words, too.

“Sweetheart, you can talk?” 

“He… h–hurts me when I say words,” the boy spoke in an almost nonexistent voice, refusing to make eye contact at all costs. “I don’t say words anymore.”

Molly could hear her heart breaking, fighting so hard to swallow the knot growing in her throat. She smiled at him brightly to shoo the tears away from her eyes. 

“What’s your name, dear?”

“H–Hyunjin.”

“What a beautiful name,” she caressed his cheek. “Come, it’s time for bed now.”

She tucked both boys in, giving a kiss on each of their foreheads, and wished them sweet dreams. When she turned off the light and closed the door, Chris turned to his side and hugged Hyunjin tightly. 

“You have me,” he whispered like he was sharing a secret. “I’ll protect you. Just follow me, okay?”

Hyunjin nodded. He didn’t have many good memories, but he was surely going to remember that night he got a peaceful sleep, probably the very first one ever since he was alive. 

Nevertheless, that peace of mind was extremely short-lived with a knock on the door the very next morning right after Chris left for school.

“We received a report,” a police officer addressed Molly. “Are you detaining someone else’s child here, ma’am?”

She was utterly aghast, mouth agape as she stared at the man. They wouldn’t give a rat’s ass even when literal murderers were running loose on these streets, and suddenly they were the epitome of sense of duty?

For a false claim?!

“No one is being detained, officer. I only opened up my home to a child in need,” she heaved a deep sigh, slightly annoyed. “Actually, now that you’re here—”

“Did you harm this boy?” the officer’s eyes widened when he saw the bruises on the kid hiding behind her.

“WHAT?! NO!”

“You’re coming to the station with us.”

“What are you talking about?! It wasn’t me! He’s the one you should—”

“Less talking, more walking.”

“Have a good one, Dave,” the man nextdoor waved at the officer, immensely satisfied watching the neighbor bitch get into the police car. His sinister smile vanished when his eyes landed on the boy still standing at that doorstep as if he had turned into stone.

“Hyunjin,” he called out, teeth clenched and nostrils flaring. “Inside. Now.”

This was Chris’ third time repeating the senior year of high school.

The first time he flunked, his teachers were almost expecting it due to his mother’s sudden passing, but everything that followed, they didn’t have an explanation for. Once a decent kid with more than decent grades, he had turned into this aloof vandal with zero intention of carving a future for himself, the front row center audience of disciplinary hearings with his absenteeism through the roof. Every time the guidance counselor wanted to talk to him, he promised not to cut class anymore, just to cut class right after leaving that office. He had no idea why she kept insisting on seeing him this much anyway. This was a trash school in a trash district where trash people lived, and if it weren’t for his irrational desire to graduate alongside Hyunjin, he would have dropped out long ago. He knew nobody actually gave a fuck if he ‘made something of himself’, so why the unnecessary theatrics of ‘I’m worried about you’? 

Eh, maybe she had some quota to fill, who knows?

There was something Chris liked about this school, though. The unused music room-turned-storage in the basement. He brought Carl the janitor his weed at a ridiculously discounted price in exchange for the keys to the secret corner that only belonged to him and Hyunjin. Their little Haven where they got to escape from reality even if it was for a couple of borrowed hours.

“What happened to your lip?” Chris greeted Hyunjin that afternoon with furrowed brows, the worry crawling under his skin turning into rage in record time.

“I fell down.”

“I think the fuck not you did not,” he jumped to head towards the door, fuming out of his nose.

“Chris, stop.”

“I’m either stabbing him to death or calling the police. Take your pick.” 

“You know it’s useless.”

“I don’t give a fuck, I’ll do it every day!” he gently cupped Hyunjin’s cheeks, eyes softening with each moment he spent gazing at his beautiful face. “Every second he’s away from you is a win for me.”

“Don’t,” Hyunjin stared at his shoes. “It gets worse when he comes back home from the station.”

Chris instinctively pulled him into his embrace as if nothing would happen to Hyunjin if he just kept him there. And Hyunjin really believed it. He wished he could just live in Chris’ arms, the only source of respite from his perpetual suffering.

“Let’s just forget about it. I came here to be with you,” Hyunjin gave one of the joints he hid inside his jacket. 

“To be with me,” Chris smirked.

“I–I mean to… to hang out and… whatever.”

Chris didn’t say anything and lit up the cigarette smiling like an idiot, lying down on the old desks he put side by side. Every time Hyunjin let slip things like that, he found himself on the very brink of passing away from endearment, and one of these days, he really wasn’t going to be able to practice restraint anymore. Trying to conceal his devastating longing for him was the hardest thing he had to do, and he had to pull a trigger once. But it was fine. As long as Hyunjin stayed by his side, it didn’t matter if he starved his heart.

It… had to be fine.

“Hey, are you gonna ask anyone to the dance?” Chris asked nonchalantly while making a perfectly shaped smoke ring, to which Hyunjin cackled like a witch.

“That was fucking hysterical. Thanks.”

“What’s so funny?” Chris frowned. “The entire senior floor is drooling over you so much, the corridors always look freshly polished. They’re gonna fire Carl because of you.”

“Fuck the dance, man. Let’s just go get trashed by the river instead.”

“You’re passing up on swiping your V-card?” Chris cocked a brow with a shit-eating grin.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. Everybody knows what happens in the parking lot on the night of the dance.”

Yeah, no shit! Yes, he knew, thank you very much. That was exactly why Hyunjin didn’t want to be in the parking lot. He wanted to be alone with Chris at their spot by the river. It was an insane idea when he couldn’t even muster the courage to kiss him, and yet he wanted to ask him to… 

“Are you gonna ask anyone?” he hesitantly questioned.

“Nah, I’m busy that day.” 

“With what?”

“I got invited to get trashed by the river.”

They lazily smiled at each other. If only things were different. Chris would definitely ask Hyunjin to go to the dance with him. They would obviously be the hottest couple of the night, making so many bitches die of jealousy, but he wouldn’t take him to the parking lot afterwards. He would take him to their spot by the river, kiss him for hours, then beg Hyunjin to end his misery, to release him from this prison of yearning. He would whisper how he was all Chris could see when he closed his eyes. He would whisper how he wanted to be the first and only person to kiss him, to touch him, to make him cum, and then ask him to hold his hand for an eternity.

If only…

“I uh… I got you something,” Hyunjin rose to his feet to walk towards the dusty lockers at the back of the room. “Close your eyes.”

“You fucking care about me!” Chris dramatically gasped. “My birthday was months ago. Where did this come from?”

“Well, I didn’t have the money yet on your birthday.”

“What money? Bagel sandwiches cost like five bucks.”

“Well, that stupid thing you like so much costs a bit more, so…” Hyunjin returned to the desk, his throat experiencing acute drought for some reason. “Alright, you can look.”

Chris opened his eyes, and his heart did a kamikaze dive to the ground, vanishing the smile on his lips in an instant.

Every time they passed by the record store, he always insisted on going in although he was never going to make a purchase. The store owner was at least nice; he allowed them to hang out and even let Chris play one of the guitars on display. It was the cheapest one of the lot, but Chris still lost his mind over it. 

And now ‘his girl Roxy’ was standing right before his eyes.

“Hyun…” 

“If the dramatic pause is to ask if I stole it, no I didn’t,” Hyunjin responded to his questioning gaze. “I’ve been working at the gas station after school.” 

“You what?” Chris’ eyes started welling up uncontrollably. “For–For this?”

“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” Hyunjin scoffed, but his fingers were scratching his nape out of nervous habit. “I get to not go home and stuff, too, you know.”

Chris wanted to cry a little bit. He wanted to ask why the absolute fuck Hyunjin was the purest thing in this cesspit of a world that didn’t deserve him. He wanted to hold him a little bit. Drown him in kisses, inhale his scent from the intersection where his ear met his neck. Tell him to never ever let his hand go and please please love him back.

“I will guard this with my life,” was all he could say.

The light in Chris’ eyes was so bright that Hyunjin couldn’t help contracting it. He loved making Chris smile. He was so easy to make happy, so easy to fall madly in love with, and so easy to love. It made Hyunjin’s heart stop every time he saw those dimples. It violently killed Hyunjin when he heard Chris’ giggles. It wasn’t the worst idea to spend the rest of his life hearing that sound in his ears every day. 

And when the most beautiful man in the entire universe smiled at him like that, Chris finally lost his last drop of patience, and his lips clutched Hyunjin’s for dear life.

Time stopped.

Hyunjin was convinced he had categorically gone crazy. He had been imagining this moment so concerningly frequently that he was having a full-on psychosis. He could actually feel Chris’ lips on him as well as the rhythm of his heartbeat pounding loud within his own body. He was overwhelmed to the point of paralysis, unable to move an inch.

When his kiss wasn’t reciprocated, Chris pulled back to see a frozen Hyunjin, his eyes wide open in shock, and an immediate wave of panic washed over him.

“I–I’m sorry. I thought… That was stupid. I’m so stupid. I’m sorry. I’m… Fuck!”

Chris bolted out of that place towards the restroom, dying of embarrassment and incredulous of what he had just done. He couldn’t fucking help himself, and now it was going to get awkward as hell. Was Hyunjin going to avoid him now? Was he disgusted by him? Was he weirded out? How could he make things right again? Should he say he was too faded and didn’t remember? Should he not talk about it at all and act like it never happened? Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!!!

Meanwhile, Hyunjin just stood in the middle of that room with his fingers pressed on his lips for god knows how long, his first kiss still ablaze on his skin like an open wound.

Seventeen years. Eleven months. Twenty-nine days. 

Hyunjin had been counting, and after what felt like several eternities, D-Day had finally arrived. 

“I’ve kept this from you all along,” Chris spoke with profound seriousness as they got out of his mom’s faithful Camry, “but I’m actually a genie.”

A lot of people had their spots by the river, but they were out in the open somewhere on the lush lawn, strategically occupied by couples to remind the passersby of how lonely they were. Being highly allergic to crowds, Hyunjin and Chris picked their spot at a godforsaken location, still by the riverbank but somewhere they could at least pull up with a car. It was a literal underpass slightly reminiscent of an abandoned junkyard, but at least it was secluded, quiet, and had a killer view at nighttime. It was Haven the sequel.

And on the night of the school dance, Haven the sequel was hosting Hyunjin’s birthday.

“Have you finally lost your mind?” Hyunjin contorted his face.

“What do you mean finally?” Chris widened his eyes with not-so-make-believe lunacy and walked to the back of the car. “Remember when you said the only way for you to find peace was if you could wipe out the entire neighborhood?”

Inside the trunk lay the two sledgehammers that Chris borrowed from the body shop down the street. He took them both out, then led the way towards the left where the moonlight ricocheted off some shiny surfaces in the distance. Once Hyunjin’s eyes got used to the darkness, he could finally make out what he was looking at. There was a bunch of stuff lying around that wasn’t there before—old monitors, an empty cooler, a TV, various furniture about to fall apart if someone so much as sneezed… 

“Close enough, yeah?” Chris handed one of the sledgehammers to Hyunjin. “Happy birthday.” 

When Hyunjin felt that sturdy grip under his touch, he felt weirdly… in control. Something he never once was able to feel in the seventeen years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days he was alive. Every single piece of junk standing before him was slowly shapeshifting into his demons, reminding him of everything that was stolen from him, and derisively laughing at his face. He could hear his blood rushing in his veins. His chest was heaving as if he had been running for hours. His breathing was quickening beyond his control. Then some more. Then some more, and…

With an ear-piercing scream, he bolted towards that cooler at full speed and slammed the sledgehammer like he wanted to gut it alive.

Both boys consumed with the raging urge to destruct, they broke, they shattered, they smashed, screaming their lungs out, maniacally laughing for no reason, just letting it all out. Letting out all the poison gangrening their existence. All the suffering sinking its teeth on their shoulders. All the tears they couldn’t cry. All the broken dreams they dared to dream once. At this very moment, they were elsewhere, far, far, far away, living other lives as other people.

And they were deliriously happy.

“That felt so good!”

When they returned to the car and got inside, Hyunjin was still smiling, completely unable to control the curls on his lips. Witnessing such a miraculous sight multiplied Chris’ happiness infinityfold. After taking a long sip from his flask, he handed it to Hyunjin to quench his thirst and started watching the nightscape stretching before them. Bright lights, tall buildings, home to some lucky bastards’ lives. 

He didn’t have much maybe, but as he gazed at Hyunjin’s lost-in-thought silhouette, Chris could see what his luck was spent on, and he couldn’t be any more content.

“What?” Hyunjin looked back when he noticed Chris’ eyes on him.

“You look like you want to say something.” 

It all had boiled down to this. 

After the incident at Haven, neither of them talked about it even though that was the only thing both were dying to talk about. As Chris was experiencing back-to-back existential crises, Hyunjin was floating in a cloud of bliss with the gigantic green light he received from Chris. He wanted to do it again but properly this time. And he wanted to do much more than kissing, but he had to time it just right. It had to be at a time and place where no soul-crushing ‘We can’t’ could be uttered. When they were alone. When they were close. 

Where nobody could interrupt them.

“You… had sex before, right?” Hyunjin stared at his fingers. 

Tremendously blindsided, Chris burst into laughter so hard that it came out as a wheeze. It may have sounded like joy but the singular emotion riddling his existence was suffocating nervousness.

“Why are you asking?” he spoke with perfectly intact composure.

“Nothing, I just…” 

Chris examined every single twitch on Hyunjin’s face. He didn’t want to spectacularly misread him again, but he just had this undeniable feeling. Something exuding from Hyunjin was condensing in the air, and every time it rained on Chris’ heart, it beat a little harder in his throat.

“Did you… change your mind about the dance?” Chris lowered his head, trying to hold Hyunjin’s gaze.

“No, it’s not… it’s not about the dance.”

“Then what is it about?”

Hyunjin was uncontrollably blushing, trying to pick the right way to word this. Even though he wanted Chris in extremely disrespectful ways, the last thing he wanted to come across was crass. 

Because as much as bodily fluids, he wanted to exchange hearts with the exclusive owner of his soul.

“I’ve been… waiting,” he started with a small voice, “for–for us to…”

Oh god, is this…?

Because Chris had been waiting, too. He had been patiently waiting ever since he noticed that thing he felt whenever he caught a glimpse of Hyunjin was nowhere near brotherly. He was thoroughly consumed by his love for the kiwi boy who sported a buzzcut his entire life, and he would burn this world down for him if he asked. He wanted him to ask. Right fucking now.

But he would rather die than force Hyunjin to do something he wasn’t ready for. 

He smiled instead and reached for the backseat to pick up a small box that looked like a cube. Hyunjin instantly knew what was in there because of the signature packaging. Something they got to have only twice in a year. Chris picked up the singular candle resting inside, stuck it into the creamy frosting, and lit it up.

“Make a wish,” he held the red velvet cupcake before him, excessive adoration beaming out of his eyes.

Hyunjin closed his eyes, made his wish, and blew the candle. Then he broke the pastry in two and fed Chris one half.

“What did you wish for?” Chris asked licking the frosting off his lips.

“I want to be happy,” Hyunjin responded without a beat.

Those eyes… Those angelic eyes writhing under broken wings… It shattered Chris’ soul. He only wanted to see lights in there, but they were so dim. He wanted to rip his own heart out and give it to Hyunjin. He wanted to give whatever granular happiness he was able to taste to him. He wanted to shelter him. He wanted to love him.

He wanted to give him everything.

“I can… make you very happy,” he spoke somewhat abashed, eyes lowered to his own hands, “if you let me.”

He flinched in his place when Hyunjin unexpectedly reached for his face. Those long, slender fingers brushed against his lips, immediately coercing a sharp exhale out of Chris just with that simple touch. All Hyunjin could think about was how Chris had the most kissable lips in the world. So full, so inviting parted like that, begging him to come taste him. Fallen slave to his maddening desire for this man, he slowly closed the distance between them and spoke against those lips he had been violently daydreaming about.

“Do it again but don’t pull away from me this time,” Hyunjin whispered.

Bolts of lightning started to strike that car back to back.

One hesitant peck became two, then three, four, each staying a while longer than the last. One pair of lips hugged the other, extremely persuasive to go skinny dipping in the ocean of passion. 

They got their toes wet in the shallow end first. 

Just a kiss, but it was a promise. It was an abyss, making a man in love want to fall into it forever. A kiss, but it was a wordless confession. It was a heartless conviction, making a man in love want to become a prisoner for three life sentences straight.

That kiss was two souls merging into one in fate.

“You make sense to me,” Chris whispered breathlessly. “You are the only thing that makes sense in my insanity.”

Hyunjin felt so lost but he was right where he was always supposed to be. Nowhere felt as safe as Chris’ lips kissing his pain away, his arms the safest haven, his touch the only ointment to soothe the burn marks all over his charred soul. 

He wanted to say it all out loud, but every pause felt like an utter waste of time he could be spending loving him instead.

Chris snuck into the back seat, pulling Hyunjin with him. They were cursing at themselves for deciding to put on so many layers that night, but when they finally reached the last one and stood bare before each other, Chris was moved to tears by Hyunjin’s beauty despite the bruises covering him all over.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he caressed Hyunjin’s face. “I can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

Hyunjin held the hand breathing life into him and kissed each of those fingers like they were his savior and he was expressing his heartfelt gratitude. He kissed that wrist like the elixir of life was flowing in those veins. He pressed that palm on his chest like it could jumpstart his heart back to life again, then slid it down towards his crotch.

“Touch me.”

Chris thickly swallowed. He had imagined this moment embarrassingly often, but now that it was about to happen for real, he was having a little trouble breathing. He lay Hyunjin down and unbuttoned his pants, heartbeat going crazy in his ears as he stripped him bare. At long last, when he finally laid his eyes on what he only saw in his dreams…

“Oh, fuck me!” 

“I’m trying to,” Hyunjin responded with a straight face.

As they chuckled at each other, Hyunjin reached for Chris’ waistband and tugged on it, silently making a wish to be on equal grounds. He couldn’t help the throb between his legs when he witnessed the man of his dreams in all his glory, fully hard and begging for his touch. Chris lay next to him, basking in the unreal beauty, and sneaked a hand between Hyunjin’s legs, kissing him lazily as he gently stroked his girth.

Someone else’s touch. Chris’ touch. Something he always longed for but was too scared to verbalize even to himself. He was having the hardest time comprehending Chris was right next to him, naked, body ablaze, quietly moaning into his mouth while pleasuring him. 

Starting from his shoulder, Hyunjin traced the outline of Chris’ body with his fingers and stopped when he reached his waist, taking a turn towards his crotch. The heat he felt under his touch suddenly condensed, and Chris moaned louder when he felt Hyunjin’s fingers wrapped around him, rubbing his cock against his own.

“Do you feel it?” Chris pressed his chest against Hyunjin’s a little more. “How you make my heart race?”

Hyunjin fervently nodded. He couldn’t tell whose heart it was anymore, but it was pounding loud like it was about to burst, sending waves after waves of headrush straight to his brain, making all his thoughts go fuzzy.

“You have me. You’ve always had me,” Chris kissed Hyunjin’s palm, then pressed it on the left side of his chest. “Right here.”

Hyunjin was so overwhelmed that he was on the brink of crying. 

When Chris’ rhythm quickened, Hyunjin matched his pace, and all hell started breaking loose around them. He was running to the finish line at full speed but got sidetracked when a drop of Chris’ precum landed on his hand. He stared straight into his eyes, making a complete show of obscenely licking it clean, diminishing Chris into a panting, moaning mess just with that little display of what he was capable of doing with his tongue. 

“Let it out,” Chris urged him through his own moans. “Give me all of you.”

“Faster.”

“Cum with me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. FUCK!”

The tremors traveling from one body to the other transformed into wet debris when they reached their destination. Gasps for air were silenced with lips crashing into each other, holding on tight until they safely landed. Neither of them cared about the mess; if anything they wanted more of it as ink to sign one another under their names. They held each other tightly, overdosing on the happiness and satisfaction they didn’t even know existed, sure to turn into instant addicts momentarily.

“Don’t you just love the sound of silence?” Chris dreamily smiled as he gazed into the neon silhouette framed by the window, fingers running on Hyunjin’s porcelain skin. The only response he received was a content chuckle and a kiss on his chest.

They listened to the city singing in the distance. They listened to each other’s heartbeats. Then listened to the silence cradling both of them.

It was all they needed besides each other.

“Come with me,” Chris repeated his earlier request, tangling his fingers within Hyunjin’s.

“Where?”

“Away,” he lifted his chin to look into his eyes. “Let’s escape. From this shithole. From all our misery. It’ll be an adventure!”

“Where are we even gonna go?”

“Somewhere nobody knows. It’ll be just you and me,” Chris shoved a thousand pleas into his voice. “I promise I’ll take all your pain away. Just promise me you’ll love me a little more every day.”

Hyunjin pulled himself up and sealed his promise with a kiss. Chris didn’t need to ‘take his pain away’; every time they were breathing the same air, Hyunjin was unable to feel it anyway.

“I promise I’ll love you a lot more,” he ran his fingers through the unruly curls he loved so much, “but in exchange, you will promise to give me all of you.”

“Please let me come in with you.”

“It’s fine. Just wait for me here,” Hyunjin reassured him. “He hides the money in the living room. I’ll be in and out in two seconds.” 

As soon as that back door closed, Chris started chainsmoking out of sheer nerves, lighting one cigarette before he even fully finished the other. No need to think about the worst, it was going to be fine. Hyunjin said he would be in and out. He would be out any second now, and they would leave to never come back.

But then he heard the sound of glass shattering inside as well as a loud groan, something possessed him entirely. 

“You fucking DID NOT!!!”

He barged into the house ready to kill, frantically looking for Hyunjin, but instead of a commotion, there was a bone-chilling silence haunting the place. His heart was about to jump out of his chest when he made it to the living room, terrified of what might be waiting for him inside. 

“H–Hyun?”

Hyunjin was looking at the lifeless body lying on the floor with glazed eyes. The coldest stare Chris had ever seen. No emotion on the face whatsoever, clearly struck with shock, beautiful hands covered in blood with one of them tightly gripping a large kitchen knife.

“Are you hurt?” he immediately kneeled before Hyunjin, quickly checking for an injury. “Look at me. He had it coming, you hear me? For years.” 

Hyunjin turned his blank stare to Chris, unable to snap out of it even though that was all he wanted to do, uncontrollably shaking.

“You have me,” Chris hugged him tight. “It’s over now. You have me. I love you.”

It was as if Hyunjin had teleported to Chris’ childhood bedroom. He remembered the night he was there for the very first time. How he slept the most peaceful sleep of his life in that bed, the heart beating next to him the safest blanket. 

I’ll protect you. Just follow me, okay?

Something in the back of his head suddenly snapped, vacuuming him back into reality through the vortex of memories, and the second his feet touched the ground again, a gut-wrenching wail ripped from his throat. No regret. No grief.

Just pure, unmitigated relief of being unchained from his darkness. 

He heard all his shackles loudly break, and years of pain drained from his body with every tear he shed. In the arms of the only man that could comfort him. 

And it would take a while for Chris to burn down the world for him, but he could still burn down something. 

He turned the keys dangling in the lock of the front door first, then went to the basement to pick up a gallon of gas, pouring it all over the place as he walked back to the living room. Then he grabbed the lighter on the coffee table, held Hyunjin’s hand, and headed to the back entrance. 

He took out his own pack from his pocket and grabbed one smoke for himself and one for Hyunjin. He clicked the Zippo to light both cigarettes, then threw it inside the house and locked the back door. They smoked in silence as if they had all the time to kill, listening to the savior phoenix growing even more majestic inside with loud crackles. As the rampant blazes consumed Hyunjin’s den of nightmares, the strangest feeling of serenity enveloped both of them.

The sky was burning, but it wasn’t the blood sun. It was the flames rising above Crown Street, 21. 

It was snowing, but it wasn’t snow falling from the burning sky. It was the ashes of a childhood burnt, a soul scorched, and shackles on fire scattered all over the South Side.

“Sometimes I get scared that you’re not real and I’m making you up in my head,” Hyunjin spoke with pensive eyes.

“Just because you’re making it up why would it mean it’s not real?” Chris smiled at the love of his life.

They leisurely walked to the car they made love to each other for the first time and settled in their seats with endless peace painting a genuine smile on their faces. Chris interlocked his fingers with Hyunjin’s and squeezed his hand tight.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” he pulled him closer for a kiss and looked into those beautiful eyes that harbored a newborn flicker of light in them. “You have me.”

He slammed on the gas pedal, and the two lovers drove away into the night. As they disappeared to a place nobody even knew, Chris thought to himself there wasn’t much he wanted from this life, nor did he need much to be happy. He could make do as long as he had three things only.

A guitar.

You.

And the streets.

「© 2025, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[hyvneluv]

— [hyunjin links 2.] 🎸☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ MDNI.

warnings: porn.

fingers.

red lights.

slow.

early morning present.

drive.

dressing room quickie.

close.

subby hyun.

//

late birthday post because i was busy yesterday. pls lmk if you have trouble with any links.

more links + fics

[hyvneluv]

Every Girl Gets Her Wish

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Hyunlix x Fem!Reader

Summary: Just Felix being unable to say no to his girlfriend.

Warnings: Phew…. Double Penetration, Lots of Sex, we also got a bit of Dick on Dick action thanks to Hyunjin and Felix, a little bit of Breeding kink…. yk a little bit of this a little bit of that….Minors DNI

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Felix had never really thought of himself as a voyeur, but maybe he was. Or maybe it was just Y/N. Maybe it was just Hyunjin.

Whenever he took his girlfriend, fucked her good, he wanted people to know. His boys, especially. Maybe it was ego, maybe it was something else, but he liked it when they heard. When they knew how she moaned, how she came apart under him. And maybe—just maybe—he liked the idea of one of them stepping in.

Hyunjin, especially.

────୨ৎ────

It started as a passing thought, just a flicker in his brain during late-night practices when he was too tired to think straight. The way Hyunjin’s lips always looked plush and wet, the way his fingers were long and delicate, the way he looked at Y/N sometimes—too fast to be caught, but Felix saw. He always saw.

Then, the night in the dorm kitchen happened.

Felix should’ve pulled away when Hyunjin walked in, should’ve at least covered her up. But he didn’t. Instead, his grip on her thighs tightened, lifting her slightly, angling her just right. He wanted Hyunjin to see. See the way Y/N took him so well, see how her body responded, how she moaned into the marble countertop, breathless and needy. And Hyunjin—he didn’t leave. He didn’t say a word. He just stared, mesmerized, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Felix had fucked her harder after that.

Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop picturing what would’ve happened if Hyunjin had stepped closer. If he had bent down, taken one of Y/N’s nipples into his mouth, let her whimper against his tongue. If he had traced his fingers over her stomach, lower, lower, until—

Felix exhaled sharply.

