#33k words of me being deeply in love with him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tenelkadjowrites · 2 years ago

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Arrow in the Dark - Part Two: Faith - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

PART ONE HERE. FINAL PART HERE.

💏 Summary: Persuaded by Seonghwa to try a crash course in relationships in order to pull off convincing his parents of the lie that the two of you are deeply in love, you quickly realize that you might have taken on more than your heart is prepared for.

💏 Word count: 33k

💏 Genre and warnings: wealthy seonghwa. fem pronouns for reader. fake dating trope. depictions of emotionally manipulative parents. dirty talk, praise kink. unprotected sex. creampie. oral sex, 69. some biting, spitting.

💏 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @iusrene - @yunhofingers - @foggyinternetchaos - @multihoe-net - @spiderrenjunfics - @whatudowhennooneseesyou - @jess-1404 - @just-here-to-read-01 - @lilhwahwa - @btsreader12 - @talkbykhalid - @rdiamond2727 - @dreamtof0rget - @8tinytings - @xirenex - @meowmeowminnie - @revehosh - @nevieatiny - @nirvanawrites111 - @madamdionysia - @a-tiny-teez - @ateezourstars - @idunnowhatonameit - @jejeyeppeo - (sorry if i missed anyone but given the last couple weeks for me, trying to keep on top of things has been very difficult.)

💏 Author’s note: Posting this part got delayed due to me being massively impacted by Hurricane Ian. This isn’t edited with the usual hyper attention to detail I typically give my fics in order to cut myself a break during this time. I ask for your understanding while reading this in regards to any typos, etc.

this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

Seonghwa looks down at the menu distastefully. Against the backdrop of a multitude of TVs running sports and a bar jam packed with people yelling at the screens, he couldn’t look more out of his element if he tried.

It is your first “date” with Seonghwa and after a lot of back and forth, it was agreed you would pick the restaurant and then go to his place afterwards. This agreement came into play after you googled the restaurant he originally suggested, discovered that you couldn’t read the menu due to it being in another language and then saw the prices which made your head pop. Even though Seonghwa is paying, you still couldn’t see yourself eating somewhere that fancy.

Now, Seonghwa sits in a booth across from you, in a chain restaurant that he’s never been in, barely holding onto the menu. His nails are perfectly manicured and painted black, and he wears just a regular black t-shirt and jeans. Peering down at the menu, he makes another face.

“What is the problem?” You ask.

“Why is everything…everything is so sticky. The menu. And this booth.”

“That’s part of the experience,” You reply, trying to keep your voice even and not laugh at him.

The server comes by, takes your drink orders and leaves. Seonghwa is still staring at the menu as if it is in a foreign language. You lean forward.

“You really haven’t eaten here before?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “No.”

“You’re not lying? Like how you lied about the whole arranged marriage thing?”

Seonghwa lowers the menu, leaning forward to meet you in the middle. He is wearing a different cologne tonight, his blonde hair is perfectly combed, and the t-shirt dips slightly, exposing more of his chest than you’ve seen before. It feels ridiculous that your heart skips a beat or that you avert your gaze as if he has cleavage or something.

“Does it bother you I lied about that?”

“You can’t answer a question with another question,” You reply.

“I think it bothers you I lied about that,” He amends, “But I’ll make it up to you.”

Something about the words and his close proximity make you feel awkward so you pull away, turning your attention back to the menu.

You have one week to learn the inner workings of a relationship in order to convince Seonghwa’s parents that you are his one and only. That meant any moment not at work is around Seonghwa. It meant dates, it meant hanging out at each other’s apartments and it meant staying the night.

Staying the night did not mean sharing a bed. But seeing as you would have to share at room with Seonghwa during the beach trip, it only made sense to get comfortable enough around him that you could sleep. Seonghwa already offered to sleep on the couch at the beach house and at your place. He offered the guest room at his apartment as well.

But the entire thing, on top of the dizzying amount of money you’d be making, is a lot of new experiences to cram into one week. You previously didn’t even know Seonghwa at all outside of him popping into the convenience store sometimes. Now he is your fake boyfriend, trying to help you figure out how to act in a fake relationship, just to fool his parents that he is in love and can’t be forced into an arranged marriage. The whole thing is ridiculous and somehow your life.

The server comes back with the drinks and takes your orders. After you leave, Seonghwa drums his fingers against the table and then changes his mind when he remembers it is sticky.

“I have a question,” He announces, “Is there a reason you haven’t been in a relationship?”

“I haven’t liked anyone enough.”

“Your entire life?”

“That’s right.”

Seonghwa chews on this for a moment before going, “But you’ve gone on dates?”

“A few.”

“And didn’t like them?”

“Yup.” Deciding to get the conversation off your lack of experience, you ask, “What about you? I assume you’ve had a ton of relationships.”

There it is again – the sour expression that appears occasionally when you strike a nerve. The thing is you aren’t sure exactly what you are hitting. You can take a guess it ties into his wealth and his parents from the little bit you have gleaned being around him.

“My longest was a few years. I had a couple shorter ones before then. So probably not as much as you are expecting.”

“Why not? Is it cuz of your parents?”

“In order to tolerate my parents immediately disliking you because they didn’t hand pick you themselves, you have to like me a lot,” He pauses for a moment before adding bitterly, “No one has liked me enough. Or liked me more than money.”

All we have to do is offer her a check and this….convenience store clerk will vanish. You know that – wasn’t that what his mom said?

The server comes back with the food and for a few minutes, the two of you are silent. You are turning Seonghwa’s words over in your head. It is obvious his parents just pay whomever they dislike to go away and the money is always accepted. How must it feel to know the person you are dating can leave so easily? This has never been an issue for you and not just because of your lack of experience. The idea of your parents paying off someone you liked is beyond your scope of understanding. But it is something Seonghwa has regularly dealt with. Is that why he is paying you to pretend to be in a relationship with him? Does it feel better for him to have the upper hand with the money, to know that you are on his payroll and not his parents? You aren’t sure how that makes you feel.

Seonghwa makes a disgusted face, breaking your brooding. “This is absolutely terrible.”

“Oh, come on. It tastes fine.”

“It certainly does not taste fine. It tastes like grease and nothing but grease.”

“I’m soooo sorry it doesn’t taste like some five star place. I hope you can survive it,” You drawl.

Seonghwa narrows his eyes slightly. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Yup,” You reply cheerily, “Also, if you’re not going to finish it, get it in a to-go box cuz I certainly will.”

Seonghwa makes a half hearted attempt to eat his meal but there is plenty for you to eat tomorrow by the time you exit the restaurant, holding the to-go box victoriously. When the limo comes around the corner, you sigh.

“Do you have to take this thing everywhere? You don’t own like, a regular person car?”

“You don’t like the limo?” He asks, surprised as the driver scurries out of the car to open the door.

“Just feels excessive to take a limo literally everywhere, I guess.”

“Where is your car then?”

At this, you laugh. “I ride a bike.”

“I can’t picture you on a motorcycle.”

“What? No, a bicycle. I ride a bicycle. But not at the moment cuz the wheel popped and I haven’t had time to replace it,” You tell him, “I walked here.”

“Walked?” Seonghwa asks in a tone that sounds like you just said you enjoy eating metal nails for breakfast.

“Yes, walked.” You know there are a lot of differences between Seonghwa and yourself but sometimes it feels more like talking to an alien than someone in another social class, “I mean, you take walks too, right? It isn’t that weird. You walk to the convenience store all the time. Your Instagram is full of photos of the city at night,” You say without thinking, getting into the limo, “I just walk when my bicycle isn’t working. Which is more often than not lately.”

Seonghwa follows you, leaning back against the seats. “What was that about my Instagram?”

Oh crap, you think. Accidently hitting like on his photo hadn’t ever been mentioned after he made sure to hit like on an older post of yours. But just openly talking about what his Instagram looks like makes it appear as if you spend a lot of time on there – which fine, you do, but you didn’t want Seonghwa to know that. It gives off the wrong impression.

“You just take a lot of photos of cities at night,” You say, fiddling with the edge of the to-go box, placing it gingerly in your lap as the limo takes off. By your feet is your overnight bag and the nerves are kicking up about going to his place in Garden Gates, “Including even where I work. But they are pretty pictures,” You add, hoping you don’t sound weird. Just lonely, you think, your Instagram is lonely for someone so rich and surrounded by people all the time.

But is Seonghwa surrounded by people all the time? In all your conversations with him, he hadn’t mentioned anyone outside his parents. Granted, there was a task to focus on but not even in passing had Seonghwa talked about anyone. His Instagram rarely featured pics that weren’t of city streets and he never posted anything to his stories.

Seonghwa has a strange look on his face when he replies, “I guess I do take walks a lot. I just never thought of them like that.”

“What do you think of them as?”

He shifts, slightly uncomfortable. “It’s just nice to get lost in the city. Especially if I’m out of the country. No one asking me questions or talking about the business or buzzing around me trying to get me to marry someone I don’t know. I can get lost in a crowd and it can be the middle of the night and places will be open, lights will be on, signs of life everywhere. I guess it’s…comforting.”

It’s the most personal thing Seonghwa has ever said to you so far, conjuring up images of him wandering random cities, swallowed up in neon signs, taking pictures of roads he might never wander down again. The thought makes you oddly sad but before you can reply, he barrels on, clearly not wanting to discuss it any further.

“I had the guest room made up for you at the apartment. But if there’s anything lacking, just let me know. It has its own bathroom as well. The lobby also has 24/7 service so if I’m asleep and you need anything, you can buzz downstairs.”

Your mind tries to wrap itself around the idea of being able to buzz downstairs for anything you want. Seonghwa says it so casually, clearly used to it.

The nerves are hitting now. Staying the night at his apartment, even in another room, is a step in the direction of “relationship” that leaves you feeling jumpy. On top of that, Garden Gates is so expensive and out of the realm of your life that just knowing you are about to step inside it makes anxiety bloom.

The limo pulls around into a circular garden, stopping at the doors. The building is at least sixty stories and sparkling, having only been built a couple years ago. You trail in after Seonghwa, out of the limo and though the doors into the lobby which has the same almost morgue feeling stillness to it as the one where his parents lived. Must be a rich person thing, you think, a little unsettled.

Seonghwa goes to the elevators and, like before, hits the top floor with a special key. You can’t help but say, “You live on the top floor?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to be friends with the architect’s son and was able to put in first dibs on the top floor.” Seonghwa replies, leaning against the wall of the elevator as it takes you upward.

“Who was that, Art Vanderlay?” You joke.

“Who?” Seonghwa asks curiously.

“Uh, forget it.”

Used to be friends, he had said. Yet another tiny piece of a puzzle that seems to illustrate how alone he is. It isn’t as if you have a bubbling social circle or anything due to the fact you are working all the time. But you are friends with your roommate, have some casual friends and on top of that, your best friend who moved out of the city recently.

In his black t-shirt and jeans, Seonghwa could pass for just a regular person, not one of the ultra rich elite taking you up to his penthouse. His arms are crossed, the muscles evident against the fabric of his shirt and for some reason, you avert your gaze to his face. That is also a mistake because you start to analyze the way the light hits his cheekbones. I’m only staring cuz his cheekbones are ridiculous, you think, deciding it’s better to pretend the button on the elevator are the most fascinating thing you have ever seen.

“You seem nervous,” He remarks.

“I am. The place your parents lived in was unnerving. I am not used to being around money.”

“My apartment doesn’t look like theirs.” is all Seonghwa says as the elevator doors open.

And in a way, he is right. His penthouse (because calling it an apartment is absurd) is the complete opposite of his parents – so minimalist that it looks like no one has actually moved in, filled with display pieces that look carefully placed as if to convince someone to buy a place here. Everything is grey and black, there are no personal photos anywhere, and the art pieces lining the walls are a bit depressing for a reason you can’t quite figure out.

“Here is your room,” Seonghwa says, pushing open a door to reveal a large bedroom that is bigger than your entire apartment, a bathroom so spacious you could move all your things into it, and a view so overwhelming that for a second you get dizzy.

You drop your bag on the floor, slightly dazed at the room. Seonghwa mistakes this as disdain because he asks, “No good? If you’d rather my room, we can just switch for the night.”

“What? Seonghwa, this is great. I just haven’t ever slept in a place so nice before.”

“Oh. It isn’t anything special. I’ll show you what is though. Follow me.”

Curiously, you do so. He takes you through the living room and up a small ramp through a metal door. Stepping out, the wind slices through your clothes, making you shiver. There is a pool up here, the light in the water changing colours slowly, making it go from clear blue to an unnatural pink. A small, well-maintained garden is off to the right, and to the left is a sitting area with a canopy with a table and some lounge chairs. Seonghwa goes over to the side near the railing, motioning you over.

Tentatively, you go to the edge, gripping the bars because being this high up is slightly scary. But the view…

The view is astounding. The city is sprawled out at your feet, the lights twinkling coyly, the cars shining like tiny diamonds, the wind the only noise. In the distance, you can see the bridge leading to the suburbs, and the flashing lights of an ambulance trying to make its way through traffic.

It is beautiful but lonely as well. You feel like an isolated god watching a world it cannot interact with.

“I guess this is why you wanted the top floor,” You say, trying to make a joke but the view is too much and the words come out dry.

“In the summer, I like to spend time by the pool and in the winter, I come up here and like to watch the city and drink hot chocolate,” Seonghwa says.

The word hovers in your tongue before you finally spit it out. “Alone?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “I sense another question lurking under that one.”

You hesitate, biting down on your bottom lip for a moment before speaking, “I don’t mean to pry. I just see all this money at your fingertips, all the traveling you do but yet seemingly no one in your life outside your parents,” Afraid that you are going to piss him off, you still can’t seem to stop talking, “Your Instagram is pretty lonely. I just…sorry. I’m overstepping.”

Seonghwa moves away from the railing, going over to the bench and sitting down. You take the fact he didn’t storm out or tell you off as a good sign and decide to sit down next to him although you hover for a moment – are you still pretending to fake date even when no one is around? If you were going to have this conversation with someone you were in a relationship with, did you sit closer to them? Or put a hand on their knee or something? You had no idea and end up just sitting next to Seonghwa with a few inches between your bodies.

Seonghwa leans forward, clasping his hands together and looking thoughtfully down at a spot on the ground. The wind doesn’t stop up here and you are a little cold but don’t say anything because you get the feeling Seonghwa is about to confide in you.

“I’m sure you’ve put the pieces together. My parents pay off anyone they don’t like. It started when I was a kid. If I had friends they didn’t approve of, they would stop talking to me after a couple of weeks. I never understood why until I got older and one of my old friends took pity on me and said that my parents spoke to his and paid them off to stay away from me. This happened continuously growing up and started impacting who I dated. I just stood by and watched people fall to the side, all of them paid off by my parents. Before long, I was surrounded by people who just agreed with whatever I said or did to get in my parents good graces. When I started dating, the same thing happened. I’d lose girlfriends regularly because the money attracted them more than I did. Eventually, I just lost faith in people completely.” He gives a small shrug, “It’s easier staying alone than allowing someone in only to watch them accept money and leave.”

You can’t imagine such a situation. Having always been low on cash, you never had to concern yourself if your friends would suddenly leave due to money.

“About a year ago, my last relationship ended after we discussed moving in together. My parents found out and my mother sent her a gigantic sum of money to go away. Of course, my ex didn’t tell me this. She just announced one night that she was having second thoughts about the relationship and we would be better apart. A week later, she was posting photos from halfway across the world, the start of a four month vacation. I knew what had happened. Shortly after this, my parents told me they had found someone I was to marry and I’ve been fighting with them ever since about the arranged marriage.”

You sit in silence for a minute or so, turning Seonghwa’s words carefully over in your head, trying to imagine such a life. But it is impossible. Not only is the idea of having so much money a distant fantasy but everyone in your life being contingent on if they were paid to stay or go would give you severe anxiety. And this is daily life for Seonghwa, something he takes on without thinking, and keeps to himself due to it.

“Is running the company so important?” You ask, “You said you’d lose the inheritance but you’d have your own money. Is the money from the company and inheritance more important than reclaiming faith in people and living on your own terms?”

Seonghwa turns his face to look at you, surprise evident on his features. You wonder if the words came out hostile or something. Maybe you shouldn’t be offering advice at all – what did you know about a situation like this?

“My entire life has been about taking over the company eventually. I don’t know anything else. Being disowned by my parents…I’ve never even thought about it before. Taking that route isn’t an option. All they’ve wanted, all my entire life has been about is taking over the company…I don’t…” He trails off, utterly baffled.

Is this the first time someone mentioned this idea? You think, eyes scanning his face. Seonghwa seems perturbed, deep in thought now at the suggestion.

“So, it comes down to your parents. And not disappointing them.”

“I just…” He seems to be struggling with his words before landing on saying, “I just don’t know who I am outside trying to outsmart my parents and being trained to one day take control of the company. I don’t know what I want versus what I’ve been told I want.”

The words land with a heavy thud in the tiny space in between your bodies. Seonghwa straightens up immediately after saying them as if he wishes to gather the words up and stuff them back in his mouth. You decide not to press that certain subject, opting instead to give Seonghwa time to think his own words over when he is alone.

Instead, you ask, “The woman your parents want you to marry…have you met her?”

“I’ve met her a few times, usually when our families organize trips together in an effort to force her and I into the same room.” He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his pants, unlocking it and flicking through his gallery before showing you a photo of her. “She’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But I have zero connection with her. And I also can’t get over the fact that she’s basically being paid to marry me.”

The woman in the photo is gorgeous and you immediately feel like a bridge troll just looking at her. Next to her are Seonghwas’s parents, smiling placidly. The woman is radiant, a beaming smile on her face, in head to toe designer clothing. Immediately, insecurities about how the hell you are supposed to make anyone believe you are dating Seonghwa flare up. A woman like that is the sort of person you can picture Seonghwa with easily. Settling for you, a convenience store clerk, must look like the setup of the greatest romcom of the ages or something. It’s a joke, a farce, and even with a week crammed full of “relationship training”, there is no way this will work out.

Seonghwa, lost in his own thoughts, puts the phone away. “If my parents think I’m in love with someone else, that could give me leverage to end this ridiculous discussion.”

You want to point out that there is no way in hell his dad will believe he is in love with you and that even if he does, they will just hold another thing over Seonghwa’s head to get what they want. But Seonghwa straightens his shoulders and you get the idea the discussion is done with for now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk for so long and it’s getting cold out here.” He stands up, turning to look down at you before extending his hand outward. ��Come on.”

You stare at his hand for a couple of seconds before awkwardly reaching for it. His skin is warm, fingers entwining against yours in a gesture meant for a relationship. You can feel his heartbeat, slightly accelerated, probably due to the nature of the conversation, underneath your fingertips.

Seonghwa leads you through the metal door, down the ramp and back into the living room. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Water?”

“I’ll just take some water, thanks,” You say, trailing after Seonghwa into a massive stark kitchen with state of the art appliances. “This kitchen looks untouched.”

“I don’t think I’ve cooked here before,” He replies as he gets the glass of water, “I’m not here very often and usually eat out.”

Of course you do, you think as your mind flashes once again to the instant ramen and sandwiches you usually eat. As you take the glass of water from Seonghwa, you cast a look over the kitchen thoughtfully.

“Maybe that could be one of the dates,” You suggest.

“What, ordering in and eating here?”

“No, we cook dinner.”

Seonghwa stares blankly at you. “Cook?”

“Yes, that’s actually what people do when they make your food and give it to you, Seonghwa.”

“Okay, I know what cooking is,” He replies, exasperated, “But I’ve never done it before. I’d probably burn the kitchen down.”

You chew on your bottom lip before nervously going, “That’s what people in relationships do though, right? Go grocery shopping for what they need and then make the meal. Maybe we should do that.”

“Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night is when Seonghwa is staying the night at your place. The idea of cooking in your tiny kitchen makes you feel embarrassed.

“No, no, let’s do it here. Tomorrow, you’re coming over once I finish my shift, right? I hope you aren’t expecting much.” Truth be told, you are nervous about Seonghwa seeing where you live.

“That’s fine.” He crosses his arms and you ignore how his muscles look, “I’ll come over once you’re finished.”

Curiously, you ask, “What are you doing tomorrow?” You still aren’t sure what Seonghwa does all day, alone like he is.

“I might finally go get my hair dyed. I’ve been wanting to dye it black for a few weeks now.”

A light bulb goes off over your head. “Why don’t we dye it at my place?”

At this, Seonghwa’s expression falters and looks wary. “What do you mean?”

“You know, we buy a box of dye and I can do it for you in my bathroom.”

“You want me to use boxed dye on my hair?” He says incredulously as the two of you topple into a clear set of differences.

“We sell some at my store. You can come by at the end of my shift and we can buy it together,” You say, ignoring his remark, “And I can dye it for you.”

You can tell Seonghwa doesn’t fully trust the idea or you in doing such a thing. You don’t blame him. But you are desperate for something to do at your place that isn’t just awkwardly sitting around your tiny apartment while mega rich Seonghwa wonders how someone can live in such a manner.

You originally tried to fend off any plans that involved your apartment but Seonghwa was stubborn about it. He said that there was no way that people in a relationship could just ignore someone’s living space and in order to make the lie convincing, he needed to know more about you. And while you understood, it was difficult not to lose sight of that in this massive kitchen. Luckily for you, your roommate was leaving tomorrow morning for the rest of the week to visit her parents across the country, so you didn’t have to worry about her meeting Seonghwa.

Maybe Seonghwa is picking up on some of your nervous energy because he relents with a small sigh, “Sure. Okay. We’ll do that.”

“If it’s terrible, you can go to the salon and get it fixed. But I mean, it’s a normal human experience to have a friend badly dye your hair.”

“I guess I missed out on that one,” He replies although his tone has softened.

For a few seconds, neither of you speak and just stare at each other. You are suddenly acutely aware of the way his blonde hair is messy from the wind earlier, how he leans back against the counter, the muscles in his arms evident from how he is crossing them.

“Uhm, well, I think I am going to head to bed,” You say, “But thanks again for dinner.”

Seonghwa shudders at the mention of dinner and you roll your eyes, moving past him to get to the spare bedroom, wondering how exactly you are going to fall asleep tonight. Right before you leave the kitchen, Seonghwa says your name and you stop, looking over at him.

“Thanks for listening to me earlier,” He says, “I appreciate it.”

“Oh,” You reply, taken aback, “It wasn’t a problem. I don’t mind listening. I wish I had more to offer.”

“Just listening is enough.”

Another silence, lasting a beat too long. Your heart is skipping rope. You give Seonghwa a small nod and exit the kitchen, exhaling slowly as you make your way to the bedroom.

It is raining again and the store has a few people mingling around. Your shift ends at nine and it is eight fifty-five. You keep glancing out the window, trying to spot Seonghwa.

You needn’t have worried about how you were going to sleep last night. As soon as you sunk into the most comfortable bed you ever have experienced, sleep ushered in mere seconds. When you woke up in the morning, Seonghwa had left for the day, leaving a small note explaining to call down to the lobby for any breakfast you might want and that a car is waiting to take you back home whenever you wanted.

You aren’t sure why you felt so disappointed that Seonghwa left already. It also felt odd to be in his penthouse without him which led to you taking a much shorter shower than originally planned (yes, you were going to take advantage of the sheer size of such a space and the fact it had unlimited hot water), not ordering food and awkwardly sitting in the limo as it dropped you off back at your apartment.

This also had the unfortunate consequence of your roommate happening to leave at the same time for her trip as you got home. She leapt on this, asking a thousand questions, none of which you had the energy to try to answer. How did you easily explain the utterly bizarre situation you landed yourself in? On top of that, your roommate tended to be a bit of a big mouth and the last thing you needed was her blasting on social media that you were fake dating a billionaire heir to one of the biggest grocery store chains in the country. So you lied and said you were casually seeing someone who did have a little bit of money but it was nothing serious and not to get excited.

Now, waiting for Seonghwa, the butterflies swirl around in your stomach. You don’t know why you feel so jittery and nervous.

Your brooding is interrupted by the appearance of Seonghwa stepping into the store. He is wearing the same jacket as the night he mentioned this ridiculous scheme to you, his hair slightly wet from the rain, taking off a pair of glasses and trying to dry them which only makes them worse.

Glancing at the clock, seeing it just hit eight, your co-worker already here for next shift, you hastily clock out, grab your bag and scurry over to him.

“Here,” You say, taking the glasses away from him, “When did you get glasses?”

“They’re fake; they just make me look good,” He replies without any hint of embarrassment that might accompany such a confession.

“Oh, for me?” You say it automatically; only when the words leave your mouth and you see Seonghwa’s expression you realize how flirty it came off.

“So you agree they make me look good then?” He counters, swiftly sidestepping answering your own question.

For some reason, you get so tongue tied that you cannot even reply and instead focus on cleaning the glasses, knowing that Seonghwa is watching you silently. You clean them with the sleeve of your uniform and then press up on your toes, putting his glasses on for him. Your fingers brush against his cheeks gently, like minor electric sparks darting across the delicate skin of your fingertips. Seonghwa’s gaze is steady on yours. A droplet of water rolls off his hair and down his cheek. On a whim, you graze it with your thumb and it smears against his cheekbone. The hum of the store has faded to the background and the only thing that exists is Seonghwa.

The entire thing only lasts a few seconds but by the time he fixes his glasses and thanks you, your heart is racing at an alarming rate and you wonder if the energy drink you had earlier is doing a number on your body.

Seonghwa clears his throat quietly, his eyes sweeping across the shop. “Alright. Show me where the dye is.”

Your tongue feels too big for your mouth when you reply with, “Over here.”

What the hell is wrong with me? You wonder as he follows. Maybe the energy drink had been a bad idea but the shift today was so slow that it felt like either that or possibly falling asleep at the counter.

Standing in front of the small hair dye section, you pick one up and show it to Seonghwa. “What about this?”

“I have absolutely no idea on what to get or what I’m looking for. You understand that, right? Everything is completely in your hands,” He adds while looking at you, “I’m completely in your hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine which you dutifully ignore. It is suddenly difficult to breathe properly in the store and you are anxious to get out of there. Thrusting the box of dye at Seonghwa, you mumble something about going to pay for it.

A minute later, the two of you are out in the street as Seonghwa opens his umbrella. There is no limo in sight.

Seonghwa catches you looking and goes, “I figured we could walk. I hope that’s okay. I know the weather isn’t that great.”

It is raining steadily but with the umbrella, you should be fine. You are honestly relieved at not getting in the limo. Not that it isn’t comfortable but there is something so over the top about it that makes you unable to fully relax inside.

Setting off down the street with Seonghwa, close enough to feel his body heat, there is a comfortable silence. You wonder if this is how Seonghwa always feels when he wanders cities, if the anonymity is comforting, and what catches his eye to stop and take a photo.

“You left so early this morning.” You break the silence, “I didn’t expect you to be gone.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” His tone is apologetic, “I’ve gotten so swept up in this whole tricking my parents thing that I completely forgot I had a bunch of investment meetings today. Were you okay this morning?”

“I was fine. It just felt kinda strange being there without you.”

Seonghwa glances at you for a split second before casting his eyes downward. You wonder if what you said was too much or something. But you are just being honest.

And on the subject of honesty… “I have a lot of anxiety about you seeing my apartment,” You admit, “It’s incredibly small and average in every respect. I feel intimidated after seeing your parents place and yours.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about where you live.”

“No offense, Seonghwa, but your opening line for this entire mess of a situation we are in was something along the lines of ‘you could use money, right?’. My lack of it must be a neon light over my head.”

Seonghwa looks chagrined. “I was freaking out about lying to my dad and trying to solve the issue on the spot. I was completely out of line with saying something like that. Same with grilling you about why you don’t work elsewhere.”

“You were out of line,” You agree, “So, you can understand my nerves.”

“I understand them but I assure you, I will be fine at your place.” Seonghwa says confidently before suddenly stopping.

“What?” You ask curiously, looking around trying to find what he is staring at.

He points to a sign that is next to a bar door. It is bright white with the font in a dark green colour. Half of it flickers, burnt out and trying to stay on. You have walked past this sign a thousand times but never noticed it before. The door is closed but through the window you can only see a couple of people milling around inside. Since it is Sunday, the usual bar traffic isn’t around tonight.

“Uh, you want to get a drink?” You ask, slightly confused.

“Could I take a photo of you next to that sign?” Seonghwa asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “There’s the overhang so you won’t get wet. I know it’s an odd question but I can see it in my head and it might turn out really good.”

Out of all the reasons Seonghwa stopped, you didn’t expect this. You may or may not have visited his Instagram during your shift earlier, which hasn’t been updated in two weeks, and seeing as you just took a refresher course on his profile, you know that he doesn’t seem to take any photos with people in them.

“Uh, sure, I guess.” You dislike getting your photo taken but are still in mild shock he has asked to take a one of you.

Seonghwa leads you to the sign so the rain doesn’t get you wet and then backs up once you’re under the overhang. His phone is the newest model compared to yours which is hanging on for dear life every time you unlock it. No wonder he can take such nice photos.

“You just want me standing here? Like the emoji?” You ask, feeling awkward.

Seonghwa, who is trying to balance both the umbrella and holding the phone, motions with his fingers some gesture you don’t understand. When it is evident you have no idea what he is trying to say, he goes, “Tilt your face to the right a little so it catches the light from the sign.”

You do so, and a group of people pass by, throwing glances in your direction. Great, I look like one of those Instagram people, you think, because posing in my work uniform is something that is totally Instagram worthy. Remembering your uniform, you quickly reach up and tug off your nametag, shoving it in the pockets of your pants.

Seonghwa, making a small noise of annoyance, opts to just drop the umbrella where he is standing and crouches down to get in a better position to take the photo. He seems completely unbothered by anyone staring or looking over. You wonder if this is how he is in any city, just completely oblivious to his surroundings, more focused on getting a good photo than what people think of him or the fact it is raining.

“Wait, are you gonna post this on your Instagram?” You ask, the thought suddenly striking your brain like a bat hitting a baseball.

“Hopefully, if you give me permission,” Seonghwa replies.

His answer surprises you, your mouth opening slightly to say something although you aren’t sure what. You hear the rapid click of his camera taking burst shots and then he straightens up, picking up the umbrella and coming over to you.

“I’m gonna mess with it a bit before I post it,” He explains, scrolling through the pics.

Each one is basically the same thing. Your expression is one of mingled surprise and questioning and Seonghwa has captured it in each photo. The light is reflected across one cheek, leaving the other one in shadow. Your uniform, typically an ugly shade of yellow like old mustard, looks bright and vibrant against the backdrop of the sign.

“I thought, uhm…I mean, I haven’t seen any photos posted with other people in it,” You say to him, feeling shy, “Are you sure you want to post it?”

Seonghwa looks up from the phone at you. His hair is wet now, his eyelashes dusted with sprinkles of water, one droplet rolling across his lips. Your body is warm, your heart doing that distracting thing from earlier.

“Will you let me?” He asks.

“Y-yeah. Post it. It would probably look good. For your parents, I mean.” You cut yourself short, your tongue too big for your mouth once again.

The corners of Seonghwa’s mouth turn downward for a second. “I don’t think they look at my Instagram.”

So why are you posting it? You want to ask but don’t. “Alright, well, now that you played photographer, let’s go.”

Out from the overhang, the two of you walk towards your apartment as the rain softly patters on the umbrella. At some point, your hands brush together and Seonghwa reaches for you, walking across rain covered streets towards your destination.

You had instructed Seonghwa to wear a ratty old t-shirt for the hair dyeing process and yet balk upon seeing the small Gucci logo.

“Seonghwa, you cannot use this shirt,” You say once he shrugs off his jacket in the living room of your tiny apartment.

He looks down at himself with a questioning expression. “Why not?”

“Because it is designer. That shirt probably costs more than my rent. Absolutely not.”

“I didn’t bring anything else.”

“I might have a shirt somewhere. Hang on. Just wait for me in the bathroom, okay?” You usher him into the bathroom and head into your room, ignoring Seonghwa’s mild protests.

Seonghwa’s facial expressions hadn’t changed upon walking into the apartment which you are thankful for but still self-conscious about what he thinks. In the short time you have known him, you know he wouldn’t say anything malicious about where you live but he’s still rich in the way that a completely out of touch statement could topple from his mouth at any moment.

Rummaging around in your dresser, you randomly discover an oversized shirt from a guy you dated a few times a couple years ago. You had slept with him and somehow ended up with his shirt although you hadn’t worn it since that night. You wonder if Seonghwa would care. Why would he?

Taking the shirt, you head into the bathroom. Seonghwa is standing there slightly awkwardly, reading the instructions that came with the hair dye.

“This sounds complicated. This is why you go to salons for this stuff.”

And there’s the out of touch comment, you think. “Here, wear this instead.” You hold the shirt out to him.

Seonghwa eyes it with a cool expression on his face. “Whose shirt is this?”

“What? It’s mine.”

He takes it from you, placing the box on the small counter. The bathroom is small in general but trying to fit both you and Seonghwa in it makes it very cramped. On top of that, you’re going to have to drag a chair in here too.

“And before it was yours?”

You hesitate although you don’t know why. It doesn’t matter where the shirt came from, does it? “Some guy I was dating left it here.” Seonghwa arches an eyebrow which makes you feel flustered. “Does it matter? Just wear it. I’m not ruining your expensive shirt. And no!” You raise a finger when he opens his mouth. “Don’t you dare say something about how you have four hundred of the same shirt or it doesn’t matter because you can just buy another.”

Seonghwa promptly closes his mouth and with a glower, he reaches for his shirt and tugs it off.

You weren’t expecting this. You thought you’d hand him the shirt, leave the bathroom and he would change. Now, you are standing in front of shirtless Seonghwa which is a sight that has you momentarily frozen in place. Your brain has entered power saving mode. You know that you should say something or turn around or make a sound but all you do is stare.

It isn’t the fact he’s in shape or that his waist is small and slender in a way that you never noticed or cared about in anyone else that is knocking you mentally on your ass. It is your body’s reaction to it that is making you wonder if you’re losing it. It’s a visceral feeling of warmth all over like being hit with a blast of hot air from an oven opening. Your hands clench for a second, nails digging in your skin as you stare at the curve of his shoulders, how his jeans rest on his hips, his toned stomach, the coiled muscles in his arms.

Seonghwa is completely oblivious probably because he is complaining, “Didn’t realize I get to wear some crusty guy’s old shirt in order to dye my hair. It’s fine though, I don’t care.” He sounds petulant.

Through the fog of seeing Seonghwa shirtless, the tiny lone braincell that is still operating thinks is he jealous? But the thought is drowned out as the fabric of the new t-shirt covers him up and he is staring at you.

“It’s itchy.”

“What?” You mumble, blinking a few times trying to get yourself together.

“This shirt.”

“You’re very brave, Seonghwa. I hope you can tolerate it. Now, let me get a chair.”

Scampering out of the bathroom, you take a moment to collect yourself. Your heart rate is having trouble slowing down and the image of Seonghwa shirtless is burned into your brain. Grabbing a chair, you pull it into the bathroom and he sits down, crossing his arms. He still seems annoyed, the tension in his shoulders evident.

“Just so you know,” You say, grabbing the box of dye, “I haven’t done this in a really long time.”

“Are you sure it won’t stain my skin?” Seonghwa asks nervously, leaning forward to look at himself in the mirror.

“It’s fine. It’ll wash off,” You say, trying to mask the doubt in your voice, “Don’t worry about it.”

Dying Seonghwa’s hair didn’t take very long; it wasn’t as if he had a ton of hair to work with. But even the short time spent working your fingers through his hair was oddly relaxing. Seonghwa denied it but you think at one point he dozed off for a couple of minutes.

“So now it sits and then we wash it out and you’ll be all set.”

Seonghwa still is looking at his reflection doubtfully. “Should be fine. It’s just black hair dye. It seems difficult to mess up that colour.”

You clasp your hands together, nodding eagerly. “Exactly. See, no problems.”

You usher him out of the bathroom and into the living room where he sits down on the couch, a towel around his shoulders. It is strange to see Seonghwa in your apartment, just another confirmation about how surreal and random the entire last few days of your life have been. You hover near the couch, knowing that this is supposed to be some sort of relationship training, but unsure if that meant just to sit next to him. Why do you overthink everything when it comes to Seonghwa?

He makes the choice for you, his eyes flicking upwards. “You gonna sit down next to me?”

“Yeah, I was just making sure you weren’t getting dye all over the couch,” You lie, sitting down.

The couch is a far cry from the expensive leather thing Seonghwa has in his penthouse but he doesn’t seem to pay attention to the way it sags in the middle. You turn on the TV, bringing up the one singular streaming service your roommate pays for and you secretly use when she isn’t around.

You know couples usually cuddle while watching TV but you don’t want to risk getting the hair dye all over you. So, instead you sit awkwardly next to Seonghwa, acutely aware of the warmth of his body and the way his hand rests on his knee. Your mind keeps flashing to the way he tugged his t-shirt off to put on the other one. It plays on a loop, no matter how many times you beg your brain to give it a rest. I need more sleep or something today, I’m all over the place, you chastise.

On a whim, you reach for his hand. He accepts it without hesitation, his fingers entwining with yours, resting on his knee. Even though you just walked home holding his hand, your heart is doing that jumping thing again. You are starting to worry that it isn’t tied to the energy drink from earlier.

“Tomorrow night, we are going to shop and cook together at my place, right?” Seonghwa asks, turning his head to look at you.

“Yup,” You say quickly, your heart still banging painfully in your chest, “I work an afternoon shift so I can just meet you at a store. Where do you usually shop? What location?”

An utterly blank expression from Seonghwa tells you all that you need to know.

“Wow, you don’t shop, do you? Everything gets delivered.”

Seonghwa opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before settling on, “Yes, it’s typically delivered. But I still…I still pick out what I want.” His tone is feeble and you can tell he is embarrassed. “We can meet at the store. Although,” He looks thoughtful, “We should go to one of my dad’s stores or it’ll somehow get back to him I shopped at a competitor and I would never hear the end of it,” He sounds slightly bitter, making you wonder if this had been a previous issue.

“Okay. Sounds good. But we still haven’t figured out what we are going to make. I think it should be something simple. Pasta or something.”

Seonghwa looks lost in thought and not about pasta. “Do you think it might be bad if I go in the store though? The people working there might want to discuss all sorts of things. Issues with the store, stuff like that.”

“Do you go into this store a lot?”

“No.”

“Well, then I wouldn’t worry. No one will know who you are.”

Seonghwa stares at you, slightly wide eyed. “What do you mean? I’m the CEO’s son.”

“Uh yeah, no offense, Seonghwa, but do you really think anyone who is working a cashier job at a grocery chain knows what anyone in the CEO’s family looks like? They probably don’t even know what your dad looks like.”

Seonghwa looks stricken as if this has never popped into his head before. You don’t know how to gently explain to him that people show up at work to make their money and get out of there. No one is going to be figuring out the family tree at the corporation they work at especially when they have to deal with asshole customers getting in their face over the price of an orange or something.

“I work for a small chain of stores too and I wouldn’t know anyone from the CEO’s family. I don’t think I even know what the CEO’s name is,” You shrug, “I’m really not worried about you being swarmed at the store. You ever go into the stores your family owns?”

