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hyvneluv · 4 days ago

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My life is complete.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐞?

part five of the velvet opiate series. part one. part two. part three. part four.

pair. rockstar! hyunjin x fem! reader (+ felix, minho, chan) | genre. visual gothic rock band, romance, hurt/comfort, toxic skz, set in the late 90’s-early 00’s | warnings. profanity, smoking, drug and alcohol abuse, mature themes, mental health struggle, mention of self harm, use of pet names, flawed characters, unprotected sex, blowjob | word count. 9.9k

a/n: guys! the love on the previous chapter was insane 🥹 thank you so much, there’s no amount of words that can describe what your support on this story means to me. i wrote this story high off NANA, and to this day it remains my favorite thing i ever wrote, only for what i did with hyunjin’s character. i’m ashamed it took me this long to find it in me to finish it, but it never once left my mind or my heart. hope you enjoy, and don't be shy to lmk what you thought! 🤍

tags. @ughbehavior, @marshmallow12435, @hyvnfilms, @adoreweb, @yoongihan.

The day the girl goes into labor, Hyunjin locks himself inside his childhood bedroom with a bottle of Chardonnay, a hair clipper, two grams of heroin resting in the pocket of his jacket like some sort of twisted inside joke, and—

Felix. Felix who dropped everything and followed him here.

It had been three years since he last stepped foot in this house. His actress mother and her prized trophies, her golden awards tucked away in shelves Hyunjin could never reach, would’ve never tried to. A place had been carved out for him there, and it had always been far away from her, even as a child, perhaps most especially as a child.

Jealousy and self-loathing turn him inside out, make him sick with agony, shivering all over, bile rising up his throat again and again and again, head begging for a momentary taste of the relief it once sought out and found so easily.

Felix is there to deny him every single time. When a whole night passed like this between them, then and only then, did Hyunjin trust himself enough to lay his head on the singer’s lap without the intention of offering himself up as collateral. The line has been blurred, but it has never been crossed. It needs to stay that way.

(It will not.)

As he stares up at the face bursting with a thousand constellations, expression soft and honest, another angel defiled, he understands Felix’s love would only carry him so far.

He’s utterly alone in this body. Him and his inside pocket. Five steps away.

To see everything again, through the eye of a needle. To pull out his heart and feed it to anyone willing. When he dares to fall asleep, popped vessels burning red with blurry vision, he sees you protected—protected—from him, arms of a man that will never be important enough over you, perpetually pulling you away, his house on the hills, his house the red terror, and his life screaming, burning alive on a pyre of his own making.

So, his lifeline abandoned. She is near but she is away. She does not want him, not the way he wants her—her words, her doing— cannot bear to stare at the scars on his arms, refuses to talk about the ones on his neck, now that she knows, now that the shadows cannot hide him anymore, and he has to live with this. Has to live, when he desperately seeks to crawl back to the familiar hole, enveloped by the crimson walls, under that staircase where he found the light he’d been looking for all his stupid onerous life.

This is it, then. I’m losing my fucking mind, he thinks.

Things slip away; they melt when they should not, and freeze over like hell, a place he remembers almost dying in, being saved from. He barely makes any sense half the time, and he sleeps the rest of whatever day it is. He can’t stomach anything but cigarettes, and his fingers picked up a piece of coal at some point and haven’t stopped smudging themselves black over empty sketchbooks that manifested themselves as if summoned.

It was similar ones his mother burned in front of him once, in the garden, a mother he remembers beautiful he remembers ugly, her glutinous ambition and poisonous appetite for more, always more more more; she punished her son for existing when he should not, then walked herself back to her powders and her pills, in that cursed bedroom with the men walking in and out, in and out, constantly, like customers in a grocery store, getting whatever they needed and leaving at once, open doors and greedy hands.

His mother had been a popular actress once, this simple fact was never to be forgotten, repeated, and after him—

This, whatever it was. The pink room. The money. The doctors. He got sent away for nothing. Punished for much less than that. When his crayon pictures turned to embers in the wind, as he watched them fly away from him so easily in the summer heat, he decided:

There really must be nothing in this world that would stay for him.

This was beyond anything. Beyond all. Hyunjin without his drug was something unrecognizable, something that needed to be fiercely guarded and pinned down, sharp words that cut through steel, wretched sobs that shook foundations and shattered everything standing.

Minho was right. This was not something Felix could just do on his own. He’d never locked himself in with the demons and stayed, he merely left Hyunjin stranded and prided himself on remaining safely on the other side, where nothing ever reached or touched him, a comfortable distance that allowed him to retain his light. I found him twice, he tells himself desolately, but he might as well have been sleeping. What you did was, you called an ambulance. What you had was a version of the man you wanted that had nothing to do with the man in front of you now, and each time he chipped away, you convinced yourself you loved him a little more, because he couldn’t do it himself.

And that has been enough for you.

Felix, will you ever drop your choking hands from your own neck to realize you loved only as far as you could see? A selfish love, a petulant, bitter need. When Hyunjin kissed you, he meant you’re my soul, as I recognize it. My other half, hidden. When you kissed him, you tried desperately to drag him to your side, wailing notice me, notice me. I’ve been standing here. If my flesh is strange and unwanted, skin me alive.

When he eventually looks up from the sketches littering the floor, three days later, a dark, dark nightmare with seemingly no end, there’s clarity in his gaze, a realization that makes him bubble over with terrible laughter that quickly brews into a category four storm, threatening to damn everything in its wake.

Felix kneels beside him and takes his face in his hands, the only way he knows how, and pushes lifeless blonde hair back, clearing a path for the destruction to occur, no intention of damage control. Nothing he could’ve done differently.

“I can’t stop being that boy drawing those pictures,” Hyunjin admits roughly, staring right through the singer. “My mother’s son.”

“This is yours,” the light soothes. “Your talent, your sketches. She had nothing to do with it.”

With a shake of his head, he’s erased every word Felix ever uttered. With a single touch he lit him on fire. And when his mouth, dry and pale, presses against his neck in hiding, there’s not a single fucking way Felix wouldn’t die for him.

“My talent is useless. I’ve drawn her over and over, and she still won’t come to me.”

Chan takes a seat at the chair provided for him, and slumps forward, hands meeting in front of him. He’s clearly nervous, the apprehension of his first solo interview since his band’s hiatus dawning on him all at once.

The questions had been reviewed already, he knew this. It would all go by quickly and then it’d be official. Velvet Opiate parting ways with their label.

Bang Chan was now owner of all the rights to their recorded music and their name, though that credit belongs entirely to Hyunjin. Still, his band members were not with him at the moment. In fact, they refused to be anywhere near each other, except the ones that couldn’t seem to survive without the other.

The twins had been MIA for a month now. Minho had disappeared off to some private island, his last phone call letting Chan know—letting, not asking—about his two cats, and the whereabouts of their food in his very secluded house in a gated community that he will have to drive four hours to get to, never mind the fact he doesn’t even fucking like cats, never has—

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bang, I’m a big fan,” the interviewer stood in front of him, hand extended, polite smile.

Chan refuses to shake hands without looking at faces. So, when he looks up, he doesn’t expect to get the living fucking lights knocked out of him. This woman standing in heels in front of him—

He’s fucked her. He remembers.

“The pleasure is all mine,” but as he says it, he can make out the mischievous glint in her eyes, the taunting curve of her lip.

The way she’s going to dig through him with a shovel.

“Let’s start with the most recent news. Your lead guitarist, Hyunjin, is expected to have a baby boy any minute now. Congratulations are in order, from everyone.”

Chan lifted an eyebrow, but nodded. “I’ll pass it on.”

“I can’t help but ask, though,” he noticed the scorpion tail before it stung, “why instead of spending his time with the mother of his child, he chooses to haul himself up in his childhood home with Lee Felix?”

In retrospect, it could’ve been worse. They could’ve learned about the heroin, or the overdose. Yet, somehow, the public trying to tear Felix away from Hyunjin seemed a death sentence on so many levels, that all the red bells in Chan’s head went off at once, blazing angry and loud.

He had no idea how to answer that, and storming off was not an option. Not one he could afford anyway, not after the shitstorm winter had been.

“I wasn’t aware gossiping had become so audacious. My team chose you based on reputation. Are you trying to change our mind?”

The interviewer’s eyes flashed. “If the public wants to know, Mr. Bang, we have to oblige.”

“This isn’t public information. If you want the exclusive, contact my band member about it.”

Chan defended. That’s what he did, all his life, for all who were close to him. But even in his fight to do so, he couldn’t help but also wonder—what was Hyunjin doing staying as far as fucking possible from his newborn son? His flesh and blood?

When was he finally going to deal with his life head on, as it happened?

“Understood,” the woman concluded, in a clipped tone, clearly disappointed she couldn’t get a rise out of the drummer. “So, then, what is the new direction for you?”

Chan could definitely answer this one. The words felt so good simmering up his chest, a fuck you to all the years of tour buses and depressing hotel rooms, a goddamn dictator making all the decisions for him, for all of them—

“A fucking break.” Finally, finally.

It’s to the news of his son being stillborn on TV for everyone’s entertainment that Hyunjin grabs the clippers and shaves himself bald, the blade nearly drawing blood. When his eyes fall on the jacket, he thinks, surely now. Surely this time. The phone starts ringing. Felix answers to Chan in miserable tears. Yes, he’s here. No, not yet. How did they know so fast? How did they fucking know?

The faux halo descends in yellow strands, no longer attached, deaddeaddeaddead, the harvest of a two year effort, the metamorphosis of a charlatan. I was never meant to have anything. Just as well. I know this. His arm moves over and over, until the top of his head is smooth, until his roots are once again dark and recognizable, originating from the mother, the constant ache of abandonment.

He smiles in the mirror when he’s done, your necklace bumping against his collarbone, heavy and desolate. Passes his palm over the nakedness, feels the scratch, the itch, the relief. Again, and again. And again. Again, again, something’s wrong now—

“Stop, what the fuck—stop, fucking stop!”

There’s warm liquid trickling down his forehead, where he smashed his head against his head. Felix runs over, curving around him, attempting to grab his arms and restrain him, all the while pleading and reasoning. The guitarist slumps and falls to his knees, immobilized, glass digging into translucent skin, but still, the hands don’t stop, they hit wherever they find, whatever they reach, even if it’s Felix, especially cause it’s Felix; Felix who won’t leave him alone, Felix that came with him despite the rift between them, Felix that has this disgusting notion of love for him and has convinced everyone it’s real, and that it’s enough.

How can it possibly be? How can it be?

“If you had even an ounce of self preservation, you’d leave right now.”

Two chests rising and falling together, breaths synchronized. They’ve never been left this close, never witnessed how well they fit together. Someone must’ve seen this. No one ever said anything. Cannot cross this. Will not do it. Hyunjin swallows metal and rams his elbow at the black haired boy’s ribs. There’s no sound made, no retaliation, no indication of pain. He always took whatever Hyunjin gave. The desperation used to make him sick.

Felix only let go enough to grab him by the nape and crush their mouths together. Hyunjin flashed his teeth like a cornered animal and spat his tongue out, pushing at him roughly and punching him square in the jaw. The singer knows this very well. The violence. The denial. If it meant it kept Hyunjin alive for a little fucking longer, he’d do it. He’d go through it a million times.

“I know what you brought with you,” Felix wipes at his mouth, as he watches the taller man scramble to his feet, furious and disoriented. “Bring it out. I wanna see.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

In his bloody state, Hyunjin had to lean his head back against the wall for balance, hands balling into fists, coming to cross one over the other. This was familiar, the game between them. Felix brought his legs up, arms hanging over the knees, exhausted from sleeplessness, heartbroken by his twin’s reaction to the news. As fucked up as it sounded, he didn’t think it was so much the loss itself—more like what it meant, and what he had to let go of in the process.

“It’s what you want, isn’t it?” A challenge. “If I wasn’t here.”

Hyunjin had no reaction to the accusation of death. He’d wanted it for so long, after all. “You should’ve never come in the first place. I’m not myself.”

The singer hums, chuckling to himself, looking up with defiance. “And what is that?” He asked, feigning naivety. “Yourself? Is it the shit you carry in your pocket? The black stains on your shirt? The anger in your fist? What the fuck is it, Hyun?”

The man on the other side shuts his eyes, lets the shame wash over in intermittent waves. Perhaps, he’ll drown. Perhaps, there's some other way to do this, to end it. He wonders if his mom still keeps her tool satchel in the last drawer of her desk. Thinks it impossible that he’d remember that, when the features of her face are wiping themselves clean from his memory.

No way out of this without hurting the boy at his feet. A mistake.

“Let me be, Felix,” Hyunjin’s voice is but a faint whisper, raw with barely contained emotion. “Let me be.”

“No.”

“We’re done. The dream is over.”

The quiet resignation pinches at Felix’s heart, warning him there’s something very final about the way he says that. He thinks back to the tour, all the self destruction then, the all consuming need for this funeral of a life, for it to get as dark as possible. Velvet Opiate fed on this misery, it was true, but what the singer hadn’t realized—it all stemmed from Hyunjin himself.

He had been the ultimate muse.

And this was the true curtain call, on his terms, stage one.

“There’s no dream, darling,” Felix coaxes softly. “It was all real.”

The blood has dried by the time Hyunjin reaches for him. At first he thinks nothing of it, as his hand extends, as he brings him up at eye level. Hyunjin’s face has always been delicately hand drawn, meticulously sculpted. There’s not one thing that’s changed about that, nor about the way Felix marvels at the sight of him, the organ tirelessly pumping, tightening the size of the very same fist that has hit him thrice now.

When he connects their lips this time, it’s nothing like all the times before. This is the one where Hyunjin shows him that he wasn’t crazy. That it could be possible, that it was never fake or wrong or one sided. Desire courses through him unfettered, and would it be so bad to drop dead right this moment? For all the fight of survival, all the big talks and the things left unsaid, the images that haunt day and night, Felix suddenly cannot find a single good reason for it. This will never happen again. Never again.

Hands twisting around fabric, hips digging into hips, arousal evident, and the walls are closing in, they’re shrinking, the room spins—Hyunjin crashes Felix up against his childhood dresser—now empty, no more than occupied space in a ghost house—and the wood sighs, as they do, into each other, panting, foreheads resting together, gazes smoldering; as the buzz cut scratches at Felix’s jaw when lips suck at his throat, and when a hand, a hand, Hyunjin’s hand travels down and buries itself deep within, when it wraps around and pumps and stops time itself.

What did Felix know? Maybe this was a dream, maybe it’s been nothing but a dream this entire fucking shitshow, cause why else? Why else would this be happening? Hyunjin has never done more than kissing. He’s never even—

“I love you more than I could ever love myself,” imperceptible almost, except the singer is so tuned into the man consuming his soul it would be impossible to miss. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lix.”

Like a shadow, Felix watches his bandmate rush for his jacket, long limbs and silver piercings, dressed in all black, the earliest possible image he’s had of him, eternally captured to look like this; ready for the proceedings, the burial, the six feet under at any moment—he watches as Hyunjin never looks back once, as he grabs whatever he can, and slams the door shut, turning the key forever, locking Felix away, but taking the demons with him.

Every.single.one.

It plays in slow motion up until the door, when Felix finally resuscitates and runs to rage against the wooden surface, screaming, filled with seething betrayal:

”Don’t fucking do this, Hyunjin. Don’t fucking do this to me!”

And if Hyunjin hears him—he has no tears left for anyone anymore.

Thirty-two steps to the office. Forty-eight for the front door. Him and his inside pocket, reunited once again.

For the last time.

Hyunjin will never not destroy himself, not ever. It’ll always be one thing for another, no matter how harmless, how insignificant to someone else. He locked that door. He kept the angels away, he drowned in that house.

Help is right outside, left inside, knocking softly, whispering patiently, and he curses it every time. Doubt. He’ll never be able to see this fucking thing through—getting clean, being sober. Doubt is his secret lover in this alien hotel room. He hides it well, holds it near his chest, cultivates it with alcohol and paint brushes, speaks to it after everyone has gone to sleep. The terrifying images he draws stare back at him from every corner, faces cradling their heads in sorrow, open mouthed girls forever stuck in the loop of screaming bloody murder.

This isn’t normal, even by his standards. And despite the madness, despite the sickness nesting in between his bones, your soft voice is heard again beyond that veil where he can never reach you, relentless, gentle, a ravaging fire spreading through his veins—

“You’ve no more left, huh?”

A screeching giggle, pulling him abruptly from the gates of Heaven, away from you. He doesn’t even react to the voice, just keeps flicking the useless blue lightning painted on his forearm, teeth pulling tighter on the rubber tube, willing it to work, to absorb faster so that he can crawl back between your legs, bury his head in your soft mound, beg for forgiveness, exorcize the thought of another man, a better man, one that doesn’t need to shoot up diluted shit in his bloodstream to feel any goddamn sort of emotion.

Don’t fucking crash. Don’t you fucking crash.

He feels fingers running down his face. He didn’t realize when he slipped off the couch. A hazy arrangement of human body parts is cooing at him, pretending to care. He’s had this one for too long, he thinks absentmindedly. He should kick her out . . .

“Poor baby, it’s okay,” she mumbles against his earlobe, sucking cartilage in her annoying mouth. “Do you have any leftovers for me? I’ll make you feel good afterwards, I promise.”

The hands are everywhere now, like a thousand little spiders, crawling over his abdomen. Where did his shirt go? Hyunjin blinks slow, attempting to gather his thoughts, to push the woman off and find his cellphone, to call you, to call—

“Leave me,” he rasps, reaching for a half empty bottle of Merlot next to him. “Please.”

No more needles, selfish prick . . . The words mangle in his brain, out of reach and rotating. He’s not quite sure if they were said or thought, and that makes him laugh. Is he deaf now, then? Or able to read minds? He’d read yours like the Bible; pore over every sentence, memorize it, learn it by heart so that he’d be useful to you, so that you wouldn’t even have to waste a single breath trying to explain—he’d already know.

If only he had more time with you, and not these handful of memories, straining themselves thin for his selfish pleasure. Love has always punished Hyunjin. It hasn’t offered itself freely once, not even with Felix.

Felix—

“But then who would you have left, hon?” The woman is sliding down the carpet, pulling the rest of his clothing off him. He distantly thinks he’s not in the mood for a blowjob, his cock doesn’t get hard when he’s this high, he’s not even really in the room right now. . .

“You’d be all alone,” he hears, clearest of everything.

Alone. His hand, somewhere else, someone else’s, wraps around the padlock. He’d never be alone again. The key. The key to unlock him—it’s around your neck. You hold the missing piece, the thing for all other things. That singular thought spurned a million others, but before he even finished speaking your name, a hot mouth had started working his length, a manicured hand pressing down on his stomach, the other pumping his shaft.

Something stirred low inside him, but it was hiding behind a wall of numbness. He couldn’t feel anything. Hyunjin struggled for breath, bucking his hips reflexively. It took five whole minutes to realize there’d been a cigarette in his left hand, burning itself dead, ashes falling all over the girl’s hair.

He shoved her head down his cock until he heard the familiar choking sound, and further still, until she was hitting against his thighs, until her nails were scratching his skin raw, and she was turning blue.

He came to the sight of her humiliation, drool dripping down her chin, face red, makeup smeared, eyes glazed. Now she was as pitiful as him, a good for nothing whore that thought she could play a rockstar out of his drugs and money and get away with it by keeping him compliant with sex.

He’s lost too much to fool himself again with that narrative.

Hyunjin ordered her to get the fuck out, out, now and lit himself another cigarette. Feeling was starting to come back to his body, which meant it was over already. The emptiness that followed this part of his life was the loudest it’s ever been, worse than his mother leaving, worse than the look in Felix’s eyes as he left him behind in a house he did not know—

Close to that night in the alley with you.

You can’t pretend it’s rock bottom again, if you’ve been there already. You should know better.

The Merlot smashes against the balcony door, the sound a lot like sharp relief ricocheting inside his chest. Dizzy, he walks over to the glass barefooted, and stares at the mess of broken shards, before crouching down to pick the biggest one.

The blood is immediate, thick and dark, and everywhere.

Huh.

Chan’s never been to Red Lights before.

When Felix brought him here, he thought Hyunjin had reverted back after the news. That they’d have to drag him away from a gruesome scene, or find him buried in an empty bottle of something or other. Chan had grown accustomed to the myriad ways of dealing with pain.

Chan had hope, despite the hollow expression on his bandmate’s face. They went through the worst of it, there can’t possibly be anything worse than that. What Chan can’t understand is that there is more than one death.

And then, Felix spoke, after the deafening silence in the car. And he crushed any belief he’d ever held.

”I don’t know where he is,” he admitted, disconsolately. “But it’s not anywhere good. And he’s back on it.”

Back on it. Back on it? After everything? Nothing could’ve prepared the drummer for the resentment that grabbed ahold of him right then. It was unlike anything else.

He almost turned his back.

Almost.

“And we’re here for her,” he concluded. “Because he hasn’t put her through enough bullshit.”

Felix pretended to be guilty easily enough. “She broke it off with him. Brought a different fucking man to our concert, front fucking seat, messed with his head. She has a part in this as much as anyone.”

“He’s our responsibility, Felix. Ours!” Chan grabbed the singer by the shoulders, exasperated, trying to shake some sense into him. “You’re being fucking petty. We need to leave this girl alone, and deal with it ourselves like how we always have.”

The black haired man glared daggers at his group’s leader. Chan could blissfully put it all into perspective and carry on with his structured fucking life, but Felix was reckless and heartbroken and scared fucking shitless. They’d never lost track of Hyunjin’s whereabouts so colossally.

Every nerve connecting him would not settle until they found him again. And they would. Find him. Even if he personally had to call every single hotel in the city. Even without you.

“He’s gonna really do it this time, you know?” Felix casts a single look at the bouncer, who immediately recognizes him and opens the door for them to pass through. “No more of this. Not here.”

The establishment remains the same as it always has, though it’s evident it’s a slower night tonight. Chan looks around once while the singer goes straight for the bar, requesting you by name. The bartender blushes bright pink upon realizing who he has standing in front of him. The neon lights hide everything.

“Right there,” he points to his right, in a booth deeper than Felix has ever sat at. Chan is already making his way towards it. “Hey, are you the dude from Velvet Opiate?”

The unearthly thrill of excitement that rushes through him everytime he gets this exact moment will never stop feeling like the very first time. In the frightful abyss that being in love with Hwang Hyunjin is, it’s easy to forget sometimes—that Lee Felix shines brighter than anything. That his name alone can incite this type of reaction.

So, Lee Felix slaps a hand on the counter and brings the guy’s neck level with his mouth, then gives him an open mouthed kiss, the gesture electrifying.

“Yes, the fuck I am, baby.”

And don’t you fucking forget.

At the table, the drummer excused himself and prodded for your attention. You looked away from your client to face Bang Chan in the flesh, after all these months.

“There must be trouble in hell to come all the way over here.”

Chan chuckles, nodding for you to follow him somewhere more private.

“There’s always trouble,” he commented, indulgently. “We‘ll pay your boss generously for your time. Please.”

You patted the curious man’s thigh twice, whispering something in his ear, before slipping away from the booth and extending a waiting hand towards a staircase. The music boomed sultry and slow, the bass hypnotic.

“We can talk upstairs,” you motioned with your index finger. He arched a brow, and turned for Felix, who was barely coming over.

Your eyes avoided him as soon as you spotted his presence. Chan could not help his gaze from traveling down your tight body. Little black skirt, breasts spilling over an even tinier shirt. No wonder Hyunjin was this enamored. No wonder he’d damn himself to the furthest edge of the world.

Chan cleared his throat, noticing Felix’s amused stare and pointedly staring at his shoes for the rest of the way.

When you open the door to an old office, he slips right in and leans against the desk, arms crossing over his massive chest. You still have your professional expression on. He appreciated your work ethic. It can’t be easy working at a place like this, being as beautiful as you.

“What did he do now, then?” You get straight to the point.

Felix draws in a sharp breath, shoving both his hands in his jeans’ pockets. Chan sighs, gathering he’ll have to be the one to explain.

“First things first—I do want you to know that we’ll understand if you want nothing to do with this. Hyunjin is—”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me turn away. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Felix jumped at the chance to be an absolute fucking asshole.

“He’s using again.”

Necrotic silence. It looked like you got punched in the stomach, but the hard lines on your face were trained against such things. Both were accustomed to this look. It was very abrupt, the force with which they discerned which parts made you stand out to Hyunjin, the importance of you. Why you’re familiar to them, although they’ve never spoken a single word to you.

Your sighing breath carried such unfiltered sadness. You looked so small to Chan, then. Tired. Foolish, even, in the way you cared, just like the rest of them, without cessation, just one constant line, perhaps since before you even met the guitarist. After all, weren’t you also a victim of your heart? Didn’t you also act against your better judgement?

The drummer respected you at that moment. You reminded him a lot of himself, strangely.

“How long did he keep his promise?” You ask very politely.

Chan feels sorry for you.

Felix scoffs, lifting one side of his mouth, the bitterness churning his face. “There’s no such thing—”

The well built leader slaps the back of a hand against his vocalist’s chest, measuring him with a crafted look the band submits to every time. “How long was he clean, you mean?” He addresses your question. “Longer than he’s ever been before. Almost two months.”

Your gaze shifted to the blinds covering the single window of this cramped space. You blink at it for a long while, before you nod once to yourself, slowly, like a newly awakened child, coming to a mutual agreement with your heart's terms and conditions. Such an open book, Chan thinks. It’d be so easy to love this one. It was all right there, staring them both in the eyes.

He dialed their driver’s number and brought it to his ear, ordering him to turn around and be up front in five minutes.

“What if I called him?” You ask, your hands trembling.

The twin bristles, head tilting in savage outrage. “This crosses your mind now?”

“Felix.”

“No!” He shouts, overtaken with incredulity, lunging for you. You gasp and cower away from him, backed into a corner. “No. She had the choice to fucking stay. If she’d stayed, he’d be sober. He told me,” his eyes turn back to you, turbulent and severe. “The night you gave him that cursed lock. If you won’t have him, he’d—and he did. He fucking did, and I thought okay, that’s the fucking end of it, surely, now, we’re done, this is the last time,” he laughs to himself, and rubs a hand roughly over his mouth in irritation.

“But it wasn’t,” he continues. “Because of what you did. Because you played him, and thought yourself innocent,” his hand reaches for your arm, nails digging into your skin with the intent to hurt. Your face freezes in fear. Chan shoves between you, and brings you behind him, but there is no stopping Felix now, the hate and jealousy pouring out of him like a nasty rainstorm. “He was so happy after you left his room that day. It nearly killed me, but I—at least, at least,” his face is wet, his mouth contorted, “I’ve never seen him smiling like that. Never. I thought if that’s what he wants, fine. Fine.

“With that same smile, he told me you ended it. But you loved him, I thought. I thought—do you know how much I love him? How long I’ve waited?”

“Felix, that’s enough,” Chan’s authority cuts the tension in two, makes his bandmate bite his tongue and storm out the office at once, rocking the door frame behind him with the force. “Enough,” he repeats to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, before he turns to witness your sobbing shoulders, shaking with enough guilt to flood an entire city.

“He’s right,” you say through choking breaths. “He looked at me with such honest relief, and I only thought about myself. I thought if I walked away then, I would be able to control the damage before it was too late. The man—the man doesn’t matter, he was never important,” your fingers shoot-out to hold onto Chan’s jacket, something to tether you back to earth. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

The drummer puts his arms around you and holds you as you cry yourself dry.

“You wanna know a secret?” He murmurs at the top of your head. “I’ve never let myself admit it, because I want to see him fight this and win it. More than fucking anything . . .” Chan braces himself, closes his eyes. “If he’s meant to go that way . . . If we’re the ones holding him back, then . . .”

You shake your head vigorously against him. He nods, accepting the terrible truth and shoving it back down in the deepest, darkest parts of him. Then, he pulls back and stares into your bloodshot eyes, beautiful and scared. His fingers around your arms feel like they’re holding you up entirely, like without this small, comforting touch, you’d cave to a heap on the floor.

“If you think you can handle it, call him,” he implores you. “I know he’ll answer if it’s you. Just—”

”I know,” you reply quietly, wiping at your cheeks, but you meet his gaze steadily, and you nod. He nods back. “I’ll come down as soon as he tells me where—”

“Anything,” Chan corrects, taking a step back, a little more confident in your strength now. “Come as soon as you hear anything. We’ll be in a black van, parked in the back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, more to reassure himself. “Thank you.”

When he pushes the door open and climbs into the vehicle, Felix is drinking cold tequila straight out the bottle and doesn’t spare him a single glance. His anger is palpable.

Chan sighs, leans into the leathery seat and extends a hand out; a truce.

Felix obliges.

What you’re doing is irreversible. You know this, and yet you press the buttons anyway.

He’s never been sober with me. He’s promised me a thousand things, and they’re all worth as much as nothing. And yet, you love him just the same. You couldn’t love him any less, any more. Because he saw you when you didn’t. Because he came back and his soul had already introduced itself to yours. Because he’s never once been selfish with you, when all else has done nothing but demanded.

He’s hurt you, and he’s let you go twice. Because his song broke your heart. Because it’s impossible to move on from someone who’s claimed you whole.

These are the reasons you stay on the line. You slide down the wall by the door, and bring your knees very close to your body. You’re cold all over. This is a Hyunjin you’ve never met, one with no mask, one you cannot look in the eye and determine his lies from his truths, so this will be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.

Above all, you want him to be okay. You want him to be conscious and you want to hear his voice, despite your refusal to be near him. Please. Please. Please be okay.

“Angel?”

Your tears are instantaneous. They come in an avalanche, and there’s no way to stop them. Your fingers cling onto the key hanging from your neck, hugging it tightly, thanking whatever god is listening for the raspy voice on the other line.

“Angel, why are you crying?” His worry murders you. It pierces through your lungs and sends you into anaphylactic shock. You think, I won’t make it downstairs. I won’t make it anywhere.

“Are you okay?” You manage to choke out. “Hyunjin, are you okay?”

You’ve never heard such empty, suffocating silence. It makes you want to throw up.

“I’m alone,” he responds, finally. He sounds exhausted, drained of all that made him glow on stage, all that made him indispensable. “Sweetheart, I think I’m dying.”

Your heart stops. Your body pins itself straight. No. No—

You scramble to get up from your miserable place on the floor, trip over the carpet and throw open the door, running down the stairs, the siren blaring, blasting, red red red. You see nothing, you hear nothing else, your feet take you through the bar, through the back room, towards the exit sign, the big, heavy door—

“CALL 119!” You scream at the abyss that greets you. The neon lights do not reach this part. You’re blind walking towards the men waiting for you. “Please, he’s—he’s—”

Chan tosses the door open, staring at you wide-eyed, mouth opening in horror, sensing what you’re insinuating, sensing it’s bad. Felix treads behind him, phone already in hand.

“Hyunjin, please, please t-tell me where you are,” you stutter helplessly, frozen in the middle of the parking lot. “We’ll get you help, okay, you’ll be alright, what—what’s wrong? Hyunjin, what’s wrong? Please.”

“Listen to me,” he says calmly, like he’s come to terms with something, like this is somehow going according to plan. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

You can’t help the wretched sobs that wreck through you. Can’t help the sheer terror that grips you.

“I want to see you,” you beg. “I missed you so much. I want to see you. Please.”

Hyunjin’s breath catches, labored. You hear rustling of sorts, like he’s adjusting or moving.

“Not like this,” he refuses you, for the first time. Something collapses in your chest. “Not like this.”

You tug at your hair, desperate, and look at Chan. He seems to be hanging off every word you utter, close enough to hear if he strained, but far enough to give you a semblance of privacy. The singer isn’t blinking.

“I don’t care! I don’t care, Hyun, please. Please let me. I love you. Tell me where you are.”

His deep voice cracks, and you hear him laugh breathily. It must be the heart breaking, the thing banging inside you. It’s stubborn, in distress. It’s frozen you solid.

“Finally, I get to hear that,” he rasps. “It sounds nice.”

You cry harder, your knees giving out. Chan runs.

“If you die now, how will you get to hear me say it in person? I’ll say it as many times as you’ll accept it. Because I do. I do. I love you. I was born to find you, to meet you under the stairs, to have you live inside me. I need you, Hyunjin. You can’t die on me, you—”

He’s crying. The breathy moans are tears. You’ve no voice to say such a thing to anyone. This is for you only.

“ ‘I tried so hard to bear it . . . I even put out my hand . . .’ ” His singing is for you, too. The raw way in which he utters the words, like they’re physically heavy to carry in his mouth. You sink into his broken voice, let it drift you ashore. “ ‘But what it all comes down to is; Let me hear your voice more . . . I still want to be here.’ ”

Relief floods you weak. You drop your head and cry out, laugh, then cry some more. His band members stare at you confused, anxious. You don’t know in what state he’s in, but this, this changes everything. He wants to live. He admitted it. Which means he’ll fight, which means he’ll try, over and over and over, no matter how many times he fails.

”I only want you,” he says quietly. “I only ever wanted you, angel.”

You nod to no one, you do it again and again. Your heart beseeches to reach him, to reunite with his once again, to never part as long as you both live.

“Tell me where. I’ll be there.”

A hotel six minutes away from you. You don’t know how to keep the guilt from eating you alive. Felix doesn’t know what to do with himself, after he’s informed the ambulance of the location. He meets your gaze once, his expression shuttered and astray. Chan calls security and gives them strict orders to not let anyone go up that room until you’ve talked with Ηyunjin yourself. Regardless of the situation. He does not argue with the singer when he passes past you and goes back inside the bar.