Beside him, Y/N shifted. Then, she turned to him, eyes heavy with something unreadable. Felix set his phone down as she leaned in, her voice quiet but certain.

“I want to have sex with Hyunjin.”

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Fuck.

────୨ৎ────

Felix didn’t hesitate. He never did when it came to Y/N. His princess got what she wanted—always. And if she wanted Hyunjin, then that was exactly what she was going to get.

He had to be smart about it, though. Had to make sure Hyunjin knew this wasn’t some weird setup, wasn’t some test of loyalty. He could already imagine the way Hyunjin would furrow his brows, lips pressing into a tight line, searching Felix’s face for any sign of a trap.

“You’re serious?” Hyunjin had asked when Felix finally brought it up, voice low, careful.

Felix just smiled. “She wants you.”

Hyunjin scoffed, crossing his arms. “And you’re just… okay with that?”

Felix leaned in, his voice dropping. “More than okay.”

The disbelief lingered in Hyunjin’s eyes, but Felix saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched, restless. He was thinking about it. That was enough for now.

────୨ৎ────

So Felix set it up.

Y/N deserved more than some awkward, hesitant arrangement. She deserved to be wanted, to be cherished, to feel like the center of the universe. So he made sure everything was perfect—her favorite lingerie, soft lighting, the scent of vanilla lingering in the air. And then, he sent Hyunjin a simple text:

“Come to your room.”

Hyunjin walked in first, shoulders tense, still half-expecting some kind of joke. But when he saw her, all that skepticism melted away.

She was waiting for them, sprawled across his bed like she belonged there, wrapped in delicate lace, smiling so brightly it made his chest ache. Like she was the happiest girl in the world. Because Felix had given her exactly what she wanted.

Hyunjin turned his head slightly, eyes flickering to Felix.

Felix just grinned.

“Go on,” he murmured. “She’s waiting for you.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make Hyunjin’s knees weak.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, gaze flickering between Y/N—laid out so perfectly for them—and Felix, who stood beside him, entirely at ease.

“Come here,” Felix murmured, voice smooth, knowing. He stepped forward first, crawling onto the bed like he’d done a thousand times before, settling between Y/N’s legs. His hand ran up her thigh, slow, possessive, before he turned back to Hyunjin, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Let me show you what she likes.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh as Felix’s fingers trailed over her stomach, his touch light enough to make her shiver. “She likes it when you take your time,” he continued, voice dropping lower. His fingers brushed over the lace covering her, making her hips twitch. “She likes being touched like this first—gentle, teasing. Gets her desperate for more.”

Hyunjin exhaled sharply, but he listened. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Felix’s hands, watching Y/N’s reactions, her breath hitching, her lips parting just so.

Felix glanced at Hyunjin, eyes dark with something unreadable. Then, he reached out, grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist, and guided his hand over Y/N’s thigh. “Feel how warm she is?” Felix murmured. “She’s been waiting for you, too.”

Y/N whimpered, pressing into their touch, and Hyunjin felt like he was drowning.

Felix’s voice was right by his ear when he spoke again. “Kiss her,” he whispered. “She’s so pretty when she gets kissed.”

Hyunjin hesitated for half a second before leaning in, brushing his lips against Y/N’s. She melted into him immediately, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. He could taste the sweetness of her lip gloss, feel the soft hum she let out against his mouth.

And then, just as Hyunjin was getting lost in her, Felix’s fingers tilted his chin.

Hyunjin barely had time to process it before Felix kissed him.

It was slow, deliberate, a test—but also not. Felix kissed like he did everything else, confident and easy, like he already knew Hyunjin would kiss him back.

And fuck—he did.

The air in the room shifted, heavier now, hotter. Y/N whimpered between them, watching with wide, eager eyes as Felix pulled back just enough to smirk.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you this is what she wanted.”

And maybe—just maybe—it was what Felix wanted too.

Felix didn’t stop.

Hyunjin was still catching his breath from that kiss, lips tingling, head spinning, but Felix was already moving. His hands ghosted over the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt, fingers brushing bare skin as he pulled it up and off. Hyunjin let him. Let Felix undress him, piece by piece, watching as Felix’s own shirt hit the floor next.

Y/N lay between them, eyes glazed with want, her hands skimming over their bodies, exploring.

Then, Felix’s hands were back on her, tracing the straps of her lingerie, playing with the delicate lace before sliding it down, baring her inch by inch. “Perfect,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

Felix noticed.

His smirk was slow, knowing. He tilted his head slightly, voice low, taunting. “You want to touch her?”

Hyunjin exhaled, shaky and uneven. His gaze flickered to Y/N’s, searching for permission—for confirmation that this wasn’t just Felix testing him.

She met his eyes, and for a second, she was so soft. So willing.

Then, without hesitation, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, delicate but firm, guiding him exactly where she wanted.

The first brush of his fingers against her made her gasp.

Her thighs twitched, back arching slightly, hips pressing closer to him on instinct. Warm. So fucking warm. Hyunjin swallowed hard, his breath coming out in a shudder as he watched his fingers disappear inside her.

Felix sat back, a quiet curse slipping from his lips. He was watching everything, chest rising and falling in short, uneven exhales, his pupils so blown they were nearly black.

Hyunjin worked her open, pushing deeper, curling his fingers just right.

Y/N moaned.

She spread her legs wider, giving them both a perfect view. And then, slowly, deliberately, she reached down with her free hand—using her own fingers to spread her pussy lips even more.

Hyunjin choked on air.

Felix nearly groaned.

“See how tight her pussy is?” Felix murmured, voice low and wrecked.

Hyunjin’s breathing stuttered. His fingers flexed inside her. His eyes flicked up to Felix, something dark and unreadable swirling in them.

“You kept that all for yourself?”

Felix chuckled, running a hand through his hair. His smirk widened, lazy and dangerous.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, shifting closer. His voice was a husky promise.

We stretch her out today.

Their smiles matched.

But Y/N—Y/N smiled the most.

Oh, this was heaven.

Hyunjin wasn’t hesitant anymore.

The second he had Y/N trembling under his fingers, once he saw the way Felix devoured every little reaction, something inside him snapped.

His grip tightened on her thigh. His other hand fisted the sheets beside her head. He wanted more.

Y/N let out a soft, surprised gasp as Hyunjin pushed her back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers. His eyes were wild, pupils dark, jaw clenched tight.

He wanted to ruin her.

Felix leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Let him, princess.”

And she did.

Hyunjin spread her wide, lining himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. His grip on her thigh was firm, holding her still, keeping her open as he eased inside, stretching her inch by inch.

Her lips parted in a soundless moan.

Felix’s breathing hitched. His fingers flexed against his thighs.

Hyunjin let out a slow, shaking breath, his head dropping to her shoulder as her tight heat swallowed him whole. His jaw tightened, a deep groan breaking from his throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, already breathless. “You feel so fucking good.”

Felix’s cock twitched painfully at the sight.

And then Hyunjin moved.

Deep. Slow. Deliberate.

A steady, claiming rhythm.

Y/N gasped, her back arching off the bed, nails dragging down Hyunjin’s arms. Her tiny, helpless whimpers filled the room, mixing with the slick sounds of her soaked pussy taking him so easily.

Felix couldn’t fucking look away.

The way Hyunjin fucked her, the way Y/N arched into it, the way her pretty little moans grew louder with every thrust—

He was gone.

“Felix,” Y/N moaned, reaching out blindly, her body shuddering between them. Desperate. Needy for her Boyfriend.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered up, something dark and knowing swirling in his eyes. He saw it too—the way she ached for more.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low, husky. “She wants you.”

Felix didn’t let them ask twice.

He was on the bed in seconds, his hand sliding over her heated skin, feeling her tremble beneath his touch. His lips crashed into hers, swallowing her soft, breathy whimpers, his tongue teasing hers—hot, slick, claiming. She tasted so fucking sweet, so wrecked already, but he wanted more.

And then Hyunjin.

Felix barely had a moment to breathe before their eyes met again, their lips only a whisper apart. He could feel Hyunjin’s breath—warm, uneven —ghosting against his mouth, and suddenly, he wasn’t thinking anymore.

He just took.

Their lips collided again—this time with no hesitation, no second-guessing, no restraint.

It was Filthy.

Their tongues tangled, the kiss messy, deep, hungry, like they had been waiting for this just as much as Y/N had. Felix groaned into it, his fingers sliding lower, palming Hyunjins balls through his thrusts, feeling the way his cock buried deep inside her, the way he filled her so perfectly.

Hyunjin moaned into his mouth, the sound low and wrecked. His hips stuttered, but he didn’t stop. If anything, he fucked Y/N even harder.

Rough. Deep.

Felix felt every thrust, felt the heat radiating from them both, the damp sweat clinging to their skin. He pulled back, panting, watching the way Hyunjin’s cock disappeared into Y/N’s tight, wet pussy, the way she arched into every movement, the way her lips trembled, her eyes fluttering shut as pleasure consumed her.

She loved this. She fucking loved this.

And then Hyunjin flipped her over, pressing her down onto the bed.

Positioning her just right.

“Open your mouth for Felix,” Hyunjin murmured against her ear, his breath hot, his fingers gripping her jaw—not too rough, but just enough to make her shiver.

Y/N obeyed immediately.

Lips parting. Tongue flicking out. Eyes pleading.

Felix’s cock twitched at the sight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, a deep, low growl, his fingers threading into her hair, gripping it just tight enough to make her gasp.

Hyunjin smirked behind her, one hand sliding down the curve of her back, spreading her open, watching her drip for them.

Felix exhaled shakily. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. Rough. Possessive.

And then Hyunjin thrust into her from behind, slow and deep, while Felix slipped between her lips, groaning the second the heat of her mouth wrapped around him.

They moved in sync.

Hyunjin’s thrusts rocked her forward, forcing her to take Felix deeper, her throat tightening around him as she let out a strangled moan. Felix’s fingers flexed in her hair, his head dropping back for a moment, a breathless curse spilling from his lips.

She was so Helpless. Overwhelmed. So completely theirs.

And Felix had never fucking loved anything more.

Hyunjin met his gaze over her shoulder, his smirk all mischief.

“Wanna stretch her out more?”

Felix swore under his breath, his grip tightening.

Hyunjin smirked wider. Their hands met in a quick high-five, both of them already so fucking gone, before Felix pulled away, letting Y/N catch her breath.

But she didn’t want a break.

She whimpered at the loss, soaking the sheets beneath her, shifting, needy, desperate.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, rubbing slow, teasing circles against her overstimulated clit. “You still want more?”

Y/N could barely speak, barely think—all she could do was nod.

Felix exhaled hard, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “She’s not done until we say she’s done.”

Hyunjin’s grip on her hips tightened. “Exactly.”

Felix moved her again, effortlessly flipping her onto her back, lifting her into his lap like she weighed nothing.

Her breath hitched, completely at his mercy.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, fingers trailing down her spine, teasing, possessive.

She smiled, still breathless, her heart pounding in her chest. “Hi, sunshine.”

Felix tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes drinking in her flushed skin, her kiss-bruised lips, the dazed, blissed-out look in her gaze.

God, she was so fucking beautiful like this.

“Enjoying yourself?” he murmured, lips ghosting over her cheek, his voice a slow, delicious tease.

She nodded, a soft, desperate sound escaping her lips, her thighs squeezing around his hips.

Felix smirked.

“You know I always give you what you want,” he murmured, lining himself up with her, teasing the head of his cock against her soaked, aching entrance.

“Just ask for it. You know how much i love Spoiling you”

Felix pushed inside her, slow and deliberate, groaning at the way she squeezed around him, her nails digging into his shoulders.

Before she could even adjust—Hyunjin.

His hands found her waist, warm, firm, grounding.

His body pressed against her back, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“Breathe, baby,” Felix whispered, his lips brushing against her temple.

And then—

Hyunjin pushed in.

Right beside him.

The stretch was unreal.

Y/N’s head fell back, a strangled moan spilling from her lips as Hyunjin eased inside, the two of them filling her so completely she could barely breathe.

Felix let out a shaky exhale, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as Hyunjin groaned, gripping her hips tighter, his fingers leaving bruises.

The way her walls squeezed them both, the wet heat surrounding them, the perfect, sinful tightness—it was almost too much.

“How do you feel, baby?” Felix asked, voice gentle, breathless, wrecked.

“Is it okay?”

Behind her, Hyunjin pressed soft, teasing kisses along her jaw, his lips barely there, his hand slipping up to cradle her throat.

Her breath hitched, her body shivering, stretched so perfectly between them.

Felix’s fingers found her clit, circling slow, deliberate, coaxing, guiding her into pure, blissful surrender.

“It’s so good,” she whispered, voice trembling. So full. So overwhelmed. So desperate for more.

Hyunjin’s gaze met Felix’s over her shoulder.

Felix smirked.

Hyunjin mirrored it.

“You take two cocks so well,” Hyunjin murmured into her ear, voice smooth, thick with admiration and lust.

A shiver ran through her.

She arched back against him, pressing into the hard, muscled tones of his chest.

His arms tightened around her, securing her, owning her, holding her in place as they both pulsed deep inside her.

And then—his lips were on hers.

Plush. Warm. Needy.

A kiss that sent her spinning.

Felix took his time with her breasts, rolling her sensitive nipples between his fingers, his lips tracing over her throat, worshipping every inch of her.

They stayed buried inside her, letting her adjust.

But she was ready for more.

And they knew it.

When they started moving, Y/N swore she was on cloud nine.

The stretch—blissful torture.

A deep, delicious burn that made every thrust more intense, made her head spin, made her body tremble.

She was so fucking full.

Two thick, hard cocks, moving inside her, claiming her, fucking her open.

Hyunjin moaned, low, wrecked, ruined at the way she clenched around them.

Felix cursed under his breath, gripping her hips tighter, pulling her down onto them both, forcing her to take every inch.

The friction was filthy.

She could feel them, not just inside her but against each other, their cocks rubbing eachother, sending electric shocks of pleasure through all of them.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his hips stuttering slightly. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, voice thick with pleasure.

Y/N’s nails dug into one of their arms—she didn’t even know whose.

Felix’s voice was in her ear, soft, breathless, hypnotic.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her skin. “Taking both of us like a perfect little slut.”

“God, you feel so fucking good.”

“So tight for us, princess. You’re dripping.”

And then, Felix grabbed Hyunjin by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss over her shoulder. Messy, desperate. Tongues sliding together, Felix sucking on Hyunjin’s bottom lip like he was starved for it.

“The way your dick presses against mine is so fucking hot, Jinnie,” Felix groaned.

Hyunjin chuckled darkly, breathless. “Mhm… and this is the best pussy I’ve ever had. You’re a really good friend, Lix.”

Felix let out a breathless laugh—until Y/N shifted between them, so needy.

“Oh, look at her,” Felix cooed, a teasing edge to his voice. “We’re not giving her enough attention.”

“Sorry, princess,” Hyunjin smirked.

Their hips snapped forward in sync, harder, deeper, filling her over and over until she was nothing but moans and trembling limbs. Their hands and mouths were everywhere—hot lips dragging down her throat, rough palms gripping her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Completely surrounded. Completely taken.

She came harder than she ever had before. A cry tearing from her throat, body shaking, completely undone.

The pleasure was so overwhelming that she barely registered the way Hyunjin and Felix groaned in sync, her orgasm clenching around them, drawing them deeper into her. They had to have been heard. The entire dorm probably knew what was happening by now, but none of them cared.

The men pulled out, leaving her trembling, her body still spasming from the aftershocks. Hyunjin laid her on her back gently, pressing soft kisses to her damp forehead before pushing back inside her, sliding in so easily through the mess they had made.

Felix followed, stretching her out all over again.

Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, thrusting in tandem, driving her into another wave of overstimulation that had her eyes rolling back, her lips parted in helpless moans. It was too much, but it was perfect.

Her fucked-out state only made them more desperate—her messy hair, the deep red marks littering her soft skin, her parted lips glistening with drool. She looked ruined, and they were responsible.

And they wanted more.

When Y/N came again, they both lost it.

Hyunjin let out a deep, guttural groan, his body trembling, his grip on her tightening as if he was trying to hold himself together.

Felix bit his lip, his whole body shuddering, a choked, wrecked moan slipping from his throat.

But in the heat of the moment, their lips met again and somehow, both of them slipped out.

Y/N barely had time to process it before she saw the sight in front of her.

Felix and Hyunjin, lost in each other.

Hyunjin’s hands roamed greedily down Felix’s back, gripping his ass, squeezing, spreading him open, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin.

Felix gasped into Hyunjin’s mouth, his hips rolling forward, their leaking, rock-hard cocks rubbing together.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Her pussy was still pulsing, loose and aching, but all she could do was watch, mesmerized, entranced, utterly ruined by the sight.

Hyunjin wasn’t gentle.

He grabbed Felix’s hips, pulling him closer, grinding against him, their cocks sliding against each other, throbbing, dripping, needy.

Felix moaned into his mouth, his fingers tangling in Hyunjin’s hair, tugging, making Hyunjin groan, making him push harder, rut against him like he needed to crawl inside him.

Felix’s hands slid lower, gripping Hyunjin’s ass in return, pulling him in, pressing their bodies together even tighter, until every inch of them was aligned, until they could feel each other’s heat, each other’s need.

Felix’s fingers trailed over Hyunjin’s nipples, teasing, pinching, making the other man gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“F-Fuck,” Hyunjin stuttered, voice thick, needy, desperate.

Felix grinned, breathless, smug.

“You like that? Wanna fuck my ass someday too ?” he murmured, dragging his tongue along Hyunjin’s jaw, his throat, tasting the sweat on his skin.

Hyunjin just groaned a quiet yes, his fingers digging into Felix’s back, nails leaving faint red lines.

Y/N let out a soft, desperate moan.

This was the sexiest thing she had ever seen.

Felix and Hyunjin panting against each other’s mouths, rubbing against each other, fucking against each other, hands roaming, tongues tangled, grinding and moaning like they couldn’t get enough.

Hyunjin’s forehead dropped against Felix’s, his breath ragged, uneven.

“I’m so close,” he gasped, his voice breaking, wrecked.

Felix nodded quickly, his hips still rolling, chasing friction.

“Me too—fuck,” he choked out, his cock twitching against Hyunjin’s, so fucking close to falling apart.

And then, Y/N’s voice cut through the haze.

Hoarse, desperate, wrecked beyond belief.

“Inside me.”

Both of them froze.

Felix’s gaze snapped to hers.

Hyunjin’s fingers tightened on Felix’s skin.

They didn’t need to be told twice.

They turned their attention back to her, both pushing inside her at the same time, their cocks sliding in so easily, her pussy still greedy for more. The overstimulation made her whimper, and they groaned in sync, finally giving in.

Hyunjin shuddered, his breath hot against her skin, as he came deep inside her, Felix following moments after, moaning as he spilled into her alongside Hyunjin.

The thought of it—being so full, so completely claimed by them—made Y/N smile in satisfaction, her body utterly spent.

“Imagine if she gets knocked up by one of us,” Hyunjin murmured, still panting, his voice laced with laziness and amusement.

Y/N only hummed sleepily at the thought of their cum breeding her—not even knowing which one of them it would be.

With all of their energy drained, none of them moved. They simply stayed buried inside her, keeping her warm, adjusting so she lay comfortably between them. Their bodies pressed close, their arms wrapped around her protectively, sweat and heat mixing as they held each other.

Felix traced soft circles over Hyunjin’s arm, his other hand resting on Y/N’s stomach, possessively, tenderly.

“On a scale from one to ten, how happy are you right now?” Felix asked, his voice drowsy but warm.

Y/N barely had the strength to answer, but she smiled sleepily at Hyunjin before whispering, “Twenty.”

Hyunjin chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You cute girl.”

But she was already asleep, safe and cherished in their arms.

[hyvneluv]

COCKY.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (21,2k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on making it to another week! Hope Cocky Chris can help you to unwind and pls share your thoughts after ♡

The second the elevator doors slide open, you storm back into your lab, your heels clicking against the tiled floor with a little more force than necessary. The door swings shut behind you, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. The last thing you need is for your team to see just how frustrated you are.

Chris’s words from the meeting echo in your head. Your product needs more time to fully develop as a whole product. His voice had been calm, professional—like he wasn’t just throwing a wrench into everything you had worked for. Like he wasn’t completely undermining you in front of the board.

You rub your temples, inhaling deeply. You don’t understand. You thought he would support you. He’d been testing the product, giving feedback—participating. You thought you were on the same page. So why?

Your team is scattered around the lab, focused on their own tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. Jane is nowhere to be seen, probably still caught up in meetings or schmoozing with the higher-ups after her own product launch. For once, you’re grateful she’s not here to take one look at you and start asking questions.

You sit at your desk, pulling out your notes, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the sharp sting of betrayal sitting heavy in your chest.

But no matter how much you try to push it away, all you can think about is Chris. And how he went against you.

-

As expected, Jane bursts into the lab with her usual energy, her eyes scanning the room until they land on you. “Hey! So, how’d it go?” she asks, striding toward you with a bright, expectant grin.

You don’t even look up from your desk. “It was great—until Chris decided to sabotage me.”

Jane stops mid-step, blinking at you. “Wait, what?”

You slam your notebook shut and finally meet her gaze, frustration boiling over. “He went against me, Jane. Chris. He told the board that my product ‘needs more time to develop.’” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “What does that even mean? We’ve done the tests, the results are solid, and we’re more than ready for production. But no—he had to make it sound like we’re not ready. Like I’m not ready.”

Jane raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound like Chris.”

You scoff. “Well, it happened. And now the board is hesitant. They decide to push back production because of his input. I’m screwed.”

Jane crosses her arms, tilting her head in thought. “Did he give any reason? Like, why he thinks it needs more time?”

You shake your head, still fuming. “Not really. Just some vague statement about it needing to be fully developed. He didn’t even look at me when he said it.”

Jane purses her lips, watching you carefully. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “I just think it’s weird. Chris has been involved in this project. He knows how much work you’ve put in. If he really thought it wasn’t ready, he would’ve talked to you about it first, wouldn’t he?”

That’s what’s been bothering you the most. Chris didn’t say anything to you beforehand—no warning, no indication that he had doubts. Just blindsiding you in front of the board like it was nothing.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “Maybe I was wrong to trust him.”

Jane watches you carefully, then smirks. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. Not everything is some big mystery, Jane. Sometimes people just suck.”

Jane laughs, shaking her head. “If you say so.” She places a coffee cup on your desk. “Here. You look like you need this.”

You sigh, taking the cup and mumbling, “Thanks.”

But even as you sip your coffee, Jane’s words linger in your mind. Or maybe there’s something else going on.

As you bury your face in your hands, your phone vibrates on the desk. You sigh, already feeling exhausted, and glance at the screen. The caller ID makes your stomach flip—Chris Bang.

Jane notices your hesitation. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You inhale sharply before answering. “Hello?”

“Come to my office,” Chris says, his voice steady, unreadable.

You grip the phone tighter. “I’m busy.”

A pause and then he says, “It won’t take long.”

You want to argue, to throw his words from the meeting back in his face, but something about his tone makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you sigh. “Fine.”

The call ends before you can say anything else.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your notebook and pushing back from your desk. “He wants to see me.”

“Ooooh, sounds serious,” she teases, but when she sees your expression, her smirk softens. “Hey. Just… don’t go in there ready to bite his head off. See what he has to say first.”

You scoff, but deep down, you know she’s right. Still, you can’t shake the frustration burning in your chest as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You push open the door to Chris’s office without knocking, not caring about formalities right now. He’s seated at his desk, fingers laced together as he watches you step inside. His expression is unreadable, but his posture is relaxed—too relaxed for someone who just sabotaged your presentation.

You close the door behind you and stand facing his desk. “You called me, Mr. Bang?”

Chris sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You’re upset.”

You can't keep your composure anymore and let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, you think?” You take a step closer, trying to keep your voice even. “I expected the board to be skeptical. I expected questions, concerns—but I didn’t expect you to be the one who held us back.”

Chris doesn’t react immediately. He studies you, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I didn’t hold you back.”

“Then what do you call it?” you snap. “You had the chance to vouch for me. For the project. Instead, you basically told them it’s not ready.”

“Because it’s not ready.” His tone is firm, unwavering.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Chris stands up then, rounding the desk to stand in front of you. “I get that you’re angry. But I need you to trust me on this.”

You meet his gaze, heart pounding with frustration—and something else, something you don’t want to acknowledge. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the door, turning the lock with a quiet click. The sound sends a strange thrill down your spine, but before you can react, he’s walking back toward you.

His hands find your elbows, firm but not forceful, keeping you in place as he looks down at you. “I didn’t say what I said in there to hurt you,” he says, his voice low. “I said it because I know you can do more.”

You glare at him, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. “More? Chris, I’ve put everything into this project.”

“I know.” His thumbs brush your arms, a soothing gesture you don’t want to acknowledge. “But I also know you. You’re not just here to make condoms for guys with big dicks. You’re better than that. Smarter than that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he steps closer, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. They’re steady, unwavering. “I trust you,” he says. “But do you trust me?”

Chris waits, his eyes searching yours, his hands still resting on your arms. He leans in ever so slightly, just enough that you can feel the intensity of his eyes, and for a moment, you feel yourself slipping—drawn in by the heat of his gaze, the quiet intensity of his presence.

But then reality crashes down on you. You remember the meeting. You remember the way he spoke against your project in front of everyone, blindsiding you when you thought he’d be on your side. The frustration in your chest flares up again, and before you can fall any deeper into his gravity, you quickly turn your head away.

“I have work to do,” you say, stepping back, slipping out of his hold. You don’t dare look at him as you move toward the door, your heart pounding. “If that’s all, I’ll be going.”

You don’t wait for a response. You unlock the door and slip out, leaving him standing there in his office, alone.

-

For the next couple of days, you bury yourself in work, but the irritation from your last encounter with Chris still lingers. Every time you think about the meeting, about the way he blindsided you, your blood boils all over again. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your research, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door to your lab swings open, and Han walks in, grinning as usual.

"Guess what time it is," he announces, setting down a cup of coffee and a small paper bag on your desk.

You sigh as you run your hand though your hair. "Is it the time already?"

Han chuckles, pulling out a chair and plopping down across from you. "Don't tell me you forgot about our date?" he corrects, handing you the coffee. "Anyway, I brought a little treat to commemorate the occasion. Cheesecake. I figured I should end our time together on a sweet note."

Despite yourself, you smile. Han’s presence is a welcome distraction from everything else weighing on your mind.

“Thanks,” You mutter before taking a sip of the coffee he brought, you set down your tablet and get ready to dive into the final part of his product testing feedback.

Han occasionally sips his coffee, but his sharp eyes stay locked on you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face with a look of quiet curiosity before setting his cup down.