“No, last time was overseas with my father. It was dreadful. I could tell everyone was panicked and trying to impress him. There was a vegetable display that didn’t get set up yet and he lectured the manager for twenty minutes. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

You fight so hard to stay in a family and a business you don’t fit in at and don’t have any passion for, you think but bite your tongue, fearing saying something that oversteps the boundaries of whatever is being formed with Seonghwa – a friendship? You aren’t quite sure.

“It’ll be fine. Think of it as being undercover. Maybe you’ll even…” Your voice falters for a couple seconds because Seonghwa has started absentmindedly grazing your hand with his thumb. The touch is faint but makes your brain glitch, the sentence you were about to finish is suddenly gone.

“I’ll even what?” Seonghwa prompts, completely oblivious to what strange and unusual things are going on inside you tonight.

“Even learn something.” You manage to get out.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Learning something.”

Is he teasing me? You wonder but his expression is the same. You must be imagining things. Holding your hand, minor touches like his thumb against your skin are all commonplace for Seonghwa. These are things he has done many times and come to him easily in his acting. That is why they feel so real to you – it is all new. That’s all it is.

Willing your mouth to form words, you reply, “I don’t think I’m a fast learner. I’m worried even with all these dates, once we get to the beach house, it’ll all fall apart.”

“You do best when you’re not overthinking it. I can always tell when you remember we are supposed to be fake dating. Your moves get artificial. But when you aren’t thinking about it, you’re much better. Like when you cleaned my glasses in the shop.”

You freeze, thinking back to the moment. It had been natural because you weren’t in your head about it. You just simply wanted to clean his glasses because he looked cute trying to…oh.

“That was good?” You ask nervously.

Seonghwa, still oblivious, replies, “Oh yeah, absolutely.”

Oh, this is not good, you think, this isn’t good at all.

You suddenly stand up, the hold on Seonghwa’s hand breaking. “We should wash your hair now.”

“Has it been enough time?” He asks, frowning.

“Yup. Come on, let’s finish this up!” Your voice sounds clearly phony and you wonder if he can tell.

Seonghwa follows you back into the bathroom and the next few minutes are spent awkwardly getting his head properly positioned against the rim of the tub so that you can wash his hair.

“Is it uncomfortable?” You ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Yes. Maybe we should try to use the towel as a base.” He suggests.

This involved getting closer to Seonghwa than you anticipated and given your already accelerated heart rate, you aren’t sure if this is a good idea. Seonghwa’s words keep swirling around in your head mingled with him shirtless, leaning forward to put the glasses on his face, stopping to take the photo in the street, holding hands with him, even when he brought you against him in the elevator leaving his parents place.

Your fingers brush against his neck as you adjust the towel. He is looking at you although his expression is unreadable.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yes,” You reply through gritted teeth, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

He scans your face. “Don’t know. You just seem a little jumpy. You think you messed up my hair, didn’t you?”

Jumping at the excuse, you go, “It’ll be fine, okay? Close your eyes so the dye doesn’t get in them.” You just need him to stop staring at you for a little bit.

After making sure the water temperature is as warm as it is going to get in such a short amount of time, and bending yourself at a slightly uncomfortable angle, you start to wash the dye out of Seonghwa’s hair. His hair is abnormally soft, most likely because he uses the most high end hair products on the market, and it glides through your fingers like silk. Seonghwa is quiet and the only noise is the running water. The bottom of the tub is splashed with the black dye being washed out.

It is impossible to think your body is reacting to Seonghwa because you are developing actual feelings for him. Besides the fact it is a complete cliché to fall for someone you are fake dating, you also have only known him for a few days. It is unlike you to form an attachment to someone so quickly. But unfortunately all the evidence points to the fact you are a fool and have done something this silly like falling for Seonghwa. It is in the jumpiness you experience around him, the way your heart races, the fact that you are simply too aware of Seonghwa to ever properly relax and act as if you are dating him. This is so absolutely typical of my life, you think, scrubbing Seonghwa’s scalp.

“Okay, ow,” He complains, cracking one eye open, “Not to sound spoiled but usually at the salon I don’t have my scalp mauled by someone washing it so aggressively.”

“Fuck, sorry,” You apologize, realizing your inner tension is now coming out onto Seonghwa, “Like I said, I haven’t done this in a long time.”

He stares at you a beat too long and for a split second you irrationally worry that maybe he has the ability to read your mind. But then he closes his eyes again and you finish up washing his hair, your body protesting as you stand back up from the position you were in.

You hand Seonghwa a new towel and he stands up as well, barely drying it before going to look at himself I the mirror, inspecting his hair.

“It’ll have to fully dry before you see if it meets your standards.”

“It looks like it should be okay. At least the stains on my neck are gone,” Seonghwa remarks.

His hair is dripping wet and getting all over his shirt. Annoyed, you snatch the towel out of his hand and gently nudge him towards the chair that is still in the bathroom. He plops down in it, complaining he wasn’t finished.

“Can you dry your hair before you make a mess everywhere?” You scold, drying his hair with the towel.

“Apparently no because you’ll do it for me,” He replies.

After drying the back of his hair, you move in front of him. The towel is stained with dye as you dry the front of his hair. You lean forward but your knees bump against his and it jolts you. For a second, you lose your footing and Seonghwa’s hands go to your waist to steady you.

The touch is electric, snapping and sizzling up your spine with an intensity that seems to make your brain buzz. Your breath catches, one hand going to his chest to make sure you don’t fall.

“You sure you’re alright?” Seonghwa asks quietly.

Are you imagining it or is his heartbeat underneath your hand accelerated too? I probably just scared him because I almost fell on him, you think.

“I’m fine,” You mumble, straightening up enough to resume drying his hair.

But Seonghwa leaves his hands on your waist and it is agonizing in a way that you aren’t used to. The motions of drying his hair slows as your gaze lowers to him despite your best efforts. The world feels muffled once again like a cocoon just holding the two of you.

“Can I ask you something?” The words spill from your lips without thinking them through and when he nods silently, you say, “That photo I accidently hit like on…the one of you in that restaurant. What was going on that night?”

Seonghwa looks surprised. “What makes you ask that?”

Because you look so happy. Because you’ve never looked that happy in the short time I’ve known you. Because even though you have all the money in the world, you seem sad and isolated.

“I was just curious,” You say instead.

“I was drunk,” He replies, his voice so soft that you move closer in order to hear, “It was when I was with my ex and my old best friend. We were in the Bahamas for the week for my birthday. We went to a club earlier that night and I rarely go clubbing and had to be talked into it. But it was a lot of fun. A lot of drinking, dancing, music so loud I couldn’t think straight. Afterwards, we went out for dinner at this place that was still open even though it was the middle of the night and my friend took the photo and I uploaded it when I was drunk. Sometimes, I think about deleting it. You know, with how everything turned out. My relationship ending. And my friend iced me out a few months after the breakup for reasons we can both guess by now.”

“But you haven’t deleted it.”

“No. I guess I don’t want to erase the memory even though it hurts. It would be easier not to have a reminder of it. But sometimes you need the reminders. Running can make it worse. And I like to remember when I had faith in people, I guess.”

Seonghwa’s hands have shifted slightly, now on your lower back. Your shirt has moved just enough that some of his fingers rest against your bare skin and your entire body is humming in response.

“I’m glad you didn’t delete it.”

“How come?”

It is difficult to form words when you are so aware of his hands on your body. “I like it. You look happy in it. Blissful. I don’t see that same Seonghwa when I am around you now.”

“That old Seonghwa is gone,” He replies bluntly.

The thought made you sad. “You think so?”

“Too much has happened since that photo. That’s just how life is sometimes.”

“I guess so.” You wish that you could say more, could properly form what you think into words – that you would like to catch a glimpse of that Seonghwa because you think he might lurk underneath the surface of someone suffocating under money and the weight of parental expectations. “Well, your hair is dry.”

Seonghwa turns to look at his reflection in the mirror. His hair is a mess and his hands are still on you. It is a jolt to see the two of you in the mirror and think we do kinda look like we are together.

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours in the reflection as if reading your thoughts. Something passes in between the two of you, so quickly that a part of you believes it may have been imagined out of desperation. His grip tightens on your hips for a moment, making your chest tighten with sudden desire that you haven’t experienced before.

The cliff draws closer and you fear tumbling off it.

Seonghwa, who has made a makeshift bed on the floor of your room out of blankets, accidently slams his shoulder in the dresser, wincing. You peer down at him from your bed, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“We can switch, you know. I can sleep on the floor,” You offer.

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” He replies stubbornly.

You plop down in the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Seonghwa move around on the floor. It isn’t that you don’t feel comfortable sharing a space with him. It’s the startling realization that you might actually be falling for him that you are currently grappling with. The entire thing is doomed from the start – he is paying you to pretend to be his girlfriend, is completely out of your league due to his supernatural good looks, and once the weekend is over he will pay you and the entire thing will be over and done with. Why are you so dead set on making an ass out of yourself? How could you form a crush on someone so completely out of your reach? What a miserable existence you are determined to lead.

In the last ten minutes, it has started to rain and you can hear it against the window. It is close to midnight and even though you should feel tired, your mind is wide awake. You aren’t sure how long you lay there but it is Seonghwa who breaks the silence.

“Do you think it looks okay?”

“What looks okay?”

“My hair in this colour.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Are you just saying that?” He sits up, his head poking up by the side of the bed, “Look at it again.”

“Seonghwa, it’s too dark to see it. Hang on.” You lean over and flick on the tiny lamp on the bedside table, illuminating the room. The table wobbles unevenly.

His hair is dry now and looks as dark as night. It fits him well and your heart constricts. I’m going to get a heart attack hanging out with this guy.

“It looks good. Really.”

Seonghwa relaxes slightly, running his hands through it. “Thanks for doing this for me.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to thank me.” It was pure torture and I think I’m falling for you but yeah it was great and not a problem. “Would it bother you if I watched something on my laptop? I thought I was tired but I don’t think I can sleep yet.”

He looks sheepish as he replies, “I’m not tired yet either. I just agreed to go to bed because you said we should.”

You pause for a second and then go, “You can watch something with me if you don’t mind the bed being too small.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he is moving onto the bed, most likely to get off the floor. Some part of you is overjoyed at being this close to him and the other part of you wants to run and hide in the closet. This entire thing was easier when you were tricking yourself into thinking that you found Seonghwa a little interesting and that is why you were scrolling two years back in his Instagram.

“What are we watching?” He asks, his arm pressed against yours.

“I don’t know. You pick.”

“You should pick.”

“You’re the guest, you pick.”

“You said you were gonna watch something which meant you had something in mind, right?”

“Wrong. I usually just have something on and cycle through like four or five different social media apps while not paying attention to what I picked,” You counter, leaning forward and clicking through until you find something mind numbing enough to have on at this late hour and hit play.

Seonghwa shifts as you lean back, his arm coming around your shoulders and gently pulling you against him, your cheek resting against his chest. Your eyes widen slightly, a choked noise of surprise escaping your mouth.

“Is this okay?” He asks and his voice sounds much deeper with your ear against his chest, “For practice, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s good,” You reply, hoping your voice is steady even though your heart is like a jumping bean in your ribcage, “Good practice.”

It is absolutely impossible to pay attention to whatever you put on when each second being this close to him is agonizing. Sure, you have felt similar things in your life before but never at this intensity and it leaves you breathless. All rationality seems to be flying right out of your head.

Seonghwa, as usual, seems unaffected and why wouldn’t he be? To him, this is about escaping the clutches of his parents and nothing more. You’re the one turning this into something else.

At one point, Seonghwa asks, “Are you okay?”

Snapping out of your brooding, you go, “What?”

“You’re just really tense.”

You want to shriek but it dies in your mouth as he works his fingers softly into your shoulder as if to give you a massage. At the same time he shifts to do so, his shirt rises up just enough to expose a couple inches of his stomach and your brain enters system overload.

You didn’t think it was possible to feel so unhinged in the span of a second but here you are. The rational part of your brain is saying just to relax and try to focus on how you need to be learning to be natural around Seonghwa. The feral side of you is trying to come up with some sort of excuse to make a move on him or progress things to somehow touching him. But you have no experience in making the first move and you just listen to the sides bicker.

“I guess I am overthinking again,” You settle on saying, thinking that isn’t exactly a lie.

“I told you, I can tell when you do because of how tense you get.”

“Well, like I said, I don’t have much experience in this. And then when I think about trying to convince your parents…”

His fingers have moved to brush against the back of your neck, sending sparks down your spine all the way to your toes. “Maybe you should just stop thinking about them when we hang out. Let me worry about their bullshit.”

Without thinking, you reply, “It’s difficult to blot them out when so much is at stake. I can’t just stop worrying about what a friend is going through.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, you groan inwardly. At no point in hanging out with Seonghwa has he indicated he ever considered you a friend and by the way he stiffens, you fear that too much has been said.

Steeling yourself, you pull away just enough to tilt your face to look at him, about to apologize. But he has a strange expression on his face, one that renders you immobile. He looks down at you.

“We are friends, right?” He asks and the words sound so delicate that the realization strikes you that Seonghwa simply doesn’t have any friends anymore.

“Yeah, I mean…I know you’re paying me for the whole fake girlfriend thing but I mean…that’s like a job.” Your words sound messy and you are speaking too quickly. “But I like hanging out with you. I would consider us friends.”

“What about after this is finished? Would we still be friends?”

“If you’d wanna be friends. You could easily be sick of me by then.” You point out.

Seonghwa’s eyes scan your face before landing on your lips for a beat too long. That familiar heat is creeping across your body again which you are trying to tamper down before it leads you into trouble.

When he finally speaks, his voice has dropped an octave, “No, I don’t think I’d be sick of you.”

His fingers are trailing up along the back of your neck, each nerve in your body seemingly condensed into those few inches of space he touches, making everything heightened in the most agonizing way possible.

“Oh, well, that’s good.” You can feel the urge to begin rambling just to break the tension which you attempt to stifle. “Great, even.” You risk a glance at the exposed skin of his stomach even though it is dangerous to keep tormenting yourself with such things.

Seonghwa’s breath catches as if he has noticed. You are mentally screaming for him to touch you, making note of the change in his breathing. Surely, you cannot be imagining it. Surely, he must be traveling along the same path as your mind. The two of you have been circling around one another. If you really have somehow misread his energy, your body might shatter into a thousand pieces.

Seonghwa’s expression changes as if he has decided something and then he speaks.

“I know you said no kissing when we had our discussion at the coffee shop,” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, his eyes still on your lips, “But I wanted to see if you still felt that way because it might help you,” When you don’t reply because you are too surprised to speak, his gaze flicks up to meet your eyes. “To practice the whole relationship thing. And make you more at ease.”

You might actually spontaneously combust right here in bed. Willing your brain to work, you manage to squeak out, “Well, we did say this week would be a crash course in all things relationship based, right? Obviously kissing goes with that. One of the many things that goes into it. So, I think a kiss would probably be helpful. If you’re good with that.” Okay enough, brain, enough, you scold, biting down on your tongue to stop speaking.

Seonghwa’s other hand has come up to cup your cheek, the touch dizzying. His thumb grazes over your lips as he says, “I’m good with it. We are friends, after all. Not strangers anymore.”

“Exactly,” You reply – you think, anyway. You aren’t actually sure if you said it or not because your heart is at a gallop and your entire body is screaming at him to hurry up and kiss you. He could say anything right now and you would just agree with it.

Seonghwa brings his face towards you and his lips brush against yours, light as a feather. It is startling and every thought in your head blinks out of existence as you lose the rest of your senses and press your lips against his urgently.

His grip on the back of your neck tightens briefly as if steadying himself. The kiss goes from something patient and careful to something almost desperate in a couple of seconds. His other hand drops from your cheek, going to your hip instead, pulling you against him. The kiss deepens, his tongue pressing against yours as you swing one leg around his hip to pull him closer against your body, almost straddling him. A small muffled groan leaves him, tumbling into your mouth as his hands move to your lower back, pressing them flat against your skin, moving your shirt up just enough to touch your bare skin.

Everything on your mind the entire night has been obliterated by Seonghwa’s kiss. You are no longer worried about how much you like him, what will happen once the weekend is over, how you agreed to this for money but now the entire situation was getting out of control. The only thing you can focus on is him and how badly you want him.

The two of you are on your sides, your leg still thrown over his waist, and he tightens his hold on you, moving onto his back so that you are on top of him. The kiss doesn’t break and instead grows more dangerous as you inadvertently grind against him as you settle into the new position. Seonghwa’s breath hitches and without questioning it, you do it again just to hear his breathing change once more.

You have never wanted someone like you have wanted Seonghwa. It is terrifying to be on the cusp of completely losing control and possibly diving face first into a situation that will leave you alone and heartbroken at the end of it. But the side of your brain that works so hard to make sure you are protected is strangely silent tonight. It is like seeing a rollercoaster with no safety harness and still deciding to go on it.

When the kiss breaks, Seonghwa’s face is flushed, his breathing heavy. You can feel how hard he is against the fabric of his sweatpants he changed into before bed, the tent pressing against your thighs. It is evident how turned on he is – does he know you are just as worked up?

His voice, usually steady, wavers when he talks, “Good practice.”

You are out of breath when you reply, “T-thanks for the help.”

“I can show you other stuff people do in relationships, if you’d find it helpful.” His words come quick and fast, his hands gripping the bottom of your shirt, the fabric balled in his fists.

“You know what, I really would find that helpful. You’re a good teacher.”

“Oh okay, great,” He is pulling you downward to kiss you again, “Just tell me when you’d like me to stop with the lesson.” You can read in between the lines on that one – if you don’t want to stop, he would fuck you tonight on the spot.

The next kiss is somehow more desperate than the last one. You cannot help yourself and have begun rocking your hips against him, grinding your pussy against his hard cock through layers of fabric. There is a sudden toppling noise, startling you out of the kiss with a small gasp.

Making out momentarily on hold, you look over the side of the bed to see Seonghwa has accidently knocked your laptop onto the makeshift bed on the floor. You wince, knowing the thing is ancient and might not have withstood the drop. Seonghwa is also looking down at it.

“It’s fine, I’ll buy you another one,” Seonghwa says breathlessly before you can respond, pulling you back in for a kiss.

Normally you would poke fun at him for such a statement but it is difficult to do such a thing when his tongue is in your mouth and you are grinding down on his cock desperately. Your hands move to the bottom of his shirt, breaking the kiss just to tug it off over his head and toss it onto the floor before resuming.

"Not that I didn’t love wearing the clothes of someone you fucked,” Seonghwa’s voice is rough, lips brushing against yours with each word as your hands run down his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath your fingertips.

“You jealous?” You murmur as his lips move down across your chin and to your neck.

“Now, why would I be jealous? If he had done his job right, I wouldn’t be teaching you anything right now.” His voice is scratchy and you can feel how quickly his heart is beating underneath your hands.

Seonghwa moves to take off your shirt. You aren’t wearing a bra because you figured you would be asleep already, not making out with your fake boyfriend with the intensity of the world about to end. He lowers his head, cupping your tits together so that he can roll his tongue across your nipples. The entire thing happens in the matter of seconds and you can’t help yourself – a small whimper emits from you and you swear that Seonghwa smirks against your tits.

He bites down gently on your nipples to drive another strangled gasp out of you. You can’t take it anymore, knowing that you are about to crack and fuck him. Your entire body is warm, your pussy soaking wet against your underwear, and all you can think about is sitting on his cock.

“Hwa,” It is the first time you call him that and it leaves your mouth without a second thought, too desperate to care, “I want to fuck.”

Your nipple comes out of his mouth with a loud pop noise, a strand of spit connecting your tit to his bottom lip as he flicks his gaze upward at you.