A jacket brushes your shoulders, smelling of birch tree. You look at the male left behind.

“I’ll take you and stay outside till the paramedics go in,” he says. Chan is older than you, but at that moment he looked older than anything else on this earth. You two communicate silently for a few moments, his gratitude and your conviction battling not to overspill, before his arm prods your body forward gently. “Come on.”

In the car, new fear shakes you.

What if you don’t have six minutes?

Minho is found dead in his indoor swimming pool eight hours before your time zone.

Gun in his mouth, the maid walked into something horrible, something she could not begin explaining to the American officers. I had spoken to him on the phone yesterday, she said in her testimony. Normal day. He was very kind. He said not to worry about coming into work today, but it’s my job, you know. I clean. I make sure everything is tidy. I didn’t know anything like this would happen.

No note, no messages to anyone, no indication.

Except the rings on his nightstand. The engravings:

I’ll find you after, on one.

I’ll be waiting, on the other one.

What he never managed to give to her.

The next day, newspapers all around the world print,

‘ LEE MINHO, bassist of VELVET OPIATE, DEAD by SUICIDE, aged 26. ’

There’s a lot of blood in the bathroom. Even more in the tub, where you find him.

His hair is buzzed and bleached, piercings that hadn’t been there before. The staff that opened the door for you is on standby, along with a security guard Chan brought here, both standing right outside the suite. You hadn’t noticed your attire, your uniform being second skin and unimportant, but the woman’s eyes had drifted and they had judged.

No one knew what was happening in here, only that medical help might be needed. A lot of girls like you must’ve come and went through these doors, to get a condescending look like that, and you don’t even want to think about the accidents that must’ve already occurred.

You don’t dwell on it. You can’t.

Hyunjin is shirtless and smoking, cradling a torn up arm and sporting a busted eyebrow. His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping. You go to him slowly, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. He’s a painting, even like this. Unreal. Untouchable.

You love him so heart wrenchingly, you think you might be the first one to die, after all.

”Hello, angel.”

Your eyes meet. Cigarette hanging limply from his mouth, he opens his other arm wide, smiling softly, a man patient for a hundred years, acrylic. You smile back and get in the tub with him, kneeling between his legs, letting the blood soak through your clothes too, all to feel his arm finally wrapping around you like all those times before.

Times not as hard as this. Times that will never come again.

“You made me wait,” he mumbles, the smoke curling above your heads.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He kisses the top of your head, and settles you better on top of him. Your ear presses against his heart, the tune sounding a lot like home, a drum beating rampant in your ribcage as well. Could’ve done this from the beginning. He would never let it near me.

“Don’t apologize. You’re here now.”

He smells like wine and metal. You lean into the smell, allow yourself to relax, to close your eyes. The fluorescence of the light overhead enters through your lids, shadows dancing.

“Hyunjin?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to your arm?”

A brief pause. He takes a long drag of the stick in his mouth, exhales, his fingers threading through your hair, bringing you closer if that’s possible.

“I cut the ugly part off. The one you don’t like,” he says.

You’d have to ruin this perfect peace, and betray his trust. You couldn’t postpone it any longer.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

Long fingers moving on your scalp, back and forth, back and forth, his jaw a puzzle piece on the crown of your head, his smoke and his rings. Too familiar. Achingly so.

“I don’t feel it anymore,” he shrugs it off. “You’re here.”

You open your eyes and look up at his face. His lips are pale, chapped. Nevertheless, he’s handsomer than ever. Just a little lost. A little sad. When he feels you staring, he lifts his head and stares down at you, gaze impossibly intense, burning with a hunger you’ve never truly realized.

“You keep saying that,” you break the trance, shy under his scrutiny.

Hyunjin sighs and it reverberates down your entire body. His bloody hand comes to lift your chin up, to inspect and clarify as only he ever does.

His eyes drop to your mouth. You blink.

“A dream, isn’t it?” He rasps. “You’re not real.”

You humor him. It’s better this way.

“I’m not real.”

His smile is most beautiful then.

He fists your hair and brings your lips together.

The cigarette falls.

Hyunjin on stage in three, two, one . . .

Good evening, we’re Velvet Opiate!

No. Wrong place. Must go back.

Before you call Chan, you check the drawers, pockets and pots; under carpets, the mattress, inside pillowcases. You smash his phone and flush all the powders found down the toilet. You clean up the glass, and make the bed.

You throw the satchel with the tube tied around it away, and you wipe the blood from his face as best as you can. Then you do the same thing to yours.

He wakes up as you bring the cellphone to your ear, and scatters out of the bathtub to stop you, long legs bumping, a scary sight painted in crimson. The look on his face is terrifying, like he can’t believe you’d ever possibly deceive him.

The words lodge themselves in your throat.

“What the fuck did you do?” He demands, your phone snatched, taken hostage behind his back. “Sweetheart, who were you calling?”

Your face crumples at his tone. “Chan,” you whisper. “We called an ambulance . . .”

Hyunjin rubs a hand over his face, lightning flashing in his dark eyes as he restrains himself from reacting and answers the call back, turning his back on you.

You remain still, holding your breath. You remember—quiet—as the paparazzi snapped pictures of the two of you, all those months ago, the violence with which Hyunjin had erupted then, a part you haven’t been introduced formally to until now, and you’re sure you want nothing to do with.

“No fucking hospital. Do you hear me? You want them to send me to looneyville? ‘Cause that’s where the fuck I’ll end up once they see these holes in my arms . . . The doctor, Chan, the one we pay for, remember? Don’t fucking give me that shit, I’m fine.” His head turns your way slightly. “She’s here. Look, just—no hospital. Send them away, make up a fucking excuse. Call Park.”

He throws the phone in the sink behind you, and walks up to you in two long strides, making you back up against the tiled wall. He looks more awake than he did earlier, like the high has worn off completely now.

His palm comes to rest above your head, eyes boring into yours. Something shifts immediately and the danger is gone, replaced by a tenderness and longing that twists like a knife between your ribs.

“Please, don’t ever do that again,” he murmured, connecting his forehead with yours. “I can’t lose you now. I won’t fucking stand it.”

You nod, understanding the implications.

“I didn’t know what to do when you—we thought you were—”

He shushes you, hand coming to caress your hair, to silence your fears. “I know, angel. But you called. You called before I did anything else. My highs get bad sometimes, I—it feels a lot like death. It’s . . . Nothing you need to worry about.”

You hear all that he does not say. “Tell me,” you plead. “Let me in, Hyunjin. You can’t keep me at arms length. I’ve seen you now. I’ve seen everything.”

He went to pull away, gaze torn, but you kissed him before he could move any further.

You weren’t exactly sure what happened then. Hyunjin groaned in your mouth, and lifted you in the air, wrapping your legs around his torso, walking out the bathroom with his teeth grazing your neck, his hold possessive, his need ravenous.

”I’ll disgust you,” he says, jaw clenched, as he lays you down on the bed. “You’ll run.”

”I won’t.”

”You will. No part of me should touch you. I don’t deserve a single fucking inch of you.”

His fingers move your skirt up, your panties to the side. You moan when he laps the wetness between your lips, sinking his middle finger in your tight hole once, twice, three times, mouthing kisses on your breasts, repeating your name like a prayer.

It doesn’t take him long to bury himself inside your cunt. He’s done it before, taken off the same clothes, touched between the same thighs. This time it’s primal, it’s pure need and self-hate that drives him. You welcome him with open arms, wrapping around his shoulders, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust. He fucks into you with vigor, like he missed you, like maybe he won’t get another chance at this.

You want to show him. Want to tell him. Want him to understand.

“Hyunjin . . .” You trace the lean muscle, the beauty marks, avoid the chopped skin of his forearm. “I love you.”

He shakes his head and bruises your lips purple, lifting one thigh over his shoulder, the position unbearably deeper, his cock ramming the same spot over and over, until you can do nothing else but chase after the release, after what he gives you—look at you, look at you, taking me so good, so fucking good, angel, come on, let me see you, open your eyes—your hips move of their own accord, meeting his halfway, aching hole squeezing around him, all the distance and pain transforming into blinding orgasm.

“There you go, sweetheart, fuck,” hand coming to push sweaty hair out of your face, to lay on your cheek, mouth on yours, over and over, two points connected, and him, so beautiful, so so beautiful, pistoning into you harder, faster, head dropping, voice thick, groaning as he shoots ropes of white cum inside your awaiting pussy.

“I love you,” you say again, expecting he’ll not accept it.

He pants heavily, his weight a steady reminder he’s here, he’s alive, he’s alright. You pass your own hand over his buzz cut, find you don’t miss the long hair one bit, now you can see his face better, his eyes, the way they look at you, like you’re the only moving thing on this standstill planet.

“Are you okay?” He asks, concerned. “I was selfish with you, I should’ve—”

You press a finger against his lips. “It was perfect. Don’t ruin it.”

He pulls you to his chest, cock still nesting inside you. You’re careful not to rest on his wounded arm, even as he doesn’t seem to mind it. For a long time, it’s only your breaths in the dark room, the white of the bathroom the only source of light. Your mind replays the events of the past hour, and cannot process any of it.

It feels surreal.

Hyunjin senses you slipping from him, and kisses the side of your head, bringing your body over his, the stretch inside you incredible, his length twitching and hardening.

He ignores it.

“I’ve never had anyone say those words to me before,” he admits in your hair. “No one. You’re the first.”

Your heart breaks all over again. “Is that why you don’t want them?”

His mouth lifts. “I want them. I want all of them. All of you.”

“You have me,” you say confidently. “You’ve had me all this time.”

He begins making love to you again, slowly this time. His eyes are unfathomably sad, incredibly tired, dark circles prominent. Risen from the dead and given himself another day, another chance.

“But you won’t stay unless I quit for good,” he whispers, a lover’s whisper. “And I don’t know how to do that, angel. It keeps pulling me back, no matter what I do.”

You bite back your moan to answer him. “I’ll stay,” in his ear, the best kept secret. “I won’t leave again.”

Hyunjin fingers the key dangling around your neck, wrapping it around his digits tightly. “My lifeline. I swear to you. I swear.”

You meet him in the middle like this too. And when you cry, he cries too and hugs your entire frame to him, breathing in what he has missed so. A melody builds in his mind, fingers suddenly itching for his guitar strings.

And then you say, “I want you to live, Hyunjin. I want you to live.”

And it rages against his entire being. The replenished rejoicing of a beating heart and the rest of the world. Despite death, despite death, despite death.

In spite of it.

The remaining members of Velvet Opiate organize a concert in memory of their lost friend.

Forty thousand people show up. Chan cannot get through any of the songs, Felix refuses to sing a single word. But it doesn’t matter. Hyunjin perfectly executes all his riffs and solos. He moves around the stage, commanding the crowd and thinks of the way Minho would surely curse the other two for acting so fucking sappy.

He knows this best of all. Death is a reprieve, it should not be feared. Saying that, he refuses to bow down to it yet. He can mourn and touch the casket, he can even throw the dirt on top of someone who he would follow into a burning house and not picture it was himself instead, for once—this is the kind of person Hyunjin is becoming because of you.

Steadfast, determined. He cannot get stuck again. He will not live in darkness anymore.

They do all the popular songs, and even some fan favorites, speaking in turns about Minho’s legacy and his quiet resilience. Chan mentions his womanizer ways which have caused many scandals for them over the years. Felix talks about what a pleasure it was to record material with him, how he’s never met anyone more professional than him, a real fucking spirit.

Hyunjin saves his memories for last.

In front of the same people who may have spat at him before, he rubs his newly bleached hot pink head of hair, and fidgets with the pick between his fingers. The dome is lit in red, the cheers resounding.

“Minho was a troublemaker by nature. He did whatever the fuck he wanted unapologetically. He loved fiercely, and he did it all while playing some damn good bass for this band,” he looks at his own guitar, the void it had created in his gut when he wasn’t able to play. “He never questioned a day in his life, he was the best one out of all of us—Bang, don’t look fucking offended, the guy is dead—” Chan lifts his drumsticks in defeat, and chuckles.

“He’ll pay you a visit for that one,” Felix jokes, tears streaming down his glittery face.

“He saved my life,” Hyunjin continued with a bittersweet expression. “Countless fucking times. And I think that calls for the only song he never got sick of playing, yeah?”

Sound all around. Chan started, followed by Felix’s new accessory—Minho’s customized bass and all that it entailed to keep rhythm during a song of theirs. He practiced day and night, stayed in the studio to learn all the minor tweaks and complexities the late bassist embellished the tracks with. He had a long way to go, and it’d never be the same, but the band refused to hire a new person.

It didn’t feel right. No one could replace a Velvet boy.

Hyunjin joined after the intro, leaning into the mic, looking out at the sea of fans and really seeing them, for what felt like the first time since they started having shows. Truly sober and present. It hasn’t clicked for him quite yet—how he’ll be able to keep this up, to not fuck it all up and lose everything from under his feet.

Minho’s passing shook him like nothing ever had. If he tilts his head a little to the side, and looks out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can make out the familiar impassive expression, his best friend, the flickering of his fingers over the thick bass strings. Like before.

But there’s nothing there. Not really. If he trails his gaze backstage, though, past their new manager and staff, the light shining there gathers all his attention, and he sees—

You.

“This next one, I wrote . . . dying.”

Looking back at him with shiny eyes, an emotion he’s not yet ready to decode.

It wouldn’t matter, either way. He’s dedicated his entire life to you now.

“I met someone in a dark room, and molded around them. She decided I was worth knowing to the bone, defenseless and naked. So I wrote this for her.”

Can’t see anything but your sweet face in that tub smearing his blood with yours, hear nothing but the way you whisper his name in the dead quiet of night, as he makes you cum again, and again, and again.

He brings the silver padlock around his neck to his lips, and kisses it. He calls out your name.

He plays the new song he wrote for you.

You run to him. He waits, arms wide open.

All is still.

#hyvneluv recs #I’m gone #it’s over #life is worth living #holy shitballs

84 notes · View notes

hyvneluv · 18 days ago

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐞...

Pairing: general!hyunjin x afab!reader, established relationship, nonidol!au

Synopsis: hyunjin calls you after a wreath-laying ceremony. he's been holding on for too long and he breaks down in front of you. luckily you're always there to remind him of his strength.

Warning: angst, tiny mention of death, fluff, comfort

A/n: first one for the books! Didn't mean to come off as emotional or whatever I just wanted to try it out. But this won't be happening often so enjoy this pilot episode! (heh)

The dialing tone hummed in his ears as he adjusted the camera on his tablet. The faint glow on the screen illuminated his stark features, under eyes dark and heavy, skin pale from overloading work. His uniform lay at the edge of his bed, tossed along with his cap. After attending the wreath-laying ceremony he barely had anytime to collect himself rushing into his room and locking himself. It hadn’t been easy. The number of colleagues and juniors he had lost over the past months collective with the weight of duty pressing on his shoulders gave him sleepless nights and on days he managed to sleep; nightmares. Sitting by his desk in a vest and trousers he had managed to eat some of the dinner his friend had made for him to “keep his mind off the empty seats at base.” But the remnants lay there beside him getting cold. He only had one goal tonight.

To hear her voice. All he needed was to hear your voice.

Hyunjin always imagined what it would be like if one day you never picked up the phone when he called, or if it wasn’t you that answered. Maybe your new man, claiming you’d finally got tired of waiting around for him. It would be better if you didn’t wait for him at all, start a new life all together. He just wanted you to be happy. To not think about whether he’d die every other day.

A soft chime from his screen signaled the video calls connection which ultimately brought Hyunjin out of his depressing thoughts. There you were, his anchor. Your warm smile thawing his frozen world from miles away. Your hair messy and tousled from laying on the bed. Your figures were wrapped in his hoodie. He chuckled at how oversized it looked but it just made his chest tighten with longing.

“Hey, captain,” you greeted softly, hand raising in a salute. “Rough day?”

“At ease, solider” he replied out of habit. “Baby, I don’t even know where to start.” Hyunjin exhaled, a tired grin playing on his face.

You glanced past him on the screen to see his occasional uniform on the bed. “You had an event today and you didn’t tell me before?” he followed your line of sight and grimaced at the awful reminder the clothes gave him. He turned back to you, playing with fingers. “Yes, but it wasn’t one of the…good ones.” You raised your eye brows in confusion the acknowledgement.

“Oh, baby I'm so sorry.” your hands covered your mouth in a feeling that you said something out of line. “It’s okay, baby. Things like these happen. No one can control it.”

“How many did we lose?” you whispered. Hyunjin’s eyes faced the ceiling like he was trying hard not to cry again. He really couldn't. Seeing a general like him cry was a sign of weakness. He couldn't be weak.

“We lost fourteen, baby.” His voice cracked on the number.

Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, his normally steady demeanor crumbling in the safe space you'd built between you two. “Hyunjin...” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

His lips pressed into a hard line, eyes still upward fighting to keep his composure. “I— I tried. We all did.” He shook his head, the weight of guilt evident in his voice. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“Hey, no,” you interrupted, your voice firm but gentle. “You’re doing everything you can. You always have. None of this is on you.” Your fingers graze the outline of his cheek on your device in hopes that he could feel your touch.

Hyunjin’s breath shuddered, and for a moment, he stayed silent. His hands, calloused and trembling, fidgeted on the desk. He finally looked back at you, his eyes red and watery from the tears he failed to hold.

“B-baby-”

“Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting for my turn,” he admitted, the confession hanging heavily in the space between you. A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. “Don’t say that.”. “You deserve someone who’s here. Not someone who might just— disappear.”

“No,” you said with conviction, shaking your head. “I want you. I love you. Don’t push me away because you're hurting.” Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. You had to be the strong one now. “Please don't do that.”

Hyunjin looked away, jaw clenched, guilt still etched into every line of his face. “You’re my home,” you continued, voice softer now. “And no matter where you are, I’ll always be here waiting for you, Hyunjin. Always.”

His eyes flickered back to the screen, misty and vulnerable. “God, I don’t deserve you.” “Yes, you do,” you insisted. “You’ve always been enough for me.”. “I wish I could hold you right now,” he whispered brokenly. “Fuck, I don't even remember what your hair feels like.”

“Soft as moonlit sighs, slipping through fingers like secrets in the night.” You replied, watching as Hyunjin’s face contorted in cringe. “That's way too much.”

“Your the one that said it. I remember very correctly.” He smiled at her, the shadow of sadness slowly leaving. Then an idea sparked in your mind.

“H-hey you need to remember me right? Remember the things I do t-that make you happy?”

Hyunjin fixed his composure, wiping his stray tears. “Yeah? What do you have in mind, my love?”

“Well, every time you smell blueberries, think of me. Those are always my favorite.”

He nodded in agreement giving a toothy smile.

“Uh...whenever you check the time, remember how I used to grab your wrist to drag you places. When you touch your utterly attractive buzzcut, remember how obsessed I was when you came back with it that night. Oh! Our photos, look at those. Those are our memories. Whenever you struggle with that button on your uniform remember how I'd swat your hand away to help you fix it. God, there are so many things baby.”

Hyunjin concluded. You were perfect. Too perfect for him. As you rambled on and on of how he could catch a glimpse of you in his everyday life he just wondered how you could stay and love a man like him. Seeing you full of expressions and joy gave him the strength he needed.

“Oh, oh and one more the most important one; everytime someone calls your name, remember how I used to call you with so much love. Remember how I used to call you in every moment.”

“I love you.” Hyunjin said softly, his gentle smile calming the tension on his face. Another tear rolled down but he let it. “I adore you, my love.”

His eyes dilated. They were focused on you. On the pure beauty you exuded.

His lover. His only muse.

“Hyune, c’mon stop being sappy. I'm just trying to make you feel better.” You scratched the back of your neck, your cheeks warming up. He didn't listen.

“Your too perfect for me. Fuck baby I don't care if I have to say it a million times. I. Love. You.”

You smiled back.

“I love you too, baby.”

You rested your face in your hands leaning against the table.

"I love you too, Hyunjin. You're my hero, always. Stay strong for me okay? I need someone to take care of me anyways."

He chuckled. You both stayed on the call for a while longer, silence filling the space with unspoken comfort. He’d better find a way to make you his before anyone else did, because you were his. Only his.

“Hey maybe when you come back we can start switching up things at home.”

“Things? Things like what?”

“A room for the baby.”

“A-A WHAT??!”

hehehe thought I'd leave it here...noice cliffie. Did we cry a bit? No? Well I hope so. Again this is my first so comments would be nice.

Liking and reblogging are allowed. Reposting strictly prohibited.

Taglist:

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather

If you'd like to be added you can drop your blog name in my asks!

~kc. 💗

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hyvneluv · 21 days ago

Text

Simp

Hwang Hyunjin x Afab!Reader

✦ Genre - Smut [MDNI] - Friends to Lovers

✦ Word Count - 3.5k

✦ Summary - What started as a new tattoo and playful teasing unravels into breathless confessions and desperate touches. All because of a haircut. ✦ CW - amateur tattooing (please get inked safely), dry humping ✦A/N - I'm late to the 'blonde buzzcut Hyunjin' fic party ... please accept this as an offering. No but seriously, I meant to post this weeks ago...

✦ Masterlist✦

“Are we seriously doing this?” There's a moment of silence and you giggle. “Hyunjin, seriously?”

Your best friend turns to you, his face lit up with a mischievous grin, the newly purchased cheap tattoo gun gleaming in his hand.

“Yeah, we're doing this. Unless you secretly hate me and don't want a reminder of our friendship etched onto your skin for eternity,” He teases, feigning disappointment with a dramatic sigh as he settles onto the stool behind you

You roll your eyes with playful exasperation, leaning over the small sink of his modest bathroom and catch his eye in the mirror.

“Shut up, don't fuck it up.” You retort, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. He chuckles, gently pushing your shorts up a bit to reveal the bare skin of your thigh to get a better look at the spot you want the ink to go.

“On your upper thigh, right?” He confirms, his voice steady and focused. You hum in agreement, watching him carefully through the mirror

“Gonna need…” He murmurs, his voice a mix of mischief and focus as he slips two fingers into the diamond of your fishnets, carefully ripping a hole. “More space. That should do it.”

“Hyunjin! What the hell.” You gasp, a mix of annoyance and amusement in your tone as you kick your foot back at him. “I just bought these.”

“They would've gotten ripped in a week anyway, don't cry about it, baby. Bend over,” He coaxes, a playful glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes with a reluctant smile but comply. “Now stay still.”

He slips on some gloves, his fingers brushing against your skin for just a second before he turns on the gun, and dips it into the black ink. Hyunjin has drawn portraits of you, painted your body, and adorned your skin with beautiful temporary prints for months, but this is different. This is forever.

Hyunjin positions himself, his gaze meeting yours through the mirror, a silent exchange of trust before he begins. The pen touches your skin, and you inhale sharply at the sharp sting of the needle, a thrill running down your spine.

“Fuck.” You hiss and Hyunjin chuckles.

“Feels good doesn't it? Fucking freak.” He taunts in a low concentrated tone as he moves the pen over your skin.

You bite back a smile, refusing to admit he's right, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you close your eyes, trying to keep as still as possible as the minutes roll by.

“It's almost done,” Hyunjin murmurs, dipping the needle in more ink. “I think this is becoming my favorite pastime.”

“Yeah? Gonna be a tattoo artist now? Quit your day job at Arby's?” You tease and Hyunjin laughs, pulling the pen away before it touches your skin again, his head thrown back in amusement.

“Oh, fuck you.” He chuckles, smiling so wide his eyes turn into glimmering crescents. “I don't want to be a tattoo artist. I just like tattooing you.”

He returns the pen to your skin, and you take a steadying breath.

“Why me?” You watch him through the mirror.

“I enjoy seeing my art on you. Hearing your breath catch under the needle. You know, typical best friend stuff.”

“Simp.” He lays a playful smack on your ass. “Rude” You scoff.

“I'm a simp because I call my best friend pretty?” He wipes away the excess ink. “Isn't that something you should like?”

“Nuh uh,” You hum, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You're a simp because you want me so much it almost hurts, doesn't it?”

Hyunjin chuckles, turning off the tattoo gun.

“Oh yes, I want my hand down your pants right now.” He mocks, spraying the area with saline and wiping it. “Look at it.”

You chuckle and stand straight. He watches as you turn to the side, rising on your tiptoes to admire the ink.

“Okay, that's beautiful.” You admit, studying the fine line rose tattoo. It's simple, a bit messy, and absolutely perfect. “I want another one.”

“Are you getting off on this?” He raises a playful eyebrow from where he's seated and you push his shoulder.

“Whatever… Let me give you one now. The same rose.” His eyebrow raise turns from playful to questioning.

“I'm not so sure about that.” You scoff and step closer to him while he’s distracted with cleaning up all that he used. You run your hand over his fresh blonde cut, aggressively grazing the pads of your fingers along his scalp.

“Let me, c’mon. It can be the way you pay me back for chopping off all of your hair last night and not calling me.” You obnoxiously run your fingers over his scalp and he groans.

“It’s called a surprise, if you hate it just tell me.” He sets the tattoo gun aside and turns to look up at you. “Am I ugly or something?”

“Yup, sure are.” You tease and he feigns offense. “You look like a kiwi. A sour kiwi who doesn’t call their best friend when they make drastic changes.” Hyunjin groans and turns his body to face you.

“You are more dramatic than me at this point. I’m sorry, okay? Okay?” He pokes your side, grabbing your hip and tickling you. You gasp a laugh and try to escape but his grip is too strong.

“Nope, nah, can’t run away.” He pulls you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Tell me that you love my haircut.”

You squeal a laugh, fighting against him but he has the upper hand even as he sits on the stool in front of you. “I hate it, it’s ugly!” He laughs when you do, knowing that your insults are baseless. He continues his assault, arguing with you until you concede.

“Fine! It’s nice, it’s hot. You’re hot!” He stops, laughing a bit as you give in, but something shifts.

“Simp.” He teases, pulling you into his lap to sit down and catch your breath. He wraps his arm around your waist, panting a bit himself. Your words settle in his mind. He replays it a couple times per second, trying to decipher if you said it just to get him to stop or if there’s something more to it.

He could be reaching too far. He could be looking too deeply, but something is telling him that he’s not. “Do you mean that?”

The now soft tone of his voice catches you more than the question does. “Huh?” Your gazes meet and you blink at him, caught off guard. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he asks again, slower this time.

“Do you mean that? Do you think I’m hot?” Hyunjin’s curious gaze has you locked, feeling almost pinned or exposed by the question. Your mind kicks into high gear, trying to figure out why that matters to him.

“Why are you asking me that? I compliment you all the time.”

“You never call me hot. Never.”

His tone is soft but firm and there’s something about the way he says it, like he’s realizing something in real time. He licks over his lips again as his eyes search yours with that look. You know that look. It’s the same one he gives when he’s figured something out.

“Is that a big deal?” You feign nonchalance and shrug but Hyunjin can see right through you. He’s known you for too long, studied your every expression and move. He can see through the act.

“The haircut looks good… that’s all.”

“Don’t play coy.” His voice drops, softer now, and the shift is instant. His gaze is intense, unwavering, so you look away - but he won’t let you. His thumb presses gently against your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

“You’re delusional.” You joke, forcing out a dry chuckle. But Hyunjin only smiles. “You’re my friend and yeah, you’re hot. You think I’m hot too.”

“I do,” He agrees easily “But that’s hardly friendly. You just haven’t noticed it yet.” There’s a pause, The air shifts into something thick and heavy and for a moment neither of you say a word. You share a gaze, trying to detect any discomfort or dishonesty. Regret or hesitation, anything.

“Fuck you,” Your voice is softer now, uncertain. “Don’t fuck around like that.”

“I’m not fucking around, baby.”

That nickname shouldn’t do anything - it never has before - or maybe that’s a lie. Maybe you’ve gotten good at controlling the way it makes you feel when it slips from his lips like he made the word just for you. Like you’re the only person who comes to mind when he puts the letters together in his head. You’re not supposed to feel anything but this time, it sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t stop it.

His fingers flex slightly on your thigh, the warmth of his touch making your inhale stutter. “How do you mean it?” His voice is impossibly low now, but somehow not a whisper. “Do you mean that I’m hot in a friendly way?”

“I just mean it.” He tsks, tilting his head with a small smile.

“That is not an answer.” His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles into your thigh and it’s almost distracting enough to make you forget to hold your guard. Almost.

“You can either give me an answer,” He murmurs, “or I can test my theory… you pick.”

You meet his eyes again - really meet them - and for the first time, his gaze isn’t sharp, it isn’t teasing. It’s soft, searching, like he’s waiting for you to show yourself to him. Waiting for you to give him something. Something real.

It’s genuine. It’s Hyunjin.

“What’s your theory?”

Hyunjin inhales slowly, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. His gaze doesn’t waver. “My theory is that you mean it in more than a friendly way.” His tone is sure, confident. “Cause if you didn’t, you would’ve gotten up and left. You would’ve hit me, you would’ve teased me, you would do something to prove me wrong, but you didn’t.”

His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh just a bit. “You’re still here, sitting on my lap and I think…”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes flicker to yours - just for a second, but long enough that you feel the heat of his attention. “I think that if I kissed you right now, you’d let me. I think that you’d want me to… because you do think I’m hot in the same way that I find you hot.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

Because he’s right.

Hyunjin takes his time as he reaches for you, fingers catching your chin between his thumb and pointer, keeping you still. His eyes are searching yours, he’s gauging your reaction as he gets closer, reading every tiny shift.

The space between you disappears slowly, intentionally. The only sound in the room is the uneven rhythm of your breaths mixing with his own.

And for a brief moment, he thinks about how perfect you sound together. You always have.

“So…” He whispers, voice trailing off as his lips hover just inches from yours. You sigh softly, and his eyes flicker down to catch the way your breath fans over his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

It’s still. Silent.

He doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t rush you. He waits - waits for you like this moment is worth everything. And then, finally, he hears it - your breath hitching, your lips parting just slightly before you give him an answer.

“Please kiss me.”

Hyunjin exhales sharply, his breath catching in his chest. And then he smiles - just barely, just enough to make you think he’s being smug. But in reality, he’s relieved.

“Thank god.”

The words barely leave his lips before he closes the gap, pressing into you with a tenderness you didn’t expect. His lips move against yours slowly, deliberately, like he’s been waiting for this - savoring it, memorizing it.

And the truth is, he has.

Hyunjin hums against your lips, the sound vibrating between you, sending a shiver down your spine. The hand that had been drawing soothing circles on your thigh is no longer gentle - it grips you now, grounding him just as much as it anchors you. But you’re no better. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, while your other hand smoothes over his soft blonde hair.

His touch shifts, fingertips trailing from your chin to cup your cheek, his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that makes your breath stutter. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss with an ease that makes you wonder how long he’s been thinking about this. Then, his tongue sweeps over your lips - gentle, requesting - and you give in without hesitation, a quiet, dizzy hum escaping you.

He’s everything you ever imagined him to be and more. There’s a tenderness in the way he kisses you, something unhurried and careful, but beneath it, there's heat. A slow, burning kind of hunger that’s been simmering for longer than either of you are willing to admit.

And you meant it. He’s hot. He always has been. You’d say it again if he asked.

His tongue slides against yours with growing urgency, a slow, intoxicating hunger that has been locked away and hidden behind years of calling yourselves best friends. But now, by some miracle, you’re giving in and Hyunjin hums when he realizes he finally has a chance.

He has a chance to have you.

A chance to be more than just your best friend. Because he doesn’t just want to be close to you - he wants to be your everything.

Hyunjin hums again, reluctant as he starts to pull away. It’s an attempt at keeping his control, at being a gentleman. But just as he’s about to break the kiss completely, he indulges in one last, slow lick into your mouth.

And you moan. You fucking moan.

A quiet, breathy sound that you barely register making - but he does.

His eyebrows draw together instantly. His breath hitching, and before he can stop himself, he lets out a sound of his own - a low desperate noise that he didn’t mean to give away.

“Don’t do that.” He murmurs against your lips, voice rough, breathless. “You have no business sounding that pretty. You have no clue… what that just did to me.”

His forehead presses against yours, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to collect himself. But you can feel it, all of it - all of him.

“I can feel exactly what that did to you.” You whisper, shifting just slightly in his lap and his fingers dig into your thigh.

“Baby.” His voice is dangerously low, his half-lidded eyes locking onto yours. “You are asking for more than I planned to give you.”

That should be your warning. That should be enough to tell you to stop.

But it isn’t.

You’ve never been able to resist teasing him, and you’re not about to start now. So you do it again - just the smallest shift of your hips, the subtlest press against him.

And that’s all it takes.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens, his lips parting as he sucks in a sharp breath. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and you can see it now - the way his restraint is slipping. The way his neck flushes, red and hot, betraying just how quickly he’s unraveling.

“I asked you not to, didn’t I?” His voice is softer now, but there’s a rawness underneath it. His fingers are firm on your hips, his control hanging by a thread. “Tell me if you want me to stop right now. Tell me.”

You shake your head before you can even think about it - too fast, too eager - but there’s no room for hesitation anymore.

“Don’t.” You whisper back and that’s all he needs.

Hyunjin exhales sharply, leaning back against the wall, his hands sliding up your spine as he pulls you so close you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

“I won’t.” He whispers back a promise, his lips brushing over yours before sealing you into another dizzying kiss.