"Something’s bothering you," he states, not even phrasing it as a question.

You glance up from your tablet. “Is it that obvious?”

Han leans forward on the table and tilts his head to the side. "Tell me. Who hurt you, baby?”

You rub your temples, feeling the stress of yesterday creeping back in. Han waits patiently, sipping his coffee as if he has all the time in the world. That alone makes you want to talk—it’s rare for someone to actually listen without immediately offering their opinion.

Taking a deep breath, you finally start. “Last Monday was supposed to be the big presentation. I went in there with my team, ready to prove that our product was good to go. We had the results from our test group—82% of participants reported positive experiences. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it was enough to show that this could work.”

Han hums, nodding along. “And...?”

“They were considering it. They were actually talking about approving it for production,” you say, voice tight. “But then he spoke up.”

Han doesn’t need you to say who he is. “Is it the guy with the intense vibe?”

You nod, gripping your coffee cup a little too hard. “Chris, of all people, the product manager, basically told them it needed more time. That it wasn’t ready. That I could do more than just this.”

Han frowns, setting his cup down. “And you didn’t see that coming?”

“Not at all!” you exclaim. “I thought if anything, he’d be on my side. He knew how much effort I put into it. But instead of backing me up, he basically told me I wasn’t enough—like my work wasn’t enough.”

Your frustration is boiling over now, and Han lets you vent without interruption.

“The worst part? He said it like he trusted me. Like he was pushing me because he believed in me. What kind of twisted logic is that?”

Han lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough.”

You shake your head, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t even know if it’s worth doing this anymore. What’s the point if the person in charge is just going to keep moving the goalpost?”

There’s a beat of silence before Han speaks again, his voice calm but firm. “So you’re telling me you’re just gonna give up? Just because of one guy?”

You pick up your pen and bring your clipboard closer to you while trying to push down the bitterness that still lingers from that day. “Let’s just start on the interview.”

Han narrows his eyes as he watches you, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re even in the mood for this interview?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “Honestly? No. I really don’t feel like working today.”

He grins, as if he expected that answer. “Then why don’t you just skip?” he suggests so casually that you blink at him in surprise. “Come on. Go out, have some fun. Forget about work for a while.”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the edge of the papers. “Skip work?”

Han nods, completely unfazed. “Yeah. What, you’ve never played hooky before?”

You chew on your lip, torn between responsibility and temptation. You should be focusing on your project, on fixing what went wrong—but the idea of just leaving, of walking out and not thinking about Chris or the board or your stupid presentation, is suddenly way too tempting to ignore.

Without another thought, you push back your chair, standing up as you yank off your lab coat and toss it onto your chair. “Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. “Where are we going?”

Han’s grin stretches wider. “Oh, I definitely know a place.”

-

The city is scintillating under the afternoon sun as you and Han stroll through the streets, the heat of the day warming your skin. Brunch is the first stop—a cozy little café where he insists on ordering the most extravagant pastries on the menu, just to see which ones make you scrunch your nose.

“You have terrible taste,” you tell him as he bites into a cream-filled croissant with far too much enthusiasm.

After brunch, the two of you wander into shops, browsing through everything from designer boutiques to random trinket stores. Han has a habit of picking up the most ridiculous items—a sequined cowboy hat, a neon pink fanny pack—just to model them in front of you, making exaggerated poses.

“Be honest,” he says, adjusting a pair of oversized sunglasses on his nose. “I look hot, don’t I?”

You snort. “I need a drink to find you attractive.”

Han gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. Brutal.” Then, his expression turns thoughtful. “Well, bars aren’t open yet… but I do have drinks at my place.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, so that’s your plan? Get me drunk in your apartment?”

Han doesn’t even try to deny it. “Absolutely,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his shamelessness. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Han grins, tossing an arm around your shoulders as he steers you toward his place. “Now this is what I call quality product testing.”

Han’s apartment is surprisingly neat, with a warm and lived-in feel. The shelves are stacked with comic books and figurines, and a collection of vinyl records sits beside a turntable in the living room. You wander over, scanning the titles while Han disappears into the kitchen.

“You actually listen to these, or are they just for decoration to make you seem cool?” you tease with a sly smile, running a finger along the spines of the records.

He returns from the kitchen with two glasses of hard liquor, handing one to you. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of taste,” he says, feigning offense. He picks a record and slides it onto the turntable, the soft crackle of vinyl filling the air before smooth, jazzy notes spill from the speakers.

You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth spread through you as the two of you start moving to the rhythm. Han, being Han, doesn’t keep it simple for long—he breaks into a ridiculous routine, wiggling his arms and shaking his hips like he’s auditioning for a variety show.

You burst out laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

Still chuckling, you play along, mirroring his moves in exaggerated fashion until you’re both breathless from laughter. Then, suddenly, he takes your hand, pulls you close, and spins you into a slow dance.

Your bodies sway together, the mood shifting effortlessly. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes lock onto yours, playful but unreadable. And then, just as easily as he jokes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

It’s light, fleeting—like he’s testing the waters. But the second it happens, an image of Chris flashes through your mind. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at you in his office just the other day. Your body stiffens, your grip on Han’s shirt loosening.

You slowly pull away from Han, your fingers slipping from his shirt as you take a step back. “I—uh, I need a minute,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Bathroom?”

Han blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he nods and gestures toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. First door on the left.”

You don’t waste time, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. Pressing your palms against the cool sink, you take a deep breath, your mind racing. Why did I think of Chris? The kiss had nothing to do with him, yet his face, his touch, his words—all of it came rushing in, uninvited.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Your gaze drifts around the bathroom to find something to distract you, your eyes land on the slightly open drawer beneath the mirror. Idly, you tug it open, rummaging through the contents without much thought—until your fingers brush against something familiar.

The box of condoms you had given Han for testing sits there, three packs still untouched. You pick it up, flipping it over in your hands, your mind now shifting gears. Without thinking too hard about it, you grab the box and head back to the living room.

Han is crouched by the record player, swapping out the vinyl, but when he sees you standing there, he pauses, his brows furrowing in mild concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Instead of answering, you flash him a sly smile and ask, “You know what time is it?”

He smiles but curiosity filled his dark brown eyes. “What?”

You lift the box of condoms slightly, letting it dangle between your fingers as you say, “It’s time for the hands-on research.”

Han’s lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes flicking from the box to you. He pushes himself up from the floor, stepping closer to you with that playful glint in his eyes. He reaches for the box in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you gently toward him.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice lower now, less teasing, more serious.

You inhale sharply, feeling the weight of his question, but you nod. "Yeah."

That’s all it takes. Han closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hands sliding to your waist. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, and before you know it, your hands are tugging at his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, stepping back just enough to let you pull it over his head.

"This is a first for me," he muses, his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, pushing it upward.

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

Han grins, nudging his nose against yours as he lifts your shirt off. "Daylight. Never done it with the sun out."

You pause for a moment, realizing the same thing. "Me neither."

Han hums in amusement. "Guess we’re about to check that off the list."

You laugh softly as his hands roam your bare skin, his touch igniting a slow burn inside you. Piece by piece, you strip each other down, the sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden streaks across your skin. The vulnerability of being so exposed in the daylight should make you feel shy, but with Han, it doesn’t.

He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, “You look even better in the light.”

You smile at his compliment. “And you look... not bad,” you say, followed by playful giggles.

As Han presses you down onto the bed, his body flush against yours, his lips move against yours in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your skin, touching and feeling, occasionally squeezing on the flesh. The warmth of his touch sends a thrill through your body, making you arch into him, wanting more.

When you pull back for air, your eyes drift over his physique, taking in the toned muscles of his arms, the lean definition of his torso, and the ink that decorates his skin. Your fingers reach out instinctively, trailing over the tattoo on his shoulder, feeling the slight difference in texture. Han watches you with a lazy smirk, amused by your fascination.

"You like them?" he asks, voice husky.

You hum in response, letting your fingers travel lower, following the ink down his ribcage. "I do. They suit you."

Han chuckles at that, shifting slightly to give you better access. "You should see the one on my thigh," he teases, winking at you.

You roll your eyes but smile as you bring your lips to his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the tattooed skin. Han's breath catches, and he instinctively tightens his grip on your waist. You keep going, trailing kisses along the curve of his shoulder, down to his collarbone, taking your time to feel him with your lips.

Not to be outdone, Han follows suit, his lips ghosting over your skin in slow, lingering kisses. He moves down your neck, his breath warm and tickling, before pulling back to look at you with eyes filled with something deeper than just lust. There’s admiration there, fondness, and something playful, too.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing over your sides.

You arch an eyebrow. “How so?”

Han grins, leaning in to nip at your lower lip before whispering, “Because you make me want to keep you all to myself.”

His words linger in the air, charged with something unspoken as his hands slowly trail down your sides. His fingers brush over your hipbones, teasing, testing, before one hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer against him. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the slow, tantalizing friction as he presses his hand on your sex.

Your breaths mingle as you both move in sync, hands exploring, discovering. His touch is firm yet careful as he lands his fingers on your bundle of nerves, his strokes slow at first, teasing, making you gasp against his lips. In response, your fingers trail lower until you find his swollen cock and wrap your hand around it, feeling the warmth, the way his breath stutters at the first touch. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales a shaky breath.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good.”

The pace between you builds naturally, neither of you rushing, just taking the time to savor the way the other reacts. Han groans softly, his hips twitching slightly as your fingers tighten around his length, and in return, he sync his movements with yours, applying gentle pressures on your clit, making you shudder in his grasp. There’s an intimacy in it, beyond just the pleasure—it’s the way he watches your face, the way you both respond to each other, completely in tune.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your soft moans as the pleasure mounts between you. It’s intoxicating, the push and pull, the way you both chase after the same high together, bodies pressed close, hands on each other’s sex, moving in perfect rhythm.

Han groans against your lips as your other hand joins in, moving them in unison, fingers wrapping around him, stroking in sync. His breath is ragged, his body trembling slightly as he thrusts into your joined grip, chasing the pleasure that builds between you. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your movements, completely entranced by the way you touch him.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out, his jaw tightening as he tries to hold himself back. "You're really trying to ruin me, huh?"

You smirk, giving him a gentle, deliberate squeeze, and he groans, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as if to stop himself from losing control. Then, as if realizing just how close he is, he suddenly slows your hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Han leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "As much as I'd love to keep going, I should probably put that condom on before I—" he pauses, inhaling sharply as you teasingly stroke him once more "—burst."

His words make you chuckle, and he grins at you, eyes full of mischief as he reaches for the box beside the bed. You watch as he tears open the foil packet with his teeth, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful glint. He rolls the condom over his length with practiced ease, smoothing it down before giving himself a teasing stroke. Then, with a smirk, he looks at you and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Think it's on securely?" he asks, feigning concern as he lightly tugs at the base. "Or should I call customer service for assistance?"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "I am customer service, you dummy," you quip, reaching out to flick his arm.

Han chuckles, leaning over you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Then I guess I’m in good hands."

He gently puts his body on top of you, planting his lips on yours again as he slowly positioning himself and in response, you spread your legs wider for him, letting him settling in between.

He props an elbow against the mattress, finding just the right angle to align his cock to your entrance. He gives it a few strokes before finally, pushing it in.

Low groans spilling out of his mouth as he sinks into you, his grip tightening around your hips as he pushes deeper. He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust, but when he looks down at you, his brows furrow in curiosity. “You okay?”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile as you stretch your arms above your head, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah,” you sigh dramatically. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken bigger before.”

Han freezes mid-thrust, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

You bite back a laugh at the mix of offense and disbelief on his face. “Just saying.”

A scoff leaves his lips before his expression morphs into something more devious. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

Before you can react, he suddenly thrusts forward, catching you off guard, and a loud gasp escapes you. He smirks. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

You glare at him, cheeks warming. “Shut up and start moving.”

Han clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “Say please.”

You groan in frustration, but before you can argue, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His hips begin to roll, picking up a steady rhythm, and soon, any witty remark you had is replaced by breathy moans.

“See?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice smug as his hands roam over your body. “Told you we’d have fun.”

You huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but the way your fingers dig into his back says otherwise. He chuckles, dipping his head to kiss the corner of your mouth before whispering, “Let’s see if I can change your mind about size, yeah?”

Han may tease, but when he moves, his touches are surprisingly gentle, his lips soft as they ghost over your skin. He’s still smiling, still throwing in the occasional joke between thrusts, but there’s something warm in the way he looks at you—like he genuinely enjoys just being here with you.

“Damn,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours as he moves. “You feel so good, I think I’m seeing my ancestors.”

You snort, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, grinning. “Then why is my great-grandfather giving me a thumbs-up right now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, you like it,” he says, punctuating his words with a slow, deep thrust that has you sharply inhale air. His eyes flicker with amusement when your breath catches. “See? You love it.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of you. It’s different from what you expected—less pressure, less intensity, just lighthearted fun wrapped up in warmth and pleasure.

In the next moment, he looks at you with this tenderness in his eyes and then, he leans in close, brushing his lips over yours before whispering, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words make your heart stutter, and suddenly, the moment feels even sweeter. You cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of him—of this easy, unexpected comfort.

Between the shared laughter and soft moans, it feels less like a conquest and more like something simple, something warm. Something that, for now, just feels good.

-

Through the window, the golden hues of the setting sun looks magnificent, casting a soft glow over the room. You’re tangled together under the sheets, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare shoulder, and every now and then, he presses a soft kiss against your temple, your hair, your forehead—anywhere he can reach.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. “Did I wear you out that much?”

You scoff and playfully elbow his side. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles, then shifts slightly, his lips trailing from your temple down to your cheek, then to your jawline. He pauses, his breath warm against your skin before he dips lower, pressing a teasing kiss to the crook of your neck.

You shiver at the sensation, but just as you start to relax into it, he suddenly blows a raspberry against your skin. “Han!” you shriek, jerking away with a laugh. “Stop that!”

But he only grins mischievously, wrapping an arm around you to keep you from escaping as he does it again—this time nibbling lightly before blowing another raspberry. You squirm in his arms, half laughing, half protesting. “You’re the worst!” you gasp between giggles.

He hums, pretending to consider. “Mmm, but you like me anyway.”

You glare at him through your laughter, and he grins before pressing a much softer, lingering kiss against your neck.

“Alright, alright,” he says, finally relenting. “I’ll stop—for now.”

You let out a breath, still smiling as you settle back into his embrace. Outside, the sky shifts from warm golds to dusky purples, and for a moment, everything just feels… easy. Comfortable.

And as Han idly runs his fingers through your hair, you find yourself wondering how a simple afternoon turned into this—wrapped up in warmth, in laughter, in him.

As the last traces of sunlight fade into the evening sky, you run your fingers through Han’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a contented hum vibrating in his chest.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.

You smile, smoothing his hair again before giving it a playful tug. “Not so fast. You still owe me dinner.”

His eyes peek open, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Oh? I do?”

“Yeah,” you say matter-of-factly. “I skipped work today, wasted my precious energy entertaining you, and now I’m starving. It’s only fair that you buy me dinner.”

Han gasps dramatically. “Wasted your precious energy?” He places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know, that was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach betrays you with a low grumble. Han snickers, clearly pleased with himself.

“Alright, okay,” he relents, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “What do you want? Something fancy? Something greasy? Or something that’ll make us question our life choices after we eat it?”

You chuckle. “I like the sound of the last one.”

Han grins. “Instant regret it is.”

He lands a long kiss on your lips before getting up, swinging his legs off the bed and starts pulling on his sweatpants, and you do the same, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. It’s not exactly how you expected your day to go, but somehow, you don’t mind at all.

-

Seated at Han’s small dining table, you poke at your takeout with your chopsticks, watching as he slouches in his chair, looking far too comfortable in just his sweatpants. Meanwhile, you’re drowning in one of his oversized sweaters, the fabric slipping off your shoulder every time you move.

Han takes a big bite of his food, humming in satisfaction before glancing at you. “You’re really not gonna put pants on?” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” you counter, raising a brow. “Besides, this is more comfortable.”

He grins. “Fine, but if you steal that sweater, I’ll know.”

You ignore his threat, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “So… how was the performance?”

He nearly chokes on his food. He grabs his drink, gulping it down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You just wanna jump straight into performance reviews, huh?”

You blink at him. “Yeah… why not?”

He leans back in his chair, grinning for ear to ear. “Well, if you ask me, I think I did a solid job. Great rhythm, nice pace, perfect execution. I mean, if I had to rate it—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, throwing a sauce packet at him. “I was talking about the condom performance, not yours.”

He gasps, feigning offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Oh. So my performance isn’t important?”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out.

Han seductively winks at you and confidently says, “I know you like it.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “Alright, seriously, though. How was the product? Any complaints?”

He hums, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “No complaints. It’s comfortable, does the job, doesn’t slip. And…” He shoots you a mischievous look. “It didn’t ruin the mood, so I’d say that’s a win.”

You nod, mentally noting his feedback. “That’s good to hear.”

Han grins. “And in case you were wondering, you did great too.”

You groan again, but you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Just eat your dumpling, Han.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction, before taking another bite, looking far too pleased with himself. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before casually adding, “If I had to say one thing, I kinda wish it was thinner.”

You pause mid-bite, looking at him. “Thinner?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s comfortable and all, but if it were just a little thinner, I feel like I could… you know, feel you more.” He smirks, his gaze flickering over you with something undeniably teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, but your brain is already running with the idea. “A thinner material…” you murmur, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl.

Han watches you, curiosity piqued. “You’re really thinking about this now?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, sitting up straighter. “If we can make the material thinner while maintaining durability and elasticity, it could enhance sensitivity and comfort. It might actually improve the overall experience for users.”

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re literally fresh off a test run, and you’re already planning upgrades?”

You shrug. “That’s how innovation works.”

After dinner and two glasses of wine, you return to the bedroom. As you slip into your clothes, Han leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk.

“You know,” he muses, “there are still two packs left. Might as well be thorough with the testing.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust your sweater. “It’s getting late, Han.”

“So stay,” he tries again, stepping closer. “Leave in the morning. I make a killer breakfast.”

You laugh while smoothing down your skirt. “I'm sorry but I have to tell you that this is the end of the product test and we won’t see each other again.”

Han tilts his head, unconvinced. “I highly doubt that.”

You roll your eyes, but a chuckle escapes you. “You’re cute.” Then, without thinking too much about it, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums into it, chasing after you when you pull away.

With a lazy grin, he says, “Well, if you ever need a booty call—”

“Now, I highly doubt that,” you cut him off with a playful tease, grabbing your bag.

Han watches as you make your way to the door, still smiling. “Love finds a way, you know,” he calls out after you.

Shaking your head, you turn back for a final glance. “Goodbye, Han.”

He lifts a hand in farewell, and with that, you step out, leaving behind both the product test and the man who helped make it a very memorable one.

-

It's another day at work, another day of burying yourself in your notes, scribbling down ideas for product improvements when Jane bursts into the lab with a dramatic sigh.

“You know,” she starts, plopping down on the nearest chair, “I’m starting to think you love work more than me.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “Are you jealous of my research?”

“No,” she deadpans. “What I'm saying is you’ve been so busy lately, I barely see you anymore. I mean, I get it—scientific breakthroughs, saving the world one condom at a time, blah blah—but can you at least pretend to have a social life?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair. “I do have a social life. We literally went to your product launch.”

Jane waves you off. “That doesn’t count. That was work disguised as a party.” Then, narrowing her eyes at you, she leans forward. “Speaking of which… you never told me what happened after. You left with Chris that night, didn’t you?”

You freeze for half a second before playing it cool. “I went home.”

Jane’s eyes glint with mischief. “Alone?”

You clear your throat, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by your notes. “Why are you here again?”

She groans, throwing her head back. “Ugh, fine, I’ll let it go—for now. But seriously, let’s go out soon. You owe me drinks for neglecting me.”

You smirk. “Fine, but you’re buying the first round.”

Jane grins. “Deal.”

Later that night, you and Jane are seated at a bar, the warm buzz of alcohol settling in as you sip on your drinks. The music is lively but not overbearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel like you can actually unwind.

Jane stirs the straw in her cocktail before shooting you a look. “Alright, so tell me—what did Chris want when he called you to his office?”

You sigh, leaning back against the barstool. “He locked the door the moment I walked in.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Ooh, now that’s how you start a story.”

You roll your eyes but continue, “Then he told me he went against the board because he believes I can do more. That I shouldn’t settle when I can create something even better.”

Jane hums, taking a sip of her drink. “And how did that make you feel?”

You hesitate, swirling the liquid in your glass. “Angry. Frustrated. Conflicted.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I mean, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I worked hard on this. He basically told me it wasn’t good enough.”

Jane tilts her head, considering your words. “But was he wrong?”

You blink at her, taken aback. And then, Jane shrugs. “Look, I know you. You hate doing things halfway. If Chris is saying you can do more, maybe it’s because he knows you actually want to.”

You purse your lips, not quite ready to admit that she might have a point. Instead, you take a long sip of your drink.

Jane smirks knowingly. “So… what else happened in that office?”

You give her a dry look. “I left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jane whistles, shaking her head. “Damn. If a man locked me in his office, I would’ve at least—”

“Jane.”

She cackles, raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! But seriously, what are you going to do now?”

You let out a breath, staring at the ice in your glass. “I don’t know yet.”

Jane squints at you over the rim of her glass, then smirks. "By the way, you skipped work the other day."

You glance at her warily. "And?"

"And I want to know what you were up to," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "Come on, spill."

You hesitate for a moment, but Jane is relentless, leaning in with eager curiosity. With a sigh, you finally admit, “I went out with Han.”

Her eyes widen in delight. "Ohhh, this is interesting. You and Han, huh? What did you two do?"

"Nothing crazy," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "We had brunch, did some shopping, and then—"

Jane cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. "And then?! Oh my god, don't tell me you slept with him."

You press your lips together, trying to suppress a smirk.

"You did!" she nearly shrieks, slamming her hand on the bar. "Holy shit, I knew there was something different about you! You got that after sex glow!"

You shake your head, chuckling at her reaction. "It was just… for the product test."

Jane snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "The product test? That has to be the best excuse I’ve ever heard."

"It's the truth," you say, half-laughing. "He was one of the participants, so technically, it was all part of research."

She gives you a deadpan look. "Yeah, sure. Research." Then her smirk returns. "So… how was it?"

You sigh dramatically. "Well, let’s just say… Han is very entertaining."

Jane bursts into laughter. "Oh, I bet he is." She nudges your arm. "And let me guess, he was totally cocky about it, too, wasn’t he?"

You roll your eyes and then crack a smile. "You have no idea."

She grins, taking another sip of her drink. "Damn, I really should’ve joined your project. It sounds way more fun than mine."

The two of you continue sipping your drinks and with more people crowding the bar, it is now buzzing with chatter and laughter. Then, out of nowhere, Jane sets her glass down with a determined look. "You know what?" she says, pointing at you. "You should prove Chris wrong."

You look at her, befuddled. "What?"

"You heard me." She leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. "You should prove to him that you can do more. That you can exceed his expectations."

You scoff lightly, swirling your drink. "Why should I care what he thinks?"

Jane raises a brow. "Oh, come on. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t still be sulking about it."

You open your mouth to argue but shut it again because—well, she’s not wrong.

Jane smirks, seeing your hesitation. "I mean, think about it. What better way to get back at him than to succeed? To improve the product so much that he has no choice but to approve it?"

You exhale, considering her words. Then, your mind flashes back to Han’s comment during dinner—the one about wishing the condom was thinner so he could feel more. And suddenly, an idea clicks.

You straighten up. "That’s it," you say under your breath.

Jane tilts her head. "What’s it?"

You look at her, a slow grin forming. "I know what to do."

Jane claps her hands together. "Now that’s the attitude I like to see! Let’s drink to that."

You clink your glass against hers, a renewed sense of purpose bubbling inside you. Chris may have doubted you, but that only means one thing—you're going to prove him so wrong.

-

In your lab, you throw yourself into research, pouring over formulas, materials, and test results. Your determination fuels you, and over the next several days, you barely notice time passing as you and your team work tirelessly on improving the product.

And finally, after what feels like endless trial and error, the first batch of prototypes arrives. You stand in the lab, staring at the neatly stacked boxes on the counter. A rush of excitement and nervous energy courses through you. This is it—your hard work materialized into something tangible.

Jane walks in just as you’re inspecting one of the boxes. "Ooooh," she hums, coming up beside you. "Are those the babies?"

You smirk. "Fresh out of production."

She picks up a box, turning it in her hands. "Extra large and extra thin, huh? Impressive."

You chuckle, but you’re already thinking about the next step. The real test. "Now, I just need to find people to try them out."

Jane wiggles her brows at you. "I have a feeling you already have someone in mind."

Your smirk falters slightly. There’s one obvious choice, but after everything… should you?

There's the right way to do it. You could present the data, write up a full report, and talk to Chris about the improvements—but you don’t just want to talk about it. You want to show him. Prove it to him. Directly.

Without hesitation, you make your way to his office, determination set in your stride. You knock on the door and wait until your hear his permission to let yourself in.

When you step inside, Chris is flipping through some documents at his desk. He barely acknowledges you at first, but when he glances up and sees the look on your face, his brows lift slightly in curiosity.

“To what do I owe this surprise visit?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the desk.

You don’t waste time. “Do you still want to participate in the product tests?”

Chris’s lips twitch into a smirk, intrigue flashing in his eyes. “And why are you asking?”

You hold his gaze, unwavering. “Please just answer. Yes or no.”

That only seems to amuse him more. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening as he stalls on answering. After a moment, he finally says, “Yes.”

You nod, satisfied. You pull out a card of a hotel and place it on his desk. “Meet me at this hotel. Saturday night.”

His brows lift at that, his eyes flicking over you as if trying to decipher your intentions. But before he can ask any questions, you turn on your heel and head for the door.

“See you soon, Mr. Bang,” you say, flashing him a polite, almost teasing smile before walking out.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you don’t look back—but you can practically feel his gaze following you, filled with intrigue and it only motivates you more.

-

On Friday afternoon, you find yourself standing outside Jane’s lab, hesitating for only a moment before pushing the door open. Jane is hunched over her workbench, her brows furrowed in concentration as she adjusts something under a microscope.

When she hears you step inside, she glances up, blinking in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t our overworked researcher gracing me with her presence.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “What brings you here? Need my genius expertise on something?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little ridiculous but pushing through anyway. “I need your help with something… off the record.”

Her interest piques immediately. “Ooh, now you’ve got my attention. What kind of help?”

You shift on your feet, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Shopping.”

Jane stares at you for a second before she bursts into laughter. “You, asking me for shopping help? This must be serious.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Oh, I’m definitely helping. But I need details.” She narrows her eyes mischievously. “Is this for a date? A hot, steamy date?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s for… research purposes.”