He remarks, “You think you’ve progressed to that lesson already?”

“Uh-huh,” You whine, fighting the urge just to pull his sweatpants down already.

“You think my cock can fit in your tight cunt?” He questions.

Hearing Hwa talk like this is making your brain buzz. Rationality has long since left the building as you shift to pull his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing his cock from being restrained. He is rock hard, the largest cock you’ve had in your limited experience, the tip slick with precum.

He brings his hands forward, resting on the edge of your underwear, which admittedly is not a cute pair because the last thing you thought you’d be doing tonight is Seonghwa.

“You care about your underwear?” He asks.

“No,” You reply and in one quick motion, Hwa tears the flimsy fabric of the old pair, a loud ripping noise filling the space as he throws it to the floor. “You can buy me new underwear along with a new laptop.”

At this, Hwa laughs quietly, saying, “I’m racking up quite the bill.”

He moves his hand downward to grip his cock so you can lower yourself down on it. You are soaking wet yet still have to go slow taking his cock because of the size. Your hands are flat against his stomach to hold yourself steady as Seonghwa’s girth fills you up.

You rock your hips a little, getting accustomed to him inside you. Seonghwa’s gaze is hazy as if his lust is overwhelming him, his hands gripping the sheets a little to hold back jerking his hips upward to drive his cock into you.

“Good girl, you took my cock so well,” His voice is like sandpaper and you get the feeling it is taking all of his willpower not to fuck you, “See, you’re a fast learner.”

The praise is making your head spin.

“Why don’t you try bouncing on my cock?” Hwa says and who are you to say no to such a request?

You start riding him, slowly at first because you have only ever done this once for a few minutes a couple years ago, trying to figure out what feels best for you. Seonghwa’s newly black hair is a mess against the pillow, the muscles in his arms taunt from holding onto the sheets to stop himself from fucking you, beads of sweat dotting his chest from the heat between the two of you.

With each bounce on his cock, your tits must jiggle because Hwa’s gaze is on them. You pick up the speed of your bouncing, driving his cock further into you with each thrust. You are dimly aware that you are making noise, a lot of whimpering and moaning. The walls in your apartment are paper thin and for a second, you feel bad at what the neighbors must be hearing. Not bad enough to stop or to fall silent, however.

“Good girl,” He says again, his voice taunt, and it is enough to make you purr like a cat, “God, you’re tight. You gonna squeeze my cock with your tight cunt when you cum?”

Momentarily thrown, you look down at him, your pace slowing a little. “I’ve never – I mean, through sex. I’ve never finished.”

There is a flash of surprise across Seonghwa’s face and then he goes, “Well, in relationships, you’re supposed to cum. I’ll demonstrate.”

You don’t have time to question what he means because in one fluid motion, he brings his hands to your waist, tugging you forward as he moves himself upwards in a sitting position, his back against the headboard of your bed. You are straddling him now as he sits, skin to skin with him, shifting him even deeper into your pussy. The sudden close proximity of him makes your head swim. You can see how dark his eyes are, a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips slightly swollen from all the kissing.

“Keep rocking against my cock,” He says as he slinks one hand downward, brushing across your sensitive clit.

You gasp, jerking your hips reflexively from the sudden pleasure. Seonghwa doesn’t stop, moving his thumb slowly over your clit, his hand dipping between the narrow gap of your bodies.

“I’ll keep it at that pace until I see your eyes go completely blank because your head is empty of all thoughts minus my cock in you and my thumb on your clit. Then I’ll let you climax. Does that sound good?” His voice is low in your ear, lips brushing against your neck. When you whimper out an affirmative answer, he goes, “Good girl.” yet again just to drive you crazy.

Seonghwa keeps his speed against your clit slow and languid. Sometimes his thumb slips off your clit completely when you bounce harder than usual. This angle is a little trickier to bounce harder in his lap coupled with the fact that you don’t want him to stop touching your clit because it simply feels too good.

With his free hand, he brings it up to gently cup your chin so that you have to look at him. He presses down a little harder on your clit and you moan out his name, every nerve in your body alight and begging for release.

He leans forward, his tongue darting in your mouth briefly just to tease you. You urgently rock your hips as his touch against your clit slows down to a crawl.

“Oh, I can see it. Just the start of you becoming completely dazed,” He murmurs, “You’re practically drooling, do you know that?” He drags his finger over your lips, showing the spit that is on the tip as evidence, “Keep your mouth open so I can spit in it.”

You obey, bringing your hips down, a desperate whine tumbling from your lips as Seonghwa spits in your mouth, once, twice, three times, at the same time as he increases his thumb rubbing your clit. Some of his spit misses your mouth and instead lands on your tits.

“Oh, you’re fun to fuck, you’re such a good girl,” Seonghwa coos, apparently realizing how each time he praises you, it seems to make you go insane, “And your eyes are blank, you’re covered in my spit, and you keep whining. I think I’ll let you cum now, what do you think?”

You nod urgently. You also think you reply but there’s a high chance it is actually gibberish.

“Where should I finish?” He asks you and when you don’t answer, he goes, “Just one question to answer, doll, that’s it. Then you don’t have to form another thought for the entire night.”

He slows down rubbing your clit, and you try to cobble together a sentence. “In me,” You manage to say, “We’re practicing relationships, right? Finish in me.”

Seonghwa exhales slowly and he begins to rub your clit hard and fast. You are desperate to cum and the increased speed makes your head swim. You bury your face in his neck, wiggling your hips wildly against him, hearing the obscene noises of how wet you are with each movement. Your body breaks out in shivers as your climax starts, your pussy tightening hard around Hwa’s girth. He groans in your ear as you climax against him, your name sounding entirely brand new as it leaves his mouth.

You can feel him emptying his balls inside your cunt, can feel it spilling out of you and smearing against your thighs, can hear how loud the two of you are as you cum together. You didn’t think sex could be like this. You aren’t sure how you can ever fuck anyone again after having Seonghwa.

A sweaty mess against your fake boyfriend, leaking his cum, your fucked out brain distantly thinks well this has made things a bit more complicated.

The phone rings and rings as you stare at the screen, waiting for your best friend to answer. The two of you haven’t caught up in a month but those sort of things didn’t matter with a friendship as solid as yours. Even though the days of living in the same city ended a couple years ago, the bond couldn’t be shaken by not talking for a while. All it took was one of you to call and it were as if no time passed at all.

It is almost time for your work shift. Waking up next to Seonghwa this morning had been surreal. You weren’t sure how to act; after all, he isn’t your boyfriend. But pretending last night hadn’t happened seemed silly too. And last night…well, that was the sort of thing you thought only occurred in movies or something. Every touch from him was electric, and the pleasure from being with him like that seemed to blot out everything else.

But even though you slept with Seonghwa, that didn’t mean he saw you as anything other than a friend with benefits. On top of that, he was still paying you after the weekend was over to trick his parents about the whole dating thing. Had it been a mistake to have sex with him? It was difficult to gauge what Seonghwa thought and this morning he acted as he had before sleeping together…which also made things tricky due to the fact every second with him meant pretending you were dating.

Your friend finally answers, snapping you out of your brooding. “Hey! I have work soon. Everything okay?”

“Hongjoong,” You say, relieved, “No. I mean yes, I’m not dying or anything. But no, I’m also a mess.”

Hongjoong peers at you through the camera. He is wearing a different fast food uniform than the last time you spoke to him. Opting to give up on affording city life as well as the impact it had on his mental health, he moved six hours away to a generic town. You had spent ages trying to dissuade him but he was steadfast. Thinking that he wasn’t going to be part of your daily life was panic inducing but ultimately, you put your selfish feeling aside so he could do what was best for him. However, you can’t help but think you wouldn’t be in this current situation if Hongjoong still lived here.

“You look tormented. Please tell me this story is interesting. You cannot believe how dull my life is,” He drawls.

“You’re the one who left the city,” You counter, “We could be roommates still trying to make it.”

“Yeah, that and a dollar gets me basically nothing,” He retorts.

The two of you start every conversation this way – it is how you say ‘I miss you’ without truly saying it.

“Do you have a new job? I swear, you had a different uniform last time I called.”

Hongjoong looks down at his outfit and makes a face. “Yeah, well, management didn’t care for me giving every customer a copy of my demo songs with each order. We had…creative differences. So, I left.”

“You know, if you wanted to get into music, one could argue that leaving the city would be a bad idea for making that happen.”

“Yes, you’ve said that a thousand times,” He waves his hand, one nail painted black, “I was suffocating there. You know that. At least here I can breathe a bit without the worry of money down my back all the time.�� At the mention of money, you shift uncomfortably. Hongjoong catches it, leaning so close to the camera that the entire view is just of his eye. “What are you not telling me?”

The entire story spills from you, from the mention of how Seonghwa would occasionally come to the store, all the way to this morning, where he left and said he would see you later for dinner. By the time you finish, Hongjoong has squealed, gasped, covered his face and acted like a Greek chorus the entire story.

“Just to recap,” He begins, “You are getting paid to pretend to date a guy that you have now fallen for, promptly had sex with and you have no idea if he actually likes you or if the fake dating has swirled his brain up and led to fucking? And after this weekend, you get a giant sum of money for pretending to date him but you actually want to date him?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Hongjoong throws his head back and laughs. “Wow, what romcom is this? Out of everyone in my life, you ending up in this situation is the funniest outcome possible. All you do is work and then come home to your apartment. There isn’t anyone who had a lower chance to land in this.”

“Well, I landed in it,” Your tone is clipped, “Now what?”

“You’re asking me? I’m about to go serve fried chicken to angry customers for eight hours. How am I supposed to know what to do?”

Your shoulders sag. “Any advice? What would you do in this situation?”

“I wouldn’t end up in this situation, darling, because money and sex is a bad combo. You like him but there’s money tied up in every interaction. I guess…” He looks thoughtful, “I guess I would try to figure out if I want the money more than I want him. Because if you take the money, even though it isn’t coming from his parents, that’s still letting him know the money means more than he does. And if he has all these issues tied up with money and people only sticking around to either get stuff from him or his parents, then it would show him that your feelings are more important. That he is more important.”

The words ring true, striking a bell in your chest. You know Hongjoong is right. But the money is security. Your intense feelings for Seonghwa are terrifying.

“Thanks. That did actually help.”

“Of course it helped. I always help.”

You scowl. “You look like Buffy from the Doublemeat Palace episode.”

Hongjoong looks insulted. “Please. I don’t have to wear a hat. I’m leaving now. You’ll keep me updated, won’t you?” After you say you would, he goes, “Great. Can’t wait to see you grappling with falling in love. Talk to you later.”

The call ends and you stare at the phone until the screen goes dark. Falling in love? Hongjoong must have been joking. Falling in love with someone you have only known for a few days would be completely ridiculous.

You are waiting outside the grocery store, your eyes scanning the parking lot for Seonghwa. After work, you darted home to change because you didn’t want to meander through a grocery store Seonghwa technically owned in your work uniform. But you found yourself lingering, staring at your closet, trying to figure out what to wear. This is unlike you and it makes your nerves worse. What did you wear to see a man you were fake dating but had real sex with last night? You just saw Seonghwa this morning but it felt like a decade of agony passed. Your shift crawled by. Each article of clothing looked terrible on you.

Now, with the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, and the lights of the city starting to blink on like fireflies in the summer, you bounce on the balls of your feet, wondering how to greet Seonghwa. Was ‘hello’ too formal? Is ‘hey’ too casual? You never thought about this shit before.

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Looking at the screen, it is an Instagram notification from Seonghwa. Surprised, you open the app to find yourself staring at the photo he took the other night outside that bar. It looks a little different from the original, with the colours brighter and the edges of your face slightly blurred. He tagged you in the photo and the caption just says “night walk”.

Your heart immediately begins to race. There it is – you exist on his Instagram where no one else does. Surely, that counts for something, right? But he called you a friend the other night. Nothing wrong with posting friends on your Instagram. Didn’t mean you meant anything other than that. God, this is so confusing. You can hear Hongjoong laughing in the back of your head –

“Hey.”

Your head snaps up to see Seonghwa has magically appeared in front of you. After being on red alert for any sight of him, it is jarring to have him appear while staring at his Instagram. It is also difficult to get your mouth to form words, seeing as he is dressed entirely in leather. Leather pants, leather jacket that is zipped up with little pockets on each side, a popped up collar, and his new black hair.

“Hey.” You reply. Nailed it, you think.

Seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair and it is hard not to remember how they felt gripping you last night. It is difficult to stare at him and not think about how it felt to ride him or how he spoke to you as he rubbed your clit. Please pull yourself together, holy shit.

“You know, I realized we didn’t actually plan out what we were getting,” He says, “You said something about pasta?”

“Uh, yeah, just figured…we could get a box of pasta and like a jar of sauce. I don’t actually know if it counts as cooking. But seeing as you might not know how to boil water, it’s a start.”

Seonghwa comes over to you. Different cologne this time, you note. He must own multiple ones. Up this close, you can see the leather is well worn and he moves in it easily. It is tight on his body, with the top of the jacket opened to expose the top of his chest. You want to tease him for wearing all leather to the grocery store but he looks too good.

“Sounds fine to me. If I mess it up, we can just order something,” He replies and his hand finds yours, leading you into the store.

For some reason, even though this still counted as a “date”, you hadn’t been expecting him to hold your hand immediately. It is a mix of relief and torture. You hold on tighter than usual as if he might float away.

Stepping into the store, it hits you that Seonghwa’s family owns it and you are casually holding hands with the CEO’s son. While you still stand by the fact no one will know who Seonghwa is, the idea of blending in is tossed out the window with him wearing an outfit like that.

Seonghwa stops almost immediately and you know the problem. “You don’t know where anything is, do you?”

“Well, I mean, I know the fruit and vegetables are on the side. And meat is in the back.”

“That’s typical for most stores, Hwa.” You say, the nickname from last night escaping your lips before you can stop it.

You can tell he notices it because he stops for a millisecond, his lips opening slightly before closing. You quickly look away, images of the night prior flashing through your head.

But all he does is give your hand a squeeze. “Don’t tell my father I don’t know the layout to the store.”

“I have no plans to tell your dad anything.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Doubt he would approve of what we did last night,” He jokes but there is slight tension under the words – he is testing the waters, seeing how you’ll react to bringing up the elephant in the room.

Relieved at him mentioning it, you tilt your face to look over at him. His brow is slightly furrowed, his shoulders stiff, his eyes scanning your face. You aren’t sure how to reply – since he technically joked about it, you don’t want to turn it into some serious conversation.

Making sure your tone is light, you go, “You’re a good teacher. That would count for something, right?”

A smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Alright, your turn to teach. Lead the way.”

“What? I don’t shop at your stores. We’ll just wander the aisles and read the signs.” You take off towards one aisle, giving Seonghwa a little tug on his hand.

“You don’t shop here?” He sounds affronted.

“Other places are cheaper. You guys charge extra on every item in exchange for a nicer shopping atmosphere or whatever,” You remark, walking past rows of cereal.

Seonghwa looks surprised at this. Wow, he really knows next to nothing about this company because he is too busy trying to survive his parents. He would be better off cutting his losses and just leaving completely. But as usual, you don’t say this. You don’t know if he wants that level of honesty from you…and you don’t want to upset him either.

The next aisle doesn’t have the pasta either. You finally locate it in aisle four, wondering what the easiest one to cook is. It didn’t matter, right? Boil water and toss it in the pot. Surely Seonghwa could handle that.

Seonghwa is reading each box as if it matters. A woman who is looking at the jars of sauce keeps shooting glances over at him and his hand holding yours. You feel a twinge of jealously as she checks Seonghwa out. Not that you blame her, of course, but this is your fake boyfriend tonight and she is ruining the fantasy you want to delude yourself into believing.

“Hwa, just pick a shape you like,” You finally say impatiently, “It’s all the same shit.”

The woman gives Seonghwa a lingering stare which he finally notices as she leaves the aisle. He lowers his voice. “See? I think she recognized me.”

You sigh. “She did not recognize you. She was checking you out.”

“She was not. Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know, probably has nothing to do with your 68’ comeback special outfit,” You snap, snatching a box of pasta off the shelf. You feel a little irritated which is ridiculous.

You turn your attention to the jars and Seonghwa’s arms slink around your waist, pulling you back against him. The motion takes you by surprise as he brings his lips very close to your ear, right in the middle of the aisle. Even though it is empty, the public show of affection out of the blue has your heart banging like a drum.

“You jealous?” He whispers so quietly in your ear that it feels as if you hear it in your head versus from his mouth.

“Why would I be jealous? That would be like you being jealous over a t-shirt last night.”

“Good point,” He replies and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls away.

You can’t tell what is fake or what is real anymore. Or maybe it is all fake and your body is reacting to it because you seemingly cannot stop liking Seonghwa more with each passing moment.

He straightens up, plucking a jar off the shelf. “Is this also all the same shit?”

“Basically.”

“I guess this is all we need then. My fridge is stocked up so if we need anything else, I probably have it.”

“Or you can just get it delivered, right?”

“Yeah…oh, you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.” You say as Seonghwa ducks his head to hide a smile. The expression makes your chest grow warm.

I guess I would try to figure out if I want the money more than I want him, Hongjoong said. It’s easier staying alone than allowing someone in only to watch them accept money and leave, Seonghwa admitted on the roof.

“You alright? Where did you go?” He asks, waving his hand in front of your eyes.

“Nowhere,” You reply, shaking off the thoughts, “I’m right here.”

Seonghwa scans your face for a few seconds and then motions towards the registers. “Let’s go and try not to burn my place down.”

In the parking lot, you look around for the limo only for Seonghwa to stop in front of an extremely expensive looking car.

“What is this?”

“It’s a car.”

“Funny,” You reply, “Hanging out with me is making you quite the comedian. Where is the limo?”

“You didn’t like it so I ditched it since we have to go back to my place tonight.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the passenger side of the car. For a couple of seconds, Seonghwa looks strangely vulnerable before his face composes itself into a neutral expression.

“You can drive? I just assumed you were born in a limo.”

The sky is streaked with orange and it glimmers off the black of the car, striking Seonghwa’s right side. You rummage around in your bag for your phone.

“Now who is the comedian?” Hwa goes before asking, “What are you doing?”

“I want to take a photo of you. Is that okay? You look cool against the car like that.” You pretend to be fiddling with your phone because saying that aloud makes you shy.

“I look…” He trails off, “Right, yeah, take a pic.” He clears his throat a little as you raise your phone. “Are you going to post this on your Instagram?”

“My paltry little following seeing this? No, I was thinking you could post it on yours.”

“Mine?”

“Why not? You haven’t posted a photo of yourself in forever.”

Seonghwa blinks and for the first time since meeting him, he looks incredibly awkward and overly aware of his body. “Maybe I shouldn’t look at the camera. Like, to the side.”

“Very mysterious,” You agree, nodding your head in a supportive way, “Go for it.”

He does and you take a few pics of him. The way the setting sun hits his face makes it almost criminal to look at him. How did I never notice this guy when he came in the store and now I’m here studying how light hits his face?

When the photos are finished, you go over to him, showing the phone screen. “Nice, right? I mean, not as good as yours but…”

Seonghwa has a strange expression on his face. It is unreadable and you have no idea what is crossing his mind. You hesitate, wondering if taking the photos is somehow taking things too far. Wasn’t I bouncing in his lap last night? Could some pics be too much?

“Uh, do you want me to send them to you?” You ask quietly when Hwa doesn’t say anything.

He snaps out of whatever he is dwelling on, going, “Yeah, thanks. I really like them,” Moving away from you, he says, “Let’s head out.”

You wonder what is flashing through his head. Some part of you wants to ask but it feels like it might be too personal to be discussed in the parking lot of the grocery store. Instead, you quietly get in the car, wondering what has shifted between the two of you.