“I won’t stop,” He breathes, voice warm and sure. “Just ask, and I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

Hyunjin’s hips jerk up instinctively the moment his lips crash against yours, and you both let out matching, breathless moans. The friction sends a shockwave through you, making your body act on its own accord - your hips chasing his, rolling down to meet every movement with one of equal desperation.

His fingers dig into your thighs and your hands brace against his chest. Before you can blink the two of you are rutting like horny teenagers. You’re moving together in a frantic rhythm - needy, messy, shameless.

The small space is filled with the sound of your moans, gasps, the wet slide of your lips against each other. You kiss him like he’s never just been your friend, licking into his mouth with abandon then pulling back only to pant over him - watching the way he looks up at you, dazed and wrecked.

Hyunjin stares at you like you’re a work of fucking art, a masterpiece. He admires every dip and curve of you like he’s trying to commit it to memory. His eyes rake over the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls over your shoulder and your hips roll. His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, teeth sinking into the plump flesh in a desperate attempt to keep himself together. But he knows that his attempts are futile.

“You have no idea how sexy you are.” He groans, voice rough with need. His praise sends a shiver through you, making your cunt clench around nothing. “Beautiful. So pretty, so hot.”

His fingers curl into your fishnets and on the next swirl of your hips he rips them with a simple tug. His fingers pop the diamonds like they were silk spun spider webs and the pop against your skin makes you moan out louder than intended.

“Hyunjin…”

“Don’t.” He’s barely holding it together. “Do not moan my name. I will fucking cum.”

His hands find your hips again and he grinds up against you in hopes that he can guide you towards your high before he falls over the edge first. “Is that what you want? Want me to cum in my pants, baby?”

Your head falls back, hands pushing under the hem of his shirt, fingers greedily mapping the firm muscles of his abdomen. He moans at the contact, his muscles tense under your touch.

“Yes,” You breathe, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I want that. Want it so fucking badly, Hyune…” Your nails sink into his taunt muscle, your hips grind over the head of his cock and Hyunjin tenses beneath you.

His grip is bruising, his cock twitching against your core before he spills into his sweats with a choked moan. His head falls back, exposing the pretty line of his throat, his jaw slack as you ride him through his orgasm in order to work towards your own.

“Holy shit, oh my god, yeah. Keep going, keep going.” His words tumble out in a desperate string as he keeps one hand on your hip, the other palming your ass while your hips meet his wild bucking.

“Yes, yes, gonna…” It only took one more roll of your hips. One more needy grind against his leaking cock beneath you and you crash. Your orgasm takes you right then and there.

It’s blinding. Paralyzing. Intoxicating.

Hyunjin sits up instantly, wrapping you in his arms, holding you to his chest as he feels your body shudder. His hips are still bucking up subtly, trying to help you ride out your orgasm while he peppers soft kisses over your temple, your cheek, whatever he can reach.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, baby, god.” He whispers, his breath still ragged from his climax as you ride the aftershocks of yours. You hug him, holding onto him like he’s your life line and he holds you right back.

Hyunjin runs his fingers lazily through your hair while you run your fingers over his. He melts into your touch, resting his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you say anything - not yet. There’s nothing that needs to be said.

A couple of minutes of your shared settling breaths being the only sound in the room passes before Hyunjin breaks the silence.

“I’m afraid that you were right… I am a simp.” You scoff a laugh, pulling back to meet his playful gaze. “But so are you.”

“I am not,” You protest, feigning offense. Instead of arguing with you he simply leans in, stealing a kiss from your lips.

“I am still not-” Another kiss. “Hyunjin!”

“Admit it.” He grins, kissing you again. “C’mon.”

“I am not-” He kisses you again, deeper. Longer. He takes his time and savors the way you melt into him all over again.

And then you moan.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to smile at you. “You fucking moaned.”

You groan, rolling your eyes and accepting defeat. “Fine!” You scoff, feigning annoyance. “I am a simp for you.”

Hyunjin’s smile softens, his hand slips to the back of your head and pulls you into another kiss. It’s slow. Soft and sweet.

“Yeah,” He murmurs against your lips “I know.”

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hyvneluv · 29 days ago

Text

I feel lightheaded

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #skz #hyunjin pics #hyunjin pic #hyunjin hard thoughts #lover boy #save me

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

Text

im acc gonna jump why did i read this before bed i want to kms

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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#sobbing #not for the weak #what the fuck #roommie thinks im crazy #whats the point of life #so beautiful #pls i want an epilogue after life chp #im acc so devastated

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

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I feel kind of silly but would you mind explaining what this bit means? Overall really really kept me hooked and engaged ugjhfwhuwdfhwdu except I didn’t really understand this bit

「𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝」

➥ Revenge Artist!Hyunjin x Novelist!Reader (gn) — 3.2k (~13 min. read)

➥ The author chooses not to issue tags for everything that takes place in this work to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to proceed at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Implied past violence, explicit sexual content.

➥ You finally land the interview with the revenge artist Hwang Hyunjin for material for your new novel. After chasing him for two years, that is.

*Spinoff fom the universe of SINdicate **This story has an interactive version. Check it out here.

...and finally, there he was. Grace materialized. White shirt with loosened buttons hugging his figure, accenting long, dark brown hair, sleeves rolled up so neatly as if the fabric was cut that way. Patent leather shoes under the black trousers, belt from the same material adorning his slim waist. He held so much power with just the way he walked that if he so much as blew a candle, the entire building would collapse. You stood up.

“Mr. Hwang, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Keep reading

#hyvneluv recs #ate #on my toes #am I just stupid or what #I feel like I need a in depth explanation but oh well #10/10 would read again

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

Text

「𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕」

➥ Fighter Pilot/Childhood BFF!Bang Chan x Reader (f) — 4.8k (~20 min. read)

➥ First love, Mutual pining, Smut with feelings

➥ 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.

⚠ — Explicit sexual content

➥ You used to fly paper planes together; now he's commanding real ones in the sky. You spend every minute of every day missing him, having no idea you're all he thinks about night after night as he watches the ceiling of his empty room.

One chilly duskfall brings him back to you again along with little confessions a lifetime in the making.

The setting sun had painted the sky with the most beautiful gradient of cotton candy pinks, warm oranges, and pastel purples, flooding the kitchen with the golden glow of a summer day even though it was freezing outside. You spent the entire Sunday with Chris’ great-aunt making citrus jam. She had this habit of making her nephew’s favorites whenever she missed him too much, even when he wasn’t around to taste them. You knew how much solace she found in your presence when Chris wasn’t around, but it wasn’t just to make an old lady happy that you readily accompanied her every time she invited you.

It was your silent attempt to appease the excruciating longing you had for the curly-haired rascal you used to ride seesaws with.

“How’s this?” you held your hand under the tasting spoon carrying hot drops of jam and offered it to Helen.

“It’s perfect!” she loudly clapped, “We’ll label your batch with a gold star. I’ll go bring more jars from the cellar.”

You brightly smiled at her as she disappeared into the hallway, but the curls of your lips flattened in an instant. It just wasn’t working this time around. Every contrail in the orange sky outside was making your heart sizzle. The sweet and zesty scent permeating the kitchen was making you miss him even more terribly, reminding you of the eighth-grade summer you and Chris had to help Aunt Helen make fifty jars of citrus jam as punishment for not doing your summer homework.

“Wish you were here, Falcon,” you mumbled to yourself, heaving a deep sigh as you slowly stirred the pot, “It’s just not the same without you.”

“And what are your other two wishes, Chickadee?”

The extremely specific nickname rendered in that familiar voice gave you such a start that you thought you went certifiably insane for a second. When you swiftly turned towards the entrance, the jar you were holding said goodbye to this cruel world and loudly crashed into dust. Your heart was singing horribly out of tune while doing somersaults, and you were rapidly going back and forth between the urge to break down crying and die laughing for being able to manifest him out of sheer willpower.

“I know I was away for too long but you do remember who I am, right?” he dropped his large duffel bag on the floor, smiling at you with mischievous lights flickering in his eyes, “Where’s my hug, you klutz?”

You choked back a sob of relief and bolted into his embrace. You threw your arms around his waist, clawing at the fabric wrapping his body like he was going to evanesce otherwise.

“You’re back,” you whispered into the crook of his neck, breathing all erratically and trembling like a leaf, “You’re really back.”

He held you as tightly as he could to bask in your warmth, hoping you would forgive him for slightly hurting you. If it meant you were going to welcome him like this, he would gladly go to the bottom circle of hell any freaking day.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?! I heard the jar—”

Helen’s eyes widened in shock looking at the handsome young man clad in his civilian uniform made up of a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and combat boots, her blood pressure promptly climbing at the unexpected sight.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” she shrieked as she hasitly made her way towards the door, “Showing up out of thin air. You said you wouldn’t be back until March!”

“Mission ended much earlier than expected. I thought I could spend my time off with my favorite girls,” Chris reluctantly let you go for another big hug in the making, “but I can go if you’d rather—”

“Shush, you! Come here.”

Oh, the sight of a mother reuniting with her son… This. If there was a singular silver lining to the torture that was Chris being gone, it was this right there. Even though Helen was quietly sobbing in his chest, your heart was so full it was about to burst.

“Come, now, milady,” he gently wiped her tears with a comforting smile, “No tears allowed when I’m here, yeah?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, brat! God, I’m so glad you’re safe and sound,” she pulled him close again, then nailed her boy to the chair in the kitchen as you two started preparing a lightning-fast dinner accompanied by his stories.

Chris’ job description came with a bunch of potentially fatal risks, but it didn’t stop you from being worried sick as if every damn day was the worst-case scenario. His eyes were still as sleep-deprived as ever, but they were at least smiling, and as long as he was healthy, maybe you could consider overlooking his bedtime problem. He was back now. He was with you. And that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

There was so much catching up to do that nobody realized how fast time flew by. Only when Helen rose to her feet to call it a night did you realize the clock was showing midnight hours.

“Alright, I’m off to bed now. Don’t stay up too late,” she toggled to mom mode again, then turned to you, “I’ll make your bed in the guest room today, okay sweetheart?”

“Oh, no need! I’ll go home after ca—”

“Nonsense!” she immediately protested, “You are staying, and we are having a feast tomorrow morning together as a family again.”

“But I shouldn—”

“I’ll put a deadbolt on the door so she can’t leave,” Chris reassured his aunt with the firmness of a drill sergeant, albeit smugly smirking at you, “She owes me a year’s worth of pancakes anyway.”

“Attaboy,” she ruffled his hair lovingly and bade you two goodnight.

Chris was finally home. Of course it was going to be a good night even if the world was ending the morning after.

“I’ll go take a shower,” he stood up as well, “Meet you upstairs in a bit?”

You retreated to his room to change into your nightwear from the day before. This particular corner of the house always took you back to when you were a bunch of kids running around the neighborhood looking for birds, but it was fascinating how much of a difference Chris’ physical presence made. When he was away, the room felt gigantic but tighter than a coffin at the same time. You would start having trouble breathing just being in it for three seconds, drowning yourself in the sweet pain of nostalgia and getting crushed under the weight of love you had for him. You didn’t know why you were willingly hurting yourself to this extent; maybe it was the only way for you to feel alive in his absence, but when he was home…

Oh, when he was home…

There was no place on earth that was cozier. It was an everlasting carnival where cotton candies made of happiness were sold. The thrill of the roller coasters constantly rushed through your veins.

It was pure heaven.

“Have you been sleeping in my room?”

Chris’ voice echoed like a record scratch, immediately stopping you from internally kicking your feet. You flinched in your place, feeling guilty for some reason like you got caught red-handed doing something utterly shameful.

“W–What?”

“It smells like you in here,” he sniffed the air as he was drying his hair with a towel, “Also you’re using my favorite shirt as a nightgown.”

“Shut up, I spilled tomato sauce on mine!”

He burst into toned-down laughter, tousling your hair to annoy you further. The chain of his necklace peeked through the collar of his t-shirt, and it took everything in your willpower to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot. You had the pendant of two little chickadees custom-made and gave it to him before his very first deployment. All these years later he was still wearing it.

So many butterflies were holding hands and doing a line dance in your stomach that you were about to combust.

“Okay, Falcon, you’re gonna tell me everything now.”

“Sure, would you like me to share classified tactical plans, too?” he sat cross-legged on the bed across from you, leaning against the headboard.

“You know what I mean! There has to be some stuff you couldn’t say in front of Aunt Helen,” you slapped his bare arm, “How are you? How is your insomnia? Are you eating all your meals? Did you g—?”

“Breathe, Chickadee,” he held your hands and gave them a firm squeeze, “One at a time.”

Your heart beat so hard in your chest that you were pretty sure it looked like a hiccup.

He started answering your questions, but you couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying at all courtesy of your limbic system abruptly taking over the microphone. The orange glow emitting from the nightstand lamp was casting a somewhat sultry spotlight on him, unnecessarily pointing out some changes in his physique. His sunkissed skin was stretched tight over his now bulkier body, and unless your eyes were deceiving you, his shoulders had somehow gotten broader and his thighs looked a lot thicker. One look at the bulging veins on his arms, and your mind rendered an unsolicited mental picture for you in 4K, depicting him doing bench presses half-naked.

Oh, he looked gooood.

“Are you listening?” he lowered his head to hold your gaze.

“HUH? Y–Yeah,” you shook your head to snap out of it.

“What were you thinking about that intensely?”

You in your uniform but topless, would be the correct answer, but you hadn’t lost your mind that bad to give him the uncensored version.

“I was just thinking you must be a hit with the officers in your fleet,” you told him instead.

“How do you figure?”

“I mean…” you gestured in his general direction, “You got quite the eye candy situation going on. I’d look forward to going to work if it were me.”

He narrowed his eyes and slightly tilted his head with a barely there smile. By your usually levelheaded standards, this would be considered straight up bold, and Chris was clearly loving the change in demeanor.

“Yeah?” he clasped his hands under his nape, posture way too cocky for no reason, “Would you fall for me if you saw me in the locker room?”

“Oh, christ, I totally forgot you can’t take compliments like a normal human being,” you slapped your forehead.

“Would you gossip about me with other officers?”

“Chris…”

“Would you tell them I’m very bangable?”

“Cut it out!”

You lunged at him as a knee-jerk response to put a stopper to his giggle fit. You didn’t have any intention to legitimately hurt him, so it naturally scared you when he suddenly hissed in pain.

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he pulled on the collar of his top as if to hide something, but it was very much in vain.

You had already caught a sliver of what you prayed to be an optical illusion.

“What is this?” you tried to remove his fingers, “Did you… Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t the question,” you grabbed the hem of his shirt.

“Let it go, it’s noth—”

“Stop squirming!”

In one swift move, you took his shirt off. There were remains of a stitched wound there, and it looked like it had been healing for a while now.

“W–What happened to you?”

“It’s just a scratch,” he shrugged it off and tried to put his shirt back on clearly as an attempt to avoid confrontation, but you immediately stopped him because…

One of the chickadees on the pendant seemed slightly disfigured and discolored.

The one on the left…

“Is this… a gun wound?” deep creases formed between your brows upon the unpleasant realization.

“Shh, keep your voice down,” he abruptly sat up and covered your mouth.

“Were you in combat? DID YOU GET IN—?”

“Look at me. Look at me. I’m fine,” he held your face to force you to look at him before you started spiraling, pacifying you with a warm smile, “It was just an accident during training, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

Your quickening breathing took a U-turn, and you chose to believe him because the alternative was simply too unbearable to even think about. You hesitantly touched around the still somewhat raw skin.

“Does it… hurt too much?”

“Nothing I can’t manage,” he held your hand over his wound.

You didn’t know what came over you. As you were staring at the scar, you instinctively leaned forward and gently kissed it, and your lips lingered there for quite a bit. Chris had heard of the term kissing it better before, but he had never believed it would actually work.

Until now.

“I will worry,” you retreated, averting your eyes away from him, “I already worry all the time wondering if you’re safe. I worry if you—”

You stopped. Otherwise you were going to cry.

“Didn’t know you liked me that much, Chickadee,” he teased like he always did to disperse the dark clouds whenever you were sad.

“Well, you’d better, stupid!”

His smile shapeshifted then. This time he leaned forward and held your face, looking at you with so much adoration in his eyes.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why I wanted to become a pilot?” he asked as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“Because you thought you’d be Ironman.”

“Well, that, too,” he quietly chuckled, “When we were kids, you would drag me around the neighborhood every time you spotted a chickadee. I’ve never seen someone this enamored by those fluffballs.”

“Because they’re so cute!”

“They are,” he quickly agreed, but his voice carried the fragrance of defeat for some reason, “But you seemed to like them more than me.”

This time for sure it looked like you had a hiccup. You didn’t know what to do with yourself at all.

“I worry, too, you know,” he pulled his hand back and started playing with his fingers, “I worry you will forget about me one of these days. I worry you will give your heart to someone, and—”

He stopped. Otherwise he was going to cry.

“I wanted to learn how to fly for you,” his smile was broken enough to shatter your heart, “Maybe you would like me just as much then.”

You were stunned.

What was he even saying? What kind of nonsense was maybe you would like him? Maybe. Had his prolonged lack of oxygen somehow managed to blind him, or were your performances for him to take the hint much more applauseworthy than you intended?

All the words that insisted on eluding you finally decided to come back home, and you started speaking before you could form coherent sentences in your brain.

“They say people are immune to their own scents but not to others’,” you reflected his broken smile back at him, hoping yours would be able to complete his, “I do sleep here a lot. It’s crazy how it still hasn’t vanished by now, but every time I walk in, it still smells like you. It feels like we’re still hiding under the blankets together when I close my eyes.”

Your words helped him find a bit of courage to look up at you. His gaze was filled with pleasant surprise. He prayed to everything he could think of that you weren’t just saying these things because he was feeling something very dangerously close to hope again. He tried. God knows he tried so hard not to hold onto even a shred of it, but every time he resolved to give up, you would do something, say something, or just breathe the same air as him, exist under the same sky, and everything would come rushing back to him.

Everything.

“It feels like you’re hugging me when I wear your t-shirts,” a single tear let itself fall free down your cheek as you assumed your best impression of a smile, “I can’t bring myself to wear them often. I’m scared your scent will fade away.”

His brows were furrowed as if he was mad, but his eyes were welled up with tears. Oh, you were cruel. You were so cruel for not telling him any of this sooner. And he was a coward for telling you how much he loved you only when you were sleeping. He was unbelievably selfish for hating the idea of you moving on with your life, but he couldn’t help it. The only way he knew how to love you was with destructive greed.

Would you have said yes to him if he asked for ownership of your heart? Would you despise him if he begged you to have eyes for him only?

Would you slam the door to his face or take a step back to invite him in if he asked to hold your hand for an eternity?

“I have no heart left to give. Someone already stole it,” you reached for his hands and squeezed them way too hard than you should have, “How can I ever forget you when you’re the only thing on my mind?”

Chris didn’t know why he was getting hiccups all of a sudden.

Did you know how many mountains he had to carry on his back since he was fifteen? Did you know they only multiplied when he turned twenty three? Did you know it didn’t lessen the burden one bit when he soared as high as he could, even to the point of defying gravity?

One hesitant kiss loaded with a crippling fear of loss, and everything he had kept locked away for so long ripped their chains apart.

His soul was being tortured every time he was away from you, loudly withering, yearning for its missing piece, calling out to it in heart-wrenching pleas to have mercy and come make him whole again. He was living half a life without you. He was only half a man.

He heard something click when he held the first girl he ever loved in his arms. It fit. It fit better than a puzzle piece.��

He finally felt complete.

“I miss you. I miss you every minute of every day,” he breathily whispered into your lips, “I’m dying when you are far away.”

He would be lying if he never once imagined you naked, but his imagination just did not compare to what he witnessed when he stripped you bare. Your skin. The curves on your body. He wanted to set up camp in each of them and dedicate weeks to fully exploring you. He pulled you under him, still completely incredulous you were actually in his bed like he always pictured you to be, and took in the sight for a while.

You were beautiful under that soft orange light.

You reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, and he let you drag it down, watching you tease yourself with how slow you were taking it. The silent groan you let out at the sight was complete music to his ears. How could you not? His gorgeous figure hovering over you, his girth threateningly swollen, his mouth watering staring at your nakedness as bad as you were salivating over his.

Trying to decide whether you wanted him to pass through you right fucking now or worship you all night was the worst dilemma you had ever faced in your life.

He lowered himself on your lips first, picking up where he left off as his hands sketched an outline of your body, committing every single nook and cranny to memory. It was a slow descent down to your jawline, then to your breasts, then all the way into insanity. Each kiss he left behind as he made his way between your legs felt like a brand was scorching your skin. Your breathing was fully irregular when he made it to his destination and wrapped his arms around your thighs.

“Do I ever pop into your mind?” you ran your fingers through his hair, “When you’re… by yourself.”

“Are you asking me if I’m jerking off to you?”

You nodded fervently while biting into your lips. He placed three kisses on your pussy, one before, one during, and one after his answer.

“Every… day.”

“How do you imagine me?” you pressed further.

“In my bed. In the shower with me. Even in the jet sometimes.”

“How’s that gonna work?” you let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s called a cockpit for a reason,” he spoke matter-of-factly, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you in there.”

“While flying at an insane speed?”

“On the ground, know-it-all,” he grazed his teeth on your thighs as a warning, “I’m the one who’s allowed to make you fly, not the plane.”

He wrapped his lips around your clit, and you almost let out a suspiciously loud sound when he started sucking on it. You sank deeper into the pillow in rapture when he got messy, slurping all over your pussy like he wanted to see for himself how much more you could ooze.

“Do you think about me at all?” he asked in between his sloppy kisses.

“Are you asking me if I fuck myself to you?”

He slowly nodded, swirling his tongue around your clit as he stared right into your soul, and while his tongue worked absolute wonders on your flesh, that intense gaze was what was about to make you cum. His eyes were screaming his lust for you, ablaze with an insatiable appetite.

“Every… night,” you dragged on each syllable.

“How do I fuck you in your fantasies?”

“God, you fucking ruin me,” you threw your head back and grabbed fistfuls of his hair, pressing his face closer into your cunt.

You started riding his face when he started licking you deeper, but you were aching to feel something inside you. Maybe it was because of how hard you were throbbing, or maybe you somehow managed to form telepathy through gustatory sense, but mere moments later Chris was shoving his middle and ring fingers into his mouth, getting them properly wet and slippery, then gently prodding your entrance like a warning shot.

“Like this?”

“FU—!”

You had to press a pillow on your face to stop yourself from screaming at the last second. His tongue was still hard at work, licking illegible words all over your pussy while his fingers were beckoning for your doom, pushing you dangerously close to the ledge. A line. A line. A line. A circle. A curve. Wet.

Wet.

An unfamiliar and muffled noise escaped your lips as you arched into his mouth, tasting sweeter than citrus jam on his tongue, and if Chris was touching himself, he would legitimately cum when those sounds of pleasure hit his ears. He was having the hardest time deciding whether he found it cute or extremely erotic. He obscenely licked his fingers clean, then climbed back up to kiss you.

“Is it… Is it true?” you flashed him a fucked out smile.

“What is?”

“Do I really save a plane if I ride a pilot?”

“Let’s just say that you do,” he joined the curls of your lips with an amused chortle.

“Then the Air Force is about to be very grateful for me,” you mustered all your strength to straddle him.

You had always imagined what it would feel like when you finally had him disappear into you, but none of those daydreams could have prepared you for the stars you saw when he hit that dead end inside you. He put his hands on your hips and started rolling them, letting you have your way with him to your heart’s content. It was as lazy as a Sunday morning, allowing you to feel every inch of him fully. You felt his palm pressing on the small of your back, lowering you to kiss him again. You couldn’t tell how and when he hijacked control, but he was holding you in place to fuck into you. A little faster. A little harder. Soaking him as much as he soaked you.

“Fuck… Under me.”

You found yourself on your back, your legs on his shoulders as he paved such a deep path into you that he was quite literally marking his territory. Trapping himself in your leg lock, he leaned a bit more forward, then held both your hands while kissing your life out of you.

“I’ll cum if you say you love me,” he panted hard, eyes barely open as he chased his high at full speed.

If you said you loved him… A simple I love you could not do justice to the mythological extent of your feelings for him. You held his face in your hands and crowned your best kept secret with a kiss.

“I’ve been ridiculously in love with you for fifteen fucking years.”

Chris didn’t cum; he was reborn deep inside you. Each drop that mixed with your essence, each tremor that passed through his body glued the pieces of his shattered soul back together. Each kiss you placed on his face soothed a part of his charred heart that he used to believe was beyond saving.

He fell deeper in love with you, never ever to resurface again.

As his feet were about to touch the ground, he pulled you close and started counting the circles you were drawing on his chest. You reached for his necklace and started playing with it.

“Do you always wear this?” you asked him, gently rubbing your thumb on the pendant.

“I even kiss it goodnight hoping you will feel it someday,” he responded while caressing your hair.

“So that was you tickling me in my sleep.”

Your tired chuckles melted into each other, but it didn’t take long for yours to take an unexpected leave of absence. Your mood turned somber all of a sudden when you remembered the inevitable.

“When are you…? When are you leaving again?”

Your anticipated answer was somewhere around March, but certainly not…

“I won’t go if you ask me to stay.”

Even if it was only for less than a second, the sparks that flew from those words were dangerous enough to set you on fire. You knew it didn’t work that way. Of course he was going to leave. He had to. No one threw a lifetime’s worth of hard work into the trash for any reason.

But it didn’t stop you from pleading your deepest desire to him anyway.

“Don’t go, Falcon,” you hugged him tighter and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fine, I won’t.”

“Don’t joke about it,” you responded from your hideout, “It’s painful enough as it is.”

“I’m not joking.”

You suddenly lifted your head and stared at his face. It had better not be a fucking joke because there was nothing funny about a looming heart attack.

“Wh–What do you mean?”

“The girl of my dreams is asking me to sta—”

“Be serious!” you snapped at him with a very loud whisper, “You didn’t… resign or anything, right?”

“Nope.”

“Then?”

You knew this play. He always grinned like that when he was sitting on some juicy news. You raised your brows, expecting him to give an answer before you became the first person to assault a military officer for dragging on suspense.

“I got stationed here,” he finally satisfied your curiosity, ending your life just a little bit in the process.

You stared at him blankly for some time, utterly unable to process the piece of information he just dropped on you. So this entire time… when you thought you were holding on to him for dear life…

Just how hard were you holding on that you managed to nail him in his goddamn place?

“Couldn’t you have told me that when you first walked through the door?!”

“I was going to!” he immediately raised his hands to surrender, “I just got… distracted a little bit.”

You couldn’t help it. The feeling of relief was so overwhelming that you lost complete control of your tear glands, but not because of your longing for the days that were never going to come back. Not because of the pity you had for yourself, relentlessly chasing something that could never be yours.

It was out of unmitigated happiness for once.

“You’re my home, Chickadee,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “I’m home now.”

He kissed your tears away and pulled you into a tight embrace, brushing your hair with one hand as his idle one locked his fingers within yours. You lent your ear to his chest and listened to his heart, calm and steady like a homebound contrail drawn in the sky by a jet plane somewhere.

“Welcome home, Falcon,” you mumbled with a smile, drifting to sleep in your home for the first time.

🔖 Permanent taglist: @straywrds @anylady-fics @skzfelixlove @xocandyy @stayceebs97

· @surreallyst-void @jhstayy @staybangchan @y-ur--i @imseungminsgf

· @velvetskize @changbinniesjutndae @krayzieestay @tirena1 @delulustardust

· @broken-glowsticks @mushy-mushroom04 @idiotmaterial (not sure if the tag works)

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

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Off topic idk if anyone gaf but I’m going to the Skz fm.. if anyone is going lmk I would be down to meet ! :)

#skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #lee know #bangchan #changbin #han jisung #jeongin #seungmin #lee felix

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

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Guys.. there’s this fic I really liked and I was trying to find it in my old tumblr acc bc I had it saved there.. it’s called ask me lover boy series from a user called cosmic railway xo but the writer deactivated… do yall know where it’s uploaded anywhere else like ao3? Pls lmk I’ve been itching to reread it since I forgot a lot of the storyline vundwijncwjirnfiurwnvw

#find fic #skz #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #stray kids #hyunjin fic #help #lost fic #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin smut

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

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☆°. — aphrodite ; hhj

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 4.4k

warnings/ content: established relationship, hyunjin is very needy and obsessive, body worship (feet stuff..... hear me out y'all), oral (f receiving), SLIGHT foot job HEAR ME OUT Y'ALL, also not edited because i'm lazy

author's note: okay. you all need to hear me out because i didn't know this fic woul dabble into unknown territory but trust me it's NOT a feet kink kinda fic it's a body worship fic!!!! don't let the mention of feet stop you from this fic pls i swear it makes sense with hyunjin ( @astraystayyh can confirm i converted her). also this fic is inspired by so many different things i can't name them all, but one of them is this song.

Your body registered the deep grunt before your brain properly did; you tensed, the hairs on your skin standing straight, your core tingling with delight. You gave the man in your bed a curious look, one eyebrow raised; and you almost sighed out in response. Hyunjin was in nothing but boxers, your blanket – long smelling of him, or a mixture of you and him, or sex and him – lazily draped over his lean body, not necessarily to cover him but just because it was there. And it was barely covering him, in the first place; revealing his entire upper body and one leg which he couldn’t hold still, digging it into your mattress, or stretching. His shaved head was buried in your pillows – also holding his scent, reminding you of the times you pulled it close to your body and breathed it in whenever he couldn’t stay overnight – and he looked tortured, somehow. Laying on his side but writhing, half of his face hidden in the pillowcase before he sighed out hopelessly, and threw himself on his back. His body tensed with the movement, abdomen clenching and revealing muscle, shoulders protruding, the skin there stretching thinly, and it gave you the godliest sight. And then he looked at you. Finally. Deep eyes locking with yours, reading you, pleading you, begging you for something yet unspoken. But you could tell he was; his telltale puppy eyes, his blown out pupils, his quivering lip. His scrunched, full brows. Not only could you look at him forever, you also knew he wanted something. Something from you.

You cocked your head, stopped in your work – assignments you needed to complete, deadlines you had to meet, and Hyunjin had complained about it plenty when you had left the bed to sit at your desk. His hand had not let go of you until the very last moment, tracing your curves while you had stood up and put on a shirt of his, having been thrown to the floor mindlessly last night, or earlier that day, you weren’t quite sure. Time was hardly ever separable with him, minutes becoming hours becoming days, and nights, and you never knew when one ended and the other began. Hyunjin’s fingers had caressed your body up until the very point you’d been unreachable to him, and you had felt his touch linger on your skin, hot and scorching, when you sat before your laptop. You had also heard his moans and grunts of protest, but you had done your best to tease at him; despite everything in your body screaming to just slide back into his arms, warm and long and inviting, steady.

And your body was screaming now, too. He looked so adoring, so comfortable. He looked so desperate looking at you, chest heaving with his breathing, as if to tempt you on purpose, as if to navigate your attention towards it. To the smooth skin of his body, his prominent collarbones scattered with love bites, his hardened nipples. It wasn’t cold in the room.

You caught his face again. If he’d noticed you staring he didn’t let you know, and you broke under his gaze, eventually.

“What’s up babe.” The tone of you voice didn’t ask a question, and you chuckled when he groaned again and let his hand drag over his face. Utterly tortured. So dramatic. You rolled your eyes with a smile even though he couldn’t see, too busy being tragic. He huffed out, looked at you again.

Suddenly shy; you thought you caught him blush.

“This song makes me so horny.”, he muffled into the pillow, turning in your bed again, stomach now hidden, exposing his back instead. He had barely spoken the words when you started laughing, brightly. You registered the song playing on your speakers, one on your joined playlist, the deep bass and sensual melody filling the room, the echoes and lazy voices setting a nice mood if combined with the vanilla scented candles you had lit, the dim lights you had turned on. The sunset you had opened the blinds for. You laughed because it was absurd. Because Hyunjin looking so pained, so desperate and tense because of a song was amusing; but it made sense.

Of course he would get horny over a song. Of course he would remember how you had stood between his legs just hours prior while he sat on the closed toilet seat, only a towel wrapped around his waist while this very song was playing from your phone. Of course he would remember how you had dried your hair right in front of him, chest inches away from his face, how he had tried to continue the oh so innocent conversation you had started, adamant to look into your eyes, to look up, to not let himself get distracted, how he had grown weak and started kissing your breasts, instead, eventually. As if he’d been bound to. With the song setting the mood hours prior too, how he had started letting his fingers dance upon your outer thighs before finding your core, asking for permission with big, dark eyes. It made sense that he would remember how you had sighed his name when the tongue of his had found your nipple, when his free hand started softly caressing your sides, your waist, your hips, cupping your chest, licking you, kissing you, fingering you so softly only minutes after you’d had made love in the shower. And in bed before that. And on the couch in your living room before that.

Of course Hyunjin would remember how the song had played every time your lips clashed together, when his hands found your mounds, intertwined with your fingers, when your scent, your taste met his mouth; he was your hopeless romantic, after all, always caught on the mundane, fixated on the very nihil and it always meant the world to him. A song. Of course a song would mean the world to him; if only it reminded him of you.