Jane snorts. “Right. ‘Research.’” She grabs her coat from the back of her chair. “Come on, let’s get you something that’ll make your ‘research’ partner lose his mind.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your lips as you follow her out.

In a brightly lit makeup store, you sit on a stool in front of a mirror while Jane enthusiastically swatches different lip colors on the back of her hand. She holds up two tubes, squinting at your face.

"Okay, bold red or soft nude?" she asks, tilting her head in deep contemplation.

You raise an eyebrow. "What exactly are we going for here?"

Jane grins. "Something that screams ‘I’m sexy, but I didn’t even try.’ You know, the effortless but deadly kind of look."

You huff out a laugh as she dabs a soft, peachy shade on your lips, then steps back to admire her work.

“So,” she starts casually, leaning against the counter. “This research… It’s with Han, isn’t it?”

You pause, eyes flickering to her through the mirror. Instead of answering directly, you smirk and say, “Does it matter?”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So it is him.”

You chuckle and reach for the lipstick tube, deciding to apply it yourself. “I never said that.”

“But you also didn’t deny it.” Jane wiggles her brows, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I knew it. You totally went back for round two, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, amused. “You have a very active imagination.”

Jane watches you for a moment, then narrows her eyes. “Wait. Wait.” She suddenly grabs your arm, making you almost smudge your lipstick. “If it’s not Han… then who—”

You quickly shove a lip brush into her hand. “Focus, Jane. I need to look good.”

Jane watches you with a knowing smirk as you finish applying the lipstick, pressing your lips together to even out the color. She folds her arms, still leaning against the counter, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

“Well, whoever it is,” she says teasingly, “I hope your research goes well.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile playing on your lips.

Jane winks. “Good luck, professor. Make sure to take very detailed notes.”

You shake your head, laughing as you grab your bag. “I’ll see you on Monday, Jane.”

As you walk away, you hear her call out, “And I expect a full report on my desk by then!”

-

The low hum of jazz music fills the hotel bar, blending with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You sit at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, slowly swirling the drink in your hand as you wait. The deep red of your lipstick matches the rich hue of the cocktail, and you take a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest.

You glance at the entrance, scanning the room for any sign of Chris. He’s late—not by much, but enough to make you feel the anticipation build. You check your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, ensuring everything is still perfect. The makeup, the dress, the air of confidence you carefully wrapped around yourself like armor.

And then, as if sensing your impatience, he finally arrives.

Chris steps into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering across his face before he starts toward you. Even in the dim lighting, he looks effortlessly good, dressed in all black, his shirt fitted just enough to hint at the body underneath. You lift your glass to your lips again, watching him over the rim as he approaches. This time, you’re the one making him wait.

Chris finally reaches you, his presence demanding attention even in the dimly lit bar. He doesn’t sit right away; instead, he stands beside you, his hand resting lightly against the back of your chair as he takes in your appearance. His gaze lingers, sweeping from your legs crossed at the knee to the curve of your lips as you sip your drink.

"You clean up nice," he murmurs, amusement laced in his tone.

You seductively smile, setting your glass down. "I could say the same about you."

Chris finally takes the seat next to you, signaling the bartender for a drink. "So, are we going to pretend this is just another product test, or are you actually going to tell me why you invited me here?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "Can’t I just want to have a drink with my product manager slash test subject?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "You don’t do things without a reason." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "So, what’s the real reason?"

You hold his gaze, letting the tension settle between you before answering. "I told you I wanted to show you something," you say, tapping your fingers lightly against your glass. "But instead of talking about it, I figured I’d demonstrate."

Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You mean—"

You nod, finishing the rest of your drink before sliding off your chair. "Room’s already booked," you say casually, picking up your clutch. "If you’re still interested in participating... that is."

He doesn't say anything but takes the seat next to you, gesturing the bartender that he wants the same drink with yours. He is relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his fingers occasionally tapping against the glass in his other hand.

At one point, he swirls his drink, watching the amber liquid before glancing at you with a smirk. "I have to admit," he says, "I’m a little surprised you asked me to test the product instead of… the other guy."

You pause mid-sip, lowering your glass. "The other guy?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I saw you with him the other day," he says, his tone light, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

You blink, caught off guard. For a moment, you consider playing coy, but instead, you shrug. "And?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No judgment. Just an observation." He leans in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "I just figured if you were looking for a test subject, you already had one."

You let out a soft laugh, setting your glass down. "What, jealous?"

Chris raises an eyebrow, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Should I be?"

You meet his gaze, the challenge lingering between you. "That depends," you murmur, tilting your head. "Are you planning to fail this test?"

Chris huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not a chance." He lifts his drink in a mock toast. "To scientific integrity, then."

You clink your glass against his, your smirk matching his. "To exceeding expectations."

-

As you and Chris step into the elevator, more and more people pile in behind you, filling the small space. The warmth of bodies and the low murmur of conversation surround you, but all you can focus on is Chris.

Without a word, he tugs you closer to his side, his hand resting on your lower back, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel his presence. You tilt your head slightly to glance at him, but he's already watching you, his dark eyes filled with wild glints.

Then, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "You look incredible tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I walked into that bar."

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse, heat creeping up your neck. You don't dare turn your head, knowing just how close your lips would be if you did. Instead, you let out a small exhale, keeping your gaze forward. "Good," you whisper back, just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the elevator. "I dressed up for the occasion."

Chris chuckles under his breath, his fingers pressing just a fraction harder against your back. "Then I better make this worth your while."

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and as the doors slide open, Chris guides you out with a firm hand on your waist. The air between you feels heavier now, thick with anticipation. Neither of you say a word as you walk down the hall—but you both know exactly where this night is headed.

Arrived at hotel room 0810, you slide the keycard into the door, and with a soft beep, it unlocks. Pushing it open, you step inside first, Chris following close behind. The moment the door clicks shut, sealing you both in, he speaks.

"You don’t look nervous," he observes, his voice casual yet laced with something deeper, something almost teasing.

You turn to him, raising a brow. "Should I be?"

His lips curling into a small, knowing smile. He doesn't answer—just watches you, his gaze dragging over your face, down to the way your dress hugs your body. The silence between you stretches, thickening, until the tension becomes almost unbearable.

You break it first. "So," you say, crossing your arms, "should we get started? Or do you need some... encouragement?"

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer. "Oh, I think I’ll be just fine," he murmurs, his eyes flickering with amusement and something darker.

The energy shifts. The air feels warmer, heavier. You hold your ground as he closes the distance, your pulse picking up as you realize—this is really happening. He closes the space between you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against him. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, reveling in the closeness, in the way your breath hitches, in the way your body naturally molds against his. His fingers flex at your waist, as if memorizing the shape of you all over again.

A quiet sigh escapes him. "I missed this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission is something fragile, something real.

And then, finally, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s waited too long for this to rush it. The kiss deepens gradually, his lips moving against yours with a slow, intoxicating rhythm, his hands tightening their hold on you as if grounding himself to the moment.

You place your hands flat on his chest and steering his body toward the bed, he barely has time to react when you suddenly push him, catching him off guard as he stumbles back onto the bed. His hands press into the mattress, propping himself up as he looks up at you with a mix of surprise and intrigue. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, his smirk playful yet laced with anticipation.

You stand there, letting the moment linger, letting his gaze rake over you. The weight of his stare sends a shiver down your spine, the way he looks at you—like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

Tilting your head to the side, you exhale a slow, teasing breath. “You know what? I’ll give you some encouragement anyway.”

Then, you reach for the zipper of your dress, sliding it down. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders, gliding down your body until it pools around your ankle. You step out of it, standing in nothing but your silky lingerie, the dim hotel lighting casting shadows over your skin.

Chris lets out a quiet curse under his breath, his smirk faltering just a little as his Adam’s apple bobs. He shifts slightly on the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets as he watches you with darkened eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That’ll do.”

You crawl onto the bed with deliberate slowness, letting the tension thicken between you. Chris stays where he is, watching your every movement with hooded eyes, his fingers crumpling the sheets as if holding himself back. The moment you hover over him, barely touching, you feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath deep and steady, though you know he’s anything but calm.

Then, you lower yourself onto him, your body molding against his. A low hum vibrates in his throat when you shift, you intentionally rub your clothed core against the growing hardness beneath his slacks. His hands instinctively find your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the silky fabric of your lingerie.

Your lips find his again, slow at first—like savoring a taste you’ve missed. But as he deepens the kiss, his grip tightens, his body responding just as eagerly. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the steady friction sending sparks down your spine.

Chris pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “If this is your idea of encouragement, I might need a little more.”

In one swift motion, he suddenly flips you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he settles between your legs. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you dazed for a second, but then his lips are back on yours, hungry and unrelenting.

His body presses firmly against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable as he moves, rolling his hips into yours in a slow, steady rhythm. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction sends a jolt through your core, and you can’t stop the soft sound that escapes your lips. Chris groans in response, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, swallowing every sound you make.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your lips before trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His movements never slow, each grind making you more desperate for something more, something deeper.

His hands roam down your sides, exploring, memorizing, teasing. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “is this enough encouragement for you, or should I keep going?”

You break the kiss to answer him. “More.”

Chris grins and then he pulls away just enough to kneel between your legs, his hands going to the hem of his shirt before tugging it off in one smooth motion. The bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the sculpted lines of his chest, his toned muscles shifting as he moves. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks down at you, his gaze dark and intense, waiting.

Then, he takes your hands, guiding them to his chest, letting you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything—he simply lets you explore, his breath hitching when your fingers trail lower, tracing the ridges of his abs.

His lips curl into a smirk, but he doesn’t give you time to tease him about it. Instead, his hands move to the front of his slacks, undoing them with ease before pushing them down just enough to free his stiffening cock. The sight alone sends a wave of heat through you, but before you can react, he reaches for one of your hands, wrapping your fingers around him.

His sharp inhale is barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. “Now,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick, “do you think I’m encouraged enough, or do you need to convince me a little more?”

Instead of answering, your fingers tighten around his throbbing length as you begin slow, deliberate strokes, watching the way his jaw clenches at the sensation. Chris stays still at first, letting you set the pace, but his breathing grows heavier with each pass of your hand. His eyelids flutter briefly before he focuses on you again, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out—just a sharp exhale.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Let me encourage you a little more,” you murmur, your thumb teasing the tip, spreading the pre-cum.

His hands fist into the sheets beside your hips, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to move. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath when you stroke him just a little faster.

You watch him unravel beneath your touch, the way his brows knit together, the way his hips twitch slightly as he nears his breaking point. Then, just as you feel him getting close, you suddenly stop, pulling your hand away with a smirk.

Chris snaps his eyes open, a mixture of frustration and amusement flashing across his face. He exhales a shaky laugh, licking his lips as he looks at you. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

He leans down to give you a hard, deep kiss, almost punishing. He groans against your lips as you use all of your strength to roll to the side, shifting your weight and pinning him beneath you. His hands instinctively find your waist, gripping you, but he doesn’t resist—if anything, he looks amused, his eyes flickering with intrigue.

“You're such a tease, you know what?” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk as he watches you.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his in a teasing kiss before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I need to get the condom first,” you say, voice low but firm.

Chris exhales through his nose, his smirk deepening as his hands skim up your sides. “Responsible and a tease,” he muses. “You’re really making me work for this, huh?”

You give him a knowing smile before slipping off him, making your way across the room to retrieve what you need. Behind you, Chris watches your every move, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You end up taking your bag with you as you return to the bed, putting it down on the bedside table before taking a condom and holding it between your fingers. You pause for a moment at the sight before you—Chris, sitting up naked, waiting for you. His toned body is bathed in the dim hotel lighting, his muscles subtly flexing as he leans back on his hands, watching you approach. His eyes are dark with anticipation, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out to take the condom from you.

But before he can, you pull your hand back slightly. “Let me put it on for you,” you say, your voice smooth, teasing.

Chris raises a brow, his smirk deepening. “Yeah?” he muses, clearly enjoying the idea. “By all means, then.”

You kneel in front of him on the bed, taking your time as you tear the package open, your fingers working deliberately slow just to watch the way his jaw tenses in restraint. You slide the condom out, meeting his gaze as you hold it between your fingers. His breath hitches slightly as you carefully roll it down his length, your touch light, teasing.

Chris watches you the whole time, his eyes flickering between your face and your hands. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “and I might not last long enough to test this properly.”

You smirk, giving him a final slow stroke over the latex before meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then I guess we better get started.”

He pulls you close, his lips crashing into yours with a slow but deep intensity. His hands wander, deft fingers working open your bra and pushing the straps off your shoulders before trailing down to slide your underwear down your hips. He takes his time, enjoying the way your skin feels under his fingertips as he undresses you completely, leaving you bare beneath him.

He kisses you again, softer this time, before shifting lower. His mouth leaves a warm trail down your neck, across your collarbone, and on each of your soft mounds, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin. When he reaches your abdomen, he lingers, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your stomach, his warm breath sending a shiver through you.

Your anticipation builds as he inches lower, his lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, teasing, making you wait. You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to his touch before he even fully gives in. And then, finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss where you need him most, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

Then, slowly, he slides his fingers up your thigh, trailing closer until he finally touches you. His fingertips press on your clit, exploring, testing, before slipping between your folds, his touch both delicate and deliberate.

He watches you closely, his eyes locked onto your face, studying every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His fingers move with slow precision, pumping in and out of you, pressing and curling just right, gauging your reactions, adjusting to what makes you shudder and sigh. His gaze darkens with satisfaction as he watches you come undone beneath him, utterly absorbed in the way you respond to his touch.

When he deems that you’re drenched enough for what’s next, he slowly withdraws his fingers, his touch lingering just enough to make you whimper at the loss. Holding your gaze, he brings his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest as he licks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with something almost possessive.

Then, without a word, he shifts, settling himself between your parted legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them further as he positions himself, his body warm and solid above you. He takes a slow, measured breath, his fingers gripping your hips, grounding both of you in the moment before he finally moves.

As Chris slowly pushes his cock inside you, he’s careful, his brows furrowed in focus. His hands tighten on your hips, his breath uneven as he inches deeper. But then—he suddenly freezes. His body goes rigid, his fingers twitching against your skin.

A moment passes before he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in what almost looks like disbelief. “Did you…” He swallows, his voice rough. “Did you make the condom thinner?”

You nod, watching the way his throat bobs as he exhales shakily. His gaze flickers downward to where your bodies are joined, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan. “Shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “I can feel you—like, really feel you.” His fingers dig into your hips as he lets out another quiet, almost tortured sound. “You feel too good—I need a second.”

A lazy smile tugs at your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, letting the strands slip between your fingertips. “Take all the time you need,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly against your skin. His breath is hot, his lips brushing against your pulse, and for a moment, he just stays there, like he’s trying to regain control.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes dark and hazy as they search yours. Then, without a word, he leans down and captures your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His grip on your hips tightens as he begins to move, his first thrust slow, almost experimental, as if he’s still trying to wrap his head around the sensation.

A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls back slightly before pressing in again, his brows furrowing. His gaze flickers downward, to his cock slipping into you, and then back up at you. “Are you sure you put it on?” he asks, his voice rough with disbelief.

You chuckle breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “Positive.”

He groans, shaking his head, his pace gradually increasing. “Fuck, it’s so thin—Oh, I swear it feels like I’m not even wearing one.” His forehead presses against yours for a second, his breath hot against your lips. “I can feel you—every inch of you.” His words are almost a whisper, as if he’s too lost in the sensation to speak any louder.

His hands roam your body as he thrusts into you, his lips brushing over your skin, leaving soft, fleeting kisses. “You feel too good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “Too perfect for me.” His fingers dig into your waist, his movements growing more desperate, more intoxicated by the way your body molds against his. He groans your name, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw before capturing your mouth once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he completely loses himself in you.

The next thing you know, his thrusts become rougher, more desperate, his restraint slipping with every second that passes. His breath is hot against your skin, his body pressed so firmly against yours that there’s no space left between you. His fingers dig into your flesh, his pace relentless, driven purely by the overwhelming sensation of you wrapped around him.

Then, as if catching himself, he slows down just enough to look at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Am I being too rough?” he asks, his voice husky, laced with concern despite the pleasure clouding his eyes.

Your lips part, but instead of answering immediately, you reach up, fingers threading through his damp hair as you tug him down for a kiss. “It’s nothing I can't handle,” you whisper against his lips, and a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, as if sealing your words into him.

“Too good,” he groans, rolling his hips into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel too damn good—I don’t wanna stop.” His voice is rough, almost desperate, and the way he’s holding you, touching you, fucking you with such intensity—it’s like he’s completely lost in you.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your heated skin. His rhythm never falters, the weight of his body grounding you beneath him, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And in that moment, it feels like nothing else exists except for the way he’s moving inside you.

A deep, shuddering groan falls out of Chris’s parted mouth as his release finally takes over him, his body trembling slightly as he collapses onto you. His weight is warm, solid, his breath still ragged against your skin as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he takes a moment to gather himself, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Neither of you speak for a moment, the only sound in the room is your steady breathing intertwined. You feel him place a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone before he finally shifts, propping himself up just enough to pull away.

Immediately, he reaches down and removes the condom, tying it off with practiced ease before holding it up. Your gaze follows, and you can clearly see his release pooling inside. But what really catches your attention is when your eyes drop back down to him—because, despite everything, he’s still fully hard.

Your brows furrow as you look back up at him. “How…?” you murmur, clearly confused.

Chris follows your gaze, then looks down at himself before letting out a soft chuckle. “Guess I’m not done yet,” he says, flashing you that familiar cocky smirk, though there’s an edge of surprise in his own expression too.

You blink, still processing, before meeting his eyes again. “Is this normal for you?” you ask, suspicious.

He hums, tilting his head as if thinking about it. “Not usually this quick,” he admits, “but maybe…” He leans in, his lips brushing teasingly against yours. “Maybe it’s just you.”

You try not to let his words get to you, you look away as if looking at him will diminish the effect he has on you.

He twirls the tied-off condom between his fingers before casually tossing it into the trash. Then, he looks at you, eyes dark with something mischievous. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush yours, “we should probably run another test.”

A sly smile curls on your lips as you slowly push yourself up, pressing your palms against his chest to guide him back down onto the mattress. His eyes glimmer with intrigue as he lets you take control.

“Sure,” you simply answer, straddling him, the heat between your bodies reigniting. “But only if I get to be on top this time.”

Chris barely hesitates, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with anticipation.

You reach over to the nightstand, grabbing another condom from your bag. Holding it up between your fingers, you tilt your head and smirk.

“This isn’t just an extra-large condom,” you tease, tearing the wrapper open. “It’s extra thin, too.”

Chris watches you, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. His hands rest on your thighs as you take your time rolling the condom down his length, your fingers brushing against him in a way that makes him impatient. Maintaining eye contact, you give him a few slow, teasing strokes, enjoying the way his jaw tenses, the way his hands tighten against your skin.

He exhales sharply when you shift, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders before you begin to lower yourself onto him. His grip on your hips tightens as you take him in little by little, the stretch making you shiver.

When he sinks too deep, you gasp softly and pause, catching your breath. Chris immediately holds you closer, one arm wrapping around your back, the other caressing your side. He presses his forehead against yours, his lips grazing against yours in a reassuring kiss. “Take your time,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting yourself adjust, your bodies staying connected, lips brushing, breaths mingling. The moment lingers, heavy with warmth and intimacy, before either of you dares to move again.

A moment later, you begin moving, rolling your hips against him, taking in every sensation as you feel his size inside you. His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements, but you set the pace—slow and deliberate at first, savoring the way he feels inside you.

Chris groans, his fingers pressing into your skin, his head tilting back against the pillow. "You feel too fucking good," he breathes, voice thick with pleasure.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him, your lips brushing his as you pick up the rhythm. Every drag of his cock inside you sends shivers through your body, making you crave more, need more. You let yourself get lost in it, chasing the pleasure without restraint.

Chris grips your hips harder, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. "You're—" he groans, cutting himself off, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back.

But you don’t slow down. If anything, you move faster, lost in the waves of your own pleasure. You tilt your head back, your hands splaying across his chest as you ride him, feeling your release creeping up on you.

Chris curses under his breath, his muscles tensing beneath you. "You're gonna—ah—make me lose it," he warns, his voice tight. His hands slide up your back, trying to ground himself, trying to keep control.

But you don’t stop. You chase your high, focusing on the fire pooling low in your stomach, on the pleasure building with every movement. You know he’s struggling, you know he’s holding on for you, but right now, you’re selfish. You need this. And Chris—he lets you take what you need.

-

The sun is shining brightly outside and it's only a little after eight. You sit by the small table near the window, dressed in the hotel’s robe, sipping on your coffee as you scroll through your phone. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of last night.

A sleepy groan comes from the bed, followed by the rustling of sheets. Chris shifts, his hair a mess of curls, his bare chest exposed as he blinks against the morning light. His gaze lands on you, and a slow, lazy smile tugs at his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep.

You glance up from your phone as you take another sip of coffee. “Morning.”

Chris rubs the sleeps off his eyes before sitting up, squinting at the trays of food on the table. “You ordered breakfast?”

You glance at him and nod toward the food. “Figured you’d need it.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms over his head, muscles flexing as he lets out a satisfied sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, walking toward you with an easy confidence. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You raise a brow, smirking behind your coffee cup. “Thought I’d let you sleep in after all the work you put in.”

Chris huffs a laugh, settling into the chair across from you. His fingers lazily reach for a slice of toast, tearing off a piece as he studies you. “So… do I get a performance review?”

You don't answer but hands him his glass of orange juice. “Better eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you both settle into breakfast, the comfortable clinking of utensils and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air, you decide to bring up the real reason you invited him here in the first place.

“So,” you begin, reaching for a piece of fruit, “about last night—”

Chris immediately smirks, his head tilting slightly as he chews on a bite of his croissant. “Oh? You wanna talk about my performance?”

You roll your eyes but quickly cut in before he gets the wrong idea. “The condom performance, Chris.”

He chuckles, setting down his coffee cup. “Right. The condom.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thinks. “Well, I have to admit, it really is thinner than the previous version. Almost felt like I wasn’t wearing anything at all.”

You nod, pleased with his feedback. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. And no issues with fit or durability?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nope. Fit was perfect, no slipping, no breaking, and,” he pauses to shoot you a playful grin, “clearly, it held up well despite extensive testing.”

You fight the amused smile threatening to show. “Good to know.”

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and adds with a teasing lilt, “Since we’re giving reviews, though, I think I should also mention your performance.”

You hold your hand up, stopping him. “No one wants to hear it.”

“Oh, I insist.” His grin widens as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Exceptional technique, great stamina, responsiveness was off the charts—”

You throw a piece of toast at him, which he dodges with a laugh. “Please, stop.”

He only smirks, taking another sip of coffee. “Just giving honest feedback. Five stars. Highly recommend.”

You shake your head, but you’re unable to hide your small smile as you sip your own coffee.

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching you with a look that’s softer than before. “You know,” he starts, swirling his coffee, “I was right about you.”

You raise a brow, setting your cup down. “Oh? And what exactly were you right about?”

He smirks but there’s something proud in his gaze as he says, “That you can do more.” He nods toward you, his expression sincere. “You didn’t just meet expectations—you exceeded them.”

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, but you play it cool, leaning back in your chair. “I had to prove a point,” you say, taking another sip of coffee.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “That you did. But let’s be honest, you didn’t just do this to prove me wrong.”

You glance at him over your cup, giving him a cryptic smile. “Maybe...”

He rubs his chin and looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “Maybe...” he repeats the word with a sly grin blooming on his face.

The weight of his words lingers between you, and for the first time in a while, you feel something settle inside you—a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that you really did do more.

-

Monday morning arrives, and you’re back in the lab, already deep into reviewing your notes when Jane bursts in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She doesn’t even bother with a greeting—just leans against your desk with her arms crossed, looking at you expectantly.

“So,” she begins, dragging out the word. “How did the ‘research’ go?”

You don’t even look up, keeping your focus on your notes. “Good morning to you too, Jane.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, don’t even try to deflect. You disappeared all weekend, and now you’re back looking suspiciously… accomplished.”

You finally glance up, giving her a flat look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So secretive! Which means it must’ve been very successful.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “So? Was it Han or Chris?”

You almost choke on nothing. “What?”

Jane grins like a cat who caught a mouse. “You heard me. Did you finish what you started with Han, or was it…?” She trails off, eyes widening when she sees the slight twitch in your expression.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. You refuse to let anything slips out of your mouth but Jane is too smart to not catch it first.

“Oh. My. God.” She claps her hands together. “It was Chris, wasn’t it?”

You blink your eyes one too many times. “I didn’t say that.”

She practically vibrates with excitement. “Okay, tell me everything—was it hot? Was it awkward? Did the prototype work?”

You exhale in defeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You realize I’m not going to give you every detail, right?”

Jane groans, flopping into the chair across from you. “Fine, fine. Just… was it worth it?”

A slow smirk plays on your lips as you close your notes. “Let’s just say… the research was successful.”

Jane gasps, pointing at you. “I knew it!” She then leans forward, resting her elbows on your desk, her eyes practically sparkling. "You know, I kind of guessed something was going on between you and Chris," she says, tilting her head. "And now, I'm right."

"I'm not talking about this at work," you state firmly, turning back to your notes.

Jane groans dramatically. "Ugh! Just a little teaser? A tiny detail?" She wiggles her fingers as if trying to pry the information out of you telepathically.

Before she can push further, the door to your lab opens, and Chris steps inside. You immediately straighten in your seat as he walks in, looking calm and composed, though you catch the subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

"Morning," he greets, his eyes flicking between you and Jane.

Jane wastes no time to greet him back with such enthusiasm. "Good morning, Chris! I was just here to ask someone about her weekend," she says, shooting you a pointed look.

You see Chris suppress a smile as he casually strolls over to your desk. "Is that so?" he muses, his tone neutral but knowing.

Jane raises a brow at both of you before smirking. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "No need. I'm just here to inform that," he says, then turns to you. "I spoke with the board, and they’ve agreed to a meeting with you this Thursday. Be ready for it."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Wait, really?"

Chris nods. "They’re interested in hearing more about your product improvements. Make sure you’re prepared."

You nod, already running through what you need to put together for the meeting. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

Jane watches the exchange with narrowed eyes before breaking into a knowing grin. "Hmm. Very professional, you two," she teases.

Chris smirks but says nothing, and you shoot Jane a warning look before she can say anything else. He gives you a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Good luck," he says simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

You meet his gaze, feeling an odd sense of reassurance from his words. "Thank you. I'll be ready."