Standing in the vastness of Seonghwa’s kitchen, you chew on your bottom lip. There is something sterile about the space, empty and slightly depressing. To be fair, the entire penthouses is like that, as if Hwa is afraid of letting too much of himself show even in where he lives.

Upon first meeting Seonghwa, it was difficult to feel pity for someone so rich. Now, however, it is difficult to not to. Objectively, he has everything: more money than any one single person needed, anything he ever wanted, a prestigious job lined up and waiting down the road, not a care in the world. But after spending this time with him, it is the vast loneliness and inability to fully trust anyone entering his life for fear of abandonment or his parents meddling that strikes you as abhorrent. How did someone have everything yet nothing at all?

Fake girlfriend or not, you do not feel comfortable enough to rummage through the kitchen. Also, you are intimidated by the vast array of drawers and cupboards. I’ll just ask him, you think, leaving the kitchen and stopping for a brief moment to look out the floor to ceiling windows in the living room to the city. The sun is gone, the moon rising behind a thicket of clouds that threaten more rain. It rains all the time now, covering the city in a mix of humidity and dampness that never seems to fully go away. Some of the lights are muddled and hazy in the distance from the fog settling across everything.

It is already Monday. How is it possible I just met Seonghwa and yet it feels like I have known him forever? You linger by the window, staring at the horizon. I can’t tell what is real between us and what is practice. Or maybe nothing is real and he is just really good at pretending. But does it matter? Hongjoong is right. I can’t have both the money and Seonghwa. Not now, not when I know him this well. It isn’t like accepting the money to meet his parents, when he was just a rich guy offering me an absurd amount of cash. Now, I know him on a personal and physical level I wasn’t expecting. To accept the money now would be illustrating to him that is really what is important here. Why would he want to stay friends or fall for me after that? Because regardless of if he has romantic feelings for me or not, he did say we are friends.

You are weary of thinking about this. It feels as if your brain has been running in circles all day and getting nowhere. Turning away from the window, you head towards Seonghwa’s room to ask him where everything is for dinner.

“Hwa,” You say, pushing the door open a little and poking your head inside, “Where is – oh.”

Seonghwa is in the middle of undressing. The zipper on his pants are pulled down and hanging slightly off his hips, the leather jacket tossed onto the bed. The sight of him brings you to a dead stop, the words curling and withering away against your tongue. You hope your mouth isn’t open.

“I should have knocked,” You finally manage to say.

Seonghwa, who is seemingly unbothered by you seeing him like this, shrugs. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

What’s up? Is he serious? Can he not tell that you want to scamper out of his penthouse, out of the city and go scream in the woods somewhere because of the sight in front of you? That your body is already stirring as if he reached out and touched you?

“Uh…I didn’t want to go through your kitchen without you there,” Your words sound far away to your ears, “I just don’t know where anything is.”

“Alright. I’ll be there in a second,” He replies and when you don’t move, he raises an eyebrow, “You gonna watch me change?”

Embarrassed at the fact you are seemingly rooted to the spot, you try to reply but the words come out mildly garbled. At this, Seonghwa lets out a soft laugh and begins to walk towards you. Oh no, you think as your stomach swoops, knowing if he places even one finger against your skin, all logic and reasoning will depart in a millisecond.

“Are you trying to ask if I need any help changing?” He asks in such a low voice that it feels more like you hear it in your head than it being spoken aloud.

Brain, I am begging you to form one coherent sentence, you think, wanting to come off aloof and sexy and instead you are standing there like a video game character trying to spawn in. But Seonghwa’s eyes are on you, and you are distracted by how he is shirtless, and how his pants hang off his hips. The close proximity of him is dizzying combined with the memories of last night. Fuck it, is the final thought your coherent brain gives you, giving up.

“No, I was thinking about getting another lesson from you. If you’d want, I mean…” You trail off, too nervous at the possibility of his rejection.

“Oh, I did a good job last time?”

Your hands are going to the zipper on his pants, fingers lingering there, the metal cold against your skin. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth again so all you can manage is a nod. You want him so badly it is like a visceral need blotting out everything else.

“Look up at me,” Hwa says gently, two of his fingers going underneath your chin to tilt your face away from the entrancing sight of his leather pants against his skin.

For a brief moment, he studies your face. You can feel what he feels – the ground shifting underneath the two of you, things colliding that shouldn’t be, lines growing blurry each time you tumble together like this – and then caution is thrown to the wind and he kisses you.

It is just like last time. The force of his lips against yours blows universes to dust, a fire sparking in your chest that threatens to burn everything else to ash. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him against your body as his hands press against your lower back. His tongue is in your mouth, a groan muffled in your mouth, desire spilling out as if the two of you haven’t had each other in weeks instead of less than twenty-four hours.

Stumbling towards his bed, articles of clothing going flying as you both undress, you can feel him hard against your thigh. When the kiss breaks, he is breathless, skin flushed, lips a little swollen from where you nipped at them with your teeth at one point.

Skin to skin with him like this is intoxicating. Every nerve is awake and wanting more of Hwa.

“I’m gonna get on the bed and you’re gonna hop on my face, alright?” He says, one finger trailing up your back, making you shiver. When he sees the expression on your face, continues, “It’s fine that you haven’t done it before. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You don’t doubt that it won’t feel good; it is just that you are feeling a little shy about sitting on Hwa’s face. But your curiosity and desire wins out and after he adjusts on the bed, stroking his hard cock a little while waiting, you move towards him.

“No, face the other way. You’re going to suck my cock while I eat you out.” He says with a small shake of his head.

Okay, this you definitely haven’t done before. But your usual anxiety about something like this seems to be erased by the sheer fact you are dick dazed by the sight of a naked Seonghwa laying down, stroking his cock. You try to carefully sit on his face but he makes a noise of impatience and brings his hands up to your waist, pulling you downwards.

Your noise of surprise turns into a groan as he drives his tongue deep in your hole to taste you. Distantly, you can hear the rain kicking up outside. The windows in the room are streaked with running droplets of water, blurring the city into a muddled mess of a painting. Up this high, it is difficult to think about the outside world or any of its concerns. The only thing worth focusing on is Seonghwa eating out your cunt.

For a few seconds, pleasure blocks out all thoughts, including shyness at the fact you are sitting on his face like this. His hands are tight on your waist as you finally lower yourself forward, reaching for his cock. It is hard and warm in your hand although it is difficult to concentrate because Seonghwa’s tongue moves to your clit. You let out a gasp, instinctively moving your hips at the touch. The motion is slight, just enough to tease you, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you securely in place on top of his face.

Spitting on Hwa’s cock, you jerk him off for a few moments before bringing your tongue against the head. You can hear a soft groan from him while doing so and that turns you on even more. Swirling your tongue around the head of his dick at the same time as Seonghwa’s tongue moves against your clit, you moan, taking more of him in your mouth while doing so. Seonghwa’s tongue moves quickly and expertly against your nub, breaking your focus on sucking him off. Instead, his cock fills your mouth, his girth stretching out your lips.

You know that you are grinding your cunt against Seonghwa’s face but seemingly cannot stop doing so. He is switching between sucking on your clit and flicking his tongue against it all while holding you in place. Your breathing is ragged as you bob your head on his cock, tongue against his shaft. Having drooled all over it, his cock is slick with your spit and his precum, making a mess but neither of you care. You bring your head back down on his length, seeing how much you can take of Hwa before it becomes too much. At the same time, your hand moves to his balls, fondling them just to elicit another muffled curse word against your cunt from Hwa.

You can feel the build up of your orgasm, arriving quickly with each second Hwa works your clit over. He seems to be getting off by the fact he is smothered by your cunt, his hands never loosening their hold on your waist, his face buried in between your wet folds. Your cheeks hollow as you suck on his cock and when you leave the head, long strings of drool and precum dangle off your lips and onto his lower abdomen. When you moan, a dollop of drool lands on the tip of his cock, shiny with precum. You take Seonghwa back into your mouth.

You can’t focus on sucking him off anymore because you are about to cum against his face. His tongue is relentless against your clit, and pinned between your thighs and the bed, Seonghwa is groaning and cursing as your legs shake. He can tell that you are close to finishing and is determined to get you off.

With one final flick of his tongue, your orgasm begins. His cock is buried in your throat as you climax, the vibrations of your moans seemingly driving him crazy. You wildly grind down against his face as you cum, covering his face in your juices. At the same time, you are drooling all over his cock, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the intensity of your orgasm overwhelms you. You didn’t think anything could feel this good.

Seonghwa grunts, his hips bucking one time, two times, driving his cock down your throat as his balls tighten, his own orgasm seconds from starting. As you pull him out of your mouth, his load spills across your tongue, down your lips and across your chin. There is a ton of it, a sticky mess that adds to your own drool and spit.

Breathlessly, as the two of you come down from your orgasms, you manage to say, “Okay…good lesson.”

An hour later, you are in the living room with Seonghwa, an opened pizza box on the coffee table and the TV on something vapid that doesn’t warrant any real attention. You think Hwa has managed to eat half the entire large pizza himself.

“Well, we failed at cooking,” You say, debating having another piece.

“We can try another night,” He replies and when you give him a look, he protests, “Hey, us not cooking was not my fault. You’re the one that doesn’t knock before entering rooms.”

“Wait a second,” Sputtering, you go, “I was trying to be respectful of your personal belongings.”

“Oh, you were very respectful,” Hwa says and it is in such a tone that your heart skips a beat.

Unable to look at him, you lean forward and take another piece of pizza. After the entire event in the bedroom, you had taken a shower (Seonghwa had attempted to take it with you, saying it would save time but the idea of standing naked in front of him made you feel shy as if you hadn’t just had your pussy against his face), Seonghwa ordered pizza before taking one himself and now the two of you were sprawled out in his living room.

The truth was everything now did feel like a relationship: from the lazy bickering, to the pizza, to the sex. But the biggest difference in how it felt were the intensity of your feelings. It is as if they grew by the second, not the hour or even a day.

“I wanted to ask you something.” Seonghwa says suddenly.

Oh no, you think, please don’t tell me you’ve figured out my feelings for you because of the way I sucked your dick or something. Is that even possible? I’m panicking, I’m definitely panicking.

“There’s a restaurant downtown I would like to take you to tomorrow night, if you’d let me.”

Relief swoops through you followed by the memory of the menu of the last place he wanted to eat at and you shake your head. “No, Hwa, not one of those places where the menu is in another language or something.”

Seonghwa wiggles closer to you, leaning forward and taking a bite of your piece of pizza. When you protest by putting the slice down, he has his pleading puppy dog eyes on. Having never seen this expression on Hwa before, you can only stare.

“It’s my favourite place in the city. Let me take you there.” He says.

“I have nothing to wear to some fancy place like that. Don’t you think we’ve gone My Fair Lady enough this week?”

“You know I never understand any of your references, right?”

“Do rich people live under a pop culture rock or something? Or just you?”

“Just me.” He shifts a little closer, murmuring, “You can show up in jeans at this place. It doesn’t matter.”

“Surely there is a dress code.”

“There is. But not for me.”

I keep forgetting he’s not just rich, he’s ultra rich. They have no rules, as shown by his parents being so determined to keep their son alone and hurt all the time.

Hwa, sensing your wavering, says quietly, “Trust me on this. Please.”

Your breath catches at his words and it is difficult to refuse him when he is looking at you like that. If he asked you to leap off a building with that expression on his face, you would jump off the top of the penthouse roof in a second.

“Fine,” You relent and Hwa smiles brightly.

It’s the smile that knocks the wind out of you. It’s the same smile in the photo, just without the drunken smear of glitter across his cheek. It’s the smile that you couldn’t stop staring at, the smile that drove your impassioned speech to his parents that first night when this whole thing was about money, the smile that wiggled past everything and took root in your chest.

Fuck, you think.

The elevator you are taking to the top of the building shows there are seventy floors.

“I didn’t even know this place had a restaurant. I just figured it was a big office building.” You remark.

“It’s a secret. You have to be invited to eat here. That’s why we left our phones in the car; you can’t bring them inside either.”

“Sounds like something I’d see in Gossip Girl,” You reply nervously and then catch his befuddled expression, “Just forget it.”

It is Tuesday night and the beach trip is rapidly approaching. Even though it hasn’t been very long with Seonghwa in your life, it is difficult to imagine spending time without him around you. Since the whole fake dating started, every waking moment has been spent around him and the idea that this is all going to end after this weekend looms over your head.

Seonghwa is wearing all black again although there is a silver chain that loops around his waist, a tiny logo dangling at the end, flat against the dark fabric of his dress slacks. You don’t recognize the logo which means it is most likely so high end that the designer isn’t even familiar to you. With a simple black button up, his nails still painted black and somehow not chipped at all, and his black hair, Seonghwa looks statuesque and professional.

To you, however, Hwa is all long limbs, slender waist, and high cheekbones - it is difficult not to climb him like a tree. You had spent the entire limo ride over here (yes limo, Hwa claimed a place like this needed to be driven to in one) trying to wrangle your emotions under control. You aren’t sure how well it worked because your stomach feels as if it is filled with butterflies attacking jumping beans.

You are startled out of your thoughts by Seonghwa’s hand curling around yours, an expression of concern on his face. “You alright?”

“Just nervous about being someplace this fancy,” You mumble, feeling underdressed.

“I’ll show you trusting me isn’t a mistake.” The elevator doors glide open and Seonghwa gives you a gentle tug forward.

You are in a nondescript hallway with marble flooring. There is one single door at the end. Nothing about it feels very inviting or comforting but Seonghwa seems excited for the first time since meeting him which is enough to let him lead you towards the door, opening it as you follow him inside.

You are in a circular room with a desk in the middle. There are closed doors along the circular walls with a little light above each door. Some of them are illuminated, others not. The person working the desk looks up at the entrance and smiles brightly at Seonghwa, clearly recognizing him.

“Good evening, you called last night, I remember. Let me get you seated.”

Seonghwa thanks them as they take you to one of the doors without a light on above the door, opening it and ushering you inside. They continue to speak to Seonghwa but you are rendered speechless at the sight around you.

The room has floor to ceilings windows with a view of the city that rivals the one Seonghwa has at his apartment. You are staring at the back of what looks like a booth, so tall that you must circle around it to get to the table, offering privacy from anyone entering the room. The table itself is small and intimate, like a booth from a restaurant has been plopped down in the middle of a space. To the right, you realize with a jolt that there is another room. It has a kitchen inside it. Each person has their own personal chef here, you think, trying to wrap around the sheer luxury Seonghwa has taken you to. Now you understand why he said the dress code didn’t matter – who would see you?

After sitting down and being assured the server would be coming by shortly, you are alone with Seonghwa. Soft music is being piped into the room and the lighting is just dim enough to make it comfortable and not diminish the view of the city. Sitting in the middle of the booth, Seonghwa moves over so that he is next to you. For a few seconds, neither of you speak as if he can tell you are just taking it all in.

“Holy shit,” You go, eloquent as ever.

Seonghwa chuckles quietly. “You like it?”

“Yeah, I love it. Just absolutely not what I was expecting.”

The server comes out of the side room then, handing the menus over and asking what you’d like to drink. After placing your orders, you stare at the menu, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sheer luxury all around you.

“Do you come here a lot?” You ask, your emotions too all over the place to study the menu properly, instead opting to look at Hwa.

“I haven’t been here in years. I think last time was for some boring dinner party my parents were having. They have a larger room for those sort of events.” He turns his gaze towards the window. “I thought you might like it. You know, one fancy date. Uh, for practice,” He adds quickly, “Lots of couples splurge with a fancy date.”

The excuse sounds flimsy even to your own ears seeing as Seonghwa could probably eat every single meal here for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t make a dent in his income. But to say aloud that it comes off like an excuse would mean dancing very close to asking if the fake dating is leaning into real dating and you emotionally can’t handle a negative answer especially in a setting so beautiful. So, I wanna remain delusional a little bit longer. Is that so bad? You tell yourself that you will discuss everything with Seonghwa once getting through this weekend at the beach house.

“Makes sense,” You reply, trying to ignore your heart doing backflips. “I appreciate it.”

Seonghwa looks at you, something flickering across his face. Nestled in his words about hoping you like the place seems to be something else – a vulnerability in showing this restaurant to you, an opening up of his personal self that has been carefully hidden for so long due to his parents and money. He is terrified at expressing anything that could hurt him later. He says nothing of the sort, of course, nor do you expect him to. But it is in the way he looks at you that lets you know tonight means a lot to him in more ways than one. Regardless of your ever intensifying romantic feelings for Seonghwa, it is clear by his gesture of taking you here tonight that he truly does regard you as a friend and is scared at the thought.

The server comes back with the drinks and Seonghwa says that more time is needed to look at the menu.

Alone again, he speaks, “I understand why we can’t bring phones in here but I wish I could take a picture of the drinks against the city backdrop.”

This morning, Seonghwa uploaded the photo you had taken of him in the front of the car. It had been strange to see your mark on his Instagram two times in a row now. You wonder if anyone else noticed or questioned it. While Seonghwa kept to himself all the time, he still met and talked to a lot of people in his orbit. You feel confident that most people would want to be friends with him, if only he felt safe enough to let them in. If only he cut his losses and ditched his toxic family.

“You know, when I asked what your hobby was back at the coffee shop, you said it was going on yachts. But it’s obviously photography,” You remark, taking a sip of your drink.

Hwa looks startled at your statement. “You think so?”

“Your entire Instagram are photos you’ve taken on your own. Where I see just a road or some city lights, you see much more. And everything you post evokes a feeling. It isn’t just some random badly taken pic.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrow in careful consideration of your words. “I never thought of that before. I just liked taking walks and the pictures came naturally, usually at night.” He pauses for a second. “What sort of feeling do they bring?”

You debate lying, afraid of striking a nerve or bringing up bad memories. But you decide against it because he deserved to know the truth about his photos. “They are sad. Lonely. Always of a city, which normally is loud and full of life, only muted because it is at night and everyone is either hiding something or wallowing in a bad emotion.”

Seonghwa falls silent, looking intently at his drink. You chew on your bottom lip, wondering if you went too far.

When he speaks, his words are quiet, “I started going on walks a few years ago. Even before my relationship ended and I realized I didn’t have faith in anyone. I liked how quiet it was. It felt like everyone around me had a story of their own and for whatever reason, it led to us passing by in the night. I would stop and stare at apartment buildings and see the lights on random floors, pick one out, and wonder why they were up so late, what they were up to, if they were okay. I would try to capture that feeling in random photos. The way I felt seeing a puddle of water with a distorted streetlight in it, or a bar filled with people and I’m outside looking in. I’m used to doing it by now. I guess I never thought of it as a hobby…more of like…” His voice catches for a split second and your heart constricts, “A coping mechanism, I guess.”

“I think you’re really good at it. Even if I didn’t know you, I would be drawn to what you post,” You say earnestly.

“That means a lot. Thanks.” He looks shy, turning his head to stare at the menu. “I guess we should figure out what to eat.”

You move a little closer to Hwa, gingerly placing your hand on his knee. He looks up at the touch, your eyes meeting.

Even though you’ve had sex with him, it still somehow doesn’t feel as intimate as what you are about to suggest. “Maybe tomorrow night, we could go on a walk together. An actual walk, not just to and from each other’s places. But a walk like the ones you take normally alone.”

Hwa looks surprised again and then the vulnerability that sweeps over his face makes you realize how fragile all of this is. You cannot imagine living in a situation where you are so isolated that opening up like this could be so terrifying.

Instead of answering, he says with a heavy gravity, “You’re the first person I’ve spent this much time around in a year.”

Your gaze softens. “I know.”

“It’s difficult for me to figure out if how I’m feeling is because of that or because of you.”