But still you laughed. Teased him. Because sometimes you liked to, and sometimes you just couldn’t let him distract you, as much as you would want him to. You watched his writhing figure, but couldn’t for too long; the muscles in his back spasmed with every bass in the song, and his arms tensed when he let them disappear beneath the pillow, hugging it. Something about it was sinful, suggestive. You imagined your own body there, between his arms, in place of the pillow, how his face would lay on your stomach, how his hot breath would fan over your skin, how good he would make you-

“Don’t laugh at me.”, he whined. He hadn’t seen you stare. Thankfully. He would have been the one teasing long already, and you converted your eyes back to your laptop. Deep breaths. Taking deep. Deep. Breaths.

“It is kinda funny, you have to admit.”, you breathed, huffing amusement past your nose. If you weren’t looking at him, teasing was far easier. And then he groaned again, deep, a little raspy, and it reminded you that, no, it was never easier with him. Your ears were as much slave to his eros as your eyes were, his voice as tantalising as his body was. He tsked, and you heard him ruffle again. “It’s not… fuck…”, he sighed, and a magnet pulled your eyes towards him. His own ones were buried in his elbow, as though hiding his face from you would make him less embarrassed, or less horny, or gave you less a reason to laugh at him. His brows scrunched, and he hummed before his body moved. Before his hips rolled a little into the mattress, into your mattress; at least that’s what you think they were doing. You couldn’t tell for sure under the thick blanket, but you knew him enough to guess. You knew the patterns of his muscles enough to recognize it, and you almost copied him, almost rubbed yourself against nothing, onto thin air. Another hum, and he moved to turn around again.

“I’m so hard.” This time he said it with a self-deprecating laugh himself, hiding his face in his hand, and you wanted to lick it, each of his fingers, reminded of how he had pushed two of them past your lips under the shower. How he had looked at you while doing so. How he had fucked your mouth with them, slowly, making you gag on digits so long with eyes so hooded and dark that you had come moments later. You were sure the chair beneath you was wet now. Your panties sure as hell were.

He looked up at you from beneath his lashes. Fuck. Hyunjin turned to his side, to face you, to be closer to you; his face contorted in pain or pleasure then, you couldn’t decipher, but it had the same effect on you anyways. One arm of his reached out, falling over the edge of the mattress. Calling you silently. Tempting you.

“Please, babe. Come back to bed.”

You considered it. Your work wasn’t even half-way done and it was calling you, your laptop screaming your name loudly, but Hyunjin was screaming it louder. With his eyes, with his body. With his fingers that reached you, fanning over your shivering leg. Lulling you, intoxicating you.

You considered it, but you only smiled at your lover. “I have to finish this, love.” You weren’t lying. But you wanted him at the very edge. Not normally the one to behave the way you did this moment, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed the whine which tore through Hyunjin’s throat, frustrated and dissatisfied. As if you were all the salvation in the world. As if you were the only one capable of releasing him from the depths of hell.

“Please. It hurts.”

His words were but a whisper, pout written over his features, lips so plump and pink and you thought you heard him downright pant. Maybe he was at the very edge already, had been for longer you initially believed.

You chuckled, feigning coyness, pretended to understand whatever the hell you had written on your Word Document when you looked at it again. The words were a blur, the meaning more so; you only felt Hyunjin’s fingers on your leg, pleading.

“I have to finish this, babe. You can… relieve yourself. Can’t you?” Giving him a bashful look over the shoulder, and it was Hyunjin’s turn to laugh now. A deep laugh, not so much amused as surprised. He turned to lay on his back again; when you glinted over at his body, you believed to see the faint outline of his erection when the blanket betrayed him. He let his palm smooth over his body, over his stomach down to his abdomen, looking sultry while doing so, his body tensing due to his very own ministrations. He knew you were looking at him; and you really, really shouldn’t have. Because there was no way you would finish your work now.

“Oh yeah? You would like that, wouldn’t you? If I touched myself?”

As if to emphasize his words he let his hand wander further down, palming himself over his boxers. You could only half see, the blanket covering him mostly, but you saw enough. You saw his veiny hands on his sex, alluring, calling you when he gave himself a squeeze which tickled a moan out of him. You hummed in response; neither affirmative nor negative, and you heard Hyunjin turn around in your sheets again when you discarded your eyes from him completely. Felt his fingers on your calf again. Felt his hand – warm, slightly sweaty, trembling – close around your ankle then, suddenly, catching you off guard. He turned you around in your working chair and pulled you closer by your leg, and you giggled when you faced him, his face by your feet you rested on the edge of the bed, hand still enclosing your ankle.

Something deep, something in the pit of your stomach fluttered when you watched Hyunjin look up at you. When you noticed how his touch felt on your skin. How it ignited you. How it weakened you. A gasp turned to a breathless chuckle when Hyunjin’s lips connected to the foot he yet held in his palm. One kiss atop it and his hand slid slightly upwards, up your calf, up where he knew you were sensitive. Always along the inner side, with fingers delicate, with touches featherlight because he knew you liked the way it tickled. He caressed your foot with his lips, giving it wet kisses. Along every inch and he loved the way you tensed beneath his touch. He loved to watch your brows furrow when he gave your toe a kitten lick before kissing it, lavishing, bathing in the feeling of you. In the intimacy you provided. In the fact that you allowed him to love you like this, so openly, so desperately.

So obsessively. Hyunjin would say that a lot; that he was obsessed with you. Obsessed with everything about you. In between kisses he would whisper it into your ear, or mumble it into your neck before biting down at the skin there, or sighing it into your pussy when he couldn’t seem to disconnect from it for hours. You would hear it so often, and yet you never grew used to it. Initially, you failed to understand just how obsessed your lover was with you; because the first time he had kissed your foot – his hard erection had been deep inside you and one leg of yours had lay atop his shoulder so he could reach even deeper, and he had pecked it, mindlessly, as though a bodily instinct, a biological reaction – you had flinched, drew back your leg in surprise. He had apologized, you had reassured him. Had confronted him later, though; because you had been perplexed.

“No.”, he had said, “it’s not a… fetish. I just love you. I don’t know.”, upon your question why he hadn’t told you sooner if this was something he liked.

“I like that, though.”, he had breathed when you had looked embarrassed, that part of your surprise had been the sheer fact that you hadn’t prepared for it. That your feet had been calloused, wearing long weeks of work. Your nails had been cut carelessly, they hadn’t been painted. “I would have, like, gotten a pedicure, if you told me you were into that.” Hyunjin had shook his head, almost frantically. “I love the way they are right now. They’re… natural. They show how hard you work. That you, like… walk on this earth. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

Not a fetish, you had realized then; adoration. He carried a deep adoration for your body. For every part of it. And ever since then you had understood his obsession a little better.

So you let him kiss your feet now. Because he did so eagerly. Humming against your skin, lost in you as if kissing you, tickling you, licking and lapping you up was bringing him pleasure beyond human comprehension. And you could only watch, mesmerized. Baffled. That a man so beautiful loved you. That a man so perfect obsessed over you. That he now looked up at you, deer eyes beneath deep lashes, and he was breathless, panting.

“Let me taste your pussy, please.”

You hissed at his voice, at his hot breath against your ankle, at his brows which formed a line from how much he was frowning in frustration. You hissed from the implication of his words; no, not the implication. He wasn’t implying anything; he was downright begging. Shamelessly. Openly. For something so vulnerable, something which was so intimately, so carnally a part of you. He was begging for the most carnal part, and he was doing it so helplessly. So prettily. You thought he had never looked more beautiful than this. Than when he was loving you.

You nodded with heaving chest, spread your legs on the chair, shuffled forward a little; Hyunjin didn’t even bother with your underwear. He pulled your panties to the side, quickly, as though you were granting him a wish he would have never expected to come true, jaw hanging slack with anticipation, eyes blown out a deep black. He lapped you up. He didn’t wait for another word, didn’t waste another second. You gasped when you felt his mouth on your soaked warmth, now even warmer, now that he was breathing against you. Breathing deeply, breathing hotly. Whispering a low, throaty “Fuuck.” right into your pussy which muffled most of his noises, which absorbed all of them and made it her own. Which fluttered when he licked at your clit, mouth open so widely as though he couldn’t get enough of you. As though he would never taste you enough, never stuff himself enough with you, never be close enough to you. Mouth open so widely as though he wanted to inhale you whole, not only your sex, your clit, your wetness. You. To make you part of him, to make you connected to him through some sort of outer force.

It was when he kissed up and down your lips that you lost your heart a little. It was then when you noticed he was lost in his own pleasure. That he was kissing you because he wanted to kiss you. Not because he knew you liked it. Not solely. That he was making out with your pussy, mouth latching onto your labia, wandering up to the hood over your clit and down the puffy skin again to kiss near your slit because he was losing himself in you. Because he wasn’t even looking at you. Hyunjin’s eyes were closed, shut so tight the skin between his brows was wrinkled, his jaw trembling. His breath shaking against you. His deep grunts resonating somewhere deep inside your core. Depths only he ever reached. Only he was capable to.

When you moaned his name, called it out desperately and let it materialize in the room, letting it take space in the relative silence, he finally looked at you. Finally granted you his entire attention. Finally blessed you with the sight of him; eyes bloodshot, hooded, almost sleepy. Almost as if he had awoken from a trance. Hyunjin hummed in response, knowingly. Breathed you in deeper, licked a heavy stripe from your slit up. That was for you now. Now he was pushing your buttons, pushing them so knowingly, so aware it made you dizzy. He knew you, he chased your high with you.

His hand – big, warm, steady – pushed against your inner thigh, gently but you complied. You spread your legs further, granted Hyunjin more space. More space to make you feel good, more space to show love. He sucked at your clit, watching as you threw your head back. Smiling to no one but himself because he had expected it. Your legs twitched, your muscles spasming against your will, but you let them. Your right leg resting on the mattress lazily and Hyunjin played with it. Letting his fingers slide up and down your calf, always on the inner side, until he tickled at the underside of your knee, until you whined out and he knew to wander down with his fingers again. He caressed your ankle then. Scratching your skin with his nails, a little, slightly. Not enough to hurt, only to elicit wanted reaction; a hiss, a breath caught in your throat.

You hadn’t paid attention, so you didn’t know when exactly your foot touched Hyunjin’s erection, accidentally. You must have spread your legs just a little further – it was never enough, the pleasure he granted you intoxicating and you chased it with every nerve in your body, with everything you had in you – and you had only heard the heart-ripping moan from the man. So loud it scared you at first, before you understood, before you looked down at him, at his erection, at him again. Down his body, down his toned chest and tensed abdomen and at his erection again; you were able to see the wet patch on his boxers. The desperation in his eyes when you locked them again. He had put his own pleasure to the side for your own; and if he hadn’t lied to you about the pain, then he had been hurting for quite a while. Looking at you to just ease him off the pain. Any way you wanted to, any way possible, he didn’t care. As long as you eased him off it, as long as you freed him from the torment.

It was awkward, but you tried to get past his waistband with your toe. It must have tickled more than it did anything else because you caught Hyunjin’s skin shiver, the toned lines on his stomach protruding suddenly as the muscles there tightened. But he understood. Without breaking his lips off you, without even looking away from you – hungry eyes still following your every move, every expression in your face – he freed himself quickly with one hand, and your mouth filled with water you could barely keep behind your lips. You moaned out, too; simply at the sight of him, because he had shoved away his boxers so carelessly, because he was showing himself to you so readily, for you to take him with all you had. Even if it was pathetic. Even if he seemed desperate. Even if his precum was dripping down in thick beads onto your mattress, looking like a pearl necklace was adorning him. Hyunjin rolled his hips into nothing, searching for your touch when he saw the look in your eyes. The hunger there. When he saw how you bit your lip, how you cursed out.

“You’re not hard babe; you’re basically cumming.”

And Hyunjin hummed into your pussy, eyes closing, making him see stars, more even when you touched him. Delicate foot on his tip, and you didn’t even need to move; the man started chasing his high momentarily. He was so eager, grinding against the little contact of skin you granted him, but it was enough. And you knew he wouldn’t last long. His fingers dug into your thigh, his other feeling you up, feeling you everywhere, reaching to cup your breast above your shirt, higher up then when the lack of your skin disturbed him, when he found home on your neck, closed his palm around it softly.

You let your hand slide across his short hair, nails on his scalp at his touches. There wasn’t much to pull on anymore; Hyunjin had admitted that he missed the feeling, that the only downside to his new hairstyle was the fact you couldn’t tug at it anymore. He had admitted that he missed the pressure, the sting of pain. He had mumbled it into your neck while he’d been deep inside you, the very first day after he’d shaved it, after you’d confessed how good he looked. You had pulled him closer back then, had arched your back to connect your chest with his; Hyunjin had whined when your nails had dug into the sensitive skin of his scalp, and had kissed you feverishly after.

And he was now whining without control, too. Whining at the sting of pain, whining because he was so, so close, rolling and rolling himself against you, quick and quicker and with a body so tense, so shivering, so trembling. He was whining because he couldn’t get enough of your taste, of your scent, because as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Because he felt so, so good. But he wanted to watch you. He wanted to see your mouth while it breathed his name, while it fell slack before a scream ripped through it. Wanted to see how you threw your head back, how your body convulsed against him, back arching, thighs closing, your free hand finding the one he had on your throat. Because you needed something to hold on to. Because he knew you were so, so close. He felt you shake, your legs quiver, he heard his name out of your mouth a couple notes higher, a little breathier, a little more carnal. He loved it when you said his name like that. He loved how it sounded in your mouth, sensual, pleading. Sweet.

And he came. Without much warning, but with spasms, because he just couldn’t take it anymore. Not with how mindlessly your foot lay on his now softening cock, with how hard you were groping at him; not just his head, everywhere. How much closer you seemed to need him. He couldn’t help it with how you smelled, sweeter now that you were close and wetter, oh so wet, drowning his chin in your essence, and he didn’t bother to clean himself up. He let himself be wet; let his own release stick to his abdomen, let it trickle down to his hips, let his chin be wet with you, wettened it even more by pushing himself deeper into you, nose wet too now, lips long soaked, mouth so full of you he grunted deeply, lapped you up, sucked your clit; and he felt you cumming, too.

And he finally looked up at you, needed to see you. And the sight was heavenly, wishing he could look at you forever. When you were like this. When you moved like this. When you felt this good; felt this good because of him. Because of his mouth which drank you up, cleaned you, inhaled you. Your eyes in the back of your head, your face contracting, your jaw tightening so hard that it shivered, that your lips quivered with it. You were flush, your hair all over you; knowing you, Hyunjin was sure you wouldn’t like the sight of yourself, wouldn’t understand why he grew hard again simply watching you. Why his breath caught in his throat when you looked at him, lashes damp, lip spit-laced, and whispering your name because it was “Too much.”. Just because Hyunjin could never stop when he started. Because he never got enough of your taste, long after you finished. Because he always drove you over the edge a second, a third time, only until his jaw pained him, when his lips went numb. When his heart filled with you so much he swore he couldn’t take it; and yet swore greedily, swore selfishly, that it would never be enough.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @cherrrywon @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

Text

railway (b.cc.) ༉‧₊˚.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ TRACK 001: part of the step out series

synopsis: you didn’t mean to get tied up with your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, but sometimes all you can do is hold on tight for the rough ride ahead of you, even if it means going against all the pre-written rules of friendship.

tags: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader, angst, forbidden romance, mutually toxic relationship, morally grey characters, chan and reader are both kind of awful, mention of other idols (rest of stray kids, stayc, enhypen, etc), oc as chan's ex-girlfriend (aeri), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, use of nicknames (baby, darling, etc), very brief pussy slapping, possessiveness, mild dacryphilia, car sex, fingering, sir kink, squirting, jealousy, slight exhibitionism, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, degradation (bitch, slut, etc), dirty talk, very brief mention of strength kink, mirror sex, breeding kink, creampie, brief choking, slight overstimulation, etc

theme board: www.pin.1003 / song link: prod:b.cc

wc: 7.85k

add. notes: welcome 2 the first course >:] i've offered my insights n analysis on railway alr but delving into the meaning of the song n creating a whole fic based off of it was very intriguing for me esp cus i don't usually write based off of music i listen to. i knew i wanted smth wrong to put out but i don't like infidelity n the usual story on toxic situations is tough to pull of so i decided to go down the more 'scandalous' route of sorts n make chan ur best friend's ex instead :3 there's a pinterest board i made for all these fics which for this one u can find linked above to grasp the aesthetics of it n i'd recommend reading this while listening to railway ofc. as always plz make sure u watch out for the tags n dni if ur a minor. also sidenote but aeri (the oc) is not meant to be seen as giselle from aespa but rather i just used that name bcs it's pretty lol just thought i'd lyk that. either way i hope u all enjoy!

. . .

19:23 PM from: dni!!! Wyd?

you swallow thickly at the sight of the text which lights up your screen, eyes zeroed in on the simple three letters which still hold thousands of words worth of meaning in themselves when combined. if it weren’t for the rubber case at the back, you reckon you would’ve dropped your phone with how instantly sweaty your palms become upon having received the message. the way you’re staring at your app, maybe even enough to bore holes into the words displayed back at you, doesn't go unnoticed either, and you barely manage to pocket the device as quick as you'd pulled it out just in time as your best friend approaches you.

“everything okay? you look kinda pale.” aeri frowns once she’s in front of you, voice laced with concern so sweet that it almost makes bile rise up your throat as you attempt to lean back against jake’s kitchen counter to stabilise yourself. she doesn’t seem to buy the eventual shaky nodding of your head that you offer after realising she’d just asked you something that required an answer, but even if she wants to probe you further, she doesn’t, deciding to immerse you in conversation about something your other friends had told her; another one of her gossip sessions with yoon and jungwon, you presume.

her storytelling fades into background noise at some point, for you can’t ignore the heavy weight of the object tucked away in the back of your jeans, still incessantly burning and buzzing with notifications you know you shouldn’t pay half a mind to. you’re well aware that they’re all most likely from the same person; the one individual you shouldn’t and have no right to indulge and mix with to this day; whose bedsheets you’ve found yourself tangled up in late at night alongside dirty noises slipping past both your lips; the very man who remains as sin personified in the storyline of your current life, and honestly might stay that way for as long as you live.

or in other words, aeri’s ex-boyfriend, chan.

your best friend met chan in her final year of university, bumping into him on chance encounter outside her lecture hall and exchanging textbooks by accident. chan had been all smiles when she’d invited him to lunch as an apology for the mix up, often tagging along with her after that until soon enough, they grew close enough and began seeing each other romantically. he seemed to treat her well for the most part, and you were happy for aeri that she’d found a good man worth her time and effort in the world. she’d drag you with her on their outings one too many times, and you’d gotten to know him from those instances, finding him to be a decent match for her.

unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and the spark between them started dwindling. you’re not sure what exactly happened, only able to recall bits and pieces from what aeri had told you mid-sob on your calls about her previous lover slowly becoming distant nearing the final stages of their relationship, so you’ve always just thought it was a mutual decision to cut ties for the betterment of each other. according to her vividly detailed breakdowns though, chan had been the one to suggest calling it off first, and everything came to a screeching halt three years down the line with much screaming and tears from her side. to an extent, their split did shake up things a little between all your mutual friends, but it also didn’t fully stop everybody from engaging with each other. all this brings you to your current situation— waiting in jake’s apartment for the rest of your friends to arrive for a random party he’d decided to plan on a whim.

“yo, guys!” speak of the devil, you think, tugging yourself out of your thoughts as you turn your body to let jake’s figure come into view. he beams at you like a big puppy, his hair flopping in a way that loosely resembles dog ears, and you remember after a split second that that’s just how your friend is referred to as in your group; the resident golden retriever. he parades up to you and aeri as one too, his vibrant smile lighting up the atmosphere in a way that you can’t stop relief from flooding your system at his presence.

“how are my favourite girls doing this fine evening?” he smirks, his usual flirting the same as always, causing aeri to roll her eyes as you chuckle. “har har up yours, sim.” she sticks her tongue out, prompting jake to do the same as he ruffles her hair, to which she shrieks. “oh, by the way,” jake perks up as if he’s just thought of something, completely ignoring your best friend smacking him on the arm lightly over his actions. “y/n, would you be so kind as to get the pack of beer from my car?” he pleads, doe eyes twinkling under the light of the room.

you’re about to groan in protest, not wanting to go back out in the cold and freeze your ass off for a measly few cans of alcohol, but the front door swinging open accompanied by the all too familiar voice you’ve grown acquainted to fills the air, making your stomach drop— chan. chan is here. suddenly, you’re not too opposed to getting far away, and you quickly nod your head rapidly in agreement, not bothering to wait for the way jake lights up at you accepting his proposal before snatching the keys from his hold and darting towards the lift.

chan’s jaw tightens at this. he barely manages to catch a glimpse of you from how you rush out past him, not even able to take in your outfit or face in the dashing haze you leave in. he points his thumb to where you had exited, bluffing something about helping you when jake responds how you’d gone out to grab the load of drinks he’d been too lazy to heave upstairs himself. nobody makes any work to question him when he turns on his heel to catch the elevator himself, thinking nothing of his usual gentleman-like behaviour.

nobody except for a pair of eyes lingering on his disappearing frame that neither one of the visitors in the house manages to grasp onto.

meanwhile, you quickly find yourself in the outdoor parking lot of jake’s building, hugging your shivering body tightly in an effort to warm yourself up against the chilling wind that blows past the trees. the sky has basically turned dark by now, but the streetlamps hanging overhead on the sides of the pavement serve as enough illumination to carry out your task. your breath comes out in heavy smoke to the point you can see it, and you try your best to spot your friend’s car as soon as possible, cheering internally when you manage to do so. after having jogged on over to it, you enter the key into the trunk lock with trembling fingers, twisting it until that same latch you’ve grown used to feeling with your own vehicle opens and makes way for you to push up the boot lid.

you’re about to hook underneath to manoeuvre it open, that is, until a sudden cold hand tugs on the bare skin of your arm, making you jump out of your own flesh. you open your mouth to yell out loud, ready to alert your friends a few floors upstairs that someone is trying to kidnap you potentially when that same hand clamps over it. only when your vision stabilises in your dimly lit surroundings do you recognise chan in front of you, and you feel your shoulders physically drop as you put down your defences, glaring at him when he removes himself.

“why the hell would you sneak up on me like that? i—“

“are you avoiding me?”

his question comes out gruff and annoyed, causing you to blink at the way he’s glowering at you in suspicion. his arms are crossed against his chest, hiding the black button-up you’ve seen him wearing and committed to memory one too many times from how it clings perfectly onto his chiselled shoulders and biceps. it makes you gulp, but you attempt to hide your affected reaction anyways, delivering a scoff in his direction which only makes chan grit his teeth at your attitude. “so what if i am? you know damn well either way without needing me to spell it out for you.” you bite back, moving to turn around when he catches you by the elbow, leaving you to scowl at him.

“what’s gotten into you? just a few days ago, we were fine, yet now you’re ignoring my texts?” he narrows his eyes, holding you in place so you can’t budge away from him. you let out a faint tch at his words, more so at your own susceptibility to succumb to his advances, but chan tongues the side of his cheek after assuming you’re just being blatantly disrespectful towards him. his voice drops to a lower, seductive tone as he speaks up again. “need me to remind you again? you came over last saturday and humped my thigh before squirting on my tong— hmph!“

“god, yes, i fucking remember, okay?” you exclaim in a whisper after having slapped a hand over his mouth this time, eyes darting around frantically to make sure no one heard that. “could you be any more louder? jesus christ.” chan peels you off of him shortly afterwards, his expression souring at the way you address him. something about the anger in his features makes your own rise, and you feel any or all remorse you'd experienced prior to seeing him in person today vanish, replaced with a bubbling hatred of sorts.

you and chan began your weird affiliation with one another around two months ago, exactly a few days after he and your best friend broke up. to this day, you don’t know why he made a move on you, much less why you yourself reciprocated it. sure, you’d always found him objectively attractive when he and aeri were together, and while he may be your exact match of an ideal type to a tee, you would never think to act on the growing tension you experienced for him, especially when he was in a long term commitment with the closest person in the world to you.

it all happened in the most random of occurrences too. you still remember meeting him the night you were out at the convenience store to run errands, catching him hunched over a table in a hoodie and messy hair with two bottles of soju in front. he’d flashed you a polite smile and offered to drink together, which realistically, you should’ve declined. you should’ve turned the other way in disgust and walked out on him to tell your best friend what he’d attempted to do, regardless of whether that would’ve led to something or not. instead, you found yourself in his bed that day, moaning his name as he ravished you under the moonlight streaming through his curtains in your combined drunken craze.

the next morning had been full of hiccuped cries, chan cradling you in his arms despite the scalding touch of his hold gnashing against you and leaving metaphorical imprints that you would never be able to scrub off. each time he soothed you, rubbing your back and kissing your hair, you felt the waves of guilt wash over harsher than the last. he continued to reassure you throughout anyways, telling you it’d be okay and that no one would have to know. blindly, you’d believed him, promising yourself and him to never act on either of your arbitrary lust by not letting go of your inhibitions.

that was the first lie you told yourself.

“y’know, i’m really not a fan of this whole backtalk towards me.” chan criticises, and you laugh bitterly after picking up on his audible disappointment as it hits your ears. “see? there it is again. maybe i’ve gotta teach you some manners, hm?” his tone is sultry once more, leaving you fighting the urge to flush under his gaze. you ultimately lose though, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face with the way he snickers at your cheeks reddening crimson. instead, you try retain the little dignity you have left as you push against his chest, scanning your parameters with paranoia when he steps closer to you.

“we can’t.” you mumble, clearly slipping. chan’s only response to that is a breathless huff, warm against your face as you peer up at him through your lashes, finally getting a good look at him. he’s wearing his signature hoop earrings today, hair brushed down so his bangs fall over his forehead. the collar of that same dress shirt he’s got on is popped despite a few buttons being undone, leaving the styling choice to highlight his collarbone. that same milky skin you’ve ghosted your nails over multiple times hides underneath the black fabric, leaving you to shiver at the memories of it. it also doesn’t help that the way he towers you is sending your mind reeling into submission way too easily, and you only manage to shake out of it when his fingers trail down to wrap around your wrist, allowing you to feel the cold metal of a ring you recognise all too well press into your joint—

the same half of a promise ring you’d helped him pick out for aeri a year ago.

the realisation that he’s still wearing it hits, and combined with the once again forming shame in the back of your head, it all makes you want to shove him away in favour of storming out of here to tell your best friend everything once and for all. a part of you can sense undue jealousy simmering inside at the fact that he’s still got a piece of her with him too, something you know you have no right to feel, but you try ignore it to your best ability. “chan, we can’t.” you repeat with a hitch in your breath, more so for yourself than him. and yet, you don’t even believe your own words, finding the less rational and weak side of you surrendering to the temptation chan tantalises in you; it overshadows whatever morality you have left.

“d’you really want me to stop?” he breathes out, body sagging far too close into yours for it to be friendly, although you suppose none of your interactions since starting this scandalous relationship have ever been that. his fingers, the very same ones bearing the ring on them, move to wrap around your throat, forcing you to tilt your head up and lock eyes with him. goosebumps prick your skin when you catch sight of the way his gaze is hooded, orbs swirling with black desire he’s begun to reserve only for you in these coming weeks. “because, if you want me to stop, i will.” chan points out. “say the word and i’ll turn around. out of sight, out of mind.” he makes a statement out of it by retracting his hand from you, but the very distinct whine you let out is all the confirmation he needs to press his mouth to yours.

kissing chan always feels like playing with fire. it scorches, and singes, and sears, reducing you to a burnt crisp, yet you can’t help but yearn for the flame he ignites in you. even the way he’s clutching onto you now, pressing forward with a fervour only you bring out in him, has his lips moulding against your cherry stained ones despite not fitting as perfectly as you’d want them to. the two of you are by no means a compatible match for each other; neither of you has made a single good decision ever since you began indulging in whatever you’ve got going on, but you also can’t help but crave the scandalous nature of everything. you’re truly a despicable pair, you think.

“get in the car.” chan’s voice cuts through your thoughts when he pulls away. he doesn’t even give you time to think when he walks over and opens the door, gesturing inside to the warm confines of the backseat. ideally, you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but alas, you’ve never been one to listen to yourself, instead finding your legs scrambling and following suit to shuffle into jake’s vehicle before the weight of your actions even sinks in. chan’s hot on your trail too, and before you can even get comfortable in the cramped space, he’s returning to making out with you, fingers roaming greedily around the expanse of your skin.

“t-they’ll know we’re gone.” you stutter, moving your face out of his reach to try and stop chan’s movements when it finally dawns on you that your friends had sent you out on an errand you’d taken far too long to complete by now. chan’s only response is to grunt though, tugging you back in for another smouldering kiss that knocks the wind out of your lungs. his hands grasp, pinch, and squeeze whatever part of you they can, until he’s finally decided that he’s had enough foreplay, opting to cage you underneath him and hike up the tight, red dress that’s adorning your body for today’s occasion. “i’ll be quick. i always am.” he winks, and you’re too far gone now to understand that he’s responding to your previous comment, a fact that only makes him chuckle.

“wore this to tease me, yeah?” chan clicks his tongue at the way he has to practically peel off the bottom half of your clothing, the snug fit of the fabric around your curves leaving nothing to the imagination as he bites his lip. he debates whether he’s glad you chose this outfit to show off for him, or if that pisses him off because it means everybody gets an eyeful of your figure; he decides on the latter. “wanted to slut yourself out for my attention? all you had to do was ask, baby.” you shake your head with a whimper, and he raises an eyebrow at your reaction. “d-didn’t.. didn’t wear it for you.” you manage to breathe out, which proves to be the wrong answer because next thing you know, his hand is coming down to smack your clothed core.

you yelp at the sting of his actions, teary eyes blinking up at him in a way that makes chan’s boxers tighten. he’s so close to losing his composure, but he holds back for your sake, not wanting to let you see his cool slip. “is that so? i guess you’re just a dirty girl then.” he sneers, yanking down your soaked panties in one swift motion, leaving you to gasp as the cool air hits your sticky folds.

chan wastes not even one second, knobby digits dragging through the wetness he’s not surprised to find whatsoever. he spreads it over your clit, getting you messier than you already are, especially from the way you appear to leak even more arousal from his movements. he touches you until you’re twitching under his hold, biting back the sounds that threaten to escape you, which seems to be a fact he doesn’t approve of from the way he pinches your nub between his fingers; you cry out softly from the rush of stimulation it shoots through you. “eyes on me.” chan growls, sliding his hand down to circle your oozing hole before he’s abruptly shoving two fingers inside.

“fuck.” you moan this time, loud and clear. this seems to satisfy him, seeing as he rewards you with a steady pump of his digits thrusting into your heat. his speed in fingering you increases quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s scissoring you open, the sloppy sounds of your juices slicking up his fingers and echoing in the stuffy space of jake’s car. you’re probably staining the leather of the seats, but neither you nor chan seem to care about that right now, not when he’s knuckle deep inside your wet cunt and you’re making such pretty noises all for him.

“just filthy, aren’t ya? getting finger fucked in the back of your friends car. i bet your dumb little brain can’t even understand what i’m saying right now.” chan mocks, his tone laced with a level of condescension that only makes you buck your hips up to chase his movements. you know he’s completely right too, because the way he’s thrusting his digits inside you, stroking your warm walls with the tips of them has you seeing stars to the point you can’t even respond back something snarky in return. “all you’re good for is being a nasty toy for sir’s use, hm?” you barely even register his question, only remembering you need to answer him when he pulls his wet hand away to smack you once more, this time over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“y-yes, sir. only a toy for you. jus’ you.” you mindlessly slur out, and chan groans at that. not even a moment passes before he’s sinking his fingers back inside you, curling them up to massage that rough spot which always has you clenching down on him. his expression twists to a smug one when you jerk forward instantly. bingo, he thinks. “that’s that spot there, yeah? the one that has you losing yourself on me?” he coos, but his voice drips with a smidge of venom you can’t quite fixate on just yet. instead, you nod dumbly, spasming around him as you try grind upwards to chase the rising sensation of your climax.

chan leans into your frame, one hand splayed flat onto jake’s backseat above your head to maintain his balance whilst his body hovers over you. by now, your eyes are clenched shut, but he can’t even find it in him to get mad at you over that, not when you’re dribbling down his wrist and mewling so pretty under the glow of the night as he works you towards your orgasm. “c’mon, baby. cum f’me. wanna see you cum so pretty for sir.” he encourages, jaw locked with concentration.

it only takes about one or two flicks of his expertly trained thumb pressing on your puffy clit, combined with the pads of his fingers hitting your g-spot with terrifying accuracy, before you’re shuddering through your climax. a small, clear stream of liquid sprays out the sides of where he’s got you plugged up, and he pulls his hand away in favour of rubbing you over to coax out the last remnants of your high. your quivering body thrashes when he tries to draw out the remaining few droplets again, weakly bringing your arm up to push him away gently when the shocks of overstimulation begin to take over. chan dips down to place one, final kiss on your lips, smooching down to your chin as a way to say you did well. his actions make you heart beat out of your chest, but you don’t say anything about the domesticity of them.

you wonder if he ever treated aeri like this after having been intimate with her.