He lingers for a moment as if he wants to say more, but aware of Jane’s presence so instead, he just gives you a final look before turning and leaving the lab.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you feel Jane’s eyes burning into you. "You two are so obvious," she finally blurts out, leaning in closer with a knowing grin.

You sigh, gently massaging your temple. "Jane—"

"Fine, fine! I’ll focus on you for now," she says dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Because you, my dear, have an important task ahead of you."

You nod, already feeling the weight of responsibility settle in. "Yeah, I have a lot to prepare before Thursday."

Jane claps her hands together. "And you will succeed this time!" she declares.

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, shaking your head. "You sound more confident than I do."

"Because I am!" she says proudly. "This is your chance to prove yourself, and I know you’re gonna nail it. You’re brilliant, and your work is solid. The board would be stupid not to see that."

Her encouragement makes you smile, and for the first time since Chris mentioned the meeting, you feel a spark of excitement instead of just pressure.

"Thanks, Jane," you say sincerely.

"Anytime," she replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Now, let’s get to work. You’ve got a company to impress!"

-

Your heart is still racing as you step out of the meeting room, the adrenaline from the meeting pumping through your veins. You exhale sharply, your hands gripping the folder of notes as you replay the last hour in your mind. The back-and-forth discussion, the sharp questions, the skeptical glances—followed by that unmistakable shift in the room when they started to really listen. Your proposal had landed.

The nerves haven’t quite settled yet, but there’s something else bubbling beneath the surface—excitement. Relief. Pride.

As you make your way back to the lab, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. You did it. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the final decision.

The moment you step into the lab, Jane is already there, perched on your workstation with an eager glint in her eyes. "Well?" she asks, barely giving you time to set your things down. "How did it go? Did they love you? Are we celebrating? Should I start ordering drinks now?"

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. The meeting had been intense—filled with tough questions, skeptical expressions, but also moments where you knew you had them intrigued.

You glance at Jane, who is practically vibrating with anticipation. Instead of answering right away, you take your time removing your blazer and adjusting your sleeves.

"Let me guess," Jane continues, dramatically drumming her fingers on the desk. "They were blown away by your brilliance. Chris was all proud, standing there like ‘See? I told you she’s a genius.’ And now they’re going to mass-produce your condom and name it after you."

You snort, finally sitting down. "Okay, first of all, no to that last part. Second—" You pause for effect. "—they liked it."

Jane lets out a victorious squeal. "I knew it! Oh my God!" She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. "I told you, didn’t I? I told you this was your moment!"

You laugh, the weight on your shoulders finally easing a little. "It’s not finalized yet, but they’re considering it for the next phase."

"Which means it’s basically a yes," she says, grinning. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you."

Something about her enthusiasm makes you realize just how big this is. You really did it. All the work, the long nights, the stress—it’s paying off.

Jane suddenly gasps, pointing a finger at you. "Wait, does this mean you’ll finally let yourself have fun now?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Define fun."

She smirks. "Drinks. Tonight. No excuses."

You shake your head with a smile, but before you can answer, your phone buzzes on the desk. You glance at the screen and see a text from Chris.

Please meet me in my office when you’re free.

Your heart does a weird little flip. Jane notices immediately. "Who’s that?"

You grab your phone, locking the screen. "Work."

Jane narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh. Work. Sure."

You stand up, smoothing down your outfit. "I’ll see you later."

As you leave the lab, you can still hear Jane behind you. "Don’t think you’re getting out of drinks tonight!"

You roll your eyes but smile to yourself as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You knock lightly on Chris’s office door before pushing it open. He’s sitting at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but as soon as he sees you, a proud smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who just walked in fresh off a successful meeting," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Congratulations. You did amazing."

You give him a small smile as you step inside. "It’s too early to celebrate. The board still has to finalize everything."

Chris shakes his head. "They’re already sold. Your product is basically approved for production—they’re just waiting for the right time to launch it."

Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel even more real. You exhale, nodding. "That’s… really good to hear."

"You should be proud of yourself."

You glance down, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I appreciate all your help," you say sincerely, meeting his gaze again. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I think you could’ve. But I’m glad I could be part of it."

There’s a comfortable pause before you clear your throat. "Uh, actually… my team and I are going for drinks tonight to, you know, de-stress after all this. You’re welcome to join if you want."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused at the way you hesitated before asking. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you worry that maybe it was a bad idea to invite him. But then he sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement tonight."

You nod, masking any hint of disappointment. "No worries. Maybe next time."

Chris’s eyes glint with something unreadable. "Next time, huh?"

You smirk. "Yeah. I’ll buy you a drink to thank you properly."

He chuckles. "I’ll hold you to that."

With that, you turn to leave, but just as you reach the door, Chris calls out, "Hey."

You glance back with one hand on the handle of the door.

"Have fun tonight," he says, his voice softer.

You nod. "I will."

And with that, you step out of his office, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

-

Everyone raises their glasses in celebration. Jane sits beside you, grinning as she clinks her glass against yours.

“To a successful launch and to our genius researcher!” one of your team members cheers, and everyone echoes the sentiment before taking a sip of their drinks.

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment settle in. It had been a long, exhausting process, but seeing everyone so proud and excited made it all worth it. As the laughter and chatter continue, you stand up, raising your glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, before we all get too drunk to remember anything,” you begin, earning a round of chuckles from your colleagues, “I just want to take a moment to say thank you. This project was not easy, and we’ve had our fair share of challenges, but we pulled through because of all of you.”

Your team cheers, clinking their glasses together.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without everyone’s hard work and dedication. So, really—thank you. You guys are amazing, and I’m lucky to work with such a great team.”

More cheers erupt, and Jane dramatically wipes an imaginary tear from her eye, making you laugh. “And, since I know you all worked extra hard…” You pause for effect, then grin. “Drinks are on me tonight!”

The bar erupts in cheers, your team raising their glasses in excitement. Someone pats you on the back, and Jane throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Now that’s the best speech I’ve ever heard!” she exclaims, making everyone laugh.

With the energy high and spirits lifted, the night truly begins. It goes on with rounds of drinks and playful banter, but at some point, Jane leans in closer, eyeing you with a knowing smirk.

“You’re not having fun,” she accuses, nudging your arm.

You blink at her, taken aback. “What? I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she insists, swirling her drink. “Everyone else is laughing, making dumb jokes, and you’re just sitting here, sipping your drink like you’re deep in thought.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired, Jane. It’s been a long week.”

She hums in amusement before tilting her head. “Or maybe… you’re thinking about Chris.”

You scoff, nearly choking on your drink. “What? Why would I—”

“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t act like I didn’t see you sneaking glances at your phone earlier. Waiting for a text, maybe?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I was not.”

She nudges you with her elbow, leaning in close. “You should text Chris,” she says with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been thinking about him all night?”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t.”

Jane gives you a deadpan look. “You're getting too good at lying now.”

Sighing, you take a sip of your drink. “Look, the product is going into production soon, which means I’m done with the testing. And that also means…” You hesitate for a second before forcing yourself to say it. “Chris and I have no reason to meet anymore.”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “Wow. That’s… kind of depressing to hear.”

“It’s the truth,” you say, keeping your expression neutral, but Jane isn’t buying it. She suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of this sad talk. Take a shot with me!”

Before you can protest, she waves down the bartender and orders two shots of tequila. “We are celebrating, remember?”

You sigh but take the shot glass from her. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Jane clinks her glass against yours, and together, you down the shot, the burn spreading through your chest.

The moment you set the empty glass down, Jane grabs your wrist. “Now, let’s dance!”

“What—Jane, wait—”

“Yes, you're coming with me!” She pulls you toward the dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. “Come on, have fun with me!”

You sigh but eventually give in, letting yourself move with the music. And slowly, just for tonight, you let yourself forget everything else.

Jane twirls you around, both of you laughing as the music pulses through the air. The bass vibrates under your feet, and for the first time tonight, you’re letting yourself enjoy the moment—until Jane suddenly gasps and grabs your arm.

She stops dancing abruptly, pulling you close. “Oh my God.”

You blink at her, slightly breathless. “What?”

Jane leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Chris is here.”

You lean in close to hear her better. “What?”

She subtly nods toward the entrance of the bar, and your body moves on instinct, spinning around on your feet. And there he is.

Chris stands near the entrance, effortlessly catching your gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, and under the dim lights of the bar, his eyes glint with amusement. Then, as if he knew exactly when you would turn around, he raises a hand and waves.

You don’t know whether to be surprised or flustered, but the way Jane is gripping your arm tells you that she is already freaking out for the both of you.

“Looks like someone changed their plans,” she singsongs in your ear, nudging you toward him. “Go say hi.”

You swallow, exhaling softly. Yeah, you should probably do that. You weave through the crowd, making your way toward Chris. He watches you approach, his smirk never wavering. When you reach him, you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

“Hey, I’m surprised to see you here,” you say over the music.

Chris shrugs, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “My prior engagement finished early.” He glances past you toward your table, where Jane and your team are still celebrating. “Figured I’d come see how your celebration is going.”

You arch a brow. “And here I thought you weren’t one for company outings.”

He chuckles. “I’m not. But you do owe me a drink, remember?”

You roll your eyes but gesture toward your table. “Come on, then.”

As you and Chris settle at the table, an awkward silence briefly lingers between you. Jane, ever the social butterfly, takes it upon herself to fill the void, coming to the table and panting from the dancing

“Well, this is a surprise,” she muses, waving down a server. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight, Chris.”

Chris smiles at her. “Change of plans.”

Jane eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press further. Instead, she orders another round of drinks for the three of you. As she and Chris fall into casual conversation, you find yourself shifting in your seat, feeling the weight of Chris’s occasional glances your way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you announce, pushing back your chair.

Jane shoots you a quick look, one that says really? but she doesn’t stop you. Chris watches as you leave, and though you don’t turn back, you can still feel his gaze on you.

In the restroom, you take a moment to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You should at least thank him properly, you remind yourself. After all, without him, your product wouldn't have been as successful. You fix your hair and the smudged eye makeup with your finger before taking a deep breath and head back to the table.

You find Chris and Jane laughing over their drinks. The sight of them getting along so well makes you hesitate for a second, but before you can sit, Jane notices you and stands up.

“It's my turn now,” she announces, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her bag. “Going outside for a smoke. You two behave.” She winks at you before slipping away, leaving you alone with Chris.

The silence that follows is thick, though not necessarily uncomfortable. Chris leans back in his chair, watching you with quiet curiosity. You take your seat and reach for your drink, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” you swirl your drink absentmindedly, glancing at Chris before finally speaking. "I really mean it, you know," you say, your voice softer than before. "Thank you—for everything."

Chris tilts his head slightly, watching you with a flicker of curiosity. "For testing the product?" he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes but smile. "Not just that. For believing in me. For pushing me to prove myself when I was starting to doubt. I wanted to do more than just create a product—I wanted to make something better. And without your help, I might not have had the chance to."

Chris listens quietly, his gaze steady. Then, with a small exhale, he reaches for the collar of his shirt and undoes another button, his fingers moving slowly. He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if the room is suddenly too warm.

"You’re giving me too much credit," he says, his voice slightly husky. "You were always going to make this happen. I just… got to be the lucky guy who helped."

You shake your head. "Maybe. But I still appreciate it."

Chris watches you for a moment, his eyes darker under the dim bar lighting. Then, with a lazy smile, he leans in just a little. "You're welcome," he murmurs.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice drops sends a faint shiver through you. Chris exhales and tugs at the collar of his shirt again. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

You quirk a brow, watching him shift in his seat. His usually composed demeanor is slightly off, his body language restless. "Do you want to go outside for some air?" you offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I’m fine. Just need a second." He pushes himself up from his seat. "Gonna hit the restroom."

As he walks away, something about his behavior feels… off. Your eyes narrow slightly, the way he loosened his shirt, the way he kept shifting—something clicks in your head.

Just as the realization strikes, Jane returns from her smoke break, brushing ash off her fingers. "He’s gone already?" she asks, looking at Chris’s empty seat.

You turn to her with suspicion. "Jane."

She freezes mid-motion, giving you a dramatic blink. "Yes?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "Did you—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris had disappeared. "Did you do something to him?"

Jane smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? Me? I would never."

"Jane," you say more firmly, arms crossing over your chest and narrow your eyes in suspiciously at her.

She tilts her head innocently before finally cracking a grin. "Okay, fine. Maybe I slipped him a little something."

Your stomach drops. "You didn’t—"

"Relax!" she laughs. "It’s just the same aphrodisiac pill I gave you that one time! You survived, didn’t you?"

You groan, running a hand over your face. "Jane, what the hell?! That’s completely different!"

"Yeah, yeah, details," she waves you off, grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world. "He looked so tense! I thought I’d help him loosen up a bit."

You don’t waste another second arguing with her. Instead, you push away from the table and rush toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms. If that pill is hitting Chris the same way it hit you, you need to warn him—fast.

You find Chris leaning against the wall in the hallway, his head slightly bowed as he breathes in slow, measured breaths. When he hears your footsteps approaching, he looks up, and for a second, you’re taken aback by the way his eyes seem darker, hazier than before.

"Chris," you say carefully, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I feel… weird." His voice is lower, rougher than usual. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt again, like he can’t stand how warm he feels.

You swallow, already feeling guilty. "Chris, listen to me," you begin, watching his expression closely. "Jane gave you something."

He blinks slowly. "Something?"

"An aphrodisiac," you admit, wincing a little.

Chris processes that for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge of frustration behind it. "Well, that explains a lot." He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I was starting to think it was just you."

Your breath catches in your throat at that, but you shake it off. "Come on," you say, stepping closer. "I’ll take you home."

To your surprise, Chris doesn’t argue. He opens his eyes, looking at you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Okay."

His easy agreement makes you pause. You expected him to insist he was fine or brush you off. But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s holding himself back, like he knows staying here will only make things worse—tells you everything you need to know.

You gently take his wrist, guiding him away from the hallway. "Let’s get you out of here," you say, keeping your voice steady.

You help Chris into the taxi, making sure he doesn’t stumble as he slides into the seat beside you. As soon as he settles, he tells the driver his address in a low, slightly slurred voice.

The moment the car starts moving, Chris lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You tense at the unexpected weight, but before you can say anything, he shifts even closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," he hums, cutting you off. "You smell good." His voice is muffled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fight the urge to push him away—not because you don’t like it, but because you do.

"You’re really out of it, huh?" you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris doesn’t answer, just lets out a small, contented sigh as he burrows closer. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his scent—a mix of cologne and something inherently him—making your head spin.

The driver doesn’t seem to care about the scene unfolding in his backseat, but you can feel your face heating up as Chris stays glued to your side for the entire ride. Every few moments, he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard and stare out the window, counting the streetlights as they pass, praying you’ll get to his place soon before you do something reckless—like lean into him instead of away.

-

When the taxi pulls up to Chris’s building, you pay the fare and help him out of the car. He stumbles slightly, and you quickly grab his arm, steadying him.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” you say, guiding him toward the entrance.

Chris doesn’t argue, just hums in acknowledgment as you lead him through the lobby to the elevator. When the doors slide open, you help him inside, pressing the button for his floor. As soon as the doors close, Chris leans into you again, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

“Mmh...” he hums, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

You let out a breath, trying to ignore the way his touch sends a strange flutter through your chest. “You’re really affectionate when you’re drunk,” you comment, keeping your voice light.

He chuckles softly against your skin. “Maybe,” he admits, his grip tightening slightly. “But I like holding you.”

You suddenly turn quiet and you’re grateful when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at his floor.

Chris groans dramatically but lets you guide him out of the elevator, his arm still draped around you as you make your way to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, he finally gets the door open. You help him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes.

Just as you’re about to step back and say your goodbyes, his grip tightens around your wrist, keeping you in place. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something deeper than just intoxication.

You shake your head gently. “Chris, I'd better go—”

But he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. “Please, stay,” he coaxes, his voice like a slow pull, dragging you toward him. “Stay with me tonight.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with another excuse, his lips press against yours. Soft at first, like he’s waiting for you to push him away—but you don’t. You should.

You try to remind yourself that he’s been drinking, that Jane did something completely reckless, but when he deepens the kiss, his fingers splaying against the small of your back, your resolve begins to slip. You press your hands against his chest, intending to push him away—but instead, your fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

Chris hums against your lips, sensing your resistance fading. He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against his. And the more he kisses you, the more you realize… you don’t want to resist him at all.

The heat between you grows as he kisses you harder, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you flush against him and before you can even process it, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the nearest surface—his dining table. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him more access as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his breath hot against you.

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse before slipping underneath, palms grazing your bare skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His lips return to you immediately, trailing along your shoulder, pressing heated kisses against every inch of exposed skin.

You sigh at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he buries his face against your collarbone, his breath uneven, his body pressed firm between your legs. Your hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as you undo them one by one. But before you can get through them all, Chris huffs impatiently and shrugs the shirt off himself, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

The moment it’s gone, his lips crash onto yours again, urgent and hungry. His hands grip your waist as he presses himself against you, his hips rolling forward in slow, deliberate movements. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you can feel his cock, hard and insistent, the friction making your breath hitch.

He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you steady, his movements controlled but desperate. Your hands roam over his bare chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as you gasp into his mouth.

Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "...Want you so much," he murmurs, his hips still grinding into you with slow, teasing movements, making it clear just how much he wants you.

A moment later, his grip tightens on you as he lifts you from the table with ease, his strong arms holding you close against his bare chest. His lips never stray far, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

When he reaches the bedroom, he carefully lays you down on the bed, his body following yours as he settles on top of you. His weight is comforting, his warmth seeping into your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, languid kiss.

His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, as his kisses become slower, more indulgent. The heat between you builds with every movement, every press of his body against yours. But just as his hands begin to wander lower, you pull away slightly, breathless.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice soft but firm.

He hums against your lips, eyes dark with need as he gazes down at you.

“The condom,” you remind him, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “It’s in my bag.”

He exhales a short, amused laugh and then drops his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You really came prepared, huh?” he teases, his voice husky.

Your bag in his hand as he returns to bed and his eyes flicker toward you as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the bag down on the bed, fingers expertly rummaging through its contents until he pulls out the box of condoms. With a small smirk, he places it on the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands move to the waistband of his pants. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper before he pushes them down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. The last remaining piece of fabric soon follows, leaving him bare before you.

You sit up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him—his toned body, his firm stance, the way he watches you with dark, expectant eyes. There’s something about the way he stands there, unashamed, that makes your skin heat under his gaze.

Not wanting to be the only one still clothed, you slowly peel off the remaining fabric on your body. Your movements are unhurried, teasing almost, as you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it aside. You see the way Chris’s eyes trace every inch of newly exposed skin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

For a moment, the two of you simply take each other in, the air between you thick with anticipation. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of desire, crackling like electricity in the space between you.

Chris picks up a condom before crawling over to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. His warmth surrounds you almost immediately.

You take the condom from his hand, meeting his gaze as you offer, “Let me.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, settling himself against the headboard. He shifts, leaning back comfortably, watching as you move onto his lap, your back resting against his chest. His hands skim over your arms, tracing light patterns on your skin as you tear open the packet.

As you roll the condom down his length, your touch is slow, deliberate. You can feel the way his body reacts beneath you, the quiet intake of breath, the way his muscles tense ever so slightly. His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin as if grounding himself.

Chris gently grabs your chin before turning your face toward him. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep, lingering. His hands glide over your body until they settle on the softness of your breasts, palming them and using his fingers to tease your already erected nipples.

In return, your hand wrapped around his cock, moving in slow, measured strokes, feeling the way Chris tenses beneath you. His breath grows heavier against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. His restraint is evident, the way he lets you take your time, but you can feel the subtle tremor in his grip, the quiet urgency simmering just beneath the surface.

Tilting your hips, you guide his cock into your entrance and once the crest is pushed inside, you ease yourself down onto him, taking him in and taking him in inches more until you can’t take it. Your breath stutters as you adjust to the feeling, your body molding against his as you rest in his lap, fully connected.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, muffled by the way he captures your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. His hand trails up, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His other hand finds its way between your legs, fingers circling on your clit in a way that makes you shudder. He continues in slow, teasing movements, pressing and circling on your clit, making you instinctively arching into his touch. The sensations are overwhelming, his touch purposeful and knowing, driving you higher with every stroke.

Chris groans at the way you clench around him. "You're so sensitive," he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky with restraint.

Your hands grip onto his forearm, searching for something to ground yourself, but the pleasure only intensifies. You squirm in his lap, your movements making him hiss as he digs his fingers into your skin, holding you still.

"You're making this hard for me," he breathes out with a strained chuckle, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel too good."

His groans grow louder as he feels the way you pulse and tighten around him, your body reacting so intensely to his touch. His fingers continue their delightful assault, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, until the pleasure overwhelms you completely.

A breathless cry escapes your lips as the tension snaps, your body trembling against his hand. Chris holds you close, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The way you squeeze around him has him teetering on the edge, his breathing ragged, his grip tightening on your waist. “Shit,” he mutters, his voice strained. His hands grasp at you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin, sucking and biting lightly, lost in the sensation as his own climax rushes through him. A deep, low groan rumbles against your throat as he finally lets go, his body shuddering with release.

You turn your head slightly, finding his lips with yours and kissing him deeply. He hums against your mouth, his hands still roaming your body, his touch warm and firm. Your bodies remain tangled in the sheets, heat still lingering between you as your lips move together in slow, lazy kisses. Chris runs his fingers along your bare skin, tracing patterns as if memorizing every inch of you. His kisses deepen, his tongue teasing against yours, and you sigh into his mouth, already feeling the slow burn reigniting between you.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze heavy-lidded and full of something almost reverent as he reaches for a new condom. Sitting up against the headboard, he rolls it on with practiced ease before shifting back between your legs, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down to kiss you again.

This time, he takes his time, positioning himself carefully. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he pushes his cock into you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. His breath catches, a low groan escaping him as he fills you, enjoying the way your body welcomes him.

"Always perfect for me," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours as he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he begins to move, each thrust measured, purposeful, as if he wants to make this last as long as possible.

Chris intently watches every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands hold you firmly but gently, grounding you as he sinks deeper into your warmth, pausing when he feels resistance. His breath is heavy, voice low and husky as he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go deeper?"

You nod, your fingers tightening against his shoulders in silent encouragement. "I can take it," you assure him, your voice breathless.

He exhales shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Then, with measured control, he pushes his swollen cock another inch into you, groaning at the way your body tightens around him.

"You feel too good," he rasps, his grip on you firm yet careful, his entire body tensed with restraint.

A shuddering moan escapes you as your back arches slightly. The stretch is intense, but the pleasure rolling through you drowns out everything else. "A little more," you whisper.

Chris hesitates, his dark eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?"

You nod, biting your lip, and he swallows hard before easing the rest of himself inside you, slow and deliberate, until there’s nothing left between you. He exhales sharply, looking down where his big cock is fully disappeared in your little cunt, the sight alone making him groan. "It’s all in now," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His hands stroke your sides soothingly, his lips brushing over your cheek. "You took me so well."

The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body against yours, the deep pressure—it all builds too fast, too intensely. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you can even brace yourself, pulling a cry from your lips as your body tightens and trembles around him. It’s too much, too consuming, and the last thing you hear is Chris’s voice calling your name before everything fades into darkness.

-

✨ The fourth & final chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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COCKY.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (21,2k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on making it to another week! Hope Cocky Chris can help you to unwind and pls share your thoughts after ♡

The second the elevator doors slide open, you storm back into your lab, your heels clicking against the tiled floor with a little more force than necessary. The door swings shut behind you, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. The last thing you need is for your team to see just how frustrated you are.

Chris’s words from the meeting echo in your head. Your product needs more time to fully develop as a whole product. His voice had been calm, professional—like he wasn’t just throwing a wrench into everything you had worked for. Like he wasn’t completely undermining you in front of the board.

You rub your temples, inhaling deeply. You don’t understand. You thought he would support you. He’d been testing the product, giving feedback—participating. You thought you were on the same page. So why?

Your team is scattered around the lab, focused on their own tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. Jane is nowhere to be seen, probably still caught up in meetings or schmoozing with the higher-ups after her own product launch. For once, you’re grateful she’s not here to take one look at you and start asking questions.

You sit at your desk, pulling out your notes, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the sharp sting of betrayal sitting heavy in your chest.

But no matter how much you try to push it away, all you can think about is Chris. And how he went against you.

-

As expected, Jane bursts into the lab with her usual energy, her eyes scanning the room until they land on you. “Hey! So, how’d it go?” she asks, striding toward you with a bright, expectant grin.

You don’t even look up from your desk. “It was great—until Chris decided to sabotage me.”

Jane stops mid-step, blinking at you. “Wait, what?”

You slam your notebook shut and finally meet her gaze, frustration boiling over. “He went against me, Jane. Chris. He told the board that my product ‘needs more time to develop.’” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “What does that even mean? We’ve done the tests, the results are solid, and we’re more than ready for production. But no—he had to make it sound like we’re not ready. Like I’m not ready.”

Jane raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound like Chris.”

You scoff. “Well, it happened. And now the board is hesitant. They decide to push back production because of his input. I’m screwed.”

Jane crosses her arms, tilting her head in thought. “Did he give any reason? Like, why he thinks it needs more time?”

You shake your head, still fuming. “Not really. Just some vague statement about it needing to be fully developed. He didn’t even look at me when he said it.”

Jane purses her lips, watching you carefully. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “I just think it’s weird. Chris has been involved in this project. He knows how much work you’ve put in. If he really thought it wasn’t ready, he would’ve talked to you about it first, wouldn’t he?”

That’s what’s been bothering you the most. Chris didn’t say anything to you beforehand—no warning, no indication that he had doubts. Just blindsiding you in front of the board like it was nothing.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “Maybe I was wrong to trust him.”

Jane watches you carefully, then smirks. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. Not everything is some big mystery, Jane. Sometimes people just suck.”

Jane laughs, shaking her head. “If you say so.” She places a coffee cup on your desk. “Here. You look like you need this.”

You sigh, taking the cup and mumbling, “Thanks.”

But even as you sip your coffee, Jane’s words linger in your mind. Or maybe there’s something else going on.

As you bury your face in your hands, your phone vibrates on the desk. You sigh, already feeling exhausted, and glance at the screen. The caller ID makes your stomach flip—Chris Bang.

Jane notices your hesitation. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You inhale sharply before answering. “Hello?”

“Come to my office,” Chris says, his voice steady, unreadable.

You grip the phone tighter. “I’m busy.”

A pause and then he says, “It won’t take long.”

You want to argue, to throw his words from the meeting back in his face, but something about his tone makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you sigh. “Fine.”

The call ends before you can say anything else.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your notebook and pushing back from your desk. “He wants to see me.”