You want to ask him what that means, to please clarify if he is speaking about friendship or something more. But the moment is shattered because the server returns, asking what orders should be placed. You fight the urge to shriek as the conversation turns to the menu instead of whatever Hwa meant. The words bounce around in your skull and you know they are going to take root there and fester at the edge of your brain.

But how are you feeling about me? You wish to ask. Do we tumble into bed together because you’ve been lonely for so long or do we tumble into bed together because you want me as much as I want you?

The orders are placed and you know that the moment to ask what he meant is gone. The passage of time engulfs everything and seconds with Seonghwa bend and stretch between feeling like hours to the mere blips they actually are.

“Why is this your favourite place?” You decide to ask instead, wishing to hear him speak for longer, hoping to learn more about him.

Seonghwa looks thoughtful. “I like the view and the atmosphere. There is something really peaceful about this place, I think. It’s quiet with a lot of privacy. It feels intimate but not too much at the same time. When I was a kid and we first moved to the city, I liked coming here because the nanny I had at the time let me press my face against the glass and look out at everything,” He laughs a little at the memory, “If my parents saw that, I would’ve gotten in so much trouble.”

“Did you always have a nanny?”

“I had about five of them. They worked in shifts and lived with us. My parents moved to the city because they got sick of traveling all the time for work. We didn’t live where they do now. It was in the older district. One floor was for myself and the nannies and the other floor for my parents. I eventually was old enough to move out on my own and my parents moved into the place they have now.”

You can’t imagine having a team of nannies raise you which makes you ask, “Did you see your parents a lot then?”

“Oh, mom popped by once a day to see me. My dad…not so much. But it was fine. I was used to it. It’s hard to miss something you don’t know you’re missing out on. I was busy with school and then went right into college afterwards for business. Everything was done so I could take the reigns over when my dad retires. His dream is to expand the business. Hence the arranged marriage. It just works out for both companies. My dad expands the company and their business doesn’t need to deal with getting loans or anything to stay afloat.”

“No offense but why can’t they just do a merger or something? What’s up with the whole arranged marriage for business reasons? What year is it?”

Seonghwa looks a little surprised. “It’s pretty common in our circles. Even my parents didn’t marry for love or anything. The marriage suited both of their families and both gained something from it. It just made sense,” He frowns a little and adds, “My mother used to tell me as a kid that marrying for love was a lower class thing. It didn’t extend to us. I realized that was true the older I got.”

This is so warped, you think, standing on a mental cliff of either saying nothing or launching into a speech about the sort of upbringing and isolation Seonghwa has grown up in.

Wavering, you settle on going, “Hwa, I think even rich people can marry for love. I read news articles about celebs marrying for love all the time.”

“I’m not a celebrity.”

“Yeah, but they are rich.”

“Not my sort of rich.”

“But obviously some part of you knows this isn’t right or we wouldn’t be fake dating, right?”

He looks stumped for a moment before replying, “I’ve tried to pitch other ways for my parents to get what they want without relying on my marriage. I’ve suggested mergers. Contracts. Other companies they could talk to in order to expand. But they are dead set on this. My father already says I am marrying too late and I should have kids by now so they can start learning to take the company over after me. He says if the company were to fall to outside hands, it would be ruined.”

“I hear a lot of ‘my mom said’ and ‘my dad said’ but what about you? You don’t want to marry her. It’s understandable. But your parents disregard all your feelings in this and tell you it is how it’s gonna be. You’re a grown man. Surely, your opinion counts for something.”

There it is – that same stricken look on Hwa’s face as if you have said something so strange he cannot wrap his mind around it. You bite down on your tongue, stopping yourself from saying too much yet again, waiting for him to speak.

“My parents just have to see I’m happy with someone else. They’ll realize it’s wrong to force me into an arranged marriage if I convince them I’m in love with someone. They threaten with disowning me but they wouldn’t do that. They need me to run the company.” His tone has a finality to it – the end of the discussion.

They need you to run the company, you think while studying his profile as he looks away, so what will they do to make sure you are forever tied to it?

You aren’t sure Seonghwa would like the answer.

When you got back to Seonghwa’s penthouse after dinner, he asks if you’d like to go on the roof with him. Agreeing, you follow him to rooftop terrace. It is just as beautiful as the first time you were here. For once, the night is clear of clouds with no rain on the horizon. The pool water changes colour as steam rises off it, indicating it is heated. It’s beautiful and tranquil and yet makes you a little sad.

That is because you cannot stop thinking of what Hwa said before the server returned and the conversation shifted. Each moment you spend with Hwa makes it apparent that this whole fake dating thing has gotten more complicated than either of you assumed it would be originally. You just wanted money, Hwa just wanted his parents to drop the arranged marriage scheme. And now, you found yourself grappling with accepting the money after the beach house and Hwa doubted his feelings (Friendship? Romantic?) weren’t impacted by being alone so much.

To have so many beautiful things around him and no one to share them with makes you sadder than you thought possible.

“Where did you go?” Hwa’s voice floats through your thoughts.

You shake your head, turning your gaze from the pool. “Sorry.”

Seonghwa is looking at you carefully. The pool lights reflect off his skin and a thought strikes you.

“When was the last time you went in the pool?”

He cocks his head to the side in thought. “Uhm. I think I went in last summer.”

“That’s criminal. It’s heated, isn’t it? I’d live in this thing if I had it. Go for a swim. Read under that canopy.” You gesture to a small canopy that has a couple of pool lounge chairs under it as well as a table.

Seonghwa gestures to the pool. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Just go in your clothes.”

“I own exactly two nice outfits. This is one of them. The other I’m saving for when we arrive at your parents place. I don’t want to ruin it with the cholerine.”

“Oh, my parents get to see a nice outfit? Lucky them.” His tone is slightly brittle, driving home just how much he dislikes even thinking of them. “Just swim in your underwear then.”

The thought doesn’t embarrass you as much as it would have before. It is difficult to get hung up about swimming in your underwear when you were sitting on Hwa’s face last night. And the pool does look incredible. Chewing on your bottom lip, you decide you’ll regret it if you don’t go for a dip.

Wiggling out of your clothes, you put them on the table under the canopy. The wind is cold against your skin and you shiver slightly, anxious to get in the hot water. When you turn around, Hwa is staring at you.

“Uh, you okay?” You ask tentatively, suddenly acutely aware that you’re standing in front of him in just your matching bra and underwear.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

On a whim, without thinking, you say, “Why don’t you come in too? You should enjoy the pool.”

“I don’t remember where I put my swimsuit.”

“So, go in your boxers. Does it matter?”

His slender fingers go to the button on his shirt, deftly undoing them. “It might if I told you how much the boxers cost. You did stress out about my shirt when dying my hair, remember?”

“Wow, even your boxers are overpriced and designer,” You remark dryly even though your heart is starting to do that annoying jump roping thing as Seonghwa shakes his shirt off his shoulders, exposing toned arms and a slender waist.

You go to the first step of the pool. The water is nice and warm and it is all you can do not to jump in immediately. Looking over your shoulder at Hwa, who is kicking off his pants with such a casual movement that it almost makes you wince to see the expensive fabric land on the ground. He catches your glance and quickly snatches his pants up.

“Sorry,” He says sheepishly, aware for one moment the clear difference between the two of you.

He places them on one of the lounge chairs under the canopy as you try not to make it evident that you are checking him out. When he turns around, you find yourself studying the curve of his back, the way his muscles move under taunt skin. Immediately, that familiar heat begins to take root in you which you try to ignore. You have never had to grapple with attraction like this before. Anyone you went on a date with and the couple of people you slept with all made you feel a little giddy or a bit turned on. You had a decent time falling into bed with them. But with Seonghwa, it is as if your brain completely shuts off and your body takes over.

When Hwa returns to the pool stairs, he stops upon realizing that the thin body chain is still on. As he goes to remove it, you say without thinking, “Wait.”

He hesitates, looking at you curiously. He is close enough to touch now and gingerly you reach out, your fingertips running along the length of the chain. Hwa raises one eyebrow at you. You like the way it rests against his skin, the way it glimmers in the moonlight.

“You should leave the thottie body chain on,” You say with an easy confidence you don’t feel.

Seonghwa laughs, “The ‘thottie body chain’, alright.” There is a glimmer in his eyes that seem to know exactly where your train of thought is going.

Ducking your head so he can’t look at you like that, turning around to face the pool, you dive in. The pool water changes colour with the light installed in the deep end and you lose yourself in doing a couple of laps, just enjoying how it felt to swim.

After the third lap, you pop up and tread water, looking at Seonghwa, who has only moved chest high into the pool.

“Too cold?” You tease.

Just to prove you wrong, Seonghwa ducks underneath the water. You watch it ripple, admiring the way his body cuts a clean arc through the ever changing colours, the movement of his arms as he swims towards you. The body chain shimmers under the water. He breaks the surface just in front of you, water dripping off his hair and rolling down his shoulders.

You are against the side of the pool, your feet barely touching the bottom as Seonghwa is suddenly very close to you – close enough that you can see the droplets in his eyelashes and can reach out for his shoulders to steady yourself.

“Water too warm?” He asks and you know that he is teasing you because he can see where your mind is traveling.

“No, it’s just right.”

Your arms circle around his neck, his hands going to your waist. Your heart is doing a gymnastics course in your chest and your breathing is uneven. It’s difficult for me to figure out if how I’m feeling is because of that or because of you, Hwa had said back at the restaurant. You feel desperate for him to want you as much as you want him.

Seonghwa’s eyes are on your lips and your legs are wrapping around his waist. He is dangerously close now, making your brain cloudy and hazy with desire.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks in a voice so low that it slinks up along your spine and nestles in your brain.

“Just how nice your pool is,” You reply and your voice shakes slightly, betraying you, “What about you?”

“How you’re getting that look in your eyes again.”

“What look?”

“When you’re starting to get wet for me.”

Your breath catches at his words, your thighs clenching. Seonghwa’s eyes are scanning your face and you wish that he would kiss you already. But he seems perfectly content to drive you crazy instead.

Continuing, he goes, “Your eyes gloss over when you want to fuck. I can see every thought empty out. I find it hopelessly addicting.” One hand moves up along your waist and comes out of the water to brush his thumb against your bottom lip. The touch is electric. “Ah, see? Right there. From the way your lips part when I press my thumb there to the way your breath changes to that look in your eyes. It makes me want to…” He trails off as if entranced at his own thought.

“Want to what?” You prompt quietly.

“To fuck you until your eyes roll back in your head and you’re just a drooling mess, whimpering and begging for me,” He whispers so softly that it makes your skin break out into goosebumps. “To make you cum against my cock repeatedly like we are really dating.” Hwa is so close to you now that his lips brush against yours with every word, pupils blown out with desire, your hands curling against his wet hair, twining them around your fingertips as if it will give you a better grip. “To make your head completely blank because you’re too busy wanting to be fucked by me, that it is the only thing you can think about.”

Your chest is tight and it is difficult to speak. The entire situation is too overwhelming. Being against Hwa like this, in the warm water, at the top of the city, far removed from everything and everyone. There is no moment before this and no moment after. Just how much you want Seonghwa. Just how much you fall for him with each passing day.

He kisses you then and your mouth opens against his. It’s a hungry kiss, one that wipes all the time before Seonghwa from memory, all the kisses from others who didn’t do much for you clear from your brain. Your grip on him tightens as his tongues is against yours, your bodies slick with pool water, one of his hands lowering to grip your thigh wrapped around his delicate waist. The kiss breaks as Hwa moves to your neck, biting along the skin, driving a gasp out of you. He doesn’t stop, nibbling down along your shoulder. You feel as though you want him to devour you, to take you completely until there is nothing of you left and that you wouldn’t even care. You want him in a way so new that it terrifies you and drives you closer to him. You want him in a way that is as if someone came behind you on a very tall hill and pushed you forward.

“God, you’re so sensitive,” He murmurs as his lips trail back up your neck, giving a sharp tug on your earlobe with his teeth, “You respond so well to me.”

“Hwa.” Your voice is a whine and it doesn’t even sound as though it belongs to you but some desperate little thing inside your chest, “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing,” He replies in a faux innocent voice and pulls away from you, running his fingers through his hair, making his hair wet once more, “I was just talking.”

You know very well he is full of shit. You can tell by the glint in his eye. Hwa is enjoying this, enjoying seeing how desperate you are for him.

He leisurely swims backwards, staring up at the sky while doing so. You watch him, trying to wrangle your racing heart under control. It is dizzying to be so affected by someone, to want someone this much. You aren’t used to it nor the severity of it.

Hwa moves towards the steps, getting out of the water. The fabric of his boxers doesn’t stand a chance against the water. He might as well not be wearing it at all because you can see the outline of his ass perfectly in them. He reaches over, snagging a towel off a nearby chair and drying his hair off.

You still haven’t moved away from your spot against the pool side, watching him dry off. When he tugs his boxers down, you get a glimpse of his ass as he ties the towel around his waist, his back still to you. With the last of your braincells blinking out like a dying star, you push off the edge of the pool, swimming towards the steps as Hwa walks towards the canopy.

You don’t really care how desperate you look chasing after him like this. Who is going to judge you? Hwa? You doubt he finds it sad. No, in fact, you can tell he likes it. Getting out of the pool, not stopping to grab a towel, you march over to him under the canopy.

He turns around as you stand in front of him, your bra and underwear sticking against your skin, making a puddle of pool water on the ground. The chain is still around Seonghwa’s waist, dangling off his hips before dipping underneath the towel. His eyes linger on your tits before taking a step towards you, one hand circling around your waist, tugging you against him before kissing you again.

As usual with Hwa, there is a sense of urgency to every movement. The desire between the two of you is too powerful to take your time. As he kisses you, he pulls you backwards, underneath the canopy and towards the table there. There is nothing on it and you wonder if anything has ever been on it. His penthouse is decorated as if revealing anything even in his own space is dangerous. Even alone, Hwa struggles to show himself.

Your ass strikes the back of the table and Hwa hoists you up onto the edge of it, peeling your underwear off you and throwing it to the ground before kissing you again.

In between the kisses, you murmur, “You owe me another pair of underwear.”

“Two pairs of underwear and a laptop,” He recites it off as if it is a bill, “I remember.”

You laugh quietly against his mouth. “The laptop still works.”

“I don’t think it taking ten minutes to load a website is classified as working. Nor the jet engine noise it makes anytime you run a Youtube video,” He retorts as he nibbles on your neck again, his hands cupping your breasts against the wet fabric of your bra.

He pulls it downward, exposing your tits to the cold air. Your nipples are hard and his thumb grazes over them, giving them a small tug just to hear you gasp. Hwa leaves a trail of kisses down along your neck and shoulders as you lean back, allowing him access to bring his mouth to your tits. He runs his tongue over your nipples, taking turns on each one, sucking on them long enough to make you whimper. You are aching for him but Seognhwa seems content to drag every second out just to watch you squirm.

As he works on your nipples, he spreads your thighs apart with his knees and brings his hand downward, pressing his palm over your pussy. You squirm slightly against it and you can feel him smile against your tits.

“I don’t even have to enter you to feel how wet you are,” He hums.

“Stop teasing me,” You whine, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

Seonghwa bites down gently on one of your nipples, making you jump slightly in surprise. As you do so, he inserts a finger in your cunt. It slides in easily, all the way inside. Your hands fly to his shoulders, digging your nails in to steady yourself from the sudden pleasure. He brings his lips off your tits and to your mouth. The kiss is messy, desperate, as he wiggles his finger inside your wet hole.

He pulls his finger out and brings it up to your mouth. Your tongue presses against it, tasting how wet you are for him. Seonghwa watches as you suck his finger clean, his breathing uneven. You can tell that he is about to break and fuck you; he can only tease you for so long before he has to give in. When you open your mouth, he runs his finger along your bottom lip. You can almost see the moment he decides he can no longer wait – a subtle shift in his eyes that lets you know he is finally going to fuck you.

Hwa grabs your legs, wrapping them around his waist, yanking the towel off his hips and pulling you forward as much as possible to the edge of the table. The head of his cock is pressing against your cunt as he brings one arm along your back, his hand holding onto the back of your neck as he begins to push inside of you.

You take him easily, too wet and turned on for any resistance, and Hwa groans as your pussy engulfs his length. As he enters your tight hole, his eyes never leave your face, watching your expression change as he fills you up. Your eyes flutter closed as he goes still, fully inside you.

His voice is as taunt as a wire when he says, “Good girl. You take my cock so well.” He has seemingly figured out how much you like it when he praises you.

Seonghwa begins to fuck you then, jerking his hips hard and fast right out of the gate. Up this high, on the top of this building, where no one can hear you and the entire city has no clue that you are being fucked like this on the roof, you don’t worry about making too much noise. The moans and pleads for him topple from your mouth freely as your fingers dig into his shoulders. The sound of skin against skin and the table grinding against the pavement fill the air. At one point, you pull Hwa closer, burying your face in his neck as he fucks you. You like the noises he makes, the low throaty groans he cannot keep contained because you feel too good wrapped around his cock. Your hands go to his waist, curling around the chain that had previously been around the top of his pants, now giving you something to hold onto as he fucks you. The metal is cold against the palms of your hands; you like how it feels.

“Fuck, your pussy is so warm and tight,” He grunts with one particularly hard thrust, “I wanna unload in that sweet cunt of yours. Will you let me?”

You whimper out an affirmative answer, your head rolling back from the pleasure and intensity of each thrust. But instead of picking up speed, Hwa slows down, pulling out of you with a small gasp. You open your mouth to whine but he catches it in a kiss instead. This one is messy and desperate and when you pull away and your eyes lock on his, he knows what you are silently asking for and then he spits in your mouth.

“You like that?” He asks, “You like when I spit in your mouth like that?” He is switching positions now, bringing your legs onto his shoulders, gently pressing on you to lean back on the table. “I can tell you do because of the noises you make and the way your eyes go blank.” The next time he spits, it is downwards on his cock, stroking himself as he gets ready to enter you again. There is no need for extra lubrication and you know he is just doing it to be obscene. “This is going to feel really good for you, I promise.”

His hands move underneath your ass, your legs on his shoulders and his body curling against yours as he enters you in one swift motion again. Folded like a doll against him, your gasp quickly turns into a moan from the new angle. Seonghwa pumps his hips hard and fast, his balls smacking against your skin as he fucks you, the body chain bouncing against his hips. Your fingers find the edge of the table to hold onto as each thrust makes your body jerk. He is hitting a sweet spot in your cunt from this angle and it is so intense that your thighs start shaking. Hwa isn’t wrong – it does feel really good.

Your moans are gibberish again, your eyes closed tightly. You aren’t even sure if you are saying his name or not. Your head is light, mind blank of all thoughts besides how pleasurable Hwa fucking you is. You can feel him watching you, gauging how good it feels with each jerk of his hips. He is breathing heavily, his grip on your ass so hard that it might leave a bruise tomorrow. Your back arches, the feeling in between your legs growing and you know that he is going to make you climax.

Hwa can sense it as well because he goes, “Be a good doll and cum on my cock. I want to feel you tighten around me again. Milk my cum from me so I can unload in your sweet, tight hole.” His voice shakes with each thrust as he mercilessly ploughs into you.

You moan out his name, your climax cresting and breaking. It is so intense that your eyes might very well roll into the back of your head, your brain white noise from the sheer pleasure that rolls over you. Distantly, you can hear Hwa grunt your name, giving one final thrust as he finishes, shooting his cum inside your tight cunt which is clenching down on his cock. The two of you cum together in a loud cacophony of groaning and moaning.

When you finally come down from the orgasm and Hwa gently untangles himself from you, his hair sticking to his forehead and chest rising and falling, he says conversationally, “You know, I think I will go for a walk with you tomorrow night.”