“go in first. i’ll clean up the car.” chan clears his throat after a short while, not daring to make eye contact with you as he quietly pulls your underwear back up your legs. you watch in silence while he sits up, looking for a rag to fix the mess you two made when that same awkward air you’ve gotten used to facing with him enters the atmosphere, leaving you to try and ignore how it tugs at the strings of your soul as you give a curt nod. “don’t forget the beer.” you remind him before swinging the door open to step outside, finding yourself back in the nipping cold of the winter night.

you try and stand on your wobbly legs to straighten out the creases of your dress, paying no mind to the way your skin echoes with the ghost of chan’s previous touch. behind you, you can hear him rolling down the windows to let the musky smell of sex out of jake’s backseat, and you almost dare to sneak a glance back until deciding against it, knowing it’ll just hurt more. instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, opening them to land on the small balcony of your friend’s apartment where the rest of your group seems to have already gathered from the silhouettes you can see through the foggy glass. your conscience feels heavy with the weight of the knowledge that aeri is up there too, but you brush it off, just like all the other times you have.

i didn’t do anything wrong, you tell yourself, i’m still in the clear. that’s the second lie you’ve tried to believe in these last two months. a long sigh escapes your lips at that realisation, but you bite it down when making your way back inside the building, choosing to rack your brain on what shitty excuse you’ll have to provide this time for being gone so long.

. . .

to your surprise, nobody bothers to question why either you or chan disappeared, simply whisking you back in conversation about unrelated topics when you walk in through the door a few minutes before him. as per usual, your heart still feels heavy when you watch aeri laugh at something heeseung and sieun are arguing over, but you cover it up by letting out a noise of amusement yourself, hoping it throws off any suspicion that might be directed your way. you don’t bother turning your head upon hearing jake’s delight at the sight of chan entering his apartment with the very much requested pack of beer too, deciding to force a smile at whatever point heeseung is busy making over looking back no matter how much your body itches to do so.

it’s even worse how from the corner of your eye, you can see aeri shifting uncomfortably on her feet at her ex-boyfriend’s second arrival, her expression dropping in the slightest so as to not draw attention to herself, but it’s still enough for you to notice. it only makes the weight of your actions dawn on you further, and you can’t help but let your mind wander as to what she’d say if she knew what truly went on behind closed doors. despite your best efforts to bury those thoughts beneath you though, you know there’s nothing you can do to make amends to the problems you’ve created yourself. after all, you’ve got to reap what you sow.

the party continues to kick in on full swing after that, with you and aeri both doing your best to keep your distances from chan for all too different reasons. it doesn’t help that you can feel someone’s stare raking across your figure throughout the duration of the evening, and when you finally do decide to sneak a glance in that direction with expectations of finding chan ogling you over, you’re met with a different answer—

for it isn’t you he’s busy looking at, but rather your best friend that’s been glued to your side since the beginning of the night.

he averts his gaze as quick as he’d cast it when you catch him, seamlessly blending back in discussion with whatever nonsense changbin is rambling about this time, acting like he hadn’t just been getting an eyeful of his ex-girlfriend moments prior. you also don’t miss how he fiddles with the old ring that adorns his right hand, long fingers twisting it around the middle digit in a way that’s reminiscent of his past behaviour, or at least based on what you’d often find him doing back then.

his actions spark a memory deep from the confines of your brain, one you wish you hadn’t remembered as the vision of chan asking you to help pick out promise rings for him and aeri crosses your mind. it was raining heavily that day, but he’d insisted that the two of you go out in secret anyways so he could buy his then girlfriend a token of his love and appreciation. he’d claimed you knew her taste the best and could therefore help in selecting a better possible gift for their upcoming anniversary than he ever could.

you’d hesitantly agreed, and although you weren’t sure how it would all play out, you later found yourself sharing an umbrella and visiting various jewellery stores to point out all the designs you knew your closest friend would adore. chan had settled soon on a matching pair for the two of them, beaming in your direction with a bright smile that left you weak in the knees despite however much you tried to hide it. a few days later, aeri excitedly showed off her own silver band to you, buzzing about how he’d chosen the perfect present that she couldn’t wait to replace with a real one in their future; you couldn’t help then but think if he ever told her it was all your idea instead of his.

“hey, can you hold my phone?” your best friend’s voice cuts through your inner replay, and you blink in a daze to find her facing you, expression innocent. “hyunjin asked to play beer pong, and i don’t have any pockets to put it away in safely.” she explains at your confused face, but all you can do is nod as you robotically outstretch your arm to take it off of her. unfortunately or fortunately, that’s when you notice it—

the same matching ring on her hand.

aeri doesn’t pay you any attention when she drops off her device into your awaiting palm, not even realising you’re zeroed in on the jewellery that decorates her left hand with a fire burning in your eyes that you’re both ignorant of. you don’t stop gaping even when felix shakes your shoulder, asking you what you’re so fixated on before leaving you be under the impression that you’re probably just drunk out of your head. meanwhile, you’re still frozen in place, everything around you seeming to slow down.

why is chan wearing a ring he bought for his ex-girlfriend two years ago to a party he knows she’s going to be at? no, why does said ex-girlfriend also have her matching pair of the ring on her hand at a party she too is aware he’s going to be present for? much less, why are either of them hung up on each other to the point they’re carrying around reminders of their past relationship with one another? you know the answer to all these questions, but you don’t wish to sit and delve into them in fear you might throw up at the conclusion they’ll give you. instead, all you can do is squeeze the can of seltzer you’d spiked in your hand dangerously tight out of unwanted emotion, enough for some of the liquid inside to spill out. you can’t be bothered to care about it though, just like how you can’t be bothered to care about how anybody in their right mind could probably see you gawking at chan right now.

you watch as he cracks up at a joke seungmin makes, his head falling back in a fit of laughter you’ve been a happy witness or recipient of multiple times, yet this time it fills you with emotion that you don’t wish to identify in fear it’d mean something more than what you’re capable of confronting right now. even so, you can’t stop the train of questions invading your thoughts at the view in front of you. did he laugh like that with aeri? smile so wide with her? couldn’t help the joy that spread across due to her presence? maybe that’s why he came today, because he couldn’t take his mind off of her, especially seeing as he was wearing a symbol of their time spent before right now.

but, what does that say about you in this picture? were you just a scapegoat to escape all those feelings for him? had you been one this entire time, only deluding yourself into thinking what you both had translated into a situation deeper and could potentially progress into one even more had things happened under different circumstances? the more you think, the more you feel nauseous, and you can’t stop yourself from diverting your gaze to where your best friend is, observing her concentrated face as she attempts to aim a ping pong ball into one of the lined up solo cups. your eyes involuntarily flicker to the ring on her finger once more, its evident shimmer reflecting in the light causing you to clutch your drink tighter.

you’re not a jealous person by any means. you know your boundaries, hence you know chan isn’t yours. he isn’t an object you can own, and neither are you to him. that was the unspoken agreement you both nodded on when you got into this entire ordeal— you’re both free to see other people openly in front of aeri as long as it’s not each other, because the latter you manage in secret despite the shame that surges in you two upon doing so. it doesn’t matter if you wish to stake your claim on him, to see the marks you leave on him evident on his skin the next morning for him to show off other girls who think they stand a chance at him taking them to bed. it doesn’t matter how much your heart aches when you wake up to the blanket strewn aside from his absence, the sheets long gone cold to indicate that he’d left hours ago. it doesn’t matter how much you wish to cling onto his arm in public and profess your.. feelings for him in front of everyone else.

it simply doesn’t matter, it never did. chan’s never been yours, and he never will be anytime soon.

20:51 PM from: Myself meet me at the upstairs bathroom in five

you punch in the message before you can even think, watching it turn from delivered to read in a matter of seconds. the three dots next to chan’s side of texts appear, indicating that he’s typing, but you choose to lock your device rather than waiting like a dog to see him reply. instead, your feet lead you to your designated location, taking one step at a time leisurely as opposed to in a rush so as to not draw unwanted attention to yourself. right as you reach the door handle, your phone pings with a familiar ringtone.

20:52 PM from: dni!!! Reacted with “👍🏻” to your message

you sigh. tonight was going to be a long night.

. . .

skin slapping. heavy panting. low grunting.

that’s all you can hear from where you’re splayed across the sink in the small confines of jake’s bathroom, aside from the occasional thumping of music booming from downstairs. if you strain your ear enough, you’ll be able to make out the lyrics to the cliche song that’s come up on shuffle, but you honestly lack the mentality to care about that right now, especially considering the way chan has your legs pushed apart in favour of drilling his length into you. each thrust is rapid and fervent in nature, seeming to knock the wind out of your lungs to the point you don’t even realise how loud you’re being until his hand comes up to shove two fingers in your mouth. “be fucking quiet.” he sneers, leaving you to drool everywhere. the only reaction he spares when you try muffle out an apology is a sickening smirk at that too.

“needed this, didn’t you, slut? always need to be filled with some cock like a bitch in heat.” chan chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that sends shivers crawling up your spine. he presses down on your tongue with the pads of his fingers, and you can’t stop the garbling of spit choking past your lips from the way his thickness nestles deep inside you. each heavy drag of his dick against your rough walls leaves you clenching and attempting to buck your hips forward, but you can’t even manage that with the grip he has on your waist. the mere idea that all chan really needs to restrain you is the simple strength of his one hand sends your mind reeling, so much so that you don’t even realise he’s speaking to you until the hand that was previously in your mouth pulls out to slap light and wet against your cheek.

“i asked you a question, whore.” chan growls, the sound resonating warm within your stomach despite the mean undertone to it as his movements still. you blink up at him in confusion at this point, doe eyes brimming with tears that threaten to spill from the loss of pleasure in a way that has chan damn near finishing. it doesn’t help that he’s buried to the hilt currently, hissing painfully at how you squeeze down on him in involuntary instinct. for a split second, you swear you see the ridges on his face soften, and the manner in which he looms over you feels filled with more comfort than intimidation, but that smidge of emotion vanishes as soon as it arrives. “i said,” chan’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “do you wanna get caught?” you rapidly shake your head no at that, and chan cocks his head to the side.

“oh, really?” he muses, nails sliding over to dig into the supple flesh of your thigh, making you whine out loud. “‘cause with the way you’re making so much noise like that, i’d have assumed the opposite.” with a click of his tongue, his actions resume. luckily, all that escapes you is a loud gasp this time, an anxious clamp of your palm over your mouth barely covering up the rest of your lewdity. you wish so desperately to refute, to plead him in favour of slowing down and having some mercy, but the sensation of his bulbous cockhead slamming roughly into that one spot only sends stars in your vision and prevents your previous desires.

your body jerks in chan’s hold even more when his same hand still lubed with your saliva finds it way between where you’re connected, leaving you to suppress a pathetic whimper that longs to bubble out of your throat as he presses the tips of his fingers to your swollen clit. his touch is harsh, filled with an overwhelming need to make you burst at the seams, but the fear that lingers in the back of your head refuses to let you fall apart so easily, not when aeri is barely a flight of stairs from your vicinity. chan decides he isn’t fond of the silence you’re giving him though, pulling out with a quiet mumble for you to get down and face the mirror. he sheaths himself back in just as quickly, setting an unforgiving pace from the seemingly more accessible position, and this time, you really can’t stop the long drawn out moan that escapes you.

“j-just like that, yeah, baby? all those filthy noises are just for me, aren’t they?” he sounds more delirious this time, presumably drunk off the essence of this situation from the possessive gibberish he’s spouting, just like he always does in the heat of the moment. unfortunately for you, you’re no better than him, nodding furiously in agreement as you babble high-pitched and breathy. “so good, sir! s-so, so fucking good, feels so good! wan’ cum f’you, p-please. ‘m a good girl, please lemme cum, please, please, please.” small stutters spew out of you mid-sentence, but neither of you can be bothered by them, too wrapped up in the throes of all-consuming passion and contempt even to register what’s being said.

“such a nasty, nasty girl.. getting fucked by your best friend’s ex. don’t you feel a-any shame?” chan groans almost wearily in midst of his lust-filled haze, eyes catching yours from the reflection of the mirror that’s displaying you getting absolutely wrecked right now. the sight of you so fucked up and in bliss, no coherent thought visible by the looks of your dazed expression and tongue halfway lolling out— it all has him burning with hot, rampant hunger. hunger for you, hunger to claim you. “look at yourself.” he rasps, fingers clutching at your chin to force you into meeting where he is. “look how dirty you are, fuck. what would she say about you wrapped so warm and snug around my cock? hm? think we should— ah. think we should call her in and find out?”

the tears that were brewing in your waterline are streaming down your face by now, horrifically mimicking the disgusting manner in your wetness seeping and dripping down chan’s balls. you feel awful. downright terrible and tainted, forever branded by the searing touch of chan’s skin grazing against yours because that’s what you are, that’s what you have been for the past two months. down from the night you let him lead you into his sheets, following the countless occasions you found yourself returning there, and finally falling to now, your underwear strewn across the tiles of jake’s bathroom as you spread your legs for the same man who broke your best friend’s heart; the same man who you’ve let into yours after very consciously disregarding the repercussions of your actions.

you’re truly a loathsome piece of work.

“think she’d like to watch me fill this pussy up? watch me shoot my load deep inside you over and over again until i’m sure it’s taken?” chan mutters, hot breath fanning against your sweaty neck. “maybe i should breed this stupid cunt full of my seed and send you back out there with it spilling past your legs. that way, every time you sit down, you’ll feel it inside you.” the mental image of his release lodged in your walls as you’re surrounded by all your friends, surrounded by the one person you’ve both been hiding from, all of them oblivious to the way he’s staked his claim on you except for the shared knowledge between you two and you two only— it has you quivering to the point you physically keen in his hold. chan, however, just laughs sadistically at your reaction.

“you’ll feel it as a reminder of me, yeah? a reminder that you’re just as terrible as me. coming to me to get this slutty cunt stuffed even though you know you shouldn’t.” he continues to whisper. “after all, it takes two to tango, darling.” chan makes it a point to tilt his hips up in an effort to ensure his mushroom tip hits your g-spot with precise force, all the while breathlessly uttering more sickening words in your ear in hopes of fulfilling your need for relief.

surely enough, the combination of his cock shoving itself past your opening and his guilt-inducing remarks that only make you sob harder work you up to the point of no return. all it really takes after that is one touch of his thumb to your pulsating nub to eventually have you seizing up in no time, your pussy messily tightening and gushing as your high crashes over you in large waves of ecstasy. it seems to trigger him too, because by the time you even realise you’re there, chan’s twitching and leaking spurts of thick cum inside you. there’s so much of it that it trickles past where he’s got you plugged up, and you barely comprehend yourself pushing a hand near your oozing hole to catch it on your fingertips.

you both come to slowly, ragged breathing that fills the air growing quieter to pair with the musk of the room. chan’s gaze is still trained on you through the mirror, unreadable just like always whenever you’ve made the same mistake again, but you take the opportunity in this instance specifically to raise the hand that’s collected his seed in it to your mouth, proceeding to lick up the droplets of his excess release. even though you don’t catch his stare in the reflection, you can still feel it burning holes through your head, a fact that only leaves goosebumps rising over your skin. it’s only when you pull your hand away once more to catch the last of his remaining cum that he decides to finally interject, grabbing your palm in his coarse one with hooded eyes. they’re blown out when he tugs your back flush into his chest, the impact leaving his length pushing deeper inside, and they’re blown out when his fingers wrap around your neck to give it a slight squeeze, the little loss of oxygen making your mind spin.

“you think that’s funny? teasing me even after i just fucked you? after i left my mark on you and made sure you know that you’re mine?” chan murmurs, lips sultrily ghosting the shell of your ear. you want to fixate on what he’d addressed you as, let it marinate in your thoughts and brood over it for the next weeks to come even if it was just an absentminded slip of the mouth, but your focus is interrupted by the moving of his hips against yours picking up once more. the previously repeated actions send his dick driving into you again, breaching your cervix and pressing deliciously into every nook and cranny in a way that has you nearly losing your footing, but chan is quicker to hold you up with his free hand. “w-wait, ‘m still sensitive.” you manage to tremble out at a particularly well-placed graze of his cock, but chan doesn’t seem to care, grinding into you even more eagerly at your admission to the point you struggle to keep the sounds spilling out you at bay.

there’s a resounding knock on the door all of a sudden, one that makes your breath hitch and your chest twist in uneasiness. some part of you feels wary and on edge, and you would assume chan’s movements would halt at that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, ignoring your frantic attempts to make him do so by holding you in place instead as he begins to pick up the pace. “s-stop, we’ll get caught.” you heave out upon the noise of skin slapping rising in volume. you do your best to stand your ground, to avoid the gradual closing of your eyes and the mushy fog of your brain clouding over in euphoria, but it’s to no avail. you’re about to let go of your inhibitions completely, to forget about what had just happened and throw caution into the wind in order to lose yourself in the moment, until—

“y/n, i know you’re in there with chris.”

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

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hyvneluv · 1 month ago

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hyunjin's interlude | super bored chapter 5

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 11.4k | genre: romance | warnings: angst (heavy) ; heartbreak ; depression ; mild themes of jealousy ; distance between lovers ; explicit sexual and adult content. reader discretion is always advised as this work contains themes that might be sensitive to some.

He thought about it, about those words he dreaded so much, words he hadn’t had the chance to taste on his tongue yet. All this time they had remained buried in his chest but not like the treasure they ought to be, rather like a nuclear biohazard, slowly contaminating their surroundings. “I miss someone.”

Hyunjin was cold when he met Camille.

Linguistics is a funny thing but it only becomes apparent as one acquires fluency in a second or third language. Before French, Hyunjin had never really paid much attention to the way he expressed the fact that the weather was chilly and how it affected his physical body. Back home, he would have said, simply, 추워요 or maybe 나 추워 or just 춥네. In any case, whatever he would have said could have been translated literally to I am cold, just like one would say in English. I am cold, or It is cold.

It’s quite different in French. In French, one would say, J’ai froid. I have cold. Not as in I have a cold, or it is cold, no. Not even I am cold. I have cold. And now that Hyunjin knew this, he rarely thought that he was cold anymore. It no longer suited him, it was no longer enough to convey the way he felt, for he felt like he had the cold within him, like a mind-numbing chill had made a home out of his body. Like he was carrying it with him everywhere he went.

That cold was the reason he went to the Jardin in the first place, and why he was so desperate to find blue hydrangeas somewhere. Anywhere. Just to look at them. To touch them perhaps, feel them under his fingertips. To remember how it felt to touch you. To forget what it was like to have winter as a permanent resident of his heart, even for just a few minutes.

He saw her, Camille, after spending a solid hour walking aimlessly in this vast and beautiful garden. He was supposed to hand out his assignment in just a few days and hadn’t even started it. It was not the first time it happened, but the worst of it had been the year before when things were so bad that his father felt compelled to act like a father again, which said much about the gravity of the situation.

He had met with Hyunjin in his chaotic apartment, finding his son in a state of apathy so deep that he immediately called his office to take time off work, no matter how much Hyunjin insisted it wasn’t necessary. But he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a real meal or slept for more than two or three hours at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been truly happy.

Or rather, he remembered it a little too much.

» Read the full chapter on ao3. (you do not need an account to access it, just click the link!)

Hey, long time no see with our frog boy, hasn’t it?

It was a conscious decision on my part to keep this “chapter” hidden away—not because I did not want to share it, rather because I was afraid the final chapter would be too little, that the events in it would not be enough to please my beloved readers. So I thought, well then I’ll simply put Hyunjin’s Interlude at the beginning of it, to make it worthwhile. But as certain emotions evolved and as time passed, I realized I was putting too much pressure on myself, and more importantly I realized that I needed this interlude to come out. Because it contains feelings that were enclosed in my heart, prisoners of this terrible cage. And I just needed them out.

So now they are out.

I am terribly sorry if this means this interlude and the final chapter that will ensue won’t be enough. But I hope you know I poured all of my heart into it, which is the only way I know how to write.

Thank you to my readers who wait so patiently after updates. Thank you to my readers who somehow trust me, who support me, who care about me. There are many times when my head is full of darkness and often in these times I remember the kindness that you guys show me. This love that you give me. I want to keep working hard so that I one day deserve that love. I am so grateful. Thank you for accepting me despite my mistakes, my flaws, thank you for giving my words a purpose. I am very emotional as I release this short chapter.

Thank you to those who take the time to reach out to me—or to the authors that you love. You guys keep this place alive. You keep my passion alive when there are so many things trying to kill it.

May you all have a lovely 2025. I hope life is kind to you. I hope your lives become soft, gentle, and hydrangea blue.

Permanent taglist:

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @b4kuho3 ;

@binstitsweat ; @byeobie ; @cb97percent ; @chans1aptop ; @chartrucewhore ;

@compersian ; @cybergracie ; @hanjingin ; @hyuneyeon ;

@hyunfruits ; @hyvneluv ; @hyunnie4ever ; @hyunjinswifeee ; @hyunniethepooh ;

@hyuwunjinie ; @hynjinnnnlvr ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ;

@karlachsleftbicep ; @leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @love-stays ; @m00n-dream ;

@miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @naoristerling ; @neosracha ; @rubyshoedpixie ;

@palindrome969 ; @selinia86 ; @shywolfcherryblossom ; @skzfelixlove ; @straydhampir ;

@suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

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hyvneluv · 2 months ago

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Gonna go drink and eat maraschino cherries now and rot and wait for pt2

maraschino cherries | i only see you part one.

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 25.8k | genre: romance, exes to lovers | warnings: angst ; breakup ; heartbreak ; jealousy and themes of cheating and overall bad relationships ; regret and guilt ; mutual pining ; forced proximity ; mentions of depression/low mental health ; hurt/comfort ; reunions | this chapter contains adult and sexual content as well as strong language but no major warnings apply. this work is a direct sequel to the one-shot just stay with me that i released two years ago~

You knew things weren’t great but you would never have imagined it would come to this. Maybe, somewhere, you still held the hope that things would work out. That Hyunjin loved you the way you loved him, which was to say, enough to try.

“I can’t believe you did this to me, Min. I know we went through a lot you and I but I thought we were friends.”

Minho let out an exasperated sigh. “We are friends!” He looked behind his shoulder as the newly arrived guests made their way in, bringing with them a cool breeze from outside. “Calm down, please. I had no intention to cause a scene. It’s just that he called, and then we had a conversation and I mentioned the cabin and it felt weird not to invite him. Besides, I just figured it was about time that you guys talked.”

You raised your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side as the shock settled in. “That’s deeply fucked up, do you even realize that? Deeply. Since when are you a couple mediator? Is that your new business idea? I see it. An office with large windows and a massive sign on the front with the name of your agency on it.” You motioned at the empty space before you as though you were showing a very real sign from a very real building. “Conci-Lee-Ation.”

Minho scowled at you, pursing his lips. “See, that’s your problem. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to.”

Minho’s words reached you much like a blade would cut you open. You stood before him with your mouth agape, silenced, wordless, the sour taste of betrayal invading your throat. His expression softened as soon as he saw the tears pricking at your eyes—he clicked his tongue, letting out a long, tired exhale. “I’m sorry—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you managed, your bottom lip quivering. But you would rather lie down in the huge living room fireplace than let Minho or anybody else see you cry. “I should be the one apologizing, right? So let me. I am so, so, so sorry Minho for being irrational like this during a situation that is totally normal and not unpleasant at all. I apologize for being upset that you invited my ex to spend the weekend with us without giving me a heads-up.”

You were doing your best to keep your voice as low as possible so as not to be heard but you were becoming aware of a few heads turning in your direction. In the other room, near the front door, Changbin and Jisung were welcoming Hyunjin and Felix inside, and Hyunjin was pretending very hard that he hadn’t noticed you. You figured that the others might even believe his acting but you knew him better than they did.

“Look—” Minho started, reaching for you.

You recoiled, avoiding the hand that was trying to squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me, Lee Minho. I’m gonna go get this brain fog out of my head and then I’m leaving.”

You walked away before Minho could even say anything. To avoid the crowd, you went out by the small hallway at the back. There was a door at the end of it, leading to some sort of patio furnished with snowed-in chairs and a functional hot tub.

You didn’t like speaking in absolutes so you wouldn’t say that being here tonight was the worst idea you ever had but it was certainly somewhere in the top three.

It seemed almost like a genuine Christmas tradition by now—you, standing somewhere outside in the dark, freezing your ass off there instead of letting anyone see you cry.

The first occurrence of this lovely festive activity had been on that Christmas escapade organized, that time also, by Minho—just a weekend at a cabin in the mountains for the employees of his restaurant. Oh, and you had cried quite a lot that first night. As though something about the holidays made your heart a little bit more vulnerable.

You hadn’t fully processed your breakup with Minho before that night, causing your emotions to go overboard. It wasn’t even that you had still been in love with him because you weren’t. It was just that he had moved on so easily and you were still at the same place in your life. It was just that he had recently gotten engaged to his very pretty girlfriend and you were still very much alone.

Last year had been even worse. It had been, really, the beginning of the end. Stupid arguments over insignificant things. And then it was about significant things. You told Hyunjin he was being unfair, that it was selfish of him not to let you help him. He did not like that. It made him cry. You spent an entire hour crying on your own, sitting on the stairs of the building, outside in the cold. It took two days before he spoke to you again, and what he said was, You don’t understand how I feel so you can’t help me. You’re there for me and I love you.

It was the last time he said it. I love you. Ironically, the breakup had been on Valentine’s Day.

The pain had followed you through the year. A year of ups and downs, emphasis on the downs. You earned your life well, your apartment was decent. You even had a social life. Or rather, you forced yourself to have one. Maybe so as not to worry anybody. Maybe because you wanted to remember what it was like to feel whole.

But it just felt as though nothing really mattered anymore. Nothing had been the same since.

Well. Except for the fact that one whole year later, you were once again hiding outside, the frigid winds covering the sound of your cries.

It started so well. Hyunjin and you. It had been on a night much like this one that you had come to realize you had special feelings for him. Feelings that had crossed the friendship line a while back, only, you couldn’t see it until Hyunjin announced his departure from the restaurant. It had seemed like the end of the world at the time. You couldn’t imagine your daily life without him—who would stay late with you and sweep the floors while listening to soothing music and discussing various topics? Who would come up with stupid jokes to lighten the mood on your bad days? Who would have your back when the restaurant was too busy and your section was more than you could handle?

Who would put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks just to make you smile?

It started so well. Perhaps too well. You skipped the ‘going on dates’ stage, jumping headfirst into this relationship because both of you believed in it and had strong feelings for the other. You didn’t doubt that. But, turns out, feelings are in no way a guarantee of success in a relationship.

Hyunjin did leave his bartender position at Minho’s restaurant to open his own bar. A small, intimate establishment where great drinks were served. It was an instant success, mostly due to the warm, welcoming ambiance of the bar. The crowd was as diversified as it could be—on any given evening, the bar—called Nightcap—could be filled with people in work meetings, groups of friends playing board games, dates, family reunions, birthdays… Anyone, really. Hyunjin was proud of his bar and you were proud of him.

You helped him as much as he’d let you, which wasn’t that much. He said he didn’t want it to become your burden and you respected that. You could tell he needed to achieve certain things on his own so that he could be at peace with it. And it was fine.

Somewhere between that first night with him and just a few weeks later when you woke up one morning with your heart particularly full, you fell in love with Hyunjin. You woke him up to tell him so, even, leading to an entire day of passionate lovemaking with food deliveries in between rounds.

Things were good for a while. Until they weren’t. You also left your job at the restaurant to work full-time at Nightcap and working with Hyunjin was amazing. Until it wasn’t.

The worst part is that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even yours. It just happened. He dedicated himself day and night to start his business and even if his plan was solid and he got help from Minho and a few other friends, a new business was a new business. At the end of his first financial trimester, Hyunjin was so shocked by the bar’s losses that he was unable to keep food down for an entire week. His anxiety levels were so high during that period that you didn’t recognize him—he was cold, distant, and even inconsiderate.

But of course you could understand that, and it didn’t make you love him any less.

You made Hyunjin lower your salary in the hopes that his losses would be less disastrous a few months later. To compensate, you decided to use your baking skills to make some money on the side. You found a bakery that hired—the two owners, a married couple, were close to retirement and they were looking to find good employees for when it would be time to pass the bakery along to a buyer who wished to run it. They liked you a lot and it was reciprocated, so they trusted you quickly and a lot. In the end, you became responsible for the bakery several days a week.

You loved it but it was a lot. You’d finish your shift at Nightcap sometimes well past three to help Hyunjin close up and you would take an hour-long nap in the backroom before making your way to the bakery where you often worked until two or three in the afternoon.

Anybody with a drop of insight would have seen it coming. But, maybe, love blinded you. Or maybe you were just too foolish.

It was lovely. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Test-tasting his signature drinks. Having him come up behind you and embrace you just so he could whisper sweet nothings into your ear. He bought you flowers. He test-tasted your cakes. He put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks, even if it was just a soda. He tried to make it all work—the crazy hours, the stress, the pressure, your relationship.

It was amazing. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Until it wasn’t.

And, months later, you found yourself hiding outside to cry in the cold. You didn’t want anybody to see your pain, your shame. You didn’t want anybody to see all of the space Hyunjin used to occupy within you because then they would know where all of your emptiness came from.

You didn’t like speaking in absolutes but maybe, after all, coming here this weekend was the worst idea you ever had.

You swallowed your sobs when you heard a door open and close nearby. Oh no. Someone had noticed your absence—you quickly wiped your tears as well as you could, hoping the cold wind would reduce the flush on your face.

It was Jisung. You sighed in relief, glad it wasn’t Minho—how could he do this to you? It was one thing for two exes to have the same friend group, but it was another to invite Hyunjin without letting you know about it.

Jisung made his way to you, carrying an extra hoodie. “Hey.” He handed the hoodie to you, pulling the hood over his head to protect himself from the wind. “Come back, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, looking away, staring at the scenery. The cabin Minho had rented this time around was even bigger than the first had been. Located deep in the mountains and surrounded by them, it offered a stunning view no matter where you looked. It was snowing heavily, hindering your sight, but even in the night, you could see the snow-covered evergreens and the white mountaintops. You had loved it just earlier. And now all that you wanted to do was to run away.

“I just need a minute,” you told Jisung, wrapping yourself into the hoodie he brought. It smelled like Changbin and you could only assume it was his. “You can go back inside, Ji.”

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll stay if that’s alright.” He mirrored you, leaning on the fence surrounding the patio. “I didn’t know he was going to be there. I would have told you.”

“I know you would have.” Out of everyone here, Jisung was the one who probably understood you the most. He, too, would have bitter memories of the other winter reunion, because it was then that he and Min-seo started dating. She left him after admitting she had cheated on him. Safe to say she was no longer a part of this friend group, but you could tell Jisung was still hurt. “I’m gonna leave. I’ll come back on Sunday to get you.” You two drove here together.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jisung admitted, clicking his tongue. “Felix and Hyu—” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “They said they barely made it here and that they were closing the roads behind them due to a blizzard. You would probably not make it very far. It took them almost two hours just to get from the village down the mountain to here.”

You didn’t take that news well—it brought more tears to your eyes. You took a deep breath but exhaled it as a shaky sob. Despite the wind, Jisung caught it. He opened his arms and hugged you, holding you tight. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ll be alright. Look at the place Minho rented!” He spun on his heels so that you faced the cabin despite hugging. “It’s huge! There’s gotta be enough space for both of you in there.”

You figured you could just spend the entire weekend locked in your room and sneak out at night to get food or something. This way you wouldn’t see Hyunjin. At most you would hear his voice, and that would be painful enough.

You wished, so badly, that you didn’t care—everything would be easier. Because if you did that. If you hid away, if you avoided Hyunjin, he would know how affected you still were. And you were ashamed of that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want him to know the impact his absence had on you, the toll it had taken on you.

As much as you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. Right?

You didn’t want to hurt him.

But you wanted him to think you did not give a single fuck about the breakup.

So you took a deep breath and nodded gently, prompting Jisung to pull away from you. “Let’s go back inside please, I’m freezing.”

He dragged you back toward the door without waiting, talking about dinner plans. It had been decided that tomorrow, Minho and you were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner, so naturally Jisung had a few requests of his personal favorites. You were almost certain he was making a point of being dramatic about it to distract you and you appreciated him even more for it.

You stopped him before he could turn the door handle. “Ji, is it really obvious that I cried?” For some reason, asking this question gave you a sense of deja vu.

He looked at you using the light filtering from inside to make his judgment. “Not too much. Hey, listen. It’s not by avoiding him forever that you’ll heal from it. Maybe facing that heartbreak is what you need.”

The deja vu hit you even harder, making you lightheaded for a few seconds.

He was right and you hated that he was right. You said nothing, choosing to just follow him inside, immediately relieved from the cold by the ambient warmth of the cabin. You took a deep breath. Then another.

The truth was that you just hadn’t seen Hyunjin at all since the breakup and you had no idea how you would react when you found yourself face to face with him. Maybe you would become enraged. Maybe you would freeze and lose your words. Maybe you would break down in tears like an idiot.

Jisung was right. Avoiding Hyunjin would not heal the wound he left behind. But what he didn’t know—and what you were too ashamed to admit to Jisung—was that nothing ever would. You had let Hyunjin take all of this space inside you and now he was gone and you were empty. And it was not the kind of empty that could be replaced. It was not the kind of hollow that could be replenished. It would stay like that, preserved, unchanged.

You took off the hoodie—after just a few instants in the snowfall outside, it was completely drenched. You returned to the living room, your gaze fixated somewhere between the ground and one meter above it, no higher, avoiding any eye contact. The main floor consisted of one big room—the kitchen and living room were only separated by a half wall.

You weren’t stupid. You noticed the voices quieting down as you entered but paid them no mind. Or rather you tried to look like you didn’t care and made your way near the fireplace where a few pieces of clothing and boots were already drying on the wall beside it. The cabin was completely quiet by the time you were done executing that simple motion and you could feel people’s eyes burning the back of your head.