“Ooooh, sounds serious,” she teases, but when she sees your expression, her smirk softens. “Hey. Just… don’t go in there ready to bite his head off. See what he has to say first.”

You scoff, but deep down, you know she’s right. Still, you can’t shake the frustration burning in your chest as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You push open the door to Chris’s office without knocking, not caring about formalities right now. He’s seated at his desk, fingers laced together as he watches you step inside. His expression is unreadable, but his posture is relaxed—too relaxed for someone who just sabotaged your presentation.

You close the door behind you and stand facing his desk. “You called me, Mr. Bang?”

Chris sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You’re upset.”

You can't keep your composure anymore and let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, you think?” You take a step closer, trying to keep your voice even. “I expected the board to be skeptical. I expected questions, concerns—but I didn’t expect you to be the one who held us back.”

Chris doesn’t react immediately. He studies you, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I didn’t hold you back.”

“Then what do you call it?” you snap. “You had the chance to vouch for me. For the project. Instead, you basically told them it’s not ready.”

“Because it’s not ready.” His tone is firm, unwavering.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Chris stands up then, rounding the desk to stand in front of you. “I get that you’re angry. But I need you to trust me on this.”

You meet his gaze, heart pounding with frustration—and something else, something you don’t want to acknowledge. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the door, turning the lock with a quiet click. The sound sends a strange thrill down your spine, but before you can react, he’s walking back toward you.

His hands find your elbows, firm but not forceful, keeping you in place as he looks down at you. “I didn’t say what I said in there to hurt you,” he says, his voice low. “I said it because I know you can do more.”

You glare at him, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. “More? Chris, I’ve put everything into this project.”

“I know.” His thumbs brush your arms, a soothing gesture you don’t want to acknowledge. “But I also know you. You’re not just here to make condoms for guys with big dicks. You’re better than that. Smarter than that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he steps closer, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. They’re steady, unwavering. “I trust you,” he says. “But do you trust me?”

Chris waits, his eyes searching yours, his hands still resting on your arms. He leans in ever so slightly, just enough that you can feel the intensity of his eyes, and for a moment, you feel yourself slipping—drawn in by the heat of his gaze, the quiet intensity of his presence.

But then reality crashes down on you. You remember the meeting. You remember the way he spoke against your project in front of everyone, blindsiding you when you thought he’d be on your side. The frustration in your chest flares up again, and before you can fall any deeper into his gravity, you quickly turn your head away.

“I have work to do,” you say, stepping back, slipping out of his hold. You don’t dare look at him as you move toward the door, your heart pounding. “If that’s all, I’ll be going.”

You don’t wait for a response. You unlock the door and slip out, leaving him standing there in his office, alone.

-

For the next couple of days, you bury yourself in work, but the irritation from your last encounter with Chris still lingers. Every time you think about the meeting, about the way he blindsided you, your blood boils all over again. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your research, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door to your lab swings open, and Han walks in, grinning as usual.

"Guess what time it is," he announces, setting down a cup of coffee and a small paper bag on your desk.

You sigh as you run your hand though your hair. "Is it the time already?"

Han chuckles, pulling out a chair and plopping down across from you. "Don't tell me you forgot about our date?" he corrects, handing you the coffee. "Anyway, I brought a little treat to commemorate the occasion. Cheesecake. I figured I should end our time together on a sweet note."

Despite yourself, you smile. Han’s presence is a welcome distraction from everything else weighing on your mind.

“Thanks,” You mutter before taking a sip of the coffee he brought, you set down your tablet and get ready to dive into the final part of his product testing feedback.

Han occasionally sips his coffee, but his sharp eyes stay locked on you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face with a look of quiet curiosity before setting his cup down.

"Something’s bothering you," he states, not even phrasing it as a question.

You glance up from your tablet. “Is it that obvious?”

Han leans forward on the table and tilts his head to the side. "Tell me. Who hurt you, baby?”

You rub your temples, feeling the stress of yesterday creeping back in. Han waits patiently, sipping his coffee as if he has all the time in the world. That alone makes you want to talk—it’s rare for someone to actually listen without immediately offering their opinion.

Taking a deep breath, you finally start. “Last Monday was supposed to be the big presentation. I went in there with my team, ready to prove that our product was good to go. We had the results from our test group—82% of participants reported positive experiences. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it was enough to show that this could work.”

Han hums, nodding along. “And...?”

“They were considering it. They were actually talking about approving it for production,” you say, voice tight. “But then he spoke up.”

Han doesn’t need you to say who he is. “Is it the guy with the intense vibe?”

You nod, gripping your coffee cup a little too hard. “Chris, of all people, the product manager, basically told them it needed more time. That it wasn’t ready. That I could do more than just this.”

Han frowns, setting his cup down. “And you didn’t see that coming?”

“Not at all!” you exclaim. “I thought if anything, he’d be on my side. He knew how much effort I put into it. But instead of backing me up, he basically told me I wasn’t enough—like my work wasn’t enough.”

Your frustration is boiling over now, and Han lets you vent without interruption.

“The worst part? He said it like he trusted me. Like he was pushing me because he believed in me. What kind of twisted logic is that?”

Han lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough.”

You shake your head, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t even know if it’s worth doing this anymore. What’s the point if the person in charge is just going to keep moving the goalpost?”

There’s a beat of silence before Han speaks again, his voice calm but firm. “So you’re telling me you’re just gonna give up? Just because of one guy?”

You pick up your pen and bring your clipboard closer to you while trying to push down the bitterness that still lingers from that day. “Let’s just start on the interview.”

Han narrows his eyes as he watches you, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re even in the mood for this interview?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “Honestly? No. I really don’t feel like working today.”

He grins, as if he expected that answer. “Then why don’t you just skip?” he suggests so casually that you blink at him in surprise. “Come on. Go out, have some fun. Forget about work for a while.”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the edge of the papers. “Skip work?”

Han nods, completely unfazed. “Yeah. What, you’ve never played hooky before?”

You chew on your lip, torn between responsibility and temptation. You should be focusing on your project, on fixing what went wrong—but the idea of just leaving, of walking out and not thinking about Chris or the board or your stupid presentation, is suddenly way too tempting to ignore.

Without another thought, you push back your chair, standing up as you yank off your lab coat and toss it onto your chair. “Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. “Where are we going?”

Han’s grin stretches wider. “Oh, I definitely know a place.”

-

The city is scintillating under the afternoon sun as you and Han stroll through the streets, the heat of the day warming your skin. Brunch is the first stop—a cozy little café where he insists on ordering the most extravagant pastries on the menu, just to see which ones make you scrunch your nose.

“You have terrible taste,” you tell him as he bites into a cream-filled croissant with far too much enthusiasm.

After brunch, the two of you wander into shops, browsing through everything from designer boutiques to random trinket stores. Han has a habit of picking up the most ridiculous items—a sequined cowboy hat, a neon pink fanny pack—just to model them in front of you, making exaggerated poses.

“Be honest,” he says, adjusting a pair of oversized sunglasses on his nose. “I look hot, don’t I?”

You snort. “I need a drink to find you attractive.”

Han gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. Brutal.” Then, his expression turns thoughtful. “Well, bars aren’t open yet… but I do have drinks at my place.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, so that’s your plan? Get me drunk in your apartment?”

Han doesn’t even try to deny it. “Absolutely,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his shamelessness. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Han grins, tossing an arm around your shoulders as he steers you toward his place. “Now this is what I call quality product testing.”

Han’s apartment is surprisingly neat, with a warm and lived-in feel. The shelves are stacked with comic books and figurines, and a collection of vinyl records sits beside a turntable in the living room. You wander over, scanning the titles while Han disappears into the kitchen.

“You actually listen to these, or are they just for decoration to make you seem cool?” you tease with a sly smile, running a finger along the spines of the records.

He returns from the kitchen with two glasses of hard liquor, handing one to you. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of taste,” he says, feigning offense. He picks a record and slides it onto the turntable, the soft crackle of vinyl filling the air before smooth, jazzy notes spill from the speakers.

You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth spread through you as the two of you start moving to the rhythm. Han, being Han, doesn’t keep it simple for long—he breaks into a ridiculous routine, wiggling his arms and shaking his hips like he’s auditioning for a variety show.

You burst out laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

Still chuckling, you play along, mirroring his moves in exaggerated fashion until you’re both breathless from laughter. Then, suddenly, he takes your hand, pulls you close, and spins you into a slow dance.

Your bodies sway together, the mood shifting effortlessly. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes lock onto yours, playful but unreadable. And then, just as easily as he jokes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

It’s light, fleeting—like he’s testing the waters. But the second it happens, an image of Chris flashes through your mind. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at you in his office just the other day. Your body stiffens, your grip on Han’s shirt loosening.

You slowly pull away from Han, your fingers slipping from his shirt as you take a step back. “I—uh, I need a minute,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Bathroom?”

Han blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he nods and gestures toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. First door on the left.”

You don’t waste time, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. Pressing your palms against the cool sink, you take a deep breath, your mind racing. Why did I think of Chris? The kiss had nothing to do with him, yet his face, his touch, his words—all of it came rushing in, uninvited.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Your gaze drifts around the bathroom to find something to distract you, your eyes land on the slightly open drawer beneath the mirror. Idly, you tug it open, rummaging through the contents without much thought—until your fingers brush against something familiar.

The box of condoms you had given Han for testing sits there, three packs still untouched. You pick it up, flipping it over in your hands, your mind now shifting gears. Without thinking too hard about it, you grab the box and head back to the living room.

Han is crouched by the record player, swapping out the vinyl, but when he sees you standing there, he pauses, his brows furrowing in mild concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Instead of answering, you flash him a sly smile and ask, “You know what time is it?”

He smiles but curiosity filled his dark brown eyes. “What?”

You lift the box of condoms slightly, letting it dangle between your fingers as you say, “It’s time for the hands-on research.”

Han’s lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes flicking from the box to you. He pushes himself up from the floor, stepping closer to you with that playful glint in his eyes. He reaches for the box in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you gently toward him.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice lower now, less teasing, more serious.

You inhale sharply, feeling the weight of his question, but you nod. "Yeah."

That’s all it takes. Han closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hands sliding to your waist. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, and before you know it, your hands are tugging at his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, stepping back just enough to let you pull it over his head.

"This is a first for me," he muses, his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, pushing it upward.

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

Han grins, nudging his nose against yours as he lifts your shirt off. "Daylight. Never done it with the sun out."

You pause for a moment, realizing the same thing. "Me neither."

Han hums in amusement. "Guess we’re about to check that off the list."

You laugh softly as his hands roam your bare skin, his touch igniting a slow burn inside you. Piece by piece, you strip each other down, the sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden streaks across your skin. The vulnerability of being so exposed in the daylight should make you feel shy, but with Han, it doesn’t.

He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, “You look even better in the light.”

You smile at his compliment. “And you look... not bad,” you say, followed by playful giggles.

As Han presses you down onto the bed, his body flush against yours, his lips move against yours in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your skin, touching and feeling, occasionally squeezing on the flesh. The warmth of his touch sends a thrill through your body, making you arch into him, wanting more.

When you pull back for air, your eyes drift over his physique, taking in the toned muscles of his arms, the lean definition of his torso, and the ink that decorates his skin. Your fingers reach out instinctively, trailing over the tattoo on his shoulder, feeling the slight difference in texture. Han watches you with a lazy smirk, amused by your fascination.

"You like them?" he asks, voice husky.

You hum in response, letting your fingers travel lower, following the ink down his ribcage. "I do. They suit you."

Han chuckles at that, shifting slightly to give you better access. "You should see the one on my thigh," he teases, winking at you.

You roll your eyes but smile as you bring your lips to his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the tattooed skin. Han's breath catches, and he instinctively tightens his grip on your waist. You keep going, trailing kisses along the curve of his shoulder, down to his collarbone, taking your time to feel him with your lips.

Not to be outdone, Han follows suit, his lips ghosting over your skin in slow, lingering kisses. He moves down your neck, his breath warm and tickling, before pulling back to look at you with eyes filled with something deeper than just lust. There’s admiration there, fondness, and something playful, too.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing over your sides.

You arch an eyebrow. “How so?”

Han grins, leaning in to nip at your lower lip before whispering, “Because you make me want to keep you all to myself.”

His words linger in the air, charged with something unspoken as his hands slowly trail down your sides. His fingers brush over your hipbones, teasing, testing, before one hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer against him. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the slow, tantalizing friction as he presses his hand on your sex.

Your breaths mingle as you both move in sync, hands exploring, discovering. His touch is firm yet careful as he lands his fingers on your bundle of nerves, his strokes slow at first, teasing, making you gasp against his lips. In response, your fingers trail lower until you find his swollen cock and wrap your hand around it, feeling the warmth, the way his breath stutters at the first touch. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales a shaky breath.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good.”

The pace between you builds naturally, neither of you rushing, just taking the time to savor the way the other reacts. Han groans softly, his hips twitching slightly as your fingers tighten around his length, and in return, he sync his movements with yours, applying gentle pressures on your clit, making you shudder in his grasp. There’s an intimacy in it, beyond just the pleasure—it’s the way he watches your face, the way you both respond to each other, completely in tune.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your soft moans as the pleasure mounts between you. It’s intoxicating, the push and pull, the way you both chase after the same high together, bodies pressed close, hands on each other’s sex, moving in perfect rhythm.

Han groans against your lips as your other hand joins in, moving them in unison, fingers wrapping around him, stroking in sync. His breath is ragged, his body trembling slightly as he thrusts into your joined grip, chasing the pleasure that builds between you. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your movements, completely entranced by the way you touch him.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out, his jaw tightening as he tries to hold himself back. "You're really trying to ruin me, huh?"

You smirk, giving him a gentle, deliberate squeeze, and he groans, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as if to stop himself from losing control. Then, as if realizing just how close he is, he suddenly slows your hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Han leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "As much as I'd love to keep going, I should probably put that condom on before I—" he pauses, inhaling sharply as you teasingly stroke him once more "—burst."

His words make you chuckle, and he grins at you, eyes full of mischief as he reaches for the box beside the bed. You watch as he tears open the foil packet with his teeth, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful glint. He rolls the condom over his length with practiced ease, smoothing it down before giving himself a teasing stroke. Then, with a smirk, he looks at you and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Think it's on securely?" he asks, feigning concern as he lightly tugs at the base. "Or should I call customer service for assistance?"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "I am customer service, you dummy," you quip, reaching out to flick his arm.

Han chuckles, leaning over you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Then I guess I’m in good hands."

He gently puts his body on top of you, planting his lips on yours again as he slowly positioning himself and in response, you spread your legs wider for him, letting him settling in between.

He props an elbow against the mattress, finding just the right angle to align his cock to your entrance. He gives it a few strokes before finally, pushing it in.

Low groans spilling out of his mouth as he sinks into you, his grip tightening around your hips as he pushes deeper. He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust, but when he looks down at you, his brows furrow in curiosity. “You okay?”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile as you stretch your arms above your head, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah,” you sigh dramatically. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken bigger before.”

Han freezes mid-thrust, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

You bite back a laugh at the mix of offense and disbelief on his face. “Just saying.”

A scoff leaves his lips before his expression morphs into something more devious. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

Before you can react, he suddenly thrusts forward, catching you off guard, and a loud gasp escapes you. He smirks. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

You glare at him, cheeks warming. “Shut up and start moving.”

Han clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “Say please.”

You groan in frustration, but before you can argue, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His hips begin to roll, picking up a steady rhythm, and soon, any witty remark you had is replaced by breathy moans.

“See?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice smug as his hands roam over your body. “Told you we’d have fun.”

You huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but the way your fingers dig into his back says otherwise. He chuckles, dipping his head to kiss the corner of your mouth before whispering, “Let’s see if I can change your mind about size, yeah?”

Han may tease, but when he moves, his touches are surprisingly gentle, his lips soft as they ghost over your skin. He’s still smiling, still throwing in the occasional joke between thrusts, but there’s something warm in the way he looks at you—like he genuinely enjoys just being here with you.

“Damn,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours as he moves. “You feel so good, I think I’m seeing my ancestors.”

You snort, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, grinning. “Then why is my great-grandfather giving me a thumbs-up right now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, you like it,” he says, punctuating his words with a slow, deep thrust that has you sharply inhale air. His eyes flicker with amusement when your breath catches. “See? You love it.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of you. It’s different from what you expected—less pressure, less intensity, just lighthearted fun wrapped up in warmth and pleasure.

In the next moment, he looks at you with this tenderness in his eyes and then, he leans in close, brushing his lips over yours before whispering, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words make your heart stutter, and suddenly, the moment feels even sweeter. You cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of him—of this easy, unexpected comfort.

Between the shared laughter and soft moans, it feels less like a conquest and more like something simple, something warm. Something that, for now, just feels good.

-

Through the window, the golden hues of the setting sun looks magnificent, casting a soft glow over the room. You’re tangled together under the sheets, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare shoulder, and every now and then, he presses a soft kiss against your temple, your hair, your forehead—anywhere he can reach.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. “Did I wear you out that much?”

You scoff and playfully elbow his side. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles, then shifts slightly, his lips trailing from your temple down to your cheek, then to your jawline. He pauses, his breath warm against your skin before he dips lower, pressing a teasing kiss to the crook of your neck.

You shiver at the sensation, but just as you start to relax into it, he suddenly blows a raspberry against your skin. “Han!” you shriek, jerking away with a laugh. “Stop that!”

But he only grins mischievously, wrapping an arm around you to keep you from escaping as he does it again—this time nibbling lightly before blowing another raspberry. You squirm in his arms, half laughing, half protesting. “You’re the worst!” you gasp between giggles.

He hums, pretending to consider. “Mmm, but you like me anyway.”

You glare at him through your laughter, and he grins before pressing a much softer, lingering kiss against your neck.

“Alright, alright,” he says, finally relenting. “I’ll stop—for now.”

You let out a breath, still smiling as you settle back into his embrace. Outside, the sky shifts from warm golds to dusky purples, and for a moment, everything just feels… easy. Comfortable.

And as Han idly runs his fingers through your hair, you find yourself wondering how a simple afternoon turned into this—wrapped up in warmth, in laughter, in him.

As the last traces of sunlight fade into the evening sky, you run your fingers through Han’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a contented hum vibrating in his chest.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.

You smile, smoothing his hair again before giving it a playful tug. “Not so fast. You still owe me dinner.”

His eyes peek open, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Oh? I do?”

“Yeah,” you say matter-of-factly. “I skipped work today, wasted my precious energy entertaining you, and now I’m starving. It’s only fair that you buy me dinner.”

Han gasps dramatically. “Wasted your precious energy?” He places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know, that was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach betrays you with a low grumble. Han snickers, clearly pleased with himself.

“Alright, okay,” he relents, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “What do you want? Something fancy? Something greasy? Or something that’ll make us question our life choices after we eat it?”

You chuckle. “I like the sound of the last one.”

Han grins. “Instant regret it is.”

He lands a long kiss on your lips before getting up, swinging his legs off the bed and starts pulling on his sweatpants, and you do the same, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. It’s not exactly how you expected your day to go, but somehow, you don’t mind at all.

-

Seated at Han’s small dining table, you poke at your takeout with your chopsticks, watching as he slouches in his chair, looking far too comfortable in just his sweatpants. Meanwhile, you’re drowning in one of his oversized sweaters, the fabric slipping off your shoulder every time you move.

Han takes a big bite of his food, humming in satisfaction before glancing at you. “You’re really not gonna put pants on?” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” you counter, raising a brow. “Besides, this is more comfortable.”

He grins. “Fine, but if you steal that sweater, I’ll know.”

You ignore his threat, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “So… how was the performance?”

He nearly chokes on his food. He grabs his drink, gulping it down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You just wanna jump straight into performance reviews, huh?”

You blink at him. “Yeah… why not?”

He leans back in his chair, grinning for ear to ear. “Well, if you ask me, I think I did a solid job. Great rhythm, nice pace, perfect execution. I mean, if I had to rate it—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, throwing a sauce packet at him. “I was talking about the condom performance, not yours.”

He gasps, feigning offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Oh. So my performance isn’t important?”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out.

Han seductively winks at you and confidently says, “I know you like it.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “Alright, seriously, though. How was the product? Any complaints?”

He hums, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “No complaints. It’s comfortable, does the job, doesn’t slip. And…” He shoots you a mischievous look. “It didn’t ruin the mood, so I’d say that’s a win.”

You nod, mentally noting his feedback. “That’s good to hear.”

Han grins. “And in case you were wondering, you did great too.”

You groan again, but you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Just eat your dumpling, Han.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction, before taking another bite, looking far too pleased with himself. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before casually adding, “If I had to say one thing, I kinda wish it was thinner.”

You pause mid-bite, looking at him. “Thinner?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s comfortable and all, but if it were just a little thinner, I feel like I could… you know, feel you more.” He smirks, his gaze flickering over you with something undeniably teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, but your brain is already running with the idea. “A thinner material…” you murmur, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl.

Han watches you, curiosity piqued. “You’re really thinking about this now?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, sitting up straighter. “If we can make the material thinner while maintaining durability and elasticity, it could enhance sensitivity and comfort. It might actually improve the overall experience for users.”

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re literally fresh off a test run, and you’re already planning upgrades?”

You shrug. “That’s how innovation works.”

After dinner and two glasses of wine, you return to the bedroom. As you slip into your clothes, Han leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk.

“You know,” he muses, “there are still two packs left. Might as well be thorough with the testing.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust your sweater. “It’s getting late, Han.”

“So stay,” he tries again, stepping closer. “Leave in the morning. I make a killer breakfast.”

You laugh while smoothing down your skirt. “I'm sorry but I have to tell you that this is the end of the product test and we won’t see each other again.”

Han tilts his head, unconvinced. “I highly doubt that.”

You roll your eyes, but a chuckle escapes you. “You’re cute.” Then, without thinking too much about it, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums into it, chasing after you when you pull away.

With a lazy grin, he says, “Well, if you ever need a booty call—”

“Now, I highly doubt that,” you cut him off with a playful tease, grabbing your bag.

Han watches as you make your way to the door, still smiling. “Love finds a way, you know,” he calls out after you.

Shaking your head, you turn back for a final glance. “Goodbye, Han.”

He lifts a hand in farewell, and with that, you step out, leaving behind both the product test and the man who helped make it a very memorable one.

-

It's another day at work, another day of burying yourself in your notes, scribbling down ideas for product improvements when Jane bursts into the lab with a dramatic sigh.

“You know,” she starts, plopping down on the nearest chair, “I’m starting to think you love work more than me.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “Are you jealous of my research?”

“No,” she deadpans. “What I'm saying is you’ve been so busy lately, I barely see you anymore. I mean, I get it—scientific breakthroughs, saving the world one condom at a time, blah blah—but can you at least pretend to have a social life?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair. “I do have a social life. We literally went to your product launch.”

Jane waves you off. “That doesn’t count. That was work disguised as a party.” Then, narrowing her eyes at you, she leans forward. “Speaking of which… you never told me what happened after. You left with Chris that night, didn’t you?”

You freeze for half a second before playing it cool. “I went home.”

Jane’s eyes glint with mischief. “Alone?”

You clear your throat, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by your notes. “Why are you here again?”

She groans, throwing her head back. “Ugh, fine, I’ll let it go—for now. But seriously, let’s go out soon. You owe me drinks for neglecting me.”

You smirk. “Fine, but you’re buying the first round.”

Jane grins. “Deal.”

Later that night, you and Jane are seated at a bar, the warm buzz of alcohol settling in as you sip on your drinks. The music is lively but not overbearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel like you can actually unwind.

Jane stirs the straw in her cocktail before shooting you a look. “Alright, so tell me—what did Chris want when he called you to his office?”

You sigh, leaning back against the barstool. “He locked the door the moment I walked in.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Ooh, now that’s how you start a story.”

You roll your eyes but continue, “Then he told me he went against the board because he believes I can do more. That I shouldn’t settle when I can create something even better.”

Jane hums, taking a sip of her drink. “And how did that make you feel?”

You hesitate, swirling the liquid in your glass. “Angry. Frustrated. Conflicted.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I mean, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I worked hard on this. He basically told me it wasn’t good enough.”

Jane tilts her head, considering your words. “But was he wrong?”

You blink at her, taken aback. And then, Jane shrugs. “Look, I know you. You hate doing things halfway. If Chris is saying you can do more, maybe it’s because he knows you actually want to.”

You purse your lips, not quite ready to admit that she might have a point. Instead, you take a long sip of your drink.

Jane smirks knowingly. “So… what else happened in that office?”

You give her a dry look. “I left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jane whistles, shaking her head. “Damn. If a man locked me in his office, I would’ve at least—”

“Jane.”

She cackles, raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! But seriously, what are you going to do now?”

You let out a breath, staring at the ice in your glass. “I don’t know yet.”

Jane squints at you over the rim of her glass, then smirks. "By the way, you skipped work the other day."

You glance at her warily. "And?"

"And I want to know what you were up to," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "Come on, spill."

You hesitate for a moment, but Jane is relentless, leaning in with eager curiosity. With a sigh, you finally admit, “I went out with Han.”

Her eyes widen in delight. "Ohhh, this is interesting. You and Han, huh? What did you two do?"

"Nothing crazy," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "We had brunch, did some shopping, and then—"

Jane cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. "And then?! Oh my god, don't tell me you slept with him."

You press your lips together, trying to suppress a smirk.

"You did!" she nearly shrieks, slamming her hand on the bar. "Holy shit, I knew there was something different about you! You got that after sex glow!"

You shake your head, chuckling at her reaction. "It was just… for the product test."

Jane snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "The product test? That has to be the best excuse I’ve ever heard."

"It's the truth," you say, half-laughing. "He was one of the participants, so technically, it was all part of research."

She gives you a deadpan look. "Yeah, sure. Research." Then her smirk returns. "So… how was it?"

You sigh dramatically. "Well, let’s just say… Han is very entertaining."

Jane bursts into laughter. "Oh, I bet he is." She nudges your arm. "And let me guess, he was totally cocky about it, too, wasn’t he?"

You roll your eyes and then crack a smile. "You have no idea."

She grins, taking another sip of her drink. "Damn, I really should’ve joined your project. It sounds way more fun than mine."

The two of you continue sipping your drinks and with more people crowding the bar, it is now buzzing with chatter and laughter. Then, out of nowhere, Jane sets her glass down with a determined look. "You know what?" she says, pointing at you. "You should prove Chris wrong."

You look at her, befuddled. "What?"

"You heard me." She leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. "You should prove to him that you can do more. That you can exceed his expectations."

You scoff lightly, swirling your drink. "Why should I care what he thinks?"

Jane raises a brow. "Oh, come on. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t still be sulking about it."

You open your mouth to argue but shut it again because—well, she’s not wrong.