Hongjoong is staring at you the next afternoon as you scurry around, getting ready for your work shift, trying to catch him up on everything that has been happening since you last spoke.

When you finish, he leans back in his chair. He isn’t working today and you can tell that your call has interrupted him focusing on his music. But he doesn’t seem to mind because for the first time in your friendship, he is the one who is living vicariously through you.

“Okay, so this guy fucks you by his pool on the roof of his penthouse and gives you the best orgasm of your life and you’re in mental duress because…”

You stop what you are doing and get close to the camera. “Do not joke around right now with me. I am going insane.”

Hongjoong holds up his hands innocently before growing serious. “So, what, you think he might like you but maybe not?”

“His comment sounds like he thinks he likes me but he’s also been alone for so long and constantly looking over his shoulder for so long that he might just like me cuz I’m…you know…there.”

“Okay, I have a really great idea,” Hongjoong declares.

“What?” You ask, hopefully.

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

Balking at this, you turn away from the camera, tugging your work uniform out of your closet. “Shut up.”

“What’s the worst that can happen? He doesn’t like you back? So, move on.”

With a sigh, you look over your shoulder. “I can’t be so casual about it like that. I really like him.”

You move out of the frame, changing into your uniform as Hongjoong goes, “You know, I’ve never seen you get this way over someone before. I usually have to poke and prod for details and then you say being around them is ultimately boring and I never see the person again. But this guy…”

“Don’t say it,” You warn.

“Alright, I won’t. But the weekend is fast approaching and instead of figuring anything out, all you’ve done is fall harder for him each day and pretend it will sort itself out on its own. But it won’t. You’re gonna have to clear things up at some point. I think you should just do it now. But I know you and you’re gonna put it off until it blows up somehow.”

“You know, I called for you to hype me up,” You say, finishing changing and stepping back into the frame, a cross expression on your face.

Hongjoong looks thoughtful. “Maybe you should make sure he likes you before you tell him your feelings. That way if it isn’t mutual, you can at least take his money.”

“Wonderful, thanks,” You reply dryly, “I’m going now.”

The call ends. At the mention of the money waiting for you at the end of the weekend, your mood darkens. You know there is a vast sum of cash involved in this, all for your taking. A life altering sum that would get you out of this apartment and on the track to fixing everything. But taking the money meant losing Seonghwa. There was simply no way the dynamic wouldn’t be altered in accepting cash from him after everything he has told you and the nervous manner in which he has allowed you in his life.

And losing Seonghwa…well, you were starting to feel that, as crazy as it sounded, losing him would hurt more than losing the money.

Feeling a little unhinged, you open up his Instagram and look at the picture you had taken of him by the car.

You study his profile in the photo, chest constricting at the sight of him. It is absurd to think of how intense your feelings are for someone who hasn’t been in your life very long.

But here you were, staring at a pic of Seonghwa and suddenly missing him – even though you’d be seeing him later tonight.

I’m in deep.

For the first time, you brought a change of clothes to work. Seonghwa is going to be meeting you at nine when your shift ended for the walk and the idea of him sharing something so personal with you in your work uniform did not fit the vibe you pictured in your head. This is a far cry from the last time a guy picked you up from your work in which you went to dinner in your uniform, not caring enough to change. The date had been a waste of time and you didn’t see him again.

But now, here you are, in the bathroom at work at 9:05 pm, running your fingers over your outfit. Caring about what you looked like in front of someone is new for you. You are noticing things about yourself that you never had before, worrying about your body and face in a new way that makes you on edge. Your ever blossoming and changing feelings for Hwa are making everything fifty times harder.

When you finally leave the bathroom, Hwa is looking at his phone in the snack aisle. A slight grimace is on his face and you somehow know it is related to his parents.

“Hey,” You go, approaching him.

His head snaps up, his eyes looking you up and down in a way that makes you feel as if you are naked. He swallows hard, shoving his phone in the pocket of his black jeans. A belt with a small YSL pin shines in the convenience store lighting. He wears just a thin stripped shirt, black and white, with a matching YSL logo sewn in the corner. The shirt is tucked in but somehow he can pull it off. Hwa looks effortlessly casual and well put together, as usual. You can feel your heart rate start its usual bullshit immediately.

“You look nice,” He says.

Sheepishly, you thank him. Clearing your throat, you ask, “So, are you ready for the walk?”

“Yeah. I checked and there shouldn’t be any more rain tonight.” It had rained all afternoon. Hwa holds his hand out to you.

Yours fits in his easily. At this point, holding his hand feels normal. Exiting the store, Hwa turns the opposite direction of where his penthouse is located and takes you down a side street instead. Neither of you speak. You don’t want to intrude too much on how Hwa goes for his walks. You know that he has never brought someone else on one before and you aren’t sure if he would prefer to walk in silence, has a destination in mind or what.

Not that you mind walking in silence with him. It is an easy silence, one that doesn’t feel forced or strained. There are puddles lining the streets from the rain earlier, the signs from stores bleeding into the water, rippling when one of you steps into it. Hwa seems at ease, taking you from winding streets to regular sidewalks, to busy intersections and places with no people.

You aren’t sure how long you walk in silence with him. He doesn’t stop to take any photos; apparently nothing has yet to spark his interest. Hwa doesn’t speak until you pass a tiny ice cream stand.

“Do you want some?” He asks suddenly, motioning to the stand.

“If I ever say no to ice cream, it’s my evil clone.” You reply.

He smiles at you, all perfectly straight teeth and pronounced cheekbones. It goes straight to your heart and you realize that you are holding your breath from the intensity of emotion.

In front of the tiny stand, you both pick out your flavours and sit down on a bench nearby. The street is mostly empty, lined with shops getting ready to close. The streetlights send hues of yellow light across the ponds of rainwater, the pavement well worn from many people walking down along here over the years. There is a fountain nearby, a tiny angel holding a vase on the top of it, water cascading down into the large pool at the bottom.

Hwa is studying the fountain, his ice cream cone melting in his hand as he stares at it. You nudge him a little, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, it’s going to melt on your hand.”

“Oh, you’re right,” He replies, turning his attention back to the ice cream, “I was thinking about taking a picture of the fountain.”

“You should. It would look nice.”

“Can you hold my ice cream?” He asks, still distracted, thrusting it at you.

Surprised, you take it with your other hand as Hwa stands up, quickly going over to the fountain. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, making a small noise of annoyance at the sight of notifications on the screen, opening the camera. You watch him quietly, not wanting to shatter his focus. Like last time, he does not care what he looks like to others, too swept up in getting the shot. He gets down on one knee, changing the angle of his phone.

It is a little humid tonight and the ice cream is melting quickly. You are making good progress with yours but Hwa’s is starting to drip onto your wrist. You extend your arm out in front of you so that it doesn’t get on your clothes. Seonghwa is still taking photos, changing the angle ever so slightly with each one taken. You watch as the first bit of ice cream rolls down the back of your hand and sigh quietly.

Even with the ice cream making a mess of things, it is still lovely to be here with Seonghwa like this, seeing him in his element. You haven’t been in this particular area before. There are no lanes for cars and instead the pathways are made of cobblestone. Each storefront is carefully taken care of, everything in a shade of egg white, with tiny places to shop and cute places to eat. It doesn’t even feel as if you are in the city; it is some quiet part nestled away from all the noise.

Seonghwa finally gets the shot he wants and stands up, turning around to look at you. His eyes widen at the sight of the ice cream.

“Fuck, sorry.” He scurries over, taking the cone from you and sitting back down, “Wait, I have some napkins.”

“It’s just ice cream, Hwa. It’s okay.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to shatter your focus.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye as he cleans the ice cream off your wrist and hand. “It’s just a silly photo.”

“No, it isn’t. It’ll look good when you post it.”

You see the corners of his mouth quirk, clearly fending off a smile. He turns his attention to the ice cream.

“Can I ask you something? I realized I have no clue what to expect this weekend at the beach house. Is there anything you can tell me? I am still feeling pretty nervous.”

Hwa looks up from ice cream, having finally gotten a handle on it. “When we will get there, we’ll have brunch with my parents. Afterwards, we can get to the guest house.”

“Guest house?”

He looks surprised. “Yeah, we aren’t staying in the main house.”

“Main house?” You echo, your head already spinning at the concept of a main house and a guest house.

“Yeah, it’ll be better too. More privacy. The guest house is tucked in the garden. And we are only a few minutes walk to the downtown beach area in case I need to get out of there. We will probably have dinner with my parents at some point too. To be honest, I wouldn’t worry about spending too much time with them. Father is always working and won’t stop just to spy on us.”

“You ah…really think your dad will drop the whole arranged marriage thing if he thinks you’re in love with me?”

Hwa frowns. “I would hope so. I mean, what sort of parent would still want me to marry someone when I am in love with another person?”

Yours would, you think sadly, yours would because they don’t appreciate you nor see you as a person. But you don’t say it aloud, not wanting to hurt his feelings in such a beautiful setting.

“When you came into the store, you seemed annoyed at your phone.”

“Oh,” He says, “You noticed? It was just father again. He wants me to sit in on some meetings that I find really boring. But they are important to sit in on for the company.”

“You really see yourself running the company one day? You think it would make you happy?”

“Happy?” He says the word as if it is the first time he ever spoke it aloud.

“Yeah, happy.”

He looks down at his ice cream, lost in thought. In fact, he is silent for so long that you wonder if you should say something when he suddenly speaks. “I don’t know.” He sounds overwhelmed, as usual when you ask questions like this.

You don’t want to pity Seonghwa but it grows harder not to every moment spent together. He could go out and buy your dream designer item five times over and not blink. He could fill his entire penthouse with Burkin bags (you feel fairly confident he would be on the ever illusive list of important people who gain access to purchase the special versions of them) and then fly off to his family’s private island on a private jet and wouldn’t have to check his bank account afterwards. But outside of the safety wealth brings him, he doesn’t have much else. No friends, no girlfriend, abusive parents, a job lined up he didn’t want, a lack of self outside of surviving what his parents threw his way.

But how can you break through years of living like this and make him realize he deserved to sever ties with his family and live on his own? And would that be grossly overstepping in the fragile fake dating relationship that has formed since he approached you after work that night? It has only been a little over a week since Seonghwa waltzed into your life and took root in your heart. You still don’t know how he sees you, outside of a delicate friendship that has formed around sex, lying to his parents and money.

The ice cream is finished in thoughtful silence. You don’t want to break Hwa’s thoughts. Better for him to work through it alone than for you to meddle. You don’t want to come across like someone just busting into his life and trying to force change upon him.

But the truth is that you care about Hwa more with each passing moment together. The idea of him marrying someone else is beginning to give you heart palpations every time it comes to your mind. You hastily shove the thought away.

After the ice cream, you are back to walking with Hwa, out of the pretty cobblestone streets of the expensive stores and towards the river that cuts through the city. He holds your hand now, something that has become second nature whenever you are around him. In the distance, the clouds are illuminated by brief flashes of thunder but the storm is still far enough off to not worry about it.

As you make your way towards the river, Hwa speaks, “If I left the family and got disowned, I’m not sure what I’d do with myself.”

The confession comes as a surprise and you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You mean in your day-to-day life?”

“That’s right.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about money. You could do anything you wanted in a way that’s different from now. You could take time and figure it out,” You suggest gently, fighting the urge to give his hand a squeeze, “You know, maybe focus on your photography. See if it’s something you’d wanna do as a job. Or just keep putting money in…stocks or whatever you do with it. And then just travel.”

Hwa’s mood darkens slightly. “I’ve traveled the entire world. Yet I still feel…”

“Like what?” You nudge him a little with your words.

“Empty,” He says finally, “Like there’s a big void in me and no matter how much shit I buy or places I see, I can’t fill it. And then I feel ridiculous and silly for feeling like that. I have an apartment I have no connection to that people would die to live in. I have been to more countries in a year than an entire family would see in their whole life. And I’m just…lonely.” Seonghwa looks surprised again, as if he can’t believe he said the word aloud. Sheepishly, he tilts his face away from you, his face luminous from a streetlight.

Carefully, you reply, “I understand now why you had to hire someone to be your girlfriend. It isn’t that your parents wouldn’t believe you not dating any of your friends –”

“It’s that I don’t have any,” He finishes bitterly, “Yes, they saw to that.” His steps falter. The wind is kicking up as the two of you approach the river. Seonghwa stops, turning to look directly at you, making the butterflies in your stomach stir. “I know I’ve said this already. But you’re the person I’ve spent the most time around in a year. I’m afraid of looking pathetic by saying how much I’ve been enjoying it. We get along, don’t we? But I know I’m paying you in order to trick my parents. So, are we friends or is it my money? And then I’m back to that same question again. I can’t tell what is legit and what is because of my wealth.”

You take a step towards him. For one wild second, you are terrified that the words are about to spill out of your mouth – how you feel about him, that you are falling for him in such a manner that the intensity of it is overwhelming – but then Seonghwa gives a small shake of his head, his hand leaving yours as he begins to briskly take off towards the river.

Thrown by how quickly he is walking, you scamper after him, your confession dying on your lips. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. He would think I’m telling him that to pacify him, you think as the river opens in front of you.

It has been a long time since you’ve been at the river. Having been walking on and off for over two hours now, it is after eleven and there is no one else around. Seonghwa sits down on a bench overlooking the river, the bridge a massive dark shadow against the backdrop of black sky. The tips of the bridge are dotted with lights lazily blinking off and on, reminding you of a cat just waking up from a nap.

You sit down next to Hwa, wondering what to say. He has opened up more tonight than any other day but to poke and prod at him feels like a bad idea. He stretches out his long legs, his fingernails still perfectly painted black. Either he gets his nails tended to regularly or he buys some secret nail polish only the elite can purchase that never chips. Or both.

“I haven’t been by the river in ages. Do you walk down here often?” You finally ask, trying to steer Hwa away from any more mental crises in one walk.

“Sometimes. Usually around this time. I prefer it with not a lot of crowds so I don’t come here during the weekends,” He looks over at you, “I didn’t mean to unload on you like you’re a diary. I’m sorry. I’m not used to being around people very much anymore.”

Your gaze softens. “You don’t have to apologize. We are friends, after all. You agreed,” You remind him.

“I did, didn’t I? And then I think we kissed right after. To cement the friendship.”

“Oh, that’s normal,” You reply breezily, “Everyone does that now. You just missed out on it.”

For a split second, you can tell Hwa believes you before he rolls his eyes. “Okay, very funny.”

“I tongue kiss all my friends regularly.”

Hwa’s hand is now on your knee. It is making your heart skitter and jump. “I would hope not.”

“Why, jealous?”

He scoffs, shifting slightly so that his body is facing you. “Why would I be jealous? If that shirt you forced me to wear the other night is any indication of the sense of style of the people you were kissing before me, I clearly have nothing to worry about.”

You reach out and give a small tug on the YSL logo on his shirt. “‘Well, helloooo Mr. Fancy Pants.’”

“You realize I never have any idea what you are quoting or referencing, right?” Hwa says but his eyes are on your lips and you know what is about to happen.

You open your mouth to retort but then Hwa leans forward, his lips brushing against yours before shifting into a kiss. As usual, you can feel the kiss all the way down to the tips of your toes. The heat that begins in your chest works its way down to the middle of your thighs, and your hand grips his t-shirt, balling the overpriced fabric in between your fingers.

Hwa’s hand comes to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you closer. You know there is no one around but even so, to be kissing him so openly like this adds to the intensity. The sound of the blood rushing to your head blocks out the water of the river, the crickets, the distant hum of traffic. You can feel Hwa’s heart racing underneath your hand.

When the kiss breaks, Hwa pulls away, much to your dismay. You try to collect yourself. But you can taste him in your mouth and it is all you can do not to jump in his lap. Turning back to face the river, exhaling slowly, you try to think of something clever or funny to say. But nothing pops into your head.

Hwa clears his throat gently. “You wanna go back to my place now?”

“That sounds good,” You say quickly, standing up so fast that you feel dizzy for a second. “Lead the way.”

You aren’t sure but you think you catch a quick smile almost as if Seonghwa is noticing the impact he has on you.

Even though you assumed the two of you would be all over each other back at the penthouse, it doesn’t go that way. Once you get in bed with Hwa, you suddenly are exhausted as if the emotional turmoil and the entire past week is catching up with you. One second, Seonghwa is talking quietly about the show that is playing on his ultra large 4k TV that pops up from a special slot at the end of the bed, your head resting on his chest, one arm thrown around his waist and the next second, you awaken to a dark and quiet room on your side.

Damn, you think groggily, regretting falling asleep because your original plan had been to jump on Hwa’s dick. Stupid body and it’s constant need for things like food and sleep.

Shifting, you realize Seonghwa’s arm is around your waist, his chest against your back, his face slightly nuzzled in your neck. The position is strangely intimate which feels ridiculous given all the things you’ve been doing with him the past few days. He makes a soft noise when you move, causing you to go still for fear of waking him up.

He mumbles your name quietly, his grip on your waist tightening. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You whisper back, “Just randomly woke up. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep.”

“You were tired. Fell asleep in about five minutes.” Hwa’s voice is still laced with sleep but he doesn’t move away.

Even though you have been sharing a bed with Seonghwa for most of this week, you typically woke up on opposite sides of the bed. This is the first time that you have woken up entangled in him like this and you like how it feels.

Acutely aware of the fact you are in his bed wearing just an oversized shirt and underwear, you wonder if Hwa’s thoughts are going to where yours are rapidly traveling to. It is difficult not to let your mind roam in this direction seeing as your original plan had been to have him again.

You move a little, just enough to press your ass back against him to see what he does. His hold on your waist tightens for a split second and you hear a soft chuckle against your neck.

“What?” You say quietly, almost defensively.

“Nothing,” He replies, his hand moving down inch by inch to the edge of your t-shirt, “I can just tell what you’re thinking about.”

Slightly embarrassed at being so obvious, you go to pull away but Hwa’s grip is now on your thigh, making your entire body turn on like a light switch.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t thinking about it too,” He goes, pushing against you so that you can feel his hard cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.

Impatiently, you say, “Hurry then.”

Seonghwa doesn’t have to be asked again. As usual, the two of you are impatient, scurrying to have one another as if the world is ending in moments. Sex with Seonghwa is never languid or patient. For you, it is because the desire hits your chest with such intensity that you need him immediately. Is it the same for him or is it because he’s been alone for so long? You push the thought from your head – those bothersome ideas can wait to be examined.

Seonghwa tugs down his sweatpants and boxers, firmly grabbing your leg and moving it backwards just enough to spread your legs apart and secure your foot over his lower thigh. You’ve never been fucked like this before, on your side with your back pressed against his chest, his lips against your ear and his hands quickly pulling up your t-shirt. His fingers skirt over your thighs, pushing your underwear to the side, just to give him enough room to enter you.

But he doesn’t right away. Instead, his fingers dip in between your folds to see how wet you are. Goosebumps break out against your skin, a small shiver running down your back. His lips are hot against your neck, moving upwards to tug on your earlobe with his teeth.

“I make you this wet that quickly?” Hwa’s voice is like molten lava, your breathing uneven, your hand digging into the sheets as if to steady yourself.

“Will you just fuck me?” You plead, your voice sounding desperate to your own ears.

His fingers slips to the knuckle inside your wetness, your hips moving on their own to grind back against his cock, needing him inside you. Seonghwa takes his other hand and wiggles it underneath your body to reach upwards and grab one of your tits, squeezing it hard before tugging gently on your nipple.

He pulls his finger out of your cunt, positioning the head of his cock against your hole. As always, he slides in you easily, filling you up with his length. He inhales sharply as your walls squeeze him, his fingers splayed out against your tit, pushing on your chest to make sure you are completely against him.