Felix called out your name first. You heard genuine joy in his voice but something else too—it was obvious he was trying to diffuse the tension. “It’s been too long!”

You spun on your heels to face him. He hadn’t changed really—Felix was always Felix. Radiant and kind. He pulled you into a friendly hug which forced a faint smile on your lips despite how troubled you were. “Hey, Felix.” You tried very hard not to look behind him. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. How have you been?”

“Ah, pretty much the same.” He shrugged. “I sell office spaces and commercial buildings, exactly like I used to.” Felix had a chuckle. “Business is good though so I don’t complain. What about you?”

You opened your mouth to respond but the words got stuck somewhere along the way, gnawing at your throat like disembodied hands. In a moment of weakness, you allowed your eyes to scan the room, and you saw him.

He’d been wearing a beanie and his thick winter jacket when they first came in and you did run away in literally less than a second, but Hyunjin, unlike Felix, had changed. Considerably. For a few seconds you couldn’t even breathe, stupefied by the mere fact that you were in the same room as him once again. You couldn’t look away from him.

And it seemed that he, too, couldn’t look away from you.

He sported much longer hair than he did the last time you saw him. It fell loosely, framing his face in a messy yet ravishing and controlled manner. He was just as handsome as he had always been. His big, brown eyes observed you from head to toe, his front teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip, showing his evident hesitation. He seemed skinnier than you remembered him and yet his sweater hugged his body at just the right places, displaying newly acquired muscle mass. You could only guess that he had become gym buddies with Changbin—you wouldn’t know. Apart from Ji and Minho, you didn’t really keep up super well with the guys from the restaurant.

But he had deep dark circles under his eyes and his energy was different than it had been. His lips bore the marks of his constant chewing at them, much like his nails and the skin around them.

You had wondered, all this time, how it would feel when you would see Hyunjin again. Now you had your response.

It felt exactly like the day he broke up with you. Time had not soothed the pain—the sharp pieces of your broken heart pierced you from within as your forces abandoned you. You were bleeding out again.

You gulped, your breathing suddenly shallow. Seeing Hyunjin again felt much like standing outside in a blizzard.

Felix’s facial expression became concerned and you wondered what you looked like exactly. Your pulse quickened dangerously when Hyunjin pushed himself up to come your way, followed by everyone’s gaze. Once again, the room became quiet.

When Felix noticed Hyunjin, he offered you a flat smile, squeezed your shoulder, and walked away to return with the others, making sure to speak in an unnaturally loud voice. You panicked internally, watching, unable to move as Hyunjin approached. Was your vision blurry because of tears or because of sheer terror? God, you couldn’t let him see you cry. You just couldn’t. Not after all that had happened.

You heard his voice when you turned away. Much like Felix, he simply called out your name, but his voice was quiet, soft, brittle. “Wait, please,” he added when he noticed you were still looking away but weren’t moving. “Can we like… talk?”

He was standing next to you now, you could tell. You didn’t need to see to know—you could smell him, his complex cologne, his personal scent, the musky, unique smell of his shampoo. You knew he was right there because you could feel warmth emanating from his body. He had always been a walking furnace, after all.

You inhaled shakily and, finally, you faced him.

You could have collapsed from it alone but somehow managed to stay on your feet. You wanted to look everywhere at once. You wanted to try and read his eyes. You wanted to look at the beauty marks adorning his skin. You wanted to get hypnotized by the texture of his lips, just like you used to.

He flinched too, almost dropping the beer he was holding. When he came to his senses, he glanced around the room, motioning at the hallway from which you came. “Can we? Talk?”

With a nod, you walked into the private space, your heart beating at an uneven pace, making you feel as though you were on the verge of a heart attack. Your insides were cold, turned to ice, but your skin was hot, feverish, your cheeks burning. You made a point of only stopping at the far end of the hallway where the lighting was as dim as it could be. He couldn’t see you cry. He couldn’t see you blush. He couldn’t know. You did not want him to see the wounds he inflicted upon you.

But when you two came to a stop, only silence reigned. You looked through the window in the door—in just a few minutes, the snow had erased your and Jisung’s footprints. You could barely see a few meters away from how thick the blizzard was.

He couldn’t know.

So you tried your best to look like you had your shit together. “What did you want to tell me?”

Hyunjin jumped, almost like he was surprised that you asked him a question. “What?” The shadows from the curtains covered half of his face, making it difficult to read him.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you reminded him impatiently. This conversation needed to be as succinct as it could be. You estimated at about two, perhaps three minutes the time you had left before tears would inevitably roll down your cheeks. “So what did you want to talk about?”

You had your guesses, all of them worse than the last. Maybe he wanted to flex some accomplishment to prove something to you. Maybe he wanted to tell you about a forgotten item at his apartment. Maybe he wanted to tell you he was getting engaged to Haley.

The thought of that alone pulled all the air from your lungs—you pretended to clear your throat to help it pass.

Hyunjin gulped. “It’s been so long. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

He couldn’t know.

Everybody has a weakness, right? You hadn’t been certain about yours before meeting Hyunjin and especially before dating him. Because then you had found out it was almost impossible for you to lie to him. He said it had always been the case, even revealing that he had been able to read your mood swings long before he confessed.

So he would definitely see right through you when you would force a smile on your face and tell him things were good and what about him, how’s the bar, everything?

“You still at the bakery?” he went on when the only response he got was silence.

You nodded. “Yeah. Were you able to secure the loan you wanted? For the renovations?” For months, Hyunjin had worked very hard to get a start-up loan for new businesses granted by the government. There was some work to be done in the building and he needed it.

A dark veil clouded his gaze. He drank from his beer as though to let a few seconds pass. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” He drank again.

You let out a non-committal hm hm, unable to find an appropriate reaction. You were happy for him in a way. In a way, you didn’t wish him any harm. His well-being took nothing away from you.

He looked tired, sure—but you remembered Minho’s first two years with the restaurant and he had that same look. A new business was much like a newborn baby, after all. Hyunjin seemed fatigued but you couldn’t see traces of sorrow on him. Maybe it was because it was dark, but he looked like he was just fine. Like he was over it.

Over you.

He could not know. That you were nowhere near over him. ‘Over him’ wasn’t even a different country—it was a whole other continent across the globe.

“Good for you man,” you heard yourself say and it sounded wrong. Good for you man. What kind of response was that?

“Yeah.” He stood there in the darkness, facing you, sometimes looking at the snow outside and other times letting his gaze linger on you.

He used to tell you that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He used to tell you that you were his favorite person. He used to tell you that he loved your scent. Your taste. He used to tell you that he loved you.

“Has construction begun?” you inquired but you didn’t really want to know. You were looking for a way to end this conversation politely. “Are you adding a new section?”

Again. “Yeah.” It was a flat yeah. It told you everything you needed to know, really. He wanted to talk to you because he, maybe, felt bad or something. He hadn’t been a great boyfriend at the end but he wasn’t a monster. It must be obvious how miserable you were and he felt bad that he, on the contrary, was just fine. You could only imagine he felt some sort of guilt.

“Where were those?” you asked, motioning at his beer, unable to bear it any longer. You would collapse under the weight of this conversation. “I could use a beer too.”

“Oh, Felix and I brought them. They’re in the fridge. Help yourself, ange—” He stopped before the end of his sentence, frozen in place, his mouth still agape, only able to stop the word from spilling out too late. He covered his lips like he couldn’t believe it.

Meanwhile, you battled the storm within you. Tears pricked at your eyes while waves—no, a tsunami—of memories washed over you. You wished, almost, that it was the bad memories that came back. It would make it so much easier. But it wasn’t. It was all of the good ones. It was the first time he kissed you. It was the first time he bought you flowers. It was the time he took you on an impromptu trip to the beach.

It was all of the times he called you his angel.

Hyunjin tried to apologize, becoming a stuttering mess, but you heard none of it—you were far away already, dashing up the stairs to your left before he could see your tears.

He couldn’t know. You didn’t want him to know. That he had made a barren place out of your heart. That you still dreamed about him sometimes and that it didn’t matter if it was a good dream or not. Either it was a nightmare in which you relived the breakup or sometimes even where he was dead, or it was a lovely dream in which he still loved you. The latter made waking up one of the most painful things you ever did.

He couldn’t know how much you missed him.

Ten months ago

You groaned when you heard your ringtone from the other room, trying not to lose focus as you put the finishing touches on the bottom part of the two-tiered cake you were working on.

“Want me to get it for you?” Eric asked as he was busy with paperwork at the moment, sitting on a stool not far from yours. The cake-decorating apparatus took up almost all of the space on the work table, leaving him just a tiny corner.

You completed the fine tracing of the flower you were drawing in pink icing before looking up. “It’s fine, I’ll check it out later. I’m almost done anyway.”

“I knew it was a good idea to put you in charge of the decoration. That cake is gorgeous,” Eric pointed out with a smile. “I bet that woman will have the best Valentine’s Day.”

Eric was the son of the bakery’s owners—while they had decided it was time for them to retire, they didn’t want to sell the bakery to just about anybody. Eric, a self-employed accountant, had taken over most of the management to allow his parents some rest without having to give away the business they had worked so hard for all of their lives. You liked him—Eric was pragmatic and understanding, which he got from his parents who were two lovely people. He knew you worked hard at Nightcap too, and often forced you to take naps in the breakroom if he noticed you were tired.

“Bet she will,” you responded, finding nothing else to say. You remembered her boyfriend who came in last week to order the cake. He had admitted to you he would propose to her on Valentine’s Day.

Your plans for Valentine’s Day? Work, work, and more work. Most definitely not getting engaged.

Life used to be so much easier. It hadn’t always been simple at the restaurant but it had been somewhere you were comfortable at. You worked crazy hours and it never really mattered, it never took a toll on you. You could be exhausted and functional at once. Maybe, because you were never as exhausted as you were now.

You sighed, grabbing a few more leaf-shaped pieces of fondant to adorn the roses you had applied earlier. Life used to be much easier but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, would you? Because it meant you had Hyunjin. It meant you were with him, that the both of you formed a team. You believed in his project and his vision and you wanted to do everything possible to help him make it last. There was nothing you wanted more than his success.

But, by god, you were so fucking tired. Your only plans after this cake, which was the last of your Valentine’s Day orders, was to go home, take a boiling hot bubble bath and then pass out in bed for as long as possible. Eric had given you tomorrow off—while the bakery would be busy, his mom had come in today exceptionally to do some prep for tomorrow, allowing you some time to rest. That wouldn’t last very long though—there was a Valentine’s event organized at Nightcap, and naturally, you’d go help out over there.

At least it meant you would spend the evening with your boyfriend.

It wasn’t what it used to be. You were afraid to admit it even to yourself but it was true. You couldn’t even remember the last time both of you had enough energy—or will—to fuck.

It wasn’t easy for Hyunjin. He had high standards for himself, which meant he perceived any setback, minor or major, as an absolute failure. He was tense and often depressed. It put a lot of pressure on his shoulders and he did not share any of it with you. He seemed resolute to carry that burden all on his own.

At that thought, your eyes filled up with tears. You grabbed a few random utensils on the table and went to the sink to rinse them just to make sure Eric wouldn’t see.

Only, it was too late.

“Leave that, I’ll do the dishes…” Eric appeared behind you, his soothing voice accompanied by an equally soothing hand on the small of your back. He tried nudging you away but you didn’t let him. “Go home. You need sleep.”

You held the batter-covered spatulas under the warm water, your gaze fixed on them, working very hard on zoning out. On purpose. These days, pretending that the outside world didn’t exist was the only way you could feel peace or at least a semblance of it. Your phone went off again but you ignored it.

There were too many thoughts in your head—it was impossible to make sense of them, but all of them revolved around the same thing.

Hyunjin. And how he was pushing you away, slowly but decidedly. A little more every day. Like he was actively trying to find ways to keep you at a distance. You knew him. You knew when he was worried or when he was sad or when he was angry. Sometimes he was all of those at the same time, but he wouldn’t let you comfort him. On his bad days, you barely recognized him. He was short-tempered and barely spoke to you, choosing to quarantine himself some place you were not.

At first, you just told yourself he wasn’t perfectly comfortable with you, maybe. You could understand that—the relationship had moved quickly, perhaps a little too fast. Not everyone is used to just displaying their deepest emotions to others, not when it was about something as significant as Hyunjin’s projects. You gave him space so that he could learn how to process these big emotions on his own, figuring that you would simply dive in when the right moment came.

But the right moment never came.

What made it so hard was the fact that Hyunjin used to be an excellent partner when it wasn’t about Nightcap. He was romantic and showered you with kind gestures. He was vocal about his love for you and supported you in your own endeavors as well as he could. So you tried to keep the relationship working—a storm did not mean the sun would never be out again. You loved him and you wanted to be with him. At any cost.

The wall he was building between the two of you was getting higher and higher. Your calloused hands were sore from climbing and your arms could barely support you anymore. Sooner rather than later, you would fall back before you could even have a peek at the other side of it.

Eric’s voice brought you back to the present moment. “That’s enough now,” he simply said, reaching for the utensils you were holding. They weren’t even under the water anymore—it was your hand that had been there instead. It took a few seconds for the pain to reach you, your skin darkening where the water had burned you.

He did not give you a choice—Eric wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you back to the worktable, forcing you to sit down while he searched a freezer for some ice. Once it was applied to your hand, he took care of carefully packaging the cake and storing it in the walk-in as you stared through the large windows at the front. Life was happening out there, as normal. You just felt like you were outside of it.

“You’re taking the week off,” Eric said with an accusatory tone when he came back. “And do not argue. I’m not hearing it,” he added when you turned to him to protest. “If you come back here before your time off is over, I’ll fire you on the spot.”

You wanted to cry then, not minding that he would witness it, only the tears didn’t come. You absorbed the sorrow back and a little more of it just became a part of your DNA.

“Eric—” you started, your voice foreign.

“You gotta talk to him,” Eric cut you off. “You have to. You’re not seeing it through my eyes—if you did, you would be appalled.”

Something ugly emerged in your belly—heavy and hard like lead but colder than the ice that was melting on your hand. “You’re right,” you replied, pushing yourself up. “I’m not seeing it through your eyes. I’m seeing it through mine. Because it’s my fucking life, not yours.”

You regretted it as soon as you spoke—it was then that the tears made their appearance. In less than two seconds, Eric’s arms were wrapped around you and he was pulling you into a tight hug, patting you gently. Your attempt at resisting him was weak and you found your face buried in the crook of his neck, embracing him back, holding onto him like you were afraid to fall.

“I’m s—sorry,” you stuttered between sobs. “Eric, I’m so sorry, I’m just…”

He shushed you. “You’re fine. Just breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths. Yes, like that.” He sighed, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear. “He’s hurting you. Can’t you tell?”

The sob that spilled from your lips was heart-wrenching—you closed your fists tighter around his shirt, more of your warm tears rolling down his neck.

“It’s just that I’m useless, Eric.” You tried to breathe deeply as he advised, but only a little oxygen made it to your lungs. “There’s nothing I can do to help him. I love him. I love him so much. I think—no, I know—he’s the love of my life. But all I do is make things worse.”

Eric clicked his tongue, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “That isn’t true. And if it’s true, it isn’t on you. It’s not your fault he’s shutting himself off.”

“But it is,” you insisted, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “If I were a better girlfriend, I could do more, you know? I would know what to do, I would make him happy again.”

Eric’s silence hurt you more than anything he could have told you. He just stared at you with a saddened expression, finding no words to comfort you, or perhaps knowing you weren’t ready to hear the truth.

What you said was also the truth, though. Hyunjin hated it when you were trying to comfort him. He would say that he felt like a burden, like a responsibility. You didn’t see the problem with that. He wasn’t a burden per se—but you had no problem with feeling a sense of responsibility when it came to his happiness. You wanted to do things to make his life better. It wasn’t a chore. It was just… love.

But he hated it. So you had learned how to conceal those attempts at comfort. You had to pretend and give him a succinct response if he told you about something that worried him. Then you had to wait. Sometimes you’d surprise him with some of his favorite foods, other times you called a few friends so that they would come over. It didn’t matter. It just needed to look like you weren’t actively trying to help him.

And now you couldn’t help but feel like he was also resenting you for not helping him.

Maybe you were falling already. Maybe you had been falling for a long time and you just couldn’t see.

“I’ll drive you home,” Eric decided. And the truth was that you had no energy left in you to resist him, so you let him grab your bag, your jacket, and your phone and you let him drag you to his car after he carefully closed the shop.

The car ride was completely silent—he turned off the radio as soon as he started the car. The night was cold but not windy and you rested your head against the cool glass of the window just to feel something.

“I have a few colleagues that could help,” Eric said out of nowhere. He was a few years older than you and you knew he had a large network of acquaintances. “There’s Jake, I told you about Jake. His uncle owns a bar, you know?” You remembered vaguely. “He works for his uncle, but I’m sure he’d be more than happy to step in for a couple of days. You could go somewhere. Just you and Hyunjin.”

The idea was pleasant in theory but you knew better. You wouldn’t become a better girlfriend just because you were in another place. If anything, it would all make it worse. He would be upset that you’d even suggest such a thing. He would never leave his bar to someone he didn’t know, not for a weekend, not even for an hour.

You used to think he was ashamed. But you knew better.

It was just that you failed him.

Eric stopped his car in front of your building. You were still trying to find something to tell him but nothing came to mind. Instead, you gave him a nod and you got out of the car, not even looking back as you made your way toward the entrance, searching your bag for your keys while you waited for the elevator. As you did so, the screen of your phone lit up when you accidentally brushed it.

The wallpaper was a picture of Hyunjin and you. A selfie that he took some time last year when things were still good. You couldn’t recognize the girl in the picture. She was you only you weren’t her. Not anymore.

You had two missed calls—the time matched the ringtones you heard while at the bakery. Both calls were from Hyunjin, but he didn’t leave a voicemail.

The apartment was quiet when you entered. You moved in with him soon after you began dating him, head over heels happy to spend as much time as possible with the man you loved. His apartment was more spacious so it just made sense for you to move in here.

It took a few seconds for you to realize the shower was running. So Hyunjin was home, only he hadn’t turned any of the lights on when he came in. Everything was dark and still.

Exhausted from your day and from crying, you went to the bedroom, waiting for him to get out of the shower so that you could shower too—

—and you woke up later. It took you a few seconds to understand that you had fallen asleep in the first place, most likely due to your extreme fatigue.

It was still dark outside and everything was as quiet as it had been when you came home. The same knot was still in your throat too. You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath, extending your arm to reach the other side of the bed, fully expecting Hyunjin to be asleep next to you.

But your hand touched nothing except the cool blanket.

You sat upright, looking around the bedroom, looking for him. He had been home after all—you had just fallen asleep while he was in the shower. About a million voices in your head started to whisper things you didn’t want to hear but you couldn’t tune them out. Maybe he came back home to shower just so he could go out again after and go fuck that waitress he hired some time ago. The one who was always after him. The one who was openly flirting with him. He kept denying it, he kept saying you were projecting.

Not really knowing what to do, you left the bedroom to check the bathroom just in case, but it was empty. So you made your way to the living room instead. And it was where you found him.

The TV was playing at a low volume, displaying the anime that Hyunjin was watching to fall asleep these days. He was laying on the couch, motionless, his chest rising and sinking slowly to the rhythm of his breathing. You felt relief and pain at once. He wasn’t out fucking that girl. But he had chosen to sleep here instead of by your side.

You swallowed your pride and lowered yourself next to the couch, giving his face a gentle caress. Hyunjin hummed in his sleep, frowning but not waking up. This time, you cupped his cheek and tugged a strand of his silky hair behind his ear. God, he was stunning. It seemed like it had been so long since you could observe him like that. He didn’t seem quite at peace, not even in his sleep, but it was better than nothing.

You pulled yourself closer to Hyunjin and kissed his sleepy lips, just pressing your mouth onto his. He let out the familiar groan he usually did when he woke up.

“You’ll rest better if you sleep in the bed,” you whispered, but he didn’t move.

A scowl appeared on your brows. “Baby?”

He shifted in his ‘sleep’, rolling with his back facing you. Only you could swear he was just pretending to sleep. It sounded crazy, it sounded insane, and it was very much unlike him, and yet you couldn’t see it any other way.

That reality was just too painful to process so you walked away, giving Hyunjin the space that he wanted but was too embarrassed to ask for with words. You didn’t cry, even if you wanted to. You went to take a shower, washing the day away, scrubbing your body vigorously as though it would make you into a new person. But it didn’t. When you turned the water off, you were still you. Just you. You were still the girl Hyunjin was avoiding.

You lay awake in bed for several hours that night, waiting to see if Hyunjin would get up any time soon, even just to get a glass of water in the kitchen. You stared at your ceiling, your heart heavy with the memory of the sweet taste of maraschino cherries. To you, today, they just tasted like Hyunjin’s love, and you craved it more than you could say.

You dozed off without realizing you did but when you woke up, Hyunjin was gone.

You spent your entire Valentine’s Day worrying. Under normal circumstances, you would have picked up your phone to text Hyunjin and ask where he was. You even knew which response to expect—he would tell you that he was at the bar, getting everything ready for tonight’s event. But you didn’t. Not immediately at least. There was a wound on your heart and it was a little too raw to poke at it just yet.

Instead you kept yourself busy for a few hours by deep cleaning the entire apartment. The washing machine ran non-stop until sometime around two in the afternoon. By then, your entire body was sore from all the housework done but you had finally figured out what you were going to text Hyunjin.

You: hey! ♥ happy valentine’s day baby. are you at the bar?

Hyunjin: you too angel. yes setting everything up for later

The response was a little dry but you swallowed your tears and your pride, determined to make things right somehow. If he ever let you.

You: I figured! I’ll be right there. want me to pick up some takeout on the way there? anything you want, it’s on me!

Hyunjin: you don’t need to come. felix is here and most of the staff

He literally did not want you there. He did not want you anywhere near him. No matter how obvious it was—and for how long it had been—you just couldn’t make sense of it, not really. Or maybe some part of your brain refused to process it to spare you, only it did not feel like being spared. It did not matter if you realized it in small increments or all at once. The end result was the same.

He did not love you anymore.

And you didn’t know what to do about that. You hadn’t thought it was possible. You hadn’t imagined it would ever happen. If you were honest—and admitting this even just to yourself was difficult—when Hyunjin and you became a thing, you never imagined how it would end. You never envisioned the termination of it because it did not feel like there would be one. And that had been absurd, obviously. You could see that now. It had even been borderline cocky—that was not the kind of confidence you ever displayed before. To assume someone would love you until the end of times or whatever. Not that every day would be sunshine and unicorns and rainbows, but that it was the kind of love that would overcome the dark days.

How conceited, presumptuous of you.

Now that the truth was catching up with you though, you found yourself humbled the fuck down.

You did something stupid but it was the only thing you could think to do at the moment—you searched your nightstand to find the leftover painkillers they had prescribed you last year when you sprained your ankle and struggled with physical therapy. You had one left, which you kept in case you injured yourself or something. Today seemed like a perfect occasion to put yourself into a coma of sorts. You washed down the pill with a shot of your favorite whiskey and buried yourself under your covers, staining the pillow with your tears, crying yourself to sleep.

It was dark when you woke up. You were getting tired of waking up at night with your heart broken in more and more pieces but you pushed yourself up and made yourself shower. Then you did your hair and even put on a little bit of mascara. The truth was that you just wanted to see him. You wanted him to kiss you. You never wanted to forget what it felt like. To be kissed by him. To be loved by Hyunjin.

The party was going strong at Nightcap. Hyunjin had organized a few games—you had even helped come up with them. The one you worked on the most was the free drink game. Single people could sign up and a number was assigned to them, as well as one free drink ticket. An entire section of the bar was reserved for them where they could meet new people. When someone was interested in another, they could go to the bar and use their free drink ticket to give to that other person. The thing is—the free drink would only be given if two people submitted each other for it. Of course, people could cheat if they wanted but it was their loss. The drink was one glass of Love Potion, a drink designed by Hyunjin several months ago, especially for tonight. Prosecco and cherry vodka on the rocks with a lime-flavored sweet and salty rim. Served with maraschino cherries.

Because he said that it was with those that he made you fall in love with him.

You remembered his smile as he told you that. You remembered his lips too, stained with the cherry juice from testing different versions of his drink.

Life used to be so good.

Jay—the apprentice bartender—was mixing up a few drinks, on his own behind the bar. You found it unusual for Hyunjin to leave the young man alone on such a busy night, but he didn’t show up, not even after waiting a few minutes. Yet you had seen his car in the parking lot so you knew he was here. Somewhere.

Felix was in the bar’s tiny kitchen, doing some preparations. Nightcap didn’t serve meals per se but did offer appetizers and other snacks. He saluted you warmly, as he always did, but he couldn’t tell you where Hyunjin was. “I mean he said he was gonna get more limes at the back to slice but that was a while ago,” he said. “Is he not here?”

No, he was not.

In hindsight, you probably should have gone home at that moment. Or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it. But instead you thanked Felix and, ignoring the lump in your throat, crossed the kitchen to make your way toward the back. A short hallway separated the kitchen and the storage room, where an emergency exit was also located. You shivered when you passed the old door, feeling the cold breeze from outside through it.

You were rehearsing in your head what you thought you would tell Hyunjin when you heard a familiar voice coming from the storage room.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, I’m here for you, Hyune.” It was Haley speaking to him, a waitress. A really pretty waitress who seemed to really really really enjoy working for your boyfriend. “You’re an amazing man. You deserve better than a cheater.”

Your heart halted but so did your feet—you came to an abrupt stop just before you entered the room, a hand over your mouth to cover the sound of the gasp you just let out. A cheater? Was she talking about you?

A cheater?

HYUNE?

You knew what was happening and yet you couldn’t believe it. You stretched your neck—just a little—to get a peek inside of the room. Hyunjin was right next to the large commercial fridge where you knew he kept the limes. Haley stood before him, very close to him. She was touching him, too, squeezing his shoulder and then letting her hand travel down to his arm, caressing him. Feeling him up.

Just about a million thoughts hit your brain at the same time but it was only a few that you could hear clearly. You knew Hyunjin had no enjoyment in his relationship with you anymore. That was one thing. But to call you a cheater and then hide with his waitress to let her coddle him? Seduce him, even? What kind of nerve did he have?

Was he this unhappy with you? That he would make up stories about cheating, perhaps to alleviate his own guilt? That had to be it, right? He was projecting. He was projecting because he wanted to fuck Haley—if he hadn’t already. He would sometimes tell you that you were the one projecting but now you could tell this whole thing was just a big, messy projecting inception.

The hit was violent. It felt a lot like you had been kicked in the chest. Or like Hyunjin himself had cut you open to crush your heart with his bare hands.

What happened next was even worse. You bit into the hand still covering your mouth so as not to be heard when Haley pulled Hyunjin by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.

You looked away because the sight was too much. Because it felt like you would die if you saw more of it. You took a feeble step toward the emergency exit, your legs trembling just as much as the rest of your body.

You heard Hyunjin’s voice coming from inside the room. “What the fuck?” There were a few noises, like fabrics brushing and footsteps. You couldn’t comprehend his intonation. You couldn’t tell if he was shocked or if he was, perhaps, denying how badly he wanted it. He said something else but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your pulse and the high-pitched ringing that echoed in your ear.

Haley sounded displeased when she replied to him, and yet honey coated her voice. “You can pretend all you want but I see the way you look at me,” she said with a joyless chuckle. “Don’t you think about me when you touch yourself? My body, my tits? I saw you checking me out.” There was a pause during which you leaned against the wall behind you or else you might just collapse. “Tell me, Hyune, do you think about me when you fuck her?”

You had heard enough and yet you barely controlled your body when you ran away, pushing the emergency door to put as much distance as you could between you and this fucking place and Hyunjin and that girl. You couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you tried to force oxygen into your lungs. The February air was cold and ruthless but you recognized the signs of a panic attack, knowing what was to come if you didn’t snap out of it.

You found your phone in your purse but you didn’t even know who to call. The only person you really wanted to be with was Hyunjin. But he wanted otherwise. You had failed him so spectacularly that he… that he…

As you scrolled through your contacts, you realized how alone you were without him. Ironically, it was Minho’s name that popped into your mind. But it was Valentine’s Day after all and he would either be with his wife or at the restaurant, or perhaps both. In any case, there was no way a call from his ex would be welcome. Eric would be busy too, but maybe you could call Jisung. But to tell him what? What was there even to say?

You heard the door you had just come out from open again and it was closed just a few seconds after. You were on the other corner of the building, hiding there while you regained your senses if you ever would.

“Baby? Angel? Is that you?”

Hyunjin.

You realized he must have heard the door. In your urgency to get the fuck away from this place, you hadn’t really bothered with being quiet.

Angel. How could he allow this word on his tongue after what he did? After he kissed that girl with it?

It took a few seconds for your feet to obey your brain but you didn’t make it very far before Hyunjin caught up with you. Neither of you was wearing even a jacket—you had left your winter coat on a hook in the kitchen with everyone else’s, but you couldn’t even process the cold. Not the one outside, anyway.

He looked like he didn’t know why you were here. Not really here at the bar but here, behind it, running away, wildly underdressed. He also looked like he knew very well what was going on.

“Oh my god,” he sighed when he made it to you. “Come inside, you’ll freeze. Are you okay?”

He tried to grab your hand but you dodged him. Hyunjin’s facial expression darkened—he opened his mouth to say something but no words came out.

Part of you wanted to leave now, digest it all, and have a talk tomorrow, or even later tonight. But another, stronger part of you couldn’t bear keeping it inside for even one more second. It felt like trying to swallow a knife.

“I saw you,” was all you said. “I just want you to know that I saw you and I heard you.”

The little color he had drained from his face. “W—What?” His bottom lip was trembling—a telltale sign that he was going to cry. “No, no, I—I pushed her away, angel, listen—”

You tsked him, shaking your head in disbelief. You could believe that. That he had pushed her away. Because they were in a public place and he was very notably in a relationship, and people would talk. “It’s fine,” you shrugged. It was not fine but you went on. “She’s hot, I get it.”

“I fired her,” Hyunjin responded without a pause, his voice flat.

You looked into his eyes, realizing you had no idea what was going on in his head. Realizing you didn’t know who you could trust more. Him, or yourself. Perhaps the correct answer was neither.

“So? Do you?” you replied. “Do you think about her when you touch yourself? When you fuck me?”

You hadn’t seen anger in Hyunjin very often and certainly never to the level he was getting at, so it took you a few seconds to recognize that he was enraged. Something flicked in his eyes, like a warning, but you ignored it. “Are we going to pretend you’re not fooling around with your boss?”

The question left you speechless. You took a step back, your shoulder blades meeting the brick wall behind you. “What?” You weren’t even surprised—you were properly dumbfounded, as though Hyunjin had spoken in a language you weren’t fluent in.

Hyunjin was getting impatient. A breeze blew over the both of you and a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, obstructing his eyes. “Can we skip the part where you pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about?” he snickered, looking disgusted. “No, I’m not fucking fantasizing about Haley. But I did call you last night. Twice. To tell you I was on my way to pick you up from the bakery so we could go home. Got no answer—I figured, fine, you’re busy.”

You thought you knew where this was going but you couldn’t even believe that you were here, right now, having this conversation.

“I saw you through the front windows,” Hyunjin went on. “It was kinda dark, but I saw enough to draw my own conclusions.”

This explained everything about the awful feeling gnawing at you from the inside. It hadn’t left you since Hyunjin had ignored you last night.

“He just hugged me,” you retorted with a small voice. You didn’t know if you were shaking because it was cold or because you had never felt as broken as you felt now. “I was crying.”

“Sure. A hug. That lasted at least one minute, probably more,” Hyunjin commented. “I wouldn’t know, I walked away. Tell me, does he “““hug””” you like that often?” He emphasized his point by dramatically air quoting the word. How does he like to “““hug””” you? Rough? From behind? Missionary? Does he—”

Your hand left the side of your body before you even realized it—you slapped Hyunjin in the face, shocked at what you were doing just as much as what he was saying and the disdain with which he was speaking to you. Tonight was too much. All of it was entirely too much—barely two minutes ago you witnessed a kiss between him and another woman and yet it was you who was being accused of cheating?

Hyunjin stood before you, speechless, feeling the reddened skin of his cheek like he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, a hug.” Your voice was shaking.

He cocked his head to the side. “A hug. And then he’ll try to hit that,” he retorted, pressing his lips together.

It felt like it would help you so much if you could figure out exactly what it was that you were feeling. You were furious. You were hurt. You felt sad and betrayed and hopeless.

You were scared.

Maybe you had known deep inside you, for a while now, that it would come to this.

“He’s gay. He has a boyfriend. He’s not trying to ‘hit that’. I’m not trying to ‘hit that’. He’s worried about me.” You took a deep breath but only managed to exhale pathetic sobs. “I’m so alone. I’m just so fucking alone, Hyunjin. You don’t even look at me anymore. You just sulk and when I try to pull you back up, when I try to be there for you, you push me away. It hurts, by the way. It hurts when you do that.”

Hyunjin blinked slowly, his gaze becoming unfocused as though he was reviewing the veracity of your words. It felt terrible to have finally said it. It felt wonderful. Like throwing up after drinking too much. Tasted just as nasty, too.

“So I hurt you,” Hyunjin replied flatly. “I hurt you.”

“I know you don’t mean to,” you added. “I just—”

He cut you off. “It was about time you told me,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Why the hell are you wasting your time with me, then?”