Jane smirks, seeing your hesitation. "I mean, think about it. What better way to get back at him than to succeed? To improve the product so much that he has no choice but to approve it?"

You exhale, considering her words. Then, your mind flashes back to Han’s comment during dinner—the one about wishing the condom was thinner so he could feel more. And suddenly, an idea clicks.

You straighten up. "That’s it," you say under your breath.

Jane tilts her head. "What’s it?"

You look at her, a slow grin forming. "I know what to do."

Jane claps her hands together. "Now that’s the attitude I like to see! Let’s drink to that."

You clink your glass against hers, a renewed sense of purpose bubbling inside you. Chris may have doubted you, but that only means one thing—you're going to prove him so wrong.

-

In your lab, you throw yourself into research, pouring over formulas, materials, and test results. Your determination fuels you, and over the next several days, you barely notice time passing as you and your team work tirelessly on improving the product.

And finally, after what feels like endless trial and error, the first batch of prototypes arrives. You stand in the lab, staring at the neatly stacked boxes on the counter. A rush of excitement and nervous energy courses through you. This is it—your hard work materialized into something tangible.

Jane walks in just as you’re inspecting one of the boxes. "Ooooh," she hums, coming up beside you. "Are those the babies?"

You smirk. "Fresh out of production."

She picks up a box, turning it in her hands. "Extra large and extra thin, huh? Impressive."

You chuckle, but you’re already thinking about the next step. The real test. "Now, I just need to find people to try them out."

Jane wiggles her brows at you. "I have a feeling you already have someone in mind."

Your smirk falters slightly. There’s one obvious choice, but after everything… should you?

There's the right way to do it. You could present the data, write up a full report, and talk to Chris about the improvements—but you don’t just want to talk about it. You want to show him. Prove it to him. Directly.

Without hesitation, you make your way to his office, determination set in your stride. You knock on the door and wait until your hear his permission to let yourself in.

When you step inside, Chris is flipping through some documents at his desk. He barely acknowledges you at first, but when he glances up and sees the look on your face, his brows lift slightly in curiosity.

“To what do I owe this surprise visit?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the desk.

You don’t waste time. “Do you still want to participate in the product tests?”

Chris’s lips twitch into a smirk, intrigue flashing in his eyes. “And why are you asking?”

You hold his gaze, unwavering. “Please just answer. Yes or no.”

That only seems to amuse him more. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening as he stalls on answering. After a moment, he finally says, “Yes.”

You nod, satisfied. You pull out a card of a hotel and place it on his desk. “Meet me at this hotel. Saturday night.”

His brows lift at that, his eyes flicking over you as if trying to decipher your intentions. But before he can ask any questions, you turn on your heel and head for the door.

“See you soon, Mr. Bang,” you say, flashing him a polite, almost teasing smile before walking out.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you don’t look back—but you can practically feel his gaze following you, filled with intrigue and it only motivates you more.

-

On Friday afternoon, you find yourself standing outside Jane’s lab, hesitating for only a moment before pushing the door open. Jane is hunched over her workbench, her brows furrowed in concentration as she adjusts something under a microscope.

When she hears you step inside, she glances up, blinking in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t our overworked researcher gracing me with her presence.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “What brings you here? Need my genius expertise on something?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little ridiculous but pushing through anyway. “I need your help with something… off the record.”

Her interest piques immediately. “Ooh, now you’ve got my attention. What kind of help?”

You shift on your feet, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Shopping.”

Jane stares at you for a second before she bursts into laughter. “You, asking me for shopping help? This must be serious.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Oh, I’m definitely helping. But I need details.” She narrows her eyes mischievously. “Is this for a date? A hot, steamy date?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s for… research purposes.”

Jane snorts. “Right. ‘Research.’” She grabs her coat from the back of her chair. “Come on, let’s get you something that’ll make your ‘research’ partner lose his mind.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your lips as you follow her out.

In a brightly lit makeup store, you sit on a stool in front of a mirror while Jane enthusiastically swatches different lip colors on the back of her hand. She holds up two tubes, squinting at your face.

"Okay, bold red or soft nude?" she asks, tilting her head in deep contemplation.

You raise an eyebrow. "What exactly are we going for here?"

Jane grins. "Something that screams ‘I’m sexy, but I didn’t even try.’ You know, the effortless but deadly kind of look."

You huff out a laugh as she dabs a soft, peachy shade on your lips, then steps back to admire her work.

“So,” she starts casually, leaning against the counter. “This research… It’s with Han, isn’t it?”

You pause, eyes flickering to her through the mirror. Instead of answering directly, you smirk and say, “Does it matter?”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So it is him.”

You chuckle and reach for the lipstick tube, deciding to apply it yourself. “I never said that.”

“But you also didn’t deny it.” Jane wiggles her brows, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I knew it. You totally went back for round two, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, amused. “You have a very active imagination.”

Jane watches you for a moment, then narrows her eyes. “Wait. Wait.” She suddenly grabs your arm, making you almost smudge your lipstick. “If it’s not Han… then who—”

You quickly shove a lip brush into her hand. “Focus, Jane. I need to look good.”

Jane watches you with a knowing smirk as you finish applying the lipstick, pressing your lips together to even out the color. She folds her arms, still leaning against the counter, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

“Well, whoever it is,” she says teasingly, “I hope your research goes well.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile playing on your lips.

Jane winks. “Good luck, professor. Make sure to take very detailed notes.”

You shake your head, laughing as you grab your bag. “I’ll see you on Monday, Jane.”

As you walk away, you hear her call out, “And I expect a full report on my desk by then!”

-

The low hum of jazz music fills the hotel bar, blending with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You sit at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, slowly swirling the drink in your hand as you wait. The deep red of your lipstick matches the rich hue of the cocktail, and you take a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest.

You glance at the entrance, scanning the room for any sign of Chris. He’s late—not by much, but enough to make you feel the anticipation build. You check your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, ensuring everything is still perfect. The makeup, the dress, the air of confidence you carefully wrapped around yourself like armor.

And then, as if sensing your impatience, he finally arrives.

Chris steps into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering across his face before he starts toward you. Even in the dim lighting, he looks effortlessly good, dressed in all black, his shirt fitted just enough to hint at the body underneath. You lift your glass to your lips again, watching him over the rim as he approaches. This time, you’re the one making him wait.

Chris finally reaches you, his presence demanding attention even in the dimly lit bar. He doesn’t sit right away; instead, he stands beside you, his hand resting lightly against the back of your chair as he takes in your appearance. His gaze lingers, sweeping from your legs crossed at the knee to the curve of your lips as you sip your drink.

"You clean up nice," he murmurs, amusement laced in his tone.

You seductively smile, setting your glass down. "I could say the same about you."

Chris finally takes the seat next to you, signaling the bartender for a drink. "So, are we going to pretend this is just another product test, or are you actually going to tell me why you invited me here?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "Can’t I just want to have a drink with my product manager slash test subject?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "You don’t do things without a reason." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "So, what’s the real reason?"

You hold his gaze, letting the tension settle between you before answering. "I told you I wanted to show you something," you say, tapping your fingers lightly against your glass. "But instead of talking about it, I figured I’d demonstrate."

Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You mean—"

You nod, finishing the rest of your drink before sliding off your chair. "Room’s already booked," you say casually, picking up your clutch. "If you’re still interested in participating... that is."

He doesn't say anything but takes the seat next to you, gesturing the bartender that he wants the same drink with yours. He is relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his fingers occasionally tapping against the glass in his other hand.

At one point, he swirls his drink, watching the amber liquid before glancing at you with a smirk. "I have to admit," he says, "I’m a little surprised you asked me to test the product instead of… the other guy."

You pause mid-sip, lowering your glass. "The other guy?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I saw you with him the other day," he says, his tone light, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

You blink, caught off guard. For a moment, you consider playing coy, but instead, you shrug. "And?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No judgment. Just an observation." He leans in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "I just figured if you were looking for a test subject, you already had one."

You let out a soft laugh, setting your glass down. "What, jealous?"

Chris raises an eyebrow, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Should I be?"

You meet his gaze, the challenge lingering between you. "That depends," you murmur, tilting your head. "Are you planning to fail this test?"

Chris huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not a chance." He lifts his drink in a mock toast. "To scientific integrity, then."

You clink your glass against his, your smirk matching his. "To exceeding expectations."

-

As you and Chris step into the elevator, more and more people pile in behind you, filling the small space. The warmth of bodies and the low murmur of conversation surround you, but all you can focus on is Chris.

Without a word, he tugs you closer to his side, his hand resting on your lower back, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel his presence. You tilt your head slightly to glance at him, but he's already watching you, his dark eyes filled with wild glints.

Then, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "You look incredible tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I walked into that bar."

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse, heat creeping up your neck. You don't dare turn your head, knowing just how close your lips would be if you did. Instead, you let out a small exhale, keeping your gaze forward. "Good," you whisper back, just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the elevator. "I dressed up for the occasion."

Chris chuckles under his breath, his fingers pressing just a fraction harder against your back. "Then I better make this worth your while."

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and as the doors slide open, Chris guides you out with a firm hand on your waist. The air between you feels heavier now, thick with anticipation. Neither of you say a word as you walk down the hall—but you both know exactly where this night is headed.

Arrived at hotel room 0810, you slide the keycard into the door, and with a soft beep, it unlocks. Pushing it open, you step inside first, Chris following close behind. The moment the door clicks shut, sealing you both in, he speaks.

"You don’t look nervous," he observes, his voice casual yet laced with something deeper, something almost teasing.

You turn to him, raising a brow. "Should I be?"

His lips curling into a small, knowing smile. He doesn't answer—just watches you, his gaze dragging over your face, down to the way your dress hugs your body. The silence between you stretches, thickening, until the tension becomes almost unbearable.

You break it first. "So," you say, crossing your arms, "should we get started? Or do you need some... encouragement?"

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer. "Oh, I think I’ll be just fine," he murmurs, his eyes flickering with amusement and something darker.

The energy shifts. The air feels warmer, heavier. You hold your ground as he closes the distance, your pulse picking up as you realize—this is really happening. He closes the space between you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against him. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, reveling in the closeness, in the way your breath hitches, in the way your body naturally molds against his. His fingers flex at your waist, as if memorizing the shape of you all over again.

A quiet sigh escapes him. "I missed this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission is something fragile, something real.

And then, finally, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s waited too long for this to rush it. The kiss deepens gradually, his lips moving against yours with a slow, intoxicating rhythm, his hands tightening their hold on you as if grounding himself to the moment.

You place your hands flat on his chest and steering his body toward the bed, he barely has time to react when you suddenly push him, catching him off guard as he stumbles back onto the bed. His hands press into the mattress, propping himself up as he looks up at you with a mix of surprise and intrigue. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, his smirk playful yet laced with anticipation.

You stand there, letting the moment linger, letting his gaze rake over you. The weight of his stare sends a shiver down your spine, the way he looks at you—like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

Tilting your head to the side, you exhale a slow, teasing breath. “You know what? I’ll give you some encouragement anyway.”

Then, you reach for the zipper of your dress, sliding it down. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders, gliding down your body until it pools around your ankle. You step out of it, standing in nothing but your silky lingerie, the dim hotel lighting casting shadows over your skin.

Chris lets out a quiet curse under his breath, his smirk faltering just a little as his Adam’s apple bobs. He shifts slightly on the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets as he watches you with darkened eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That’ll do.”

You crawl onto the bed with deliberate slowness, letting the tension thicken between you. Chris stays where he is, watching your every movement with hooded eyes, his fingers crumpling the sheets as if holding himself back. The moment you hover over him, barely touching, you feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath deep and steady, though you know he’s anything but calm.

Then, you lower yourself onto him, your body molding against his. A low hum vibrates in his throat when you shift, you intentionally rub your clothed core against the growing hardness beneath his slacks. His hands instinctively find your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the silky fabric of your lingerie.

Your lips find his again, slow at first—like savoring a taste you’ve missed. But as he deepens the kiss, his grip tightens, his body responding just as eagerly. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the steady friction sending sparks down your spine.

Chris pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “If this is your idea of encouragement, I might need a little more.”

In one swift motion, he suddenly flips you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he settles between your legs. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you dazed for a second, but then his lips are back on yours, hungry and unrelenting.

His body presses firmly against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable as he moves, rolling his hips into yours in a slow, steady rhythm. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction sends a jolt through your core, and you can’t stop the soft sound that escapes your lips. Chris groans in response, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, swallowing every sound you make.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your lips before trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His movements never slow, each grind making you more desperate for something more, something deeper.

His hands roam down your sides, exploring, memorizing, teasing. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “is this enough encouragement for you, or should I keep going?”

You break the kiss to answer him. “More.”

Chris grins and then he pulls away just enough to kneel between your legs, his hands going to the hem of his shirt before tugging it off in one smooth motion. The bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the sculpted lines of his chest, his toned muscles shifting as he moves. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks down at you, his gaze dark and intense, waiting.

Then, he takes your hands, guiding them to his chest, letting you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything—he simply lets you explore, his breath hitching when your fingers trail lower, tracing the ridges of his abs.

His lips curl into a smirk, but he doesn’t give you time to tease him about it. Instead, his hands move to the front of his slacks, undoing them with ease before pushing them down just enough to free his stiffening cock. The sight alone sends a wave of heat through you, but before you can react, he reaches for one of your hands, wrapping your fingers around him.

His sharp inhale is barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. “Now,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick, “do you think I’m encouraged enough, or do you need to convince me a little more?”

Instead of answering, your fingers tighten around his throbbing length as you begin slow, deliberate strokes, watching the way his jaw clenches at the sensation. Chris stays still at first, letting you set the pace, but his breathing grows heavier with each pass of your hand. His eyelids flutter briefly before he focuses on you again, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out—just a sharp exhale.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Let me encourage you a little more,” you murmur, your thumb teasing the tip, spreading the pre-cum.

His hands fist into the sheets beside your hips, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to move. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath when you stroke him just a little faster.

You watch him unravel beneath your touch, the way his brows knit together, the way his hips twitch slightly as he nears his breaking point. Then, just as you feel him getting close, you suddenly stop, pulling your hand away with a smirk.

Chris snaps his eyes open, a mixture of frustration and amusement flashing across his face. He exhales a shaky laugh, licking his lips as he looks at you. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

He leans down to give you a hard, deep kiss, almost punishing. He groans against your lips as you use all of your strength to roll to the side, shifting your weight and pinning him beneath you. His hands instinctively find your waist, gripping you, but he doesn’t resist—if anything, he looks amused, his eyes flickering with intrigue.

“You're such a tease, you know what?” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk as he watches you.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his in a teasing kiss before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I need to get the condom first,” you say, voice low but firm.

Chris exhales through his nose, his smirk deepening as his hands skim up your sides. “Responsible and a tease,” he muses. “You’re really making me work for this, huh?”

You give him a knowing smile before slipping off him, making your way across the room to retrieve what you need. Behind you, Chris watches your every move, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You end up taking your bag with you as you return to the bed, putting it down on the bedside table before taking a condom and holding it between your fingers. You pause for a moment at the sight before you—Chris, sitting up naked, waiting for you. His toned body is bathed in the dim hotel lighting, his muscles subtly flexing as he leans back on his hands, watching you approach. His eyes are dark with anticipation, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out to take the condom from you.

But before he can, you pull your hand back slightly. “Let me put it on for you,” you say, your voice smooth, teasing.

Chris raises a brow, his smirk deepening. “Yeah?” he muses, clearly enjoying the idea. “By all means, then.”

You kneel in front of him on the bed, taking your time as you tear the package open, your fingers working deliberately slow just to watch the way his jaw tenses in restraint. You slide the condom out, meeting his gaze as you hold it between your fingers. His breath hitches slightly as you carefully roll it down his length, your touch light, teasing.

Chris watches you the whole time, his eyes flickering between your face and your hands. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “and I might not last long enough to test this properly.”

You smirk, giving him a final slow stroke over the latex before meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then I guess we better get started.”

He pulls you close, his lips crashing into yours with a slow but deep intensity. His hands wander, deft fingers working open your bra and pushing the straps off your shoulders before trailing down to slide your underwear down your hips. He takes his time, enjoying the way your skin feels under his fingertips as he undresses you completely, leaving you bare beneath him.

He kisses you again, softer this time, before shifting lower. His mouth leaves a warm trail down your neck, across your collarbone, and on each of your soft mounds, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin. When he reaches your abdomen, he lingers, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your stomach, his warm breath sending a shiver through you.

Your anticipation builds as he inches lower, his lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, teasing, making you wait. You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to his touch before he even fully gives in. And then, finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss where you need him most, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

Then, slowly, he slides his fingers up your thigh, trailing closer until he finally touches you. His fingertips press on your clit, exploring, testing, before slipping between your folds, his touch both delicate and deliberate.

He watches you closely, his eyes locked onto your face, studying every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His fingers move with slow precision, pumping in and out of you, pressing and curling just right, gauging your reactions, adjusting to what makes you shudder and sigh. His gaze darkens with satisfaction as he watches you come undone beneath him, utterly absorbed in the way you respond to his touch.

When he deems that you’re drenched enough for what’s next, he slowly withdraws his fingers, his touch lingering just enough to make you whimper at the loss. Holding your gaze, he brings his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest as he licks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with something almost possessive.

Then, without a word, he shifts, settling himself between your parted legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them further as he positions himself, his body warm and solid above you. He takes a slow, measured breath, his fingers gripping your hips, grounding both of you in the moment before he finally moves.

As Chris slowly pushes his cock inside you, he’s careful, his brows furrowed in focus. His hands tighten on your hips, his breath uneven as he inches deeper. But then—he suddenly freezes. His body goes rigid, his fingers twitching against your skin.

A moment passes before he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in what almost looks like disbelief. “Did you…” He swallows, his voice rough. “Did you make the condom thinner?”

You nod, watching the way his throat bobs as he exhales shakily. His gaze flickers downward to where your bodies are joined, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan. “Shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “I can feel you—like, really feel you.” His fingers dig into your hips as he lets out another quiet, almost tortured sound. “You feel too good—I need a second.”

A lazy smile tugs at your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, letting the strands slip between your fingertips. “Take all the time you need,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly against your skin. His breath is hot, his lips brushing against your pulse, and for a moment, he just stays there, like he’s trying to regain control.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes dark and hazy as they search yours. Then, without a word, he leans down and captures your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His grip on your hips tightens as he begins to move, his first thrust slow, almost experimental, as if he’s still trying to wrap his head around the sensation.

A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls back slightly before pressing in again, his brows furrowing. His gaze flickers downward, to his cock slipping into you, and then back up at you. “Are you sure you put it on?” he asks, his voice rough with disbelief.

You chuckle breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “Positive.”

He groans, shaking his head, his pace gradually increasing. “Fuck, it’s so thin—Oh, I swear it feels like I’m not even wearing one.” His forehead presses against yours for a second, his breath hot against your lips. “I can feel you—every inch of you.” His words are almost a whisper, as if he’s too lost in the sensation to speak any louder.

His hands roam your body as he thrusts into you, his lips brushing over your skin, leaving soft, fleeting kisses. “You feel too good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “Too perfect for me.” His fingers dig into your waist, his movements growing more desperate, more intoxicated by the way your body molds against his. He groans your name, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw before capturing your mouth once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he completely loses himself in you.

The next thing you know, his thrusts become rougher, more desperate, his restraint slipping with every second that passes. His breath is hot against your skin, his body pressed so firmly against yours that there’s no space left between you. His fingers dig into your flesh, his pace relentless, driven purely by the overwhelming sensation of you wrapped around him.

Then, as if catching himself, he slows down just enough to look at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Am I being too rough?” he asks, his voice husky, laced with concern despite the pleasure clouding his eyes.

Your lips part, but instead of answering immediately, you reach up, fingers threading through his damp hair as you tug him down for a kiss. “It’s nothing I can't handle,” you whisper against his lips, and a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, as if sealing your words into him.

“Too good,” he groans, rolling his hips into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel too damn good—I don’t wanna stop.” His voice is rough, almost desperate, and the way he’s holding you, touching you, fucking you with such intensity—it’s like he’s completely lost in you.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your heated skin. His rhythm never falters, the weight of his body grounding you beneath him, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And in that moment, it feels like nothing else exists except for the way he’s moving inside you.

A deep, shuddering groan falls out of Chris’s parted mouth as his release finally takes over him, his body trembling slightly as he collapses onto you. His weight is warm, solid, his breath still ragged against your skin as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he takes a moment to gather himself, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Neither of you speak for a moment, the only sound in the room is your steady breathing intertwined. You feel him place a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone before he finally shifts, propping himself up just enough to pull away.

Immediately, he reaches down and removes the condom, tying it off with practiced ease before holding it up. Your gaze follows, and you can clearly see his release pooling inside. But what really catches your attention is when your eyes drop back down to him—because, despite everything, he’s still fully hard.

Your brows furrow as you look back up at him. “How…?” you murmur, clearly confused.

Chris follows your gaze, then looks down at himself before letting out a soft chuckle. “Guess I’m not done yet,” he says, flashing you that familiar cocky smirk, though there’s an edge of surprise in his own expression too.

You blink, still processing, before meeting his eyes again. “Is this normal for you?” you ask, suspicious.

He hums, tilting his head as if thinking about it. “Not usually this quick,” he admits, “but maybe…” He leans in, his lips brushing teasingly against yours. “Maybe it’s just you.”

You try not to let his words get to you, you look away as if looking at him will diminish the effect he has on you.

He twirls the tied-off condom between his fingers before casually tossing it into the trash. Then, he looks at you, eyes dark with something mischievous. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush yours, “we should probably run another test.”

A sly smile curls on your lips as you slowly push yourself up, pressing your palms against his chest to guide him back down onto the mattress. His eyes glimmer with intrigue as he lets you take control.

“Sure,” you simply answer, straddling him, the heat between your bodies reigniting. “But only if I get to be on top this time.”

Chris barely hesitates, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with anticipation.

You reach over to the nightstand, grabbing another condom from your bag. Holding it up between your fingers, you tilt your head and smirk.

“This isn’t just an extra-large condom,” you tease, tearing the wrapper open. “It’s extra thin, too.”

Chris watches you, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. His hands rest on your thighs as you take your time rolling the condom down his length, your fingers brushing against him in a way that makes him impatient. Maintaining eye contact, you give him a few slow, teasing strokes, enjoying the way his jaw tenses, the way his hands tighten against your skin.

He exhales sharply when you shift, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders before you begin to lower yourself onto him. His grip on your hips tightens as you take him in little by little, the stretch making you shiver.

When he sinks too deep, you gasp softly and pause, catching your breath. Chris immediately holds you closer, one arm wrapping around your back, the other caressing your side. He presses his forehead against yours, his lips grazing against yours in a reassuring kiss. “Take your time,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting yourself adjust, your bodies staying connected, lips brushing, breaths mingling. The moment lingers, heavy with warmth and intimacy, before either of you dares to move again.

A moment later, you begin moving, rolling your hips against him, taking in every sensation as you feel his size inside you. His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements, but you set the pace—slow and deliberate at first, savoring the way he feels inside you.

Chris groans, his fingers pressing into your skin, his head tilting back against the pillow. "You feel too fucking good," he breathes, voice thick with pleasure.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him, your lips brushing his as you pick up the rhythm. Every drag of his cock inside you sends shivers through your body, making you crave more, need more. You let yourself get lost in it, chasing the pleasure without restraint.

Chris grips your hips harder, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. "You're—" he groans, cutting himself off, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back.

But you don’t slow down. If anything, you move faster, lost in the waves of your own pleasure. You tilt your head back, your hands splaying across his chest as you ride him, feeling your release creeping up on you.

Chris curses under his breath, his muscles tensing beneath you. "You're gonna—ah—make me lose it," he warns, his voice tight. His hands slide up your back, trying to ground himself, trying to keep control.

But you don’t stop. You chase your high, focusing on the fire pooling low in your stomach, on the pleasure building with every movement. You know he’s struggling, you know he’s holding on for you, but right now, you’re selfish. You need this. And Chris—he lets you take what you need.

-

The sun is shining brightly outside and it's only a little after eight. You sit by the small table near the window, dressed in the hotel’s robe, sipping on your coffee as you scroll through your phone. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of last night.

A sleepy groan comes from the bed, followed by the rustling of sheets. Chris shifts, his hair a mess of curls, his bare chest exposed as he blinks against the morning light. His gaze lands on you, and a slow, lazy smile tugs at his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep.

You glance up from your phone as you take another sip of coffee. “Morning.”

Chris rubs the sleeps off his eyes before sitting up, squinting at the trays of food on the table. “You ordered breakfast?”

You glance at him and nod toward the food. “Figured you’d need it.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms over his head, muscles flexing as he lets out a satisfied sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, walking toward you with an easy confidence. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You raise a brow, smirking behind your coffee cup. “Thought I’d let you sleep in after all the work you put in.”

Chris huffs a laugh, settling into the chair across from you. His fingers lazily reach for a slice of toast, tearing off a piece as he studies you. “So… do I get a performance review?”

You don't answer but hands him his glass of orange juice. “Better eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you both settle into breakfast, the comfortable clinking of utensils and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air, you decide to bring up the real reason you invited him here in the first place.

“So,” you begin, reaching for a piece of fruit, “about last night—”

Chris immediately smirks, his head tilting slightly as he chews on a bite of his croissant. “Oh? You wanna talk about my performance?”

You roll your eyes but quickly cut in before he gets the wrong idea. “The condom performance, Chris.”

He chuckles, setting down his coffee cup. “Right. The condom.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thinks. “Well, I have to admit, it really is thinner than the previous version. Almost felt like I wasn’t wearing anything at all.”

You nod, pleased with his feedback. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. And no issues with fit or durability?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nope. Fit was perfect, no slipping, no breaking, and,” he pauses to shoot you a playful grin, “clearly, it held up well despite extensive testing.”

You fight the amused smile threatening to show. “Good to know.”

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and adds with a teasing lilt, “Since we’re giving reviews, though, I think I should also mention your performance.”

You hold your hand up, stopping him. “No one wants to hear it.”

“Oh, I insist.” His grin widens as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Exceptional technique, great stamina, responsiveness was off the charts—”

You throw a piece of toast at him, which he dodges with a laugh. “Please, stop.”

He only smirks, taking another sip of coffee. “Just giving honest feedback. Five stars. Highly recommend.”

You shake your head, but you’re unable to hide your small smile as you sip your own coffee.

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching you with a look that’s softer than before. “You know,” he starts, swirling his coffee, “I was right about you.”

You raise a brow, setting your cup down. “Oh? And what exactly were you right about?”

He smirks but there’s something proud in his gaze as he says, “That you can do more.” He nods toward you, his expression sincere. “You didn’t just meet expectations—you exceeded them.”