He starts to move his hips, slowly at first, getting used to being inside you. Your entire body is alight with desire. Your eyes land on the clock that is on the bedside table – 3:08 in the morning. The entire world is asleep besides the two of you.

Seonghwa picks up the pace, his breathing heavy in your ear, one hand on your tit, the other gripping your thigh hard, fingers digging into tender flesh. You know that you are making a lot of noise again, the usual bout of whimpering, moaning and pleading for more. You have never been so vocal in sex before yet you don’t question it when you’re with Seonghwa. Everything feels natural, even this position that you have never done before.

He suddenly slows down, breathing ragged, his words muffled against your neck, “I’m gonna cum if I keep going at that speed. I’ve been wanting to fuck you all night.”

“Oh yeah?” You say between tiny gasps for air, “What took you so long?”

“You fell asleep,” He retorts and with a jerk of his hips drives his cock deep inside you, going still as his hand moves away from your thigh towards your cunt, “Be a good girl and cum for me.” His finger brushes against your clit before starting to rub it quickly, eager to make you finish. “You are my good girl, aren’t you?” When you whimper, Hwa whispers in your ear, “Come on, doll. I know you can still manage to speak for me.”

It is difficult focusing on talking when your brain is empty, you are stuffed full of Hwa and he is rubbing your clit. But in a shaking voice, you reply, “I’m your good girl, Hwa.”

He groans quietly, reflexively moving his hips once, twice, three times before stopping with a noise of impatience. His finger resumes rubbing your clit, your wetness getting on his fingers and soaking his cock.

“Yes, you are. You fuck me so well. I can’t get enough of that sweet cunt of yours,” He can tell the dirty talk is getting you off by the moan that escapes your mouth so he keeps going, “I’m going to fill it up with my load, that nice tight pussy is going to be leaking my cum out because I’m going to stuff it full.”

“Hwa,” You whine, wiggling against his hand – or his cock – or maybe just him – you aren’t sure what exactly but staying still is impossible. Your orgasm is quickly approaching.

“I wanna hear you cum,” His voice sounds desperate now, strained, as if each second he puts off fucking the hell out of you is killing him, “I can’t finish until I hear you cum.”

His finger on your clit combined with the sensation of his cock buried deep in your cunt is your undoing. Your climax begins, leaving your thighs shaking and you grind your hips down against his dick, knuckles turning white as you grip the bed sheets, gasping and groaning for him.

Hwa, no longer holding back, begins to pound you as hard and fast as he can while you climax. He grunts with each thrust, strangled moans in your ear as he pounds into your cunt. Your walls are clenched around his girth, your orgasm so intense that it feels as though it will go on forever. His hand is on your waist again, holding it firmly as he jackhammers into your pussy.

It doesn’t take Seonghwa long to start to cum as he fucks you, groaning as he unloads in your pussy. You can feel how much is spilling out in you, the warmth of it as he climaxes. You like how Hwa sounds when he is finishing – unguarded, desperate, his voice hoarse and his passion unbridled. It feels better because it is for you – it is because of you.

Afterwards, when you both come down together, Hwa gently pulls out of your pussy as you untangle yourself from him to go clean up. He is breathing hard, tugging his boxers up, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you cross his bedroom to the ridiculous oversized master bathroom.

When you return, he is in the same position although now his sweatpants are back up. He is still staring at you in the darkness as you get back into bed.

“What?” You ask, feeling a little shy from the way he is staring at you.

“I just like how you look after I fuck you,” Hwa admits, “I think about how else I want to fuck you just so I can see how pretty you look afterwards.”

The compliment throws you, sending your heart rate, which had finally settled, back into orbit. You are unable to reply, unsure what to even say. But there is no need to because Seonghwa reaches out for you, wrapping his arms around your waist, nuzzling his face in your neck once more, making sleepy noises. You can feel yourself melt against him and then sleep hurries in, as if the moment that started at 3:08 in the morning is a secret pocket of time belonging just to you.

Bad news struck around 5 in the afternoon, on your work break, when Seonghwa texted and said he was going to have to cancel on seeing you tonight.

“My father won’t stop bothering me to sit in on a slew of meetings tonight. By the time I get home, it’ll be too late to do anything. But I’ll come by around noon to pick you up for the beach house. I’m really sorry. I know I said I would show you how relationships work and now I’m backing out on the final night. I understand if you’re upset. I just don’t want to refuse my father and deal with his bad mood all weekend.”

You understood where Seonghwa was coming from but it didn’t stop the disappointment from settling across your chest. How ridiculous, you scolded yourself, you’ve been seeing this guy almost every waking moment for over a week. You can’t expect that to last forever.

But lecturing yourself didn’t work. You just simply liked him too much.

It is close to midnight and you can’t sleep. It is your nerves about tomorrow, your nerves about what comes after the weekend is finished, what to do with your feelings about Seonghwa combined with the fact you miss him terribly. It is strange to be alone without him around. How is it possible that years of being just fine on your own, with minimal dating and a small circle of friends, that you are now struggling not to miss someone you only met recently.

While you are in the middle of debating either going to sleep or watching yet another string of Youtube videos, your phone suddenly goes off. Startled, you almost kick your laptop off the bed. (It would not survive another fall. True, it hadn’t actually broken the night Hwa knocked it off but it hadn’t fully recovered either.) Clamoring for your phone like it is a life raft in the middle of the ocean, you reach over and snatch it off the bedside table which tips forward preciously. (One leg is wobbly and the book you shoved underneath it is apparently no longer doing its job.)

There is only one person who would be calling you this late and it wouldn’t be Hongjoong, who turns his phone off every night at 9pm to focus on “me time”. Seonghwa’s name flashes across your screen, indicating a Facetime call and you answer hastily.

“Hey,” You say in a casual tone as if you didn’t almost snap your spine by how quickly you lunged for your phone, “Everything okay?”

Hwa is in bed, looking worn out. You can tell he is exhausted just by the look in his eyes. The TV must be on because the light keeps changing, casting him in low shadows to bright light every few seconds.

“I just got home a little bit ago,” He replies, “Did I wake you?”

“No. I couldn’t sleep. I’m nervous about this weekend…” You trail off, unsure if bringing up how strange it feels to be here without him is going too far.

“And?” Hwa prompts.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you relent and go, “And it’s weird that you’re not here. Or I’m not there. Either one.”

Seonghwa’s lips part slightly – in surprise, perhaps. You aren’t sure. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing for a brief second. Then he says in agreement, “It does feel weird.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you?”

“No.”

You relax slightly, glad to be on the same page with him. “Okay well…good.”

Seonghwa glances away. You get the feeling he is embarrassed although you don’t know if it is because of what you said or just that he isn’t used to hearing those things anymore.

Turning his gaze back to the camera, he says, “You don’t need to worry about this weekend. Like I said, the entire thing is between my parents and myself. I know we are…friends…” He lingers on the word, as if it doesn’t fit properly – what exactly are the two of you? Friends? Lovers? Is this just a transaction with sex thrown in? Or something to reclaim Hwa’s faith in people and show you what falling for someone truly meant? “But you don’t have to stress out about it.”

It’s not just that I am stressing over. I’m stressing over what happens to us once the weekend ends. I’m stressing about if you have the same strong feelings for me that I do for you. I’m stressing about the fact saying I ‘like’ you doesn’t sound right, just like saying we are friends doesn’t. I’m stressing about refusing a gigantic sum of cash and I might lose you anyway because this could just be nothing, we could just be nothing and I’m terrified of the idea of not having you the way I want you.

But instead, you reply, “Uh, I’ll try. But no promises.”

“Right,” Hwa says softly, “We know how your no kissing promise went, after all.”

Your heart skips a beat, awakening like a bird in a cage, starting to flutter around. “Whatever.” is the amazing witty retort you come up with, “I didn’t actually promise that.”

Something subtle changes in his expression, something so slight that you don’t think you would have noticed it in the first few days of hanging out. “You know, I think I miss you tonight.” The words hit you square in the chest, the bird now flying around with such intensity you feel woozy. Seonghwa’s face quickly snaps back to his neutral expression. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” He says a bit stiffly, “Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

The call ends suddenly, leaving you alone with just your laptop droning on in the background. You know, I think I miss you tonight. He had said it almost tenderly. That counted for something, right? Say it counted for something.

In your bedroom, you see the weekend sprawling out in front of you and cannot help but feel as if another cliff edge is right in front of both Seonghwa and yourself.

The question was if anyone would jump.

FINAL PART HERE.

#seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fics #ateez fics #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #kpop fic #arrow in the dark

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gwoongi · 5 years ago

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dancer in the dark (pt. 1)

jeon jeongguk / reader genre: rockstar/pop-punk au, smut, angst & fluff rating: explicit words: 33k warnings: slowburn, explicit sexual themes, alcohol use, recreational rockstar drug use, smoking, adult language, dark themes including negative side-effects of drug use and drinking including intoxication & irrational behaviour, dry humping, mental health struggle, koo has an australian accent, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, if things feel good in this fic then wait 4 part two to ruin everything a/n: ok.....hear me out......guk as a lead singer of an alternative-punk-rock band....and he looks like this......and this….. AND THIS………and his band r basically chase atlantic......Ok ur welcome & pls give this fic a chance!!!!!!!!!! i luv it a lot and its probs my fav so far ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ def a long one so get ur tea and blankets and buckle up! notes: have it. this has been in my drafts since like july. just take it and smile.

dedicated to @httpjeon, who force fed me pictures of rocker jeongguk and repeatedly kept me sane + motivated. thank u sm

Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him.

BIRTH OF DEVILS. (LONDON)

“That was August Blue in the Live Lounge, covering Thanks For The Memories by Fall Out Boy. These guys have some right talent, don’t they? Yeah...well, you can keep up to date with them by watching their interview with us on IPlayer right now, and they’re also going to be on tour in London and various other American venues within the next few months. I’m proper excited for that...”

No matter how many interview schedules and radio plays, Jeongguk doesn’t feel as though he is ever going to get used to this feeling.

For now, it is an endless series of chaos, radio stations and newspapers wanting to talk to the newest music craze- because that’s what August Blue were, whether Jeongguk liked that or not.

August Blue were a band who nobody thought could make it. From early fans of the band, when they were barely filling up Korean venues and getting more than a thousand views on original songs, to big-name celebrities like Axel Choi who had waltzed into Jeongguk’s part-time job when he was seventeen. The man, one of Jeongguk’s idols, had looked him in the eye, considered his band and his dream and said he didn’t have the talent to do anything good with his band, and told him, if you want to be big, you have to be American.

It wasn’t quite the same, or what Axel had intended for it to mean, but four years later Jeongguk now sits number one on the Billboard Charts with his ‘band with no potential’, making a name for themselves, bringing pride to their culture, love with their music, and money to Korea’s economy. The amount of fans that August Blue had collected over the four years of Jeongguk’s band being formally considered a band were unimaginable, many flocking to landmarks to photograph lampposts he stood next to on Instagram, others going to his home-country to enjoy the country that had birthed icons.

If only Jeongguk had the same love and pride for his country; they had turned their backs on them simply because of their popularity overseas.

Well, fuck them- Jeongguk and his band are going somewhere no other Korean band or artist can even touch, and while we’re on the subject- Axel Choi can eat a dick! Jeongguk’s not doing so bad for a Busan boy working at 7-Eleven, and while Jeongguk’s drinking champagne like a King on the top of the charts, it’s hard to see everybody else at the bottom.

August Blue leave the BBC Broadcasting House, on their way to the hotel for their last two nights in London before heading back to America. It doesn’t quite feel real yet, for Jeongguk to say that his band have sold out two nights at the O2 Academy Brixton. Admittedly, it’s not as big as their shows in America, which similarly happens to be where most of their fans are located, but for a first time in the UK, it’s a dream to see it sold out with his band's name and faces on billboards nearby.

Beside him in the black van, August Blue’s bassist Hoseok sighs deeply and fastens his seatbelt, his hands immediately rummaging into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. Nevertheless, a smile does dance on his lips; a few fans had gathered outside the building to see them off, as well as welcome them when they arrived for their Live Lounge recording and interview. It still feels surreal for Jeongguk to see his face on shirts, and to hear people call his name. As the car begins to pull out of the car park, Jeongguk squints through the darkened glass at the fans, a bright smile on his face as they cheer, right until the car is out of the building vicinity.

“Should arrive at the hotel in thirty.” From the passenger seat, August Blue’s manager twists to face the band in the back seats. Jeongguk barely lifts his face to see him, his eyes glancing over and then moving back out the window, watching London pass by in a blur. “Try and get some shut-eye. Good job today, guys.”

“Thanks, coach,” Seokjin replies. It’s always Seokjin who does the talking, taking the role of Big Bro whenever August Blue’s lead vocal and, let’s face it, the reason why they have fans, Jeongguk, isn’t feeling particularly chatty, which is more often than not. “Let’s keep working hard, yeah?”

The question is directed out to everybody in the van, and Jeongguk finally looks over. He nods, gently and smiles as if it hurts him to be genuine, and then his attention is back out the window, his mind back with the fans who had screamed for him, his heart filled with the warmth of the memory.

It’s good to be loved, to be accepted. It’s good to be successful when people doubted you could do it.

THE DEVILS ARE DANCING. (VENICE)

“It sounds really good, Jeongguk. Want me to run it one more time?”

Jeongguk shrugs the weight of his jacket off his shoulders, twisting the cable attaching to his headphones so they unravel around his body and raises his thumb through the glass to the rest of the studio. On cue, the familiar sound of the opening melody to August Blue’s updated track, Hold Your Breath, floods through the speakers, slightly tinny but nonetheless clear for all to hear. While Sejin, August Blue’s manager, aids the producer by pointing out minor audio flaws, Jeongguk joins the rest of his band in the studio to gather around. The last to join the group is Seokjin, the drummer who rubs at his wrists pathetically, his duet of drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Sejin’s right- it does sound good.

The strums from Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon’s instruments sounds incredible, and it’s probably their strongest non-punk track of the year. Retrospectively, it sounds nostalgic, reminding Jeongguk of those summer evenings in Busan after a tiring day of school and garage-band practise with the guys. When the chorus moulds together, Jeongguk’s lips lift to a satisfied and exuberant smile, the harmonies from everybody’s vocals blending together before the chorus comes to a finale, and Namjoon’s deeper vocals come for the second round of verses.

As he listens, Jeongguk recalls the moment he sat down and wrote this song, back when he was eighteen and feeling like the world was against him. In that respect, this song means a lot to him and the band, reminiscent of a time where it felt impossible to get out of the garage and into venues. Then, when Friends brought them out of small Korean venues into charts abroad and giving them radio play, Jeongguk had stored Hold Your Breath on a memory stick and his worn out lyric book, until the right moment came for him to present it to a studio. It just so happened that ADORA, a respected and famous Korean producer based in the US-of-A, had loved the track, bringing it back to square one where Jeongguk stands still, unaware that the single has finished playing.

“It’s one of our best,” Namjoon admits bashfully, his hand brushing the back of his neck, a habit. He extends his gaze out to the rest of the band, “am I right?”

“Better than Friends?” Seokjin asks, surprised. He tilts his head as if he disagrees. “Nothing can beat Friends.” After that statement, something about another song comes up in conversation but it dies out over the sound of Hold Your Breath being rolled back and played again.

On the other side of Jeongguk, Hoseok hums and claps the younger on the shoulder, the sound of Jeongguk’s hiss ignored and silenced by the excited discussion over the track by the producers, lunch menus between Seokjin and Namjoon. With a slight wince, Jeongguk looks over at the bassist.

“It’s all thanks to you!” Hoseok says, a tight but honest smile on his face. “Without you, there’d be no songs. I’m telling you, we knew you were special!”

“Thanks, Hobi,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “Let’s hope people like it and it sells.”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Hoseok muses, frowning. “Just because it has a story doesn’t mean it won’t sell. Honestly, Guk, this one’s great. It’s gonna be amazing.”

Like always, Jeongguk finds that difficult to believe, despite records and albums selling luxuriously every time. It’s mandatory to doubt, especially when you’ve got a lot to lose; August Blue are just another band, another group of guys trying to make a name for themselves across the pond. Right now, they’re not huge, not as big as Jeongguk wants them to be- they can sell out a couple arenas, top charts and headline shows, but they’ve still got a long way to go, still got the prejudice of being foreign. If anything, that only motivates them more. Nothing feels better than proving the white man wrong.

“When it’s finished, we’ll have a promising B-side for the album,” starts Adora, the producer looking over her shoulder with satisfaction at the five guys. “I’d like to run through Dancer in the Dark, though? Adjust the drums, maybe add more to the sax?”

Jeongguk nods, taking a quick sip of water from a bottle on top of the small cabinet pushed to the wall of the studio. “Might work better as the A, actually. Guys, what’dya think?”

“Yeah, sure,” Namjoon replies. “It’s a good song- will probably look better with a music video too. Want us back in the booth for it?”

Adora shakes her head, rolling the song back up. “Nah. Just gonna listen for now. Good job, guys.”

With that, and the familiar opening melody of Dancer in the Dark filtering through the speakers, Sejin claps his hands and gives a thumb to the rest of the band, sending them off for an hour or two until they’re needed again. In ADORABLE TRAP Records, singers were more often than not props, voices for her to play with. Jeongguk provides a demo, a rough idea of what the song should sound like and Adora works her magic, changing tones and amplifying the bass, creating something magical and sensational for when August Blue regroup in the studio at a later time. The band trust Adora and her team, considering she’s half the reason why they’re big worldwide in the first place.

THREE AM is August Blue’s anticipated first full length album, after many months of EP’s and mini albums, alongside the handful of covers accumulated over the years. ATR expects it to be completed by the end of the week, with only minor final touches needed on a select few of the tracks, eleven seamless and sensually exciting songs ready to release to the budding and hungry public. Like always, the pressure of perfection hangs over the studio, intoxicating and infuriating, and as soon as he can escape the room, Jeongguk inhales the clean and purified air of the outer studio, where a leather sofa sits beside a flickering vending machine that’s surely seen better days.

Hoseok groans, massaging the cramp out of his shoulder with his leather jacket still in his hand, spinning wildly with the arms extended out, hugging the air. “God, I’m so fucking hungry. Shall we go out?”

“Mm,” Namjoon agrees, “sounds good. Guk, Jin, you in for some food?”

Somewhere behind Jeongguk, Seokjin sighs loudly- a noise that has the nerve to sound like a whine, childish and ungrateful. “I need to find new drumsticks. Look at the state of these things.” Over his shoulder, Jeongguk spies the blunt ends of Seokjin’s sticks, the smooth and rounded ends frayed and close to splintering.

“How did that even happen?” Hoseok asks incredulously, while Seokjin’s distinct laughter rises in volume.

“Don’t ask,” Seokjin shakes his head in reply. “Anyway, won’t take long. Isn’t that one store nearby? The one owned by the Daegu guy?”

Namjoon confirms this. Not too far away from ATR, located in a renovated storage house in Venice, there is a comfortably successful and trustworthy store that August Blue aren’t strangers to; DBOY is one of the best, expensive and well respected amongst musicians who frequent LA. Jeongguk recognises the name, as if on command picturing the small guy who runs it in his head.

Of course, it’s not owned by him- DBOY is known for being established and owned by Min Dowoon, a retired music producer whose name is legendary amongst artists and most certainly intimidating to the likes of Busan boys like Jeongguk. Regardless, it is his son, Yoongi, who pretty much runs the place. From what Jeongguk can vaguely remember from the last time he met with Yoongi, he recalled the aforementioned to have a fine and grand collection of ostentatious instruments and equipment. As for the seller himself- well, Yoongi can be a little bit of a nouveau-riche, perhaps even unapproachable, but it’s not as if people go to DBOY looking for