Your heart dropped—it was so violent that you had to press a hand over your chest. It felt like you were going to have a heart attack. “I’m not wasting my time, I’m just saying—”

“No, I got it. I hurt you. Have you ever stopped and wondered if maybe you hurt me, too?” It would have been better if Hyunjin hit you in the face. Anything would have been better than that. “You don’t know how alone I feel too. It’s fine that you don’t want to make me a priority, but it would have been nice to feel like you have my back.”

You buried your face in your hands, hiding your tears away. It couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be telling you that. It couldn’t end.

Not like this.

“But I do have your back,” you mumbled, the pieces of your heart stabbing you from the inside. “I love you—you know that, right?”

The expression on Hyunjin’s face gave you the response he didn’t speak.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you asked, your eyes wide.

“I don’t see what the point of staying together is. If all I do is hurt you and sulk. It’s quite obvious that you’ll be happier without me.”

He walked away. He just walked away.

It was Felix who found you outside some time later, alerted by Hyunjin’s awful mood, or so he said. He was nice. He brought you your coat and offered to go home with you but he was Hyunjin’s friend and he should stay with him. He insisted on calling a cab for you, but when the driver asked you where you were going, you did not give him the address of Hyunjin’s apartment—your apartment. You asked him to take you to the restaurant.

It was the end of the evening there—the dining room was crowded mostly by couples who were now eating dessert and drinking champagne. When you inquired to some of the new employees about Jisung, they all told you he was upstairs with the boss.

It used to feel like home. This place. The smells, the sounds. It was in this place that maraschino cherries took the taste of love. You crossed the restaurant, keeping your eyes on the floor so as not to see the bar section on the other side. You went directly to the staircase, hoping to find Jisung in his office, but only he was in Minho’s.

It was the two of them who comforted you that night—or tried, at least. You would never forget the look on their faces when you pushed the door open. It was like they had seen a ghost. Or worse. It made you wonder what you looked like.

You figured you most likely looked like a woman who had lost everything.

Because you sure as hell felt like it.

Now

Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine feeling its weight in the palm of your hand, the texture of it too, and its warmth. Imagine it scurrying along your arm to bury itself in your chest, making a home out of your heart. Imagine taking care of it, this light inside of you, to make sure it never goes out.

Imagine a downpour. A monsoon. Imagine not building a roof over the light. Imagine letting the light burn itself out in order to keep yourself warm. And letting it. Because maybe your brain felt like you ought to be punished for something, and what better punishment than to take away from you that one thing, that warmth that you love so much, even if it meant to hurt it all the while?

After all, there could be only one way to separate that light from your heart, so imagine drinking poison in the hopes it would poison it, too.

Imagine the light drowning right before your eyes.

What you would see is the state of Hyunjin’s heart.

He had it all. He had it all because he had you. Maybe it was from missing you too much but he would say that he fell in love with you at first sight and he has only loved you more and more since.

Maybe it was just because of the way he longed for you. Maybe it was because it was all that he had left. The longing, the yearning. The memory of you.

Hyunjin was aware of his mistakes. He knew them a little too well—he played them in his head almost at all times.

He had it all but he didn’t know that he did while it was happening. He was greedy. He had the bar and it was great, it was like a dream come true. Only he was too proud, and too ashamed, too. He really believed he could make it on his own. He didn’t want his problems to become yours.

He didn’t want you to see him fail.

He had it all but none of it was worth anything if you weren’t there with him.

Hyunjin had come to understand that a little too late—that he couldn’t just share the good things with you. That true love meant, also, sharing the burdens, the ugly stuff. Really sharing, not just pretending to.

By the time that information settled in, you were long gone.

Those were the worst months of his life.

Those were months of sleepless nights, of regret, of shame. Big decisions brewing at the back of his mind and at the very front of it too, crushing him under their weight. Months and months and months of missing you and knowing you deserved better than a guy like him, whose first instincts had been to sabotage the relationship instead of dealing with his issues. You deserved better than a coward.

The colder it got outside, the more vividly he remembered you.

Hyunjin called Minho one evening in early December, only a few weeks ago. He made it look like he wanted to catch up on him—Hey, it’s been a long time man, how are things?—but really Hyunjin wanted to ask about Minho’s contacts in the food and beverage industry.

And maybe, also, he wanted to ask about you.

“Oh, business has been as good as it can be,” Minho told him after Hyunjin inquired. “Just super grateful for the staff, everyone’s working hard during the holidays.” He paused then. “Hey, Hwang. Are you free some time around the 20th?”

Hyunjin thought about it, looking at the calendar hanging in Nightcap’s break room. “That’s a Friday. Those are busy,” he replied. Naturally, as a bar owner, he did not have the luxury to take Fridays off. “Why?”

“Ah, of course,” Minho replied politely, clearing his throat. “I rented a cabin in the mountains again since it was such a success the first time. Too bad you can’t make it, you’d be welcome, Felix too—”

Hyunjin almost dropped his phone, his heart racing. “I can make time,” he said without waiting. “I mean, I could ask someone to take over for a couple of days, I—” He wondered if he sounded as desperate as he was.

Minho let out a non-committal sound, clicking his tongue. “Are you only saying that because you think she’ll be there?” He didn’t need to specify who he was talking about—Hyunjin knew.

He was right. Minho was right. Hyunjin had vowed himself he would stay away from you—he had caused you enough pain anyway. He had to pay for the terrible mistakes he made. But the temptation was just too much.

“Before you ask, yes she RSVP’d,” Minho went on. “You should come too. I think it’s about time the two of you get some closure. Fair warning though—I will beat you up if you make her cry. Don’t bring your girlfriend, only Felix.” Hyunjin tried to stop him to at least let him know he sure as hell didn’t have a girlfriend, but Minho didn’t let him. “I’ll text you the address and directions when I hang up. We’re also having a Secret Santa gift exchange. To keep it simple, I’ll pair everyone in an online randomizer. So I’ll text you about that in a couple of days too. I’ll see you on the 20th, Hwang. Good talk.”

He just hung up. One minute later, Hyunjin was sent a Maps link with an address located in a remote village up in the mountains.

Two days later, Minho was texting him again to let him know that he would be your Secret Santa.

Minho: Better not fuck this up, Hwang.

Hyunjin knew he ought to call Minho and ask him to redraw the names because it just wasn’t appropriate. In all honesty, Minho might have tweaked the results. He knew he ought to call him to cancel the whole thing. Hyunjin shouldn’t go. Perhaps he would be tempted. By you.

He shouldn’t go. But he was not strong enough to resist.

He only wanted you to know what had really happened. He wanted you to know that he was sorry, that he never fucked Haley and never even wanted to, that he never actually thought you and Eric had slept together. He was just upset. And tired. And inadequate.

He hadn’t apologized for what he had done—you hadn’t given him the occasion to do so. The day after the breakup, you came into the apartment with Minho, Jisung, and Chan. Chan kept him company—as in, making sure he was never in the same room as you were—while the other two helped you pack up your things. You did not look at him but he heard you cry from the other room. You left the apartment. When he went to the bedroom, your keys were on the unmade bed, and his heart was in his throat.

He did not deserve to apologize, but it was his one shot at telling you the truth and admitting his faults. He wouldn’t miss it.

Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine fucking up so bad that your entire life is ruined.

“Dinner is ready,” Jisung’s voice said through the door. He knocked again. “We made pasta with the sauce Chan brought. The one you like so much,” he added. “Min just opened a bottle of wine. Come on.”

You sighed, burying your face into your pillow. He didn’t understand. You had tried staying—you had tried having a normal conversation with your ex, but it couldn’t work out. It meant that you couldn’t stay. You had been devising a plan for the past hour or so. While Christmas music was playing downstairs and smells from Chan’s delicious pasta sauce started floating in the air, you were checking if the motel you had seen in the village on your way here was open and if there was a room for rent. A little snow didn’t worry you.

Good thing you hadn’t really taken the time to unpack your bag.

“Are you there?” Jisung asked, wiggling the door handle to see if you had locked it. You had not, perhaps in your hurry to run away from Hyunjin or because you didn’t imagine anyone would come after you.

He cracked open the door, just barely, staring at you from the shadows of the hallway. Your room was dark too as you had not bothered turning on any lights during your crying fit. It was a small room but it had a nice view—like most of the bedrooms in the cabin, it even had a balcony. It had a cozy, rustic vibe to it with three of the four walls made of distressed wood paneling, the one facing your bed was built with warm-red bricks. It was such a shame. You had loved the room upon seeing it and had been actually looking forward to your weekend here, as much as you could anyway.

It was hard for you to look forward to things these days. But this weekend was supposed to be good. You were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner tomorrow with Min and you would bake some cookies and a cake, too. You had been assigned as Seungmin’s Secret Santa and you had found a bomb-ass gift for him which was a baseball shirt autographed by his favorite player. He would owe you his life after this. Okay, maybe not literally, but still. You couldn’t wait to see the look on your friend’s face when he would unwrap it.

Not anymore though. You wouldn’t be here tomorrow night. Hell, if there was a god and if that god was good, you wouldn’t even be here in an hour.

“I decided to leave,” you told Jisung, sitting up. “You can’t stop me.”

Jisung fully opened the door. “You can’t though,” he pointed out. “You saw the snow.”

“It’s snow, not a horde of dragons attacking the mountain. I’ll manage.” You stood, putting on a denim jacket over your t-shirt and grabbing your bag.

“A horde of dragons? You watch too much TV, friend.” Jisung shook his head. “Please don’t leave tonight. We talked about this just earlier.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be brave anymore.”

Jisung tried—and failed—to stop you from getting out of the room. He followed you downstairs. Everyone seemed to be in the kitchen. It smelled delicious and you heard their conversations and the clinking of cutlery, but you did not look that way. Instead, you went directly to where you had left your winter jacket and changed into your snow boots.

“We came in my car though,” Jisung muttered, clearly trying not to be heard by the others whose conversations had visibly lowered in volume. “You need my keys.”

“Yup.” You reached into the pocket of Jisung’s jacket which hung right next to yours and retrieved the aforementioned keys. “There. All good. I promise I’ll be careful with it. I’ll go down to the village at that motel we saw. I’ll come get you on Sunday. Okay?”

Jisung gave up, a saddened look on his face. He nodded slowly, raising his hands in surrender. “What happened to facing your heartbreak and healing from it?”

You glanced towards the other side of the large open space room. All of your friends sat around a huge wooden table overflowing with food and wine. All that you could see were smiles. Hyunjin was facing the other way so you could not see his face but he was eating his pasta and having a conversation with Changbin who sat next to him.

“You’re right about that,” you conceded, your throat tight. “But I don’t think any amount of facing it and looking it in the eyes will heal me. I’m hopeless, Ji. You’re gonna have to wrap your head around that at some point.”

“Nobody is hopeless,” he insisted, but you had walked away already.

You would at least be an adult about it. While you were elaborating your plan, you had considered faking an emergency, something giving you an excuse to leave. But it would be too obvious and too childish. Hyunjin always saw right through your lies anyway.

“Hey guys,” you managed as you approached the table. “I just came to say goodbye. I decided to leave.”

A heavy silence fell onto the room. Hyunjin spun in his chair to see you but you did not look at him.

Minho stood. “Don’t leave, it isn’t safe,” he said. “Look—”

“I’m leaving,” you repeated. “Let’s not ignore the elephant in the room, yeah? We’re all adults, after all, guys. I know it’s been a while since many of you have seen Hyunjin—and Felix—and I’m really happy y’all get this little reunion. But I’m just gonna go. Okay? No hard feelings. Not even for you, Min.”

You saw Hyunin lowering his head from the corner of your eye. “I’ll go,” he muttered. You barely heard him. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, it’s totally fine!” You could hardly believe how easy it was for you to say all of those things in front of everyone. You imagined it must be caused by some sort of adrenaline rush. “I mean it. You should stay.” You made your way toward the door before anyone could stop you.

Minho did follow, putting himself in between the door and you. “Wait, okay?”

“Min, just, no,” you began. “You and I dated for nine months. We were friends before. One night you kissed me. Nine months later, you were barely looking at me, barely speaking to me. In the end you broke up with me because it didn’t feel right, because you had too much work, all that.” You didn’t care that Minho’s wife was right there. You didn’t care that literally everyone in the room was listening to you. “I got over you. Then I fell in love with him,” you added, motioning towards Hyunjin who was still looking at the floor. “It was great. Until it was not. Until he, too, stopped looking at me. Until he stopped speaking to me. Until he kissed that waitress in the back room. And then he broke up with me too. So you’re gonna step the fuck away and let me leave this place. And everything will keep going as it was before and I’m not gonna be mad at anyone here. I’m just gonna go. Okay?”

Minho swallowed thickly, sliding to the left, freeing the door. “Okay.” He opened his mouth to speak and you knew him well enough to know he wanted to say I’m sorry, only you didn’t want to hear any more of that—you just pushed the door open and walked out.

You did manage to close the door behind you but that in itself was a miracle for you had barely made it outside. The snow was reaching somewhere just below your knees—it was heavier than you had imagined, too, and you sank into it with each step you took. It infiltrated your boots, freezing your toes almost instantly.

The wind was relentless. You swallowed snow on many occasions on your way to the parking lot, located on the left side of the cabin. But you remained resolute, fueled by anger, by disappointment. You could barely make out the cars—snow must have accumulated on the spot illuminating the area and it had also covered a lot of the cars, so it was difficult to see which was which.

It was cold but you didn’t care. Once you found Jisung’s car, you began removing the several inches of snow that covered it. You thought about Minho’s words as you angrily pushed the wet snow off the roof and windows. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to. Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong—it wasn’t true for every aspect of your life, except, perhaps, this one thing. Hyunjin.

Moving on from him seemed impossible. You had seen, so vividly, your life intertwined with his in the future. You had felt a love deeper than you thought love could ever be.

And now it was all that you had left. The memories of it, no matter how painful they were. It was all that you had of Hyunjin—the empty space he left behind.

It kept snowing.

Hyunjin wished you had slammed the door.

Many things happened right after you left—the group separated itself into thirds. One third tried to diffuse the obvious tension immediately by saying that by now, snow plows or something must have cleared the roads at least a little and that you would be okay. Then they continued the conversation almost as though nothing had occurred. Hyunjin couldn’t even be mad at them because he could tell it was out of good intentions. They were trying to preserve some kind of peace.

The second group seemed genuinely worried for your well-being. Should he have been able to speak right now, he would have been one of them, voicing his own concerns about the weather and your lack of winter clothing. Felix was asking Jisung if he should go get you. Jisung shrugged. “Maybe someone could follow her just to make sure she makes it safely.”

The third group, however, had other preoccupations. Si-yeon, Minho’s wife, Ha-ri, Changbin’s girlfriend, Soren, Chan’s girlfriend, Chan himself, and Seungmin were discussing under their breaths but he could hear them very well.

“Is it true what she said?” Si-yeon asked after clearing her throat. By the sound of it, it seemed like she was directing her question towards Minho, but when she did not get a response, she turned to Hyunjin. “Is it true? Did you cheat on her?”

Heat burned his ears. God, he wanted to disappear. He barely managed to raise his eyes. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “It’s not how it happened.”

“Did you kiss a waitress? That’s what she said,” Soren pointed out.

“She kissed me,” Hyunjin specified. “I rejected her.” That night was the worst night of his life. He remembered everything in detail.

“Did you not tell her that you invited her ex?” Chan asked Minho. “That’s fucked up, dude.”

A cacophony followed—everyone talked over the other, trying to make themselves heard, exposing their point. He really shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t fair to you. He didn’t imagine that Minho would have kept it from you, of course not. But he had, and now you were upset.

And Hyunjin’s heart was heavy.

He missed you. He missed you more than he could say—it didn’t matter if he locked himself in a room all weekend, making sure you never saw him. Because it would mean to be under the same roof as you once again. Even just a few hours. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would smell your perfume as you walked past his door, or maybe he would hear your voice.

One thing was sure, he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not tonight. He’d barely managed to reach this place, after all.

Without a word or a glance to anybody, Hyunjin pushed himself up, making his way toward the door. He ignored all the questions and comments. What are you doing? Where are you going? Are you sure it’s a good idea? Maybe someone else should go.

In two seconds, he was in his boots again, leaving his slippers behind.

Maybe, selfishly, he wanted you to know that he still loved you.

Going outside felt like running into a wall, only, the wall was made of wind, ice, and snow. He coughed as snowflakes entered his mouth and even his nostrils. He was only wearing a light sweater but he hid his hands into the sleeves, also protecting his face as best he could with his arms. He called out your name but the wind was louder, so he waited a few seconds to try again.

He could see some people looking through the windows and that did not please Hyunjin, so he quickly made his way toward the small parking lot. Snow entered his boots but he kept going, squinting as he tried to catch sight of you. He could see that some snow had been removed from a car but that wouldn’t be enough for you to be able to drive with it. There was a lot of snow on the ground and he didn’t think that a simple sedan would be able to go through it.

He could see the car. He could also see your bag, left on the trunk.

But he couldn’t see you.

He called your name again, his heart dropping. It was totally understandable that you were angry but you couldn’t possibly have run off into the woods in this weather, right?

What he saw once he reached the car was perhaps worse. You were sitting right next to it, one leg stretched and the other bent so that your foot was towards you. You were completely leaning over it, your shoulders shaking with cries. You had cried earlier too—he had seen it in your eyes. It hurt him to see you like this.

He approached you carefully, almost as though you were a feral animal. “Hey,” he said in a low voice.

You jumped, looking up, recoiling when you saw him—that motion caused you to wince and wrap your hands around your ankle.

Hyunjin got on his knees, not minding one bit the cold snow dampening his pants and freezing him. “Did you hurt yourself?” He tried to look you in the eyes but you wouldn’t let him. “Did you fall? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine,” you replied. “It’s just my ankle.”

“You don’t look fine to me.”

You sighed, wiping tears off your face. Your bare fingers were red and stiff. Instinctively, Hyunjin reached for your hand to warm it up, but you pulled away. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay. Go back inside.”

He looked around, searching for his words. “I don’t think you can leave,” he started, leaning closer to you. “Look. We can’t even see the path. We’re snowed in. And you hurt yourself. Isn’t this the ankle you sprained before?”

You gave him a slow nod after a few seconds. “There was ice over there,” you explained, motioning vaguely behind you. “Under the snow. I slipped, and…”

“We’ll get you back inside now,” Hyunjin said. “Wait here, I’ll go get someone and we’ll—”

“No, please.” This time, you did touch him—when he went to stand up, you caught his wrist, pulling him back. Your touch went through his body like a shockwave, making him lightheaded. “I can’t go back in there. Not after I made a scene.”

There it was. There you were. He recognized you more than ever now as you softened, as your anger dissipated. Not two seconds ago, you were still enraged. Now you looked at him with teary, pleading eyes.

“Everyone in there is your friend,” Hyunjin pointed out. “No one will judge you.”

“Of course they’ll judge me.” You let go of his wrist, taking a deep breath. “Help me up. I can still drive.”

Unfortunately for you, he had seen in which pocket of your coat you had put Jisung’s keys—he was easily able to reach into it to retrieve them, effectively stealing them from you.

You stared at him with your mouth wide open, shocked. “Fuck you!”

“Yup, fuck me,” Hyunjin retorted, this time standing up for good. “Hold on!” he quickly added when you, too, tried to stand, but it was obvious you couldn’t put much weight on your ankle.

“This is the second most humiliating day of my life,” you muttered as Hyunjin went to help you up. “The first on the list is when my boyfriend dumped me on Valentine’s Day.” You shot him a venomous gaze.

He sighed, the pang in his heart undeniable. He had never really been confronted with it before. The pain he had caused you. It had all been abstract up until this point. He had thought about it a lot, of course, but to see it with his own two eyes was a whole other thing. Your damp cheeks, the redness in your eyes. The expression on your face when you looked at him—it wasn’t even anger, or disgust. It was worse. It was disappointment.

And yet. You were there. You were right there. It was the first time in so long that Hyunjin saw you, that he spoke with you. And it wasn’t an easy thing to admit, not even to himself, but it still felt so normal to be by your side, to just speak with you. Sure, there was an awkwardness that could not be denied. But there was so much more beneath it. All the memories, all the time spent with you, all the love, the intimacy. It seemed like that bond hadn’t been severed.

“What a fucking loser,” Hyunjin said with an exaggerated snort. “Good riddance, yeah? Nobody needs a boyfriend like that.”

You stared at him, speechless, blinking slowly. Maybe it was the stress or the pain, but you burst into laughter that you had to control in order not to hurt your ankle even more. It was music to his ears. It almost felt like being revived after cardiac arrest. “Come on, help me up instead of working your stand-up comic routine.”

Hyunjin positioned himself behind you, not hesitating before wrapping one arm around your waist and another under your arms. “I got you, just don’t use that foot.” You smelled good. Your perfume was the same—its delicate yet bold notes hit his nostrils like a warm spring day.

Much like ripping a band-aid off a wound, Hyunjin pulled you up right away—you helped by standing on your good foot and by holding onto the car next to you, but you had to lean against it as soon as you stood, wincing in pain. “Wow,” you said nonetheless. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”

He shrugged. “Helps me keep my head clear.” He grabbed your bag and returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist again. You held onto him and hopped as best you could toward the cabin as he let you put all your weight onto him. “Careful, you’ll slip again,” he warned. “I’ll carry you—”

“Not a fucking chance. I’d rather die frozen in the snow than go back in there carried princess-style by the guy who dumped me on Valentine’s Day.”

“Really gotta rub it in, don’t you?” Despite the gloomy essence of the conversation, the tone was light-hearted. “Not that I don’t deserve it…”

It didn’t matter that it took several minutes to make it back to the porch—Hyunjin was not cold. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was touching you, holding you.

“Don’t let them make fun of me,” you warned.

He glanced inside—pretty much everyone was back around the table. “I won’t,” he promised, grabbing the door handle, but he didn’t push it open. “I really want you to know that I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t want to cheat on you,” he said, turning to you. “I know that you saw what you saw and I’m not asking you to forgive me or anything like that. Haley kissed me and I pushed her away. I just want you to believe me. Please.”

You frowned. “You literally broke up with me five minutes later, though.”

“I had my reasons. But nowhere among them was Haley. I promise you.” His heart felt lighter now that he had told you.

“She had been flirting with you for months,” you reminded him. “Very openly. Often right in front of me.”

“I should have fired her way before,” he conceded. That was one of the many mistakes he made—obviously, Hyunjin wasn’t worth much when put under stress, like he lost any ability to think clearly. “But I don’t want you going around thinking that you got cheated on. Because you didn’t. I would never have done this to you.”

You remained quiet—Hyunjin could sense that you needed to think it over, so instead of insisting on the topic, he opened the door.

You were obviously uncomfortable when you followed him inside. “You have no idea how humiliating this is for me,” you muttered under your breath. “All of it.”

It was his fault, after all, so there was no way in hell Hyunjin would let you be uneasy because of him.

The guests around the table became quiet when they noticed that you were with him. Jisung immediately got up, followed closely by Si-yeon and Soren.

Jisung gasped when he saw the state you were in. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

“It’s my fault,” Hyunjin said immediately. “I insisted that she should stay and I chased after her.” He found it rather simple to lie when it was to make your life easier. “She tripped and twisted her ankle trying to run away from me.”

“I’m fine,” you said but nobody believed you.

Hyunjin was gently pushed away as everyone came to take care of you—Chan and Soren helped you to the couch while Jisung was preparing a bag of ice for your ankle. Minho inquired about the amount of parm you wanted on your pasta as he filled a plate with food for you. Felix stood with Hyunjin and, together, they observed the scene quietly. You were given a hot pack to warm up your fingers and a thick blanket to wrap around you.

In no more than five minutes, you were comfortably lying on one of the sectional couches of the living room, eating a generous plate of pasta with your foot elevated on two cushions. Jisung, Soren, and Chan were sitting with you, eating and drinking, while others had returned to the table and a few people were standing near the kitchen island, chatting and putting leftovers in containers.

Hyunjin stayed in a corner after sending Felix away—he didn’t want his friend to miss out on a good evening on his behalf. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He was just troubled. He hadn’t been able to predict how he would feel once he saw you again, but even if his guess had turned out scarily accurate, the real thing was a million times more intense.

Hyunjin had known from the start. He had known from the moment you walked away from him that Valentine’s Day that he still loved you and that he wouldn’t stop loving you. But to know one thing and to experience it were two very different events.

His eyes met yours when you looked up from your plate. This time you didn’t avert your gaze.

Yup. He was fucked.

He was still head-over-heels in love with you.

“I think it’s sprained and that we have to wrap it tightly,” Jisung said, his eyes on his screen after looking up first aid advice.

“We’ll get you to a doctor as soon as the snow allows it,” Chan assured. “Do you want another glass of wine?”

The ambiance was much quieter than it had been—everyone was dispersed around the cabin, just enjoying the overall coziness of the place. You were still in the living room with Chan, Soren, and Jisung but you could see Minho in the kitchen, chatting with Felix and Hyunjin while he did some prep for tomorrow’s Christmas meal. You knew a few people were watching horror movies in the basement—and you were especially grateful to be anywhere but there.

“No, thank you,” you told Chan, forcing a smile on your face. “You guys don’t have to stay with me you know? I’ll be fine. Didn’t you want to play board games?”

“Won’t you play with us?” Jisung asked.

“I’m tired.” And it wasn’t even a lie. Your entire day had been a roller coaster of emotions and you felt drained, empty, and your ankle was still excessively painful. “If someone would be kind enough to fetch me some elastic bandages from the first aid kit, that’s all I need. I’m used to it, I can wrap it myself.”

Chan tried to insist but in the end, Soren dragged him away so he would help her choose a board game—maybe she understood you a little better than the guys. Maybe she knew that you just needed to be alone for a little while.

It was Jisung who brought you the bandages. “Are you okay?” He squeezed your shoulder, taking a deep breath.

You stared at the rolls of bandage in your hand, thinking it over. Today felt much like a fever dream, like nothing about it was real. Like it could not be possible that you were currently in the same building as Hyunjin. Like it could not be possible that he had spoken to you softly, that he had held you, touched you, and that it made your heart flutter.

“I don’t know,” you admitted to Jisung. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling,” you added, keeping your voice low.

“I don’t think there’s any way you’re ‘supposed’ to feel right now,” he told you.

You nodded, sending him away so that he could join the game. Felix and Hyunjin also voiced their desire to play. “I’ll make us a round of drinks before,” Hyunjin decided. “Anyone interested?”

You heard responses coming from the dining area and then silence fell over the room. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that several heads were turned your way. Hyunjin called your name, his voice cracking as he did so. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure,” you replied out of habit, mostly to make everyone look away.

You focused on unwrapping your supplies, doing your best to chase the thoughts swirling in your head. God, why were you a little glad to see him all of a sudden? You had been so upset about it earlier—with good reason!—and while you were very much still pissed off, you couldn’t help but feel a certain relief after his revelation.

You didn’t want to believe him. That he didn’t cheat on you, that he never even wanted to. So why was your heart… like that? Why wasn’t it raising its defenses, why was it leaving you exposed and vulnerable? Had it not learned from the betrayal it suffered? Why had it been so easy for Hyunjin to sneak his way back inside of it?

For months, the simple idea of meeting Hyunjin again had haunted you as you had no idea how you would react. But sometimes—usually after a few drinks—you started to imagine crazy scenarios. Like him calling you out of nowhere and asking to see you or even him showing up unannounced at your job to beg you to take him back. You were usually quick to banish these thoughts, trying to drown them in the most painful memories you held. Like all the times he kept you at a distance when all that you wanted was to be there with him, just so he wouldn’t be alone with his dark thoughts.

When that didn’t suffice, you had to bring out the big guns. Like replaying in your mind the kiss with Haley. Or the subsequent breakup, and the tone with which he spoke to you, making it very clear that while you had good intentions, you did not have the means to help him—no matter how hard you’d try, you would never be enough to soothe his heart.

Except he was here tonight, whether you liked it or not. And you could still feel the ghost of his hand around your waist. You had never known addiction before and would a drug addict had told you about their experience, you would have empathized with them of course, but not understood. If it’s an addiction and if it’s dangerous, then why keep doing it, even if it feels good?

Because. Because it felt so fucking good.

You were so lost in your thoughts, barely paying attention to wrapping your ankle, that you didn’t notice Hyunjin when he approached, holding two glasses. You jumped when you saw him, immediately telling yourself that your heart rate was increasing because he had surprised you and not because he looked exceptionally handsome in the warm lighting of the fireplace.

And certainly not because he was handing you a glass with a very familiar drink in it—you recognized it instantly as one of his signature drinks. He called it, simply, Merry Christmas. You had participated in its creation in the form of drinking many versions of it to review them. Sugar around the rim, some limoncello, a little bit (or a lot) of vodka, and a drop of vanilla syrup in some seltzer. But the best part was the maraschino cherry juice, which gave the cocktail its festive look along with a piece of rosemary resembling a little evergreen tree in the glass.

“There,” Hyunjin said, waiting for you to pick up your drink. He seemed to hesitate but ultimately went on, “I added some extra cherries in yours. I hear they’re very good at promoting the healing of ankles specifically.”

You stared at your glass and then at his own drink, which only had one maraschino cherry in it. As though you needed to make sure, you glanced around the room, trying to see how many the others had gotten. Because Hyunjin had put an entire mini-skewer of cherries in yours.

He used to do that all the time back at the restaurant. His special drinks. Just for you. They didn’t always contain alcohol but he always made up some scientific facts to justify them—to boost serotonin, to clear headaches, to ease a sore neck, to heal a cold. And you’d always accept the drinks with a witty remark and it forced a smile on your face, no matter what.

In hindsight, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t noticed his feelings for you before it was almost too late. He hadn’t even been subtle about it, had he?

And there he was, doing it again. This time, though, your brain came to your defense—this wasn’t him flirting with you like it had been at the restaurant. This was simply Hyunjin trying to be nice after daring to show up here.

And yet, almost like muscle memory, your lips curved into a faint smile.

“I’d really love to see all these medical articles you read,” you retorted, accepting the drink from him. “It’s crazy all the things I learn with you. At this rate, you’re basically some sort of healer.”

Hyunjin seemed just as surprised as you to hear your response, but once the shock set in, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you my secrets,” he replied, sitting on the couch next to the cushions on which your ankle rested not long ago. “The more I tell you, the more dangerous it is for you. It’s best if you stay in the dark.”

“Sure thing.” You took a sip from the drink—it was ice cold and just as delicious as you remembered it. Or maybe even more. It had been so long. “I didn’t know there was a cocktail mafia out there. I got it—I won’t tell a soul.”

“I knew I could trust you.” Hyunjin winked at you, also tasting his drink, glancing at the others who were now preparing their board game on the table. “Seriously though, are you okay?” He motioned at your foot.

You rested it on the cushions again, lifting the leg of your pants to display it. It was definitely very swollen and a little bruising had started to appear in places. You winced, sucking air between your teeth, quickly drinking more in the hopes that the alcohol would help. “It could have been worse,” you said nonetheless. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Yeah, it looks exactly like the time you sprained it,” Hyunjin confirmed with a nod, observing it closely. “Give that to me. It needs to be wrapped quickly to control the swelling.” He showed you the bandages left on the couch next to you. “I think it’s better if someone does it for you.” He stopped then, averting his gaze. “I can get someone else if you want.”

Gun to your head, you would not have been able to understand addiction before tonight.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” You handed him the bandages, sitting more comfortably now. “You’re the healer, after all. Makes me wonder why you settled for bartending when you could be rich—like, a literal millionaire—performing miracles on the daily. You could have it all. A palace to live in, all the riches you can imagine, all the girls, too—”

You stopped mid-sentence, biting into a maraschino cherry, releasing its sweet juice on your tongue. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Hyunjin could very well be in a relationship right now. If it wasn’t Haley then it was someone else. Surely. A man like him—kind, funny, handsome, with a huge cock and the talent to use it. There was no way in hell he wasn’t seeing someone.

Hyunjin put his drink away, choosing to begin his task instead of responding. He gulped, reaching for your ankle, pausing just a few millimeters away from it almost like he was asking permission. He used to do that a lot. Except it was with his mouth on your pussy, and he did it to tease you just as much as to ask for your consent—because it turned him on a lot.

Just how much alcohol was in this damn drink?

You took another sip anyway, hoping that holding the glass in front of your face for a few seconds would allow for the dramatic flush that had appeared on it to fade away a little.

Slowly, carefully, Hyunjin lifted your foot to lay the bandage underneath your ankle. It quickly returned on the cushions, and if you were honest, it had caused you a lot of pain to move it and yet you found yourself wishing he would do it again. The sensation of his fingers on your skin was as frightening as it was intoxicating. It reminded you of when he would caress your leg, your calf, your ankle with the back of his fingers while the two of you lounged on the couch. Sometimes naked, sometimes not, just existing alongside one another, watching TV.

It reminded you of all the times he would wrap his fingers around your ankles, pulling them up, resting them on his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper.

Oh no. No no no. You couldn’t feel like this. You couldn’t even let those thoughts wander in your mind—it was too dangerous. The fact that he was here tonight was a coincidence, albeit a sinister one. It didn’t mean anything. He was nice to you because of his guilt and maybe because he had gotten over that dark episode in his life and he wanted some closure. It was hard to tell. In any case, none of this meant anything. Him being sweet. The maraschino cherries.