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, but you play it cool, leaning back in your chair. “I had to prove a point,” you say, taking another sip of coffee.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “That you did. But let’s be honest, you didn’t just do this to prove me wrong.”

You glance at him over your cup, giving him a cryptic smile. “Maybe...”

He rubs his chin and looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “Maybe...” he repeats the word with a sly grin blooming on his face.

The weight of his words lingers between you, and for the first time in a while, you feel something settle inside you—a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that you really did do more.

-

Monday morning arrives, and you’re back in the lab, already deep into reviewing your notes when Jane bursts in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She doesn’t even bother with a greeting—just leans against your desk with her arms crossed, looking at you expectantly.

“So,” she begins, dragging out the word. “How did the ‘research’ go?”

You don’t even look up, keeping your focus on your notes. “Good morning to you too, Jane.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, don’t even try to deflect. You disappeared all weekend, and now you’re back looking suspiciously… accomplished.”

You finally glance up, giving her a flat look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So secretive! Which means it must’ve been very successful.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “So? Was it Han or Chris?”

You almost choke on nothing. “What?”

Jane grins like a cat who caught a mouse. “You heard me. Did you finish what you started with Han, or was it…?” She trails off, eyes widening when she sees the slight twitch in your expression.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. You refuse to let anything slips out of your mouth but Jane is too smart to not catch it first.

“Oh. My. God.” She claps her hands together. “It was Chris, wasn’t it?”

You blink your eyes one too many times. “I didn’t say that.”

She practically vibrates with excitement. “Okay, tell me everything—was it hot? Was it awkward? Did the prototype work?”

You exhale in defeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You realize I’m not going to give you every detail, right?”

Jane groans, flopping into the chair across from you. “Fine, fine. Just… was it worth it?”

A slow smirk plays on your lips as you close your notes. “Let’s just say… the research was successful.”

Jane gasps, pointing at you. “I knew it!” She then leans forward, resting her elbows on your desk, her eyes practically sparkling. "You know, I kind of guessed something was going on between you and Chris," she says, tilting her head. "And now, I'm right."

"I'm not talking about this at work," you state firmly, turning back to your notes.

Jane groans dramatically. "Ugh! Just a little teaser? A tiny detail?" She wiggles her fingers as if trying to pry the information out of you telepathically.

Before she can push further, the door to your lab opens, and Chris steps inside. You immediately straighten in your seat as he walks in, looking calm and composed, though you catch the subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

"Morning," he greets, his eyes flicking between you and Jane.

Jane wastes no time to greet him back with such enthusiasm. "Good morning, Chris! I was just here to ask someone about her weekend," she says, shooting you a pointed look.

You see Chris suppress a smile as he casually strolls over to your desk. "Is that so?" he muses, his tone neutral but knowing.

Jane raises a brow at both of you before smirking. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "No need. I'm just here to inform that," he says, then turns to you. "I spoke with the board, and they’ve agreed to a meeting with you this Thursday. Be ready for it."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Wait, really?"

Chris nods. "They’re interested in hearing more about your product improvements. Make sure you’re prepared."

You nod, already running through what you need to put together for the meeting. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

Jane watches the exchange with narrowed eyes before breaking into a knowing grin. "Hmm. Very professional, you two," she teases.

Chris smirks but says nothing, and you shoot Jane a warning look before she can say anything else. He gives you a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Good luck," he says simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

You meet his gaze, feeling an odd sense of reassurance from his words. "Thank you. I'll be ready."

He lingers for a moment as if he wants to say more, but aware of Jane’s presence so instead, he just gives you a final look before turning and leaving the lab.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you feel Jane’s eyes burning into you. "You two are so obvious," she finally blurts out, leaning in closer with a knowing grin.

You sigh, gently massaging your temple. "Jane—"

"Fine, fine! I’ll focus on you for now," she says dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Because you, my dear, have an important task ahead of you."

You nod, already feeling the weight of responsibility settle in. "Yeah, I have a lot to prepare before Thursday."

Jane claps her hands together. "And you will succeed this time!" she declares.

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, shaking your head. "You sound more confident than I do."

"Because I am!" she says proudly. "This is your chance to prove yourself, and I know you’re gonna nail it. You’re brilliant, and your work is solid. The board would be stupid not to see that."

Her encouragement makes you smile, and for the first time since Chris mentioned the meeting, you feel a spark of excitement instead of just pressure.

"Thanks, Jane," you say sincerely.

"Anytime," she replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Now, let’s get to work. You’ve got a company to impress!"

-

Your heart is still racing as you step out of the meeting room, the adrenaline from the meeting pumping through your veins. You exhale sharply, your hands gripping the folder of notes as you replay the last hour in your mind. The back-and-forth discussion, the sharp questions, the skeptical glances—followed by that unmistakable shift in the room when they started to really listen. Your proposal had landed.

The nerves haven’t quite settled yet, but there’s something else bubbling beneath the surface—excitement. Relief. Pride.

As you make your way back to the lab, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. You did it. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the final decision.

The moment you step into the lab, Jane is already there, perched on your workstation with an eager glint in her eyes. "Well?" she asks, barely giving you time to set your things down. "How did it go? Did they love you? Are we celebrating? Should I start ordering drinks now?"

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. The meeting had been intense—filled with tough questions, skeptical expressions, but also moments where you knew you had them intrigued.

You glance at Jane, who is practically vibrating with anticipation. Instead of answering right away, you take your time removing your blazer and adjusting your sleeves.

"Let me guess," Jane continues, dramatically drumming her fingers on the desk. "They were blown away by your brilliance. Chris was all proud, standing there like ‘See? I told you she’s a genius.’ And now they’re going to mass-produce your condom and name it after you."

You snort, finally sitting down. "Okay, first of all, no to that last part. Second—" You pause for effect. "—they liked it."

Jane lets out a victorious squeal. "I knew it! Oh my God!" She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. "I told you, didn’t I? I told you this was your moment!"

You laugh, the weight on your shoulders finally easing a little. "It’s not finalized yet, but they’re considering it for the next phase."

"Which means it’s basically a yes," she says, grinning. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you."

Something about her enthusiasm makes you realize just how big this is. You really did it. All the work, the long nights, the stress—it’s paying off.

Jane suddenly gasps, pointing a finger at you. "Wait, does this mean you’ll finally let yourself have fun now?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Define fun."

She smirks. "Drinks. Tonight. No excuses."

You shake your head with a smile, but before you can answer, your phone buzzes on the desk. You glance at the screen and see a text from Chris.

Please meet me in my office when you’re free.

Your heart does a weird little flip. Jane notices immediately. "Who’s that?"

You grab your phone, locking the screen. "Work."

Jane narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh. Work. Sure."

You stand up, smoothing down your outfit. "I’ll see you later."

As you leave the lab, you can still hear Jane behind you. "Don’t think you’re getting out of drinks tonight!"

You roll your eyes but smile to yourself as you make your way to Chris’s office.

-

You knock lightly on Chris’s office door before pushing it open. He’s sitting at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but as soon as he sees you, a proud smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who just walked in fresh off a successful meeting," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Congratulations. You did amazing."

You give him a small smile as you step inside. "It’s too early to celebrate. The board still has to finalize everything."

Chris shakes his head. "They’re already sold. Your product is basically approved for production—they’re just waiting for the right time to launch it."

Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel even more real. You exhale, nodding. "That’s… really good to hear."

"You should be proud of yourself."

You glance down, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I appreciate all your help," you say sincerely, meeting his gaze again. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I think you could’ve. But I’m glad I could be part of it."

There’s a comfortable pause before you clear your throat. "Uh, actually… my team and I are going for drinks tonight to, you know, de-stress after all this. You’re welcome to join if you want."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused at the way you hesitated before asking. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you worry that maybe it was a bad idea to invite him. But then he sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement tonight."

You nod, masking any hint of disappointment. "No worries. Maybe next time."

Chris’s eyes glint with something unreadable. "Next time, huh?"

You smirk. "Yeah. I’ll buy you a drink to thank you properly."

He chuckles. "I’ll hold you to that."

With that, you turn to leave, but just as you reach the door, Chris calls out, "Hey."

You glance back with one hand on the handle of the door.

"Have fun tonight," he says, his voice softer.

You nod. "I will."

And with that, you step out of his office, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

-

Everyone raises their glasses in celebration. Jane sits beside you, grinning as she clinks her glass against yours.

“To a successful launch and to our genius researcher!” one of your team members cheers, and everyone echoes the sentiment before taking a sip of their drinks.

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment settle in. It had been a long, exhausting process, but seeing everyone so proud and excited made it all worth it. As the laughter and chatter continue, you stand up, raising your glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, before we all get too drunk to remember anything,” you begin, earning a round of chuckles from your colleagues, “I just want to take a moment to say thank you. This project was not easy, and we’ve had our fair share of challenges, but we pulled through because of all of you.”

Your team cheers, clinking their glasses together.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without everyone’s hard work and dedication. So, really—thank you. You guys are amazing, and I’m lucky to work with such a great team.”

More cheers erupt, and Jane dramatically wipes an imaginary tear from her eye, making you laugh. “And, since I know you all worked extra hard…” You pause for effect, then grin. “Drinks are on me tonight!”

The bar erupts in cheers, your team raising their glasses in excitement. Someone pats you on the back, and Jane throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Now that’s the best speech I’ve ever heard!” she exclaims, making everyone laugh.

With the energy high and spirits lifted, the night truly begins. It goes on with rounds of drinks and playful banter, but at some point, Jane leans in closer, eyeing you with a knowing smirk.

“You’re not having fun,” she accuses, nudging your arm.

You blink at her, taken aback. “What? I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she insists, swirling her drink. “Everyone else is laughing, making dumb jokes, and you’re just sitting here, sipping your drink like you’re deep in thought.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired, Jane. It’s been a long week.”

She hums in amusement before tilting her head. “Or maybe… you’re thinking about Chris.”

You scoff, nearly choking on your drink. “What? Why would I—”

“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t act like I didn’t see you sneaking glances at your phone earlier. Waiting for a text, maybe?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I was not.”

She nudges you with her elbow, leaning in close. “You should text Chris,” she says with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been thinking about him all night?”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t.”

Jane gives you a deadpan look. “You're getting too good at lying now.”

Sighing, you take a sip of your drink. “Look, the product is going into production soon, which means I’m done with the testing. And that also means…” You hesitate for a second before forcing yourself to say it. “Chris and I have no reason to meet anymore.”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “Wow. That’s… kind of depressing to hear.”

“It’s the truth,” you say, keeping your expression neutral, but Jane isn’t buying it. She suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of this sad talk. Take a shot with me!”

Before you can protest, she waves down the bartender and orders two shots of tequila. “We are celebrating, remember?”

You sigh but take the shot glass from her. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Jane clinks her glass against yours, and together, you down the shot, the burn spreading through your chest.

The moment you set the empty glass down, Jane grabs your wrist. “Now, let’s dance!”

“What—Jane, wait—”

“Yes, you're coming with me!” She pulls you toward the dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. “Come on, have fun with me!”

You sigh but eventually give in, letting yourself move with the music. And slowly, just for tonight, you let yourself forget everything else.

Jane twirls you around, both of you laughing as the music pulses through the air. The bass vibrates under your feet, and for the first time tonight, you’re letting yourself enjoy the moment—until Jane suddenly gasps and grabs your arm.

She stops dancing abruptly, pulling you close. “Oh my God.”

You blink at her, slightly breathless. “What?”

Jane leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Chris is here.”

You lean in close to hear her better. “What?”

She subtly nods toward the entrance of the bar, and your body moves on instinct, spinning around on your feet. And there he is.

Chris stands near the entrance, effortlessly catching your gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, and under the dim lights of the bar, his eyes glint with amusement. Then, as if he knew exactly when you would turn around, he raises a hand and waves.

You don’t know whether to be surprised or flustered, but the way Jane is gripping your arm tells you that she is already freaking out for the both of you.

“Looks like someone changed their plans,” she singsongs in your ear, nudging you toward him. “Go say hi.”

You swallow, exhaling softly. Yeah, you should probably do that. You weave through the crowd, making your way toward Chris. He watches you approach, his smirk never wavering. When you reach him, you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

“Hey, I’m surprised to see you here,” you say over the music.

Chris shrugs, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “My prior engagement finished early.” He glances past you toward your table, where Jane and your team are still celebrating. “Figured I’d come see how your celebration is going.”

You arch a brow. “And here I thought you weren’t one for company outings.”

He chuckles. “I’m not. But you do owe me a drink, remember?”

You roll your eyes but gesture toward your table. “Come on, then.”

As you and Chris settle at the table, an awkward silence briefly lingers between you. Jane, ever the social butterfly, takes it upon herself to fill the void, coming to the table and panting from the dancing

“Well, this is a surprise,” she muses, waving down a server. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight, Chris.”

Chris smiles at her. “Change of plans.”

Jane eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press further. Instead, she orders another round of drinks for the three of you. As she and Chris fall into casual conversation, you find yourself shifting in your seat, feeling the weight of Chris’s occasional glances your way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you announce, pushing back your chair.

Jane shoots you a quick look, one that says really? but she doesn’t stop you. Chris watches as you leave, and though you don’t turn back, you can still feel his gaze on you.

In the restroom, you take a moment to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You should at least thank him properly, you remind yourself. After all, without him, your product wouldn't have been as successful. You fix your hair and the smudged eye makeup with your finger before taking a deep breath and head back to the table.

You find Chris and Jane laughing over their drinks. The sight of them getting along so well makes you hesitate for a second, but before you can sit, Jane notices you and stands up.

“It's my turn now,” she announces, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her bag. “Going outside for a smoke. You two behave.” She winks at you before slipping away, leaving you alone with Chris.

The silence that follows is thick, though not necessarily uncomfortable. Chris leans back in his chair, watching you with quiet curiosity. You take your seat and reach for your drink, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” you swirl your drink absentmindedly, glancing at Chris before finally speaking. "I really mean it, you know," you say, your voice softer than before. "Thank you—for everything."

Chris tilts his head slightly, watching you with a flicker of curiosity. "For testing the product?" he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes but smile. "Not just that. For believing in me. For pushing me to prove myself when I was starting to doubt. I wanted to do more than just create a product—I wanted to make something better. And without your help, I might not have had the chance to."

Chris listens quietly, his gaze steady. Then, with a small exhale, he reaches for the collar of his shirt and undoes another button, his fingers moving slowly. He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if the room is suddenly too warm.

"You’re giving me too much credit," he says, his voice slightly husky. "You were always going to make this happen. I just… got to be the lucky guy who helped."

You shake your head. "Maybe. But I still appreciate it."

Chris watches you for a moment, his eyes darker under the dim bar lighting. Then, with a lazy smile, he leans in just a little. "You're welcome," he murmurs.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice drops sends a faint shiver through you. Chris exhales and tugs at the collar of his shirt again. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

You quirk a brow, watching him shift in his seat. His usually composed demeanor is slightly off, his body language restless. "Do you want to go outside for some air?" you offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I’m fine. Just need a second." He pushes himself up from his seat. "Gonna hit the restroom."

As he walks away, something about his behavior feels… off. Your eyes narrow slightly, the way he loosened his shirt, the way he kept shifting—something clicks in your head.

Just as the realization strikes, Jane returns from her smoke break, brushing ash off her fingers. "He’s gone already?" she asks, looking at Chris’s empty seat.

You turn to her with suspicion. "Jane."

She freezes mid-motion, giving you a dramatic blink. "Yes?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "Did you—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris had disappeared. "Did you do something to him?"

Jane smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? Me? I would never."

"Jane," you say more firmly, arms crossing over your chest and narrow your eyes in suspiciously at her.

She tilts her head innocently before finally cracking a grin. "Okay, fine. Maybe I slipped him a little something."

Your stomach drops. "You didn’t—"

"Relax!" she laughs. "It’s just the same aphrodisiac pill I gave you that one time! You survived, didn’t you?"

You groan, running a hand over your face. "Jane, what the hell?! That’s completely different!"

"Yeah, yeah, details," she waves you off, grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world. "He looked so tense! I thought I’d help him loosen up a bit."

You don’t waste another second arguing with her. Instead, you push away from the table and rush toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms. If that pill is hitting Chris the same way it hit you, you need to warn him—fast.

You find Chris leaning against the wall in the hallway, his head slightly bowed as he breathes in slow, measured breaths. When he hears your footsteps approaching, he looks up, and for a second, you’re taken aback by the way his eyes seem darker, hazier than before.

"Chris," you say carefully, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I feel… weird." His voice is lower, rougher than usual. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt again, like he can’t stand how warm he feels.

You swallow, already feeling guilty. "Chris, listen to me," you begin, watching his expression closely. "Jane gave you something."

He blinks slowly. "Something?"

"An aphrodisiac," you admit, wincing a little.

Chris processes that for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge of frustration behind it. "Well, that explains a lot." He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I was starting to think it was just you."

Your breath catches in your throat at that, but you shake it off. "Come on," you say, stepping closer. "I’ll take you home."

To your surprise, Chris doesn’t argue. He opens his eyes, looking at you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Okay."

His easy agreement makes you pause. You expected him to insist he was fine or brush you off. But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s holding himself back, like he knows staying here will only make things worse—tells you everything you need to know.

You gently take his wrist, guiding him away from the hallway. "Let’s get you out of here," you say, keeping your voice steady.

You help Chris into the taxi, making sure he doesn’t stumble as he slides into the seat beside you. As soon as he settles, he tells the driver his address in a low, slightly slurred voice.

The moment the car starts moving, Chris lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You tense at the unexpected weight, but before you can say anything, he shifts even closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," he hums, cutting you off. "You smell good." His voice is muffled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fight the urge to push him away—not because you don’t like it, but because you do.

"You’re really out of it, huh?" you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris doesn’t answer, just lets out a small, contented sigh as he burrows closer. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his scent—a mix of cologne and something inherently him—making your head spin.

The driver doesn’t seem to care about the scene unfolding in his backseat, but you can feel your face heating up as Chris stays glued to your side for the entire ride. Every few moments, he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard and stare out the window, counting the streetlights as they pass, praying you’ll get to his place soon before you do something reckless—like lean into him instead of away.

-

When the taxi pulls up to Chris’s building, you pay the fare and help him out of the car. He stumbles slightly, and you quickly grab his arm, steadying him.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” you say, guiding him toward the entrance.

Chris doesn’t argue, just hums in acknowledgment as you lead him through the lobby to the elevator. When the doors slide open, you help him inside, pressing the button for his floor. As soon as the doors close, Chris leans into you again, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

“Mmh...” he hums, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

You let out a breath, trying to ignore the way his touch sends a strange flutter through your chest. “You’re really affectionate when you’re drunk,” you comment, keeping your voice light.

He chuckles softly against your skin. “Maybe,” he admits, his grip tightening slightly. “But I like holding you.”

You suddenly turn quiet and you’re grateful when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at his floor.

Chris groans dramatically but lets you guide him out of the elevator, his arm still draped around you as you make your way to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, he finally gets the door open. You help him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes.

Just as you’re about to step back and say your goodbyes, his grip tightens around your wrist, keeping you in place. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something deeper than just intoxication.

You shake your head gently. “Chris, I'd better go—”

But he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. “Please, stay,” he coaxes, his voice like a slow pull, dragging you toward him. “Stay with me tonight.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with another excuse, his lips press against yours. Soft at first, like he’s waiting for you to push him away—but you don’t. You should.

You try to remind yourself that he’s been drinking, that Jane did something completely reckless, but when he deepens the kiss, his fingers splaying against the small of your back, your resolve begins to slip. You press your hands against his chest, intending to push him away—but instead, your fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

Chris hums against your lips, sensing your resistance fading. He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against his. And the more he kisses you, the more you realize… you don’t want to resist him at all.

The heat between you grows as he kisses you harder, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you flush against him and before you can even process it, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the nearest surface—his dining table. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him more access as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his breath hot against you.

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse before slipping underneath, palms grazing your bare skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His lips return to you immediately, trailing along your shoulder, pressing heated kisses against every inch of exposed skin.

You sigh at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he buries his face against your collarbone, his breath uneven, his body pressed firm between your legs. Your hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as you undo them one by one. But before you can get through them all, Chris huffs impatiently and shrugs the shirt off himself, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

The moment it’s gone, his lips crash onto yours again, urgent and hungry. His hands grip your waist as he presses himself against you, his hips rolling forward in slow, deliberate movements. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you can feel his cock, hard and insistent, the friction making your breath hitch.

He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you steady, his movements controlled but desperate. Your hands roam over his bare chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as you gasp into his mouth.

Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "...Want you so much," he murmurs, his hips still grinding into you with slow, teasing movements, making it clear just how much he wants you.

A moment later, his grip tightens on you as he lifts you from the table with ease, his strong arms holding you close against his bare chest. His lips never stray far, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

When he reaches the bedroom, he carefully lays you down on the bed, his body following yours as he settles on top of you. His weight is comforting, his warmth seeping into your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, languid kiss.

His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, as his kisses become slower, more indulgent. The heat between you builds with every movement, every press of his body against yours. But just as his hands begin to wander lower, you pull away slightly, breathless.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice soft but firm.

He hums against your lips, eyes dark with need as he gazes down at you.

“The condom,” you remind him, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “It’s in my bag.”

He exhales a short, amused laugh and then drops his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You really came prepared, huh?” he teases, his voice husky.

Your bag in his hand as he returns to bed and his eyes flicker toward you as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the bag down on the bed, fingers expertly rummaging through its contents until he pulls out the box of condoms. With a small smirk, he places it on the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands move to the waistband of his pants. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper before he pushes them down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. The last remaining piece of fabric soon follows, leaving him bare before you.

You sit up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him—his toned body, his firm stance, the way he watches you with dark, expectant eyes. There’s something about the way he stands there, unashamed, that makes your skin heat under his gaze.

Not wanting to be the only one still clothed, you slowly peel off the remaining fabric on your body. Your movements are unhurried, teasing almost, as you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it aside. You see the way Chris’s eyes trace every inch of newly exposed skin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

For a moment, the two of you simply take each other in, the air between you thick with anticipation. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of desire, crackling like electricity in the space between you.

Chris picks up a condom before crawling over to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. His warmth surrounds you almost immediately.

You take the condom from his hand, meeting his gaze as you offer, “Let me.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, settling himself against the headboard. He shifts, leaning back comfortably, watching as you move onto his lap, your back resting against his chest. His hands skim over your arms, tracing light patterns on your skin as you tear open the packet.

As you roll the condom down his length, your touch is slow, deliberate. You can feel the way his body reacts beneath you, the quiet intake of breath, the way his muscles tense ever so slightly. His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin as if grounding himself.

Chris gently grabs your chin before turning your face toward him. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep, lingering. His hands glide over your body until they settle on the softness of your breasts, palming them and using his fingers to tease your already erected nipples.

In return, your hand wrapped around his cock, moving in slow, measured strokes, feeling the way Chris tenses beneath you. His breath grows heavier against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. His restraint is evident, the way he lets you take your time, but you can feel the subtle tremor in his grip, the quiet urgency simmering just beneath the surface.

Tilting your hips, you guide his cock into your entrance and once the crest is pushed inside, you ease yourself down onto him, taking him in and taking him in inches more until you can’t take it. Your breath stutters as you adjust to the feeling, your body molding against his as you rest in his lap, fully connected.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, muffled by the way he captures your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. His hand trails up, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His other hand finds its way between your legs, fingers circling on your clit in a way that makes you shudder. He continues in slow, teasing movements, pressing and circling on your clit, making you instinctively arching into his touch. The sensations are overwhelming, his touch purposeful and knowing, driving you higher with every stroke.

Chris groans at the way you clench around him. "You're so sensitive," he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky with restraint.

Your hands grip onto his forearm, searching for something to ground yourself, but the pleasure only intensifies. You squirm in his lap, your movements making him hiss as he digs his fingers into your skin, holding you still.

"You're making this hard for me," he breathes out with a strained chuckle, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel too good."

His groans grow louder as he feels the way you pulse and tighten around him, your body reacting so intensely to his touch. His fingers continue their delightful assault, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, until the pleasure overwhelms you completely.

A breathless cry escapes your lips as the tension snaps, your body trembling against his hand. Chris holds you close, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The way you squeeze around him has him teetering on the edge, his breathing ragged, his grip tightening on your waist. “Shit,” he mutters, his voice strained. His hands grasp at you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin, sucking and biting lightly, lost in the sensation as his own climax rushes through him. A deep, low groan rumbles against your throat as he finally lets go, his body shuddering with release.

You turn your head slightly, finding his lips with yours and kissing him deeply. He hums against your mouth, his hands still roaming your body, his touch warm and firm. Your bodies remain tangled in the sheets, heat still lingering between you as your lips move together in slow, lazy kisses. Chris runs his fingers along your bare skin, tracing patterns as if memorizing every inch of you. His kisses deepen, his tongue teasing against yours, and you sigh into his mouth, already feeling the slow burn reigniting between you.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze heavy-lidded and full of something almost reverent as he reaches for a new condom. Sitting up against the headboard, he rolls it on with practiced ease before shifting back between your legs, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down to kiss you again.

This time, he takes his time, positioning himself carefully. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he pushes his cock into you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. His breath catches, a low groan escaping him as he fills you, enjoying the way your body welcomes him.

"Always perfect for me," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours as he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he begins to move, each thrust measured, purposeful, as if he wants to make this last as long as possible.

Chris intently watches every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands hold you firmly but gently, grounding you as he sinks deeper into your warmth, pausing when he feels resistance. His breath is heavy, voice low and husky as he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go deeper?"

You nod, your fingers tightening against his shoulders in silent encouragement. "I can take it," you assure him, your voice breathless.

He exhales shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Then, with measured control, he pushes his swollen cock another inch into you, groaning at the way your body tightens around him.

"You feel too good," he rasps, his grip on you firm yet careful, his entire body tensed with restraint.

A shuddering moan escapes you as your back arches slightly. The stretch is intense, but the pleasure rolling through you drowns out everything else. "A little more," you whisper.

Chris hesitates, his dark eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?"

You nod, biting your lip, and he swallows hard before easing the rest of himself inside you, slow and deliberate, until there’s nothing left between you. He exhales sharply, looking down where his big cock is fully disappeared in your little cunt, the sight alone making him groan. "It’s all in now," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His hands stroke your sides soothingly, his lips brushing over your cheek. "You took me so well."

The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body against yours, the deep pressure—it all builds too fast, too intensely. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you can even brace yourself, pulling a cry from your lips as your body tightens and trembles around him. It’s too much, too consuming, and the last thing you hear is Chris’s voice calling your name before everything fades into darkness.

-

✨ The fourth & final chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page ✨

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