You couldn’t let it mean anything—because in less than forty-eight hours you would both leave this place and go on your separate ways. And you did not think you could go through it another time. You did not think you could lose him again. It might kill you this time. It really might.

Fortunately for you, however, a strong gust of wind blew over the mountain as you took a few more nervous sips of your drink, and the power went out.

There was only one second of complete silence before an uproar of terrified screams echoed from downstairs, where a bunch of people had been watching horror movies. Ultimately, Seungmin’s voice could be heard louder than the others as he urged people to ‘chill the fuck out’ because ‘it’s just a power outage’.

Minho cursed from the kitchen. “I can’t see shit.”

The cabin was very dark with the exception of the large fireplace in the living room and a few dim security lights here and there. Being so close to the fire, you could see Hyunjin very well—he did not seem bothered by the sudden turn of events, continuing his careful wrapping of your ankle, making sure to be as meticulous as he could be.

People downstairs quickly came back up, telling a tale of the power going out at the exact moment some disturbing scene happened in the movie, scaring all of them to death. Minho reminded everyone that an electrical generator would continue to give them power for the two fridges as well as one tank of hot water and that he did not want anybody arguing over that.

“We’ll still have food and be able to wash up,” he said while Felix was holding the flashlight on his phone over his shoulder to light up the counter where he was cutting up vegetables. “Nobody is allowed to take extensive showers like some people like to do. Okay?”

“This felt targeted, Lee,” Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head.

Hyunjin was known for his very long and very warm showers—it had become a running joke among the employees. You giggled too, remembering the friendly bicker between these two back when you worked at the restaurant. But your amusement was cut short by the memory of Hyunjin’s bathroom after he exited his shower in the apartment you shared with him—he usually doodled something in the condensation that was covering the mirror. For you. A heart, a smiley face, or he’d just write I love you. You even made it a habit of going to see what the surprise was after his shower, even if you didn’t need to be in the bathroom.

You drank more, remaining quiet as everyone took place on the couch or on big cushions on the floor. By the time most were comfortably installed, your ankle was tightly wrapped and Hyunjin had even pressed more ice onto it.

He stayed there when he was done, sitting, and drinking in silence. You tried to ignore the curious glances, eyes fixated on the flames in the fireplace.

“It’s running late, we could just go to bed and hope the power is back by tomorrow,” Seungmin suggested.

“The heating system relies on electricity though,” Minho explained. “There are loads of blankets, but maybe it would be safer for some of us to sleep here in the living room by the fire?” He gulped nervously. “Especially those who, huh, aren’t sharing a bed with someone else. I’d hate for someone to freeze in their sleep.”

“Wow,” Jisung scoffed with a playful smile. “Looking out for your single-as-fuck friends. Truly heartwarming.”

“I’m just saying,” Minho responded, shrugging, but he was smiling too. “Those who want, we could go grab the mattresses upstairs?”

“OH MY GOD, A SLEEPOVER! YES!” Jisung exclaimed, pushing himself up even though it had not been a minute since he sat down. “Singles only. All of you who are fulfilled and content and happy can go freeze your asses upstairs.”

As usual, Jisung’s comment brought laughter to the group. Most of the guys were on mattress duty while others were trying to find all the extra blankets, or exchanging woolen socks to make sure everyone’s toes would be safe from the cold. Naturally, you were forbidden to move, so you just drank, each maraschino cherry reminding you of how alone you were.

And yet you were surrounded with all of your friends. People you cared about and who cared about you. People who called you on your birthday, who sent you memes in the middle of the night as a love language, who brought you soup when you had the flu. It wasn’t fair to them. This loneliness that you felt. And you didn’t want any of it, but it was stuck somewhere in your throat, slowly but surely preventing your lungs from getting the oxygen they needed.

And here they were, devising architectural plans for a pillow fort while you were holding your tears. You wouldn’t have called yourself a bad person or a bad friend before but it was tonight that you realized that you were one. Because it felt like so little mattered since the breakup. Months. Months of just watching life happen around you—as the audience, not the actor.

It just seemed like your existence itself was lackluster now that you had tasted life with your soulmate. Everything you did, you did it without Hyunjin. Without Hyunjin as a qualitative, descriptive way to describe the state you were in. You woke up without Hyunjin. You celebrated your birthday without Hyunjin. You went to the grocery store without Hyunjin. You went to work. You visited your mother for dinner. You went out for drinks with friends. You watched the new season of your favorite TV show.

You existed without Hyunjin.

But it just wasn’t the same.

It soon became clear that Hyunjin intended to be present for Jisung’s sleepover, which made you panic on the inside. On one hand was your ankle and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the stairs. On the other hand was the dreadful notion of sleeping in the same room as him. It wouldn’t matter how many people would be there also—you would be able to recognize his breathing patterns, his soft, sleepy sighs when he rolled over.

You had never been one to sleep easily before him. You’d spend hours just waiting for sleep to come. And then there had been Hyunjin and it used to feel like you didn’t have enough hours in a day to be with him. Like you didn’t even want to sleep at night. You’d lay in bed, sleepy, often a little sore between your legs but full of cum, just existing alongside him. Listening to him fall asleep. His arms around you. It was impossible not to drift to sleep then, because you had never felt safer than in these moments.

Needless to say—now that you slept without Hyunjin, you did not sleep very much at all.

Carefully, you removed your ankle from the cushions, preparing to get up—Hyunjin spotted you, quickly dropping the pillows he was holding. “Wait! You can’t do that!”

You rolled your eyes—it seemed easier to act annoyed at him than you let him show the true state of your heart. “I sure as hell can. I can’t spend the next week sitting on that couch. I need to pee.”

He grunted something under his breath. “Alright. Let’s go. You always have to pee.”

“Oh shut up,” you retorted, nudging him and yet still allowing him to wrap his arm around you once again, helping you up. He quickly pulled away, letting you lean against the wall. “I’ll manage. Thank you very much.”

You pathetically limped your way to one of the downstairs bathrooms, locking yourself in there using your phone for light, quickly splashing cool water all over your face. You should have tried to leave. By now, you might have been in a motel somewhere, all alone, away from Hyunjin and all the memories he brought back.

You were walking around the bathroom, testing whether you could make it upstairs or not, when someone knocked at the door.

“Coming!”

“It’s me.” Hyunjin. “I just figured, like, do you want me to go get your toothbrush and stuff from upstairs? Maybe?”

What the fuck was going on? Was that going to happen? Being… friends? With him? After everything that had happened? Despite all the complicated feelings you had?

You opened the door. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep upstairs,” you assured.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you and then down at your ankle. “Not a good idea.”

“It’s fine,” you repeated, going past him, making your way slowly and painfully toward the stairs. He followed you closely—you could feel his hands ghosting you as he prepared to hold you if you collapsed.

Maybe it made you want to collapse.

“Hey, are you not coming to my sleepover?” Jisung called. He was busy making the beds with Felix. You counted five of them which could only mean one thing. “I told them to bring a mattress for you. Thought it would be best for your foot.”

You stood there, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. Sure. Sure, it all looked super cozy. Part of you wanted to sleep on the cold hard floor upstairs. Another part of you wanted the exact opposite.

“Listen to your friend,” Hyunjin advised. This time, he pressed his hand on your lower back, sending your mind spinning and your heart racing. His hand was so big and so warm. Just above your ass. “I’ll go get your stuff upstairs. You really need to be careful, there was a lot of swelling.”

You almost asked Jisung to go instead but if you had to be totally honest with yourself, if someone was going to look into your luggage and see your underwear, you’d rather it was somebody who had once been intimate with it. So you just nodded. “Call me when you’re up there, I’ll guide you.”

“Does that mean you packed at the last minute and everything is chaos in your bag?” Hyunjin playfully asked. “When will you learn?”

You pushed him, limping towards a couch in a quiet corner. It was a little farther away from the fireplace and all the action, but you could use the peace, even if it was a little cool. “I don’t think you have any lessons to give me, Hwang. Just how many airpods have you lost by now? We must be at five or six pairs, right? More? When will you learn?”

Hyunjin stuck out his tongue at you, choosing to climb upstairs instead of responding to you. You sat down, breathing deeply. You couldn’t let this go any further. You couldn’t even be his friend, not even if it somehow turned out to be true that he had never cheated on you. You couldn’t watch him fall in love with another. Certain things are just too heavy to bear.

Jisung pretended to need something on the table to have an excuse to stand closer to you. “Looks like things are good between you t—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “There are no ‘things’ between us. I just decided to be civil, same as him. It’d be a shame to waste Minho’s weekend. He spent a lot of money on this.”

“Hm-hm.” You heard Jisung suppress his laughter. “Sure thing.” He turned to you. “Look—I really think you two need to talk. Let me finish,” he added when he saw that you were going to interrupt him again. “I get it, he hurt you. But you don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?”

Your phone rang in your pocket—you pulled it out only to see Hyunjin’s number appear on the screen. It had been months since you had seen it there and it made your heart flutter.

“He doesn’t look at me in any special way,” you replied, suddenly very aware of the taste of maraschino cherries lingering on your tongue.

But Jisung was gone already, returned with the others in their quest to create the most comfortable sleeping nook known to mankind. You allowed yourself a few seconds to pretend Jisung hadn’t said anything and took the call.

“I’m with your bag,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Where’s your toothbrush?”

You tried to remember the moment when you threw everything in your luggage. “Probably at the bottom. I have a small toiletries bag. Bring the whole bag.”

You heard shuffling and brushing noises—it became obvious Hyunjin had put you on speaker, probably using the light from his phone to see inside your bag as he searched it. “Got it! What do your PJs look like?”

“It’s just a pair of dark blue shorts and a black tank top. It has a jellyfish on it.” You definitely had not planned on being seen by Hyunjin in your pajamas. You might have picked something a little more… a little less… simple.

Or not. Because none of this mattered. He probably definitely had a girlfriend and nothing was happening.

“Found them,” Hyunjin replied. “Love the tank top, it’s really cool. Do you want socks?”

“Yes, the fuzzy ones. Bring my underwear too.” You sighed, burying your face in your hand.

There was a silence on the other end. Just a few seconds. “Which one? Oh, this one’s cute. With the sheep.”

Yes of course. Out of all the panties you brought today, he had to come across the ones with a sleeping sheep pattern on them. “Sure, whichever.” You sighed. “That’s all, thanks. Oh—wait, I have a power bank too. We could charge our phones. In the left pocket I think?”

You really had thrown everything in there at the last minute. You tried to remember a little better but Hyunjin let out a strange sound—a gasp of sorts—and it snapped you back to reality, putting all of your memories exactly where they belonged.

No. No, your power bank was not in the left pocket.

“You still have that thing?” Hyunjin asked with an intonation that was impossible to decode.

That thing as in the bullet vibrator he gifted you for your two-month anniversary. That thing as in, that bullet vibrator that you had put in the left pocket of your bag just in case things were a little boring up here.

Flames engulfed your head whole—you sat there, speechless, trying to find something to say. But really you were remembering the evening he gave it to you. And the things he had done to you with it that very night. Edging you and teasing you until there were tears in your eyes, until you begged him to let you cum. Playing with you using that toy and his mouth and his fingers and the tip of his cock. Sinking into you only when you were on the brink of insanity, finally giving you what you needed, fucking you into a delightful bliss.

“Well, it still works,” you heard yourself say. “Would be a waste to throw it away.” That wasn’t even a lie—that little thing packed a punch.

Hyunjin chuckled. “Want me to bring it to you?”

You clicked your tongue. “You’re hilarious. Maybe you want some alone time with it? If I recall well, you probably wouldn’t be against it.” And you knew that your memories were accurate—how could you forget brushing the vibrating toy up and down Hyunjin’s straining cock, slowly, languidly, just so you could collect his precum and lick it off him?

“So funny, ha-ha-ha. Alright, be right there.” Hyunjin hung up. You stared at the dark kitchen in front of you, unable to grasp onto the thoughts that visited your mind. And yet it was all that you wanted. It was all that you needed—to figure out what was going on in your head and in your heart.

Hyunjin came back wearing his own lounging outfit—just sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt with a hoodie, nothing unlike him. He also gave you a small, battery-powered camping light which he had found upstairs, but he barely looked at you as he handed you the pile of clothes he went to fetch. To be fair, you barely looked at him, too—it was already a lot to find yourself stuck on a snowed-in mountain with your ex, after all, and the fact that he had just gone through your stuff, panties and vibrator included, did not help, and you eagerly locked yourself in the bathroom, glad to be away from the others for a few minutes.

As you changed, it became obvious that the sleepover had already started in the living room. Jisung had apparently officially closed the door upstairs, ‘blocking’ the access to his Singles-Only night. Felix and Seungmin were arguing playfully about video games. You listened to their conversation with a smile on your lips, choosing products at random from your toiletries bag, just whatever you needed to freshen up a little.

In truth, you knew that this uncertainty was no better than whatever had been occurring in your mind before. A discussion had been launched—only it wasn’t even a discussion. It was just Hyunjin dropping information on you without you having any chance to respond. But you had questions. You had many of them. And either you were getting answers tonight or you weren’t going to sleep at all.

As soon as you were cleaned up and cozy in your pajamas, you returned to the main room only to find Hyunjin alone in the dim kitchen, adding slices of orange into a pot on the gas stove. You looked on the other side of the cabin where both Jisung and Seungmin were sitting around Felix, who was playing on his Switch. The three of them paid no attention to you whatsoever.

With a deep breath, you painfully made your way to the counter and sat on the nearest stool. Hyunjin glanced behind his shoulder as he stirred whatever was in the saucepan—but from here, you could smell his mulled wine. His recipe was the best you ever tasted.

You sat in silence for a minute, trying to find the right words, realizing there were no right words.

“It smells good,” you said in a low voice.

“Thank you. I put loads of oranges, just the way you like it,” Hyunjin replied, turning to you. There were only a couple of candles lighting up the entire kitchen and you watched as the flames danced on his skin. “And extra honey, too.”

It was strange. It was a little messed up. To act like this when he hadn’t seen you in months. When he had dumped you on a cold February night.

“What you said earlier…” You averted your gaze, reliving the memory. “Was it true? Was it really really true?”

Hyunjin frowned as he tried to understand exactly what you were referring to. “What do you mean?”

“That you didn’t cheat on me.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. “That you didn’t want to.”

He did not speak just yet—instead, Hyunjin grabbed two mugs and carefully filled them with warm wine using a ladle. He slid one over to you. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You wrapped the mug with your hands to warm them up, inhaling the familiar scent. It smelled like winter nights and sitting on the balcony, dressed up from head to toe, just to drink mulled wine and kiss under the snow.

“I swear,” Hyunjin responded, leaning on the counter on the other side of it, looking right into your eyes. “I promise you. I made mistakes—I made all the mistakes, actually, except that one.”

You didn’t want to believe him. But you believed him.

“I… I was so upset after what I had seen at the bakery,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t believe you would cheat on me. I didn’t really believe it. I was just hurt. My mind was dark. Which is not an excuse, by the way. I’m just explaining.”

You took the smallest sip of wine, careful not to burn your tongue. It was warm but it wasn’t hot—suddenly, you remembered Hyunjin’s ability to always serve a beverage at the right temperature.

You did believe him—but there was another, darker question on your mind.

“Can I ask you something else?” You bravely found Hyunjin’s eyes—he tilted his head to the side, nodding as an invitation for you to go on. “What was it, then? Is it something I said, something I did? Something I didn’t do? What is it that made you fall out of love with me?”

Hyunjin recoiled, straightening up, looking away, obviously troubled. Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you about that yet but selfishly you didn’t care very much. You just needed to hear it from him. He would, of course, word it kindly. But you needed him to tell you about the ways you had failed him.

“Guys,” he called out, turning away and grabbing more mugs. “I made mulled wine. Who wants some?”

“I’ll have some, thanks, man.” Seungmin pushed himself up, making his way to the kitchen to get his wine.

As though they were waiting for someone to get up for them, Felix and Jisung asked him to bring them a cup too, causing more friendly banter.

“How’s your ankle?” Seungmin asked you while he was waiting for Hyunjin to fill the mugs—and he was really taking his time, stopping after each mug to gulp down a lot of wine as though he needed to make sure he wouldn’t remember tonight.

“Not too bad,” you replied, your voice weak. “It could be worse.”

“Good. Thanks a lot,” Seungmin added when Hyunjin slid a small, Santa-themed platter before him. He had placed the mugs of wine on it as well as a few chocolates. “It’s good to have you back, and I’m not saying that just because of the drinks.”

“Yeah he is saying it just because of the drinks,” Jisung said from the living room, causing more chuckles.

Seungmin walked away, calling Jisung a few names. You focused on your own wine, drinking some more of it, but it did not have the effect you were hoping it would have. You shivered, suddenly becoming a little too aware of the lack of proper heating in the place. Everything—save for the bickering—was quiet, allowing you to hear the howling wind outside. You drank more to warm up. While you were definitely starting to feel the buzz from the drinks, you were still way too sober for this.

“You should have brought winter clothes,” Hyunjin reprimanded but his voice was gentle. He shook his hoodie off himself, removing it and quickly resting it on your shoulders before you could say anything. “And, by the way, nothing.”

You frowned, confused and shocked. The hoodie’s soft fabric caressed your skin, warm and comforting. It smelled like him. Like Hyunjin. You slid one arm into it, then another, unable to resist it. “Nothing what?”

“You asked what made me fall out of love. My answer is nothing did.” Hyunjin kept himself busy by cleaning up the saucepan and stove.

Nothing.

Nothing as in it happened without a reason? Or nothing as in he didn’t fall out of love? Those were two very different things.

“But you broke up,” you managed, your hands trembling.

“Because I thought it was the best thing for you.” Hyunjin left the stove, standing right next to your stool, his hair falling over his face a little. “Do you understand? It’s not something you did. You were perfect. You were… You were too good for me. Can’t you see that? It wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It was because I loved you that I let you go.”

A strange mix of rage and anguish rose within you. You stared at the bottom of your mug where only a little wine was left—you emptied it, still deep in your thoughts. This couldn’t possibly be happening.

“So you’re telling me,” you started, your voice low, “that you were still in love with me on that Valentine’s Day? And you broke up with me for my own good?”

He gulped and bit his lip. It was dark but you could still see the flush on his cheeks. “Yeah.”

You stood up, unable to stay still any longer. You went to the sink to let your empty mug soak and limped back towards the nearest window just to watch the blizzard. Hyunjin followed you quietly.

“That decision wasn’t up to you, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “You made it, but it wasn’t yours to make. I was and still am more than capable of deciding what’s good or what’s bad for me.” You looked behind you, at this handsome man hiding behind his hair. “We were so good together and you ruined it.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I know,” he muttered. He hesitated but not for long. “You’re the best thing that happened to me.” You turned to him, trying to see the expression on his face better. “It broke me. It took me months of therapy to feel almost like a person again. Months to realize the fact that I broke up because I felt inadequate and that instead of trying to be better, I went the cowardly way.”

Therapy? “Hyunjin—”

He shook his head, his long hair moving with him. “I know I have no right to but I want to apologize. I’m so sorry. I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just saying sorry.”

You listened to the room around you. There was laughter coming from the living room and the crackling of the fireplace and the wind outside. But your heartbeat was louder. He had gone to therapy? Hyunjin?

Inadequate?

“Hyunjin,” you breathed, reaching for his face. He flinched—barely, but he flinched, undoubtedly remembering the slap he had earned himself on that awful night. Still, you pushed a strand of his hair away, displaying his big, sad eyes. The flames of the candles flickered in the tears collecting there. You did not know what to say. “It broke me, too.”

He pressed his lips together, holding his tears. You cupped his face briefly, just to feel him under your fingertips. When your hand retreated, he touched his cheek as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’m so sorry. It’s such a waste. It was all for nothing.”

Any animosity you might have felt for him had melted a while ago. Your heart felt like the first day of spring with remnants of snow and puddles of water on the ground, but with a bright blue sky and the sun warming up the world again. Hyunjin had not cheated on you. He had been a little bit stupid because he did not respond well to pressure.

He had hurt himself hurting you.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” you replied. “I know you were so stressed because of the bar and I should have helped you more, I just didn’t know how, I should have known how. But don’t say it was for nothing. Nightcap is your baby, and—”

“No,” Hyunjin interrupted you. When you tried to insist, he shushed you more insistently and this time it was him who framed your face with his large hand, cupping your cheek, resting his thumb on your trembling lips.

A jolt of electricity went through your body. How many times had he held you like this? Exactly like this? Seconds before he would pull you into a kiss and say something sweet or something nasty to you. Time stopped for a while—not for the rest of the world, no. The snowstorm was still raging outside and the guys were still playing in the living room and the flames were still flickering on the candles and in the fireplace. Time stopped for you and for Hyunjin only—time stopped being linear. Instead, it brought you back, just for a few instants, to the past. To the way things used to be when you were still whole.

Hyunjin looked into your eyes as though they were a work of art in a museum that he wanted to study. His gaze trailed down to your lips, lingering there much longer than it should, before returning where it was.

“Yes,” you insisted but your face was so warm you could feel it. “You worked so hard for it and none of what you sacrificed for it was for nothing.”

“I put it up for sale some time ago,” Hyunjin revealed, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t want it anymore.”

It would have felt the same if he had been the one to slap you in the face right then and there. You pulled away, the intimate bubble you two were in breaking instantly. You whispered an outraged cry at him. “LIKE HELL YOU’RE SELLING IT!” You pushed him away almost like he had attacked you. And he sort of had. “There’s your blood, sweat, and tears in this place, you’re not giving up on it. I forbid it.” You became aware that the living room was eerily quiet all of a sudden.

“It’s already on the market. Besides, I’m not changing my mind.” Hyunjin shrugged, looking over your shoulder to stare at the snow. “You’re wrong. What I sacrificed for it was too high a price.”

“But it was your dream.” You could not believe you were having this conversation.

“A dream can become pointless,” Hyunjin replied. “Mine did. That’s why I called Minho. I wanted to ask if he knew anyone who might be interested in buying. And if he’d have me back at the restaurant.”

“This is not happening.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is Felix in charge of selling it? FELIX?”

“There’s people in bed upstairs,” Hyunjin urged you but you were already gone—you did your best to get to the living room as quickly as possible.

Felix had paused the game, leaving his Switch on the coffee table. “What’s going on?”

“Are you selling his bar?” Felix’s facial expression turned suspiciously contrite—he did not need to say anything, you already had your answer. “What the fuck? Isn’t he your best friend or something? How can you let him do that? Don’t you remember all the hard work he put into it? All the love? You were there, same as me!”

Felix looked somewhere next to you where you could only suppose Hyunjin was standing. All the while, you noticed Jisung’s concerned look as he observed the scene.

Still, it was Seungmin who spoke first. “People change their minds sometimes.”

“But not about this,” you insisted. “This is the equivalent of a mother selling her child.”

“Hyunjin thought long and hard about this,” Felix explained. “He tried many things, but…”

“But at the end of the day, no matter what I tried or even what my damn therapist would tell me,” Hyunjin finished for him, “the fire was gone, and it was all meaningless.”

You found nothing to say about that. In fact you found nothing to say about anything. After letting the silence grow heavy the more time passed, Jisung tried to break the uneasiness that had infiltrated the room. “My laptop’s got a full battery,” he said. “How about we put on a movie and try to get some sleep? I bet Minho’s gonna be working in that kitchen at 5 AM tomorrow.”

Everybody agreed a little too eagerly, however your voice still hadn’t returned. You left the guys while they were setting up the laptop and choosing a movie to retrieve your power bank in order to charge your phone overnight. Nightcap. It simply could not be gone. It made no sense—the more you thought about it the less sense it made, in fact. Hyunjin had invested a lot of money in it. Who in their right mind would waste this away?

“Dude, I’m not sleeping next to him, sorry,” you heard Seungmin. “We all know he basically runs a marathon in his sleep every night.”

Hyunjin clicked his tongue. “I just move around a little bit, you’re being dramatic. Fine, take this bed then.”

The exchange brought a little bit of warmth back into you as you recalled Hyunjin’s insane sleeping habits. It’s not that he talked in his sleep or that he sleepwalked, but he would go to bed wearing something with a certain amount of blankets and wake up the next morning butt naked with only a quarter of one blanket left on the bed, covering nothing at all. It was funny but it still resulted in you being rather cold, especially during the winter months, so you had to sleep in separate blankets than him.

God, you missed him.

You still missed him even though he was right there, just a few meters away.

Most of the kerfuffle was over by the time you joined the living room again where the five mattresses had been laid down next to one another. Felix slept on the far left, then Seungmin, then Jisung. The next bed was empty, and the one on the far right was occupied by Hyunjin who was scrolling his phone. He looked around as you approached, realizing that nobody had taken the space beside him.

There were three awkward seconds before he came to help you sit down to make sure you didn’t strain your ankle too much. “I’m sure Ji would trade places with you,” he told you as you sat down on the mattress. It was soft but not too much, and comfy. The blankets were smooth.

You probably should trade places with Jisung. For your own sake. “I’m good if you are,” you said nonetheless. It must be the wine. “Besides, I’m far more used to your antics than any of these guys.”

Hyunjin let out a faint chuckle. “Do any of them know you snore?”

Your mouth fell open in utter shock. “I do not!”

“Sometimes you do when you’re really tired,” Hyunjin recalled, lying down in his own bed. He spoke to Jisung behind you. “If it gets too annoying, you’ll have to tickle her until she wakes up and stops.”

“How is that fair? I don’t go around and reveal all your secrets?!” You lay down too, pulling the blankets over you, immediately reaching a level of snugness not yet known to mankind. The fire was keeping the entire room warm. “I didn’t tell anybody when you cried at the movie theater watching Inside Out!”

Felix actually spat out the water he was drinking. Seungmin begged for details but you decided to leave it there because it was funnier this way. Jisung started the movie and everyone settled in. You had already seen this movie but it was one that you liked so you paid attention, watching as well as you could from your mattress on Jisung’s laptop screen.

It was unfortunately Jisung who fell asleep first—so much for his big sleepover. By then, your comfort levels had gone down significantly due to your sore ankle. You winced in pain, trying to stuff some of the thick blankets underneath your foot to elevate it a little.

Hyunjin rested himself on one elbow, leaning next to you. “Are you alright?” he whispered. His breath smelled like sweet mint—he was still using the same toothpaste as he used to. “Does it hurt?”

He was very close. Close enough that you could see the texture of his lips. “A little. It’s okay.”

He wasted no time. “Hold on.” In less than two seconds, Hyunjin was up again and going to the freezer to fill a plastic bag with ice.

When he returned, he kneeled down at the foot of your bed to apply the ice under your covers—he also used one of the pillows from the couch to elevate your ankle. Your heart skipped a beat every time he touched you. “Better?”

“So much better. Thanks.”

Hyunjin nodded and looked at the other guys. With a playful roll of the eyes, he simply closed the laptop’s lid.

“They’re all asleep. Children,” he giggled under his breath, returning to his bed. And you would not admit this to anybody but you could swear he was much closer to you than he had been before. “Goodnight. And wake me up if you need to get up. I know you’ll have to pee like a million times.”

You elbowed him gently yet firmly. “Goodnight.” Without the laptop screen lighting up the room, the whole place seemed warmer, like amber was coating everything.

You closed your eyes and yet you knew sleep would not find you. You were still thinking about Nightcap and what it meant for Hyunjin.

And his arm was dangerously close to yours. If you moved even just one inch, your hand would brush his.

After it had been agreed it was best for everybody if you two slept under separate blankets, Hyunjin had gotten into the habit of finding your hand under all of those layers separating you and holding it as the two of you drifted to sleep.

You missed him.

You missed being loved by him.

“Hyunjin,” you mouthed, your mind haunted by visions of Hyunjin behind the bar at Nightcap, mixing his kick ass drinks, chatting with his favorite regulars.

“What? Already?” He rolled on his side with a puzzled expression on his face. You had been right—his hand ghosted yours as he did so but he made sure to keep it away. “You need to get your kidneys looked at.”

“Oh shut up, I don’t need to pee.” You rolled on your side too so you would face him. “You can’t sell Nightcap.”

His eyes darkened. He licked his teeth, sighing. “I’m selling Nightcap. Case closed. Now, sleep.” He closed his eyelids, almost like a child would when they pretended to sleep.

You tugged at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Don’t play with me. Look at me in the eyes, Hyunjin, and tell me you no longer want to have your own bar.”

It took a while but Hyunjin yielded, opening his eyes, his gaze finding yours. He stared at you then slid even closer—he was on the very edge of his mattress. “I no longer want to have my own bar.”

“But why? Everything you did… It’s the best damn bar in town.” The conversation was barely audible and yet you two understood each other perfectly. “I know it isn’t easy, but you can do this.”

Hyunjin held his breath for a few seconds. “Nobody ever believed in me as much as you did,” he muttered, dejected.

You clicked your tongue. “Bullshit. That isn’t true. Everyone believed and still believe in you. Felix! And Minho, Chan, Changb—”

He shook his head, disagreeing. “No. I mean. Yes, but it’s not the same. They believed in my business, in my drinks and in my chances at building something good. But you, you believed in me.”

It pulled the air out of your lungs—you stayed there, motionless, your gaze slowly blurring as tears pricked at your eyes. You hated this. You hated all of this.

You hated speaking in the past tense with Hyunjin.

“I still do,” you managed, exhaling shakily. You closed your eyes in the hopes it would stop you from crying.

It did not. You tried burying your face into your pillow but Hyunjin was quicker—you jumped a little when he touched you, wiping your tears with the back of his fingers before caressing your cheek with his thumb. A strong chill went through your spine, tickling you all over your body. Especially between your legs.

Oh fuck.

“See? It’s just how I said. Nobody believes in me the way you do,” Hyunjin whispered. He must have gotten closer because you could feel his breath on the damp skin of your face. “I’m selling Nightcap because it lost its meaning. I was not quite enough for it back when I had you by my side. Now that I’m alone, I’m properly inadequate.”

You opened your eyes not minding the tears anymore. You couldn’t shake this anger inside you. “You gave up on me,” you said. “And now you’re going to give up on your dream, too?”

Hyunjin remained quiet for an instant, his gaze dancing from your eyes to your lips to his hand, still very close to yours. “I had the idea for Nightcap when I realized I was in love with you and I didn’t think you would ever return my feelings,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t stand the idea of working at the same place as you. It was torture. But by some miracle, you did fall in love with me. Nightcap—that dream—and you became intertwined in my head. Don’t you get it? The tables have turned now—I can’t stand being in a place where you are not.”

He wiped your tears again, taking his time, caressing your lips. The tingling came back in your extremities while a distracting pressure pulled at your loins. You had to resist the urge to kiss his hand. You had to resist the urge to forget all the pain you had been through and kiss him.

“Can I please ask you something? Just one thing,” Hyunjin went on, tucking your hair behind your ear like he used to. “But only tell me the truth. If you’re going to say anything but the truth I don’t want to hear it.”

You nodded, wondering if he could feel your pulse through your skin.

“Have you been happy? Have you been living a good life, falling in love, making friends, enjoying each day?”

This hurt a whole lot more than your sprained ankle. This hurt more than a blade through the heart. A blade through the heart was swift, merciful. This was more like a serrated knife wielded by some psychopath. Your reflex was to retreat both of your arms underneath your blankets as though it would protect you.

The truth. “I’ll tell you if you tell me,” you chose to say.

He thought about it. “No. I haven’t been happy, but it’s a bit better with the meds that the psychiatrist prescribed.” He licked his lips, a slight frown appearing between his brows. “There hasn’t been anybody else. Your turn now.”

He was single? Not just single—he hadn’t seen anyone else since last Valentine’s Day? Hyunjin? This young god? Business owner? Handsome as hell? Charming without even trying to be? How could it even be?

You took some time to ponder over it. “I don’t know. I don’t remember what it felt like to be happy. I remember moments of it, but it’s like they happened to somebody else, or like I saw it in a movie. My heart forgot how to be anything but heavy.”

This seemed to make him sad. “Have you fallen in love?”

Your body was warm under the blankets but you refused to take off Hyunjin’s hoodie. You let his scent invade you. You let it remind you of the first time he kissed you.

“No. My heart forgot how to do that, too.”

Hyunjin said nothing but his eyes did not leave you. You felt his hand sneak underneath your covers, searching for yours—he held it when he found it, squeezing it gently. “Sleep,” he whispered.

Muscle memory is one hell of a thing. Despite the turmoil within you and despite the unexpected fire between your legs, the familiar feeling of your hand in Hyunjin’s, joined together under a separate layer of blankets, appeased you. Or maybe it was the wine. And the drink before that. But your eyelids became heavy and your chest a little lighter.

Maybe it was just a dream, but you felt Hyunjin press his lips on your forehead, whispering inaudible things as you surrendered to sleep.

Maybe it was just a dream.

to be continued...

Note: Happy holidays everyone! I have been working on this for a while and as I mentioned in the masterlist, I truly intended on releasing everything as a one-shot for Christmas. Unfortunately there have been complications at work and I had to pick up a few additional shifts... So instead of rushing or not finishing it on time, I've separated the story in two parts!

It was great to revisit bartender hyun<3 it made me very nostalgic from the period of time when I originally wrote Just stay with me. I'd like to say thank you to all of my readers, of course, but especially those who have been sticking around with me since then or even before! But thank you to everyone and to those who give me and my stories some love. Thank you for your kind words and for supporting me. I appreciate it <3

I will try to release part two asap!! Let's pray that things settle down at work.. You guys take care!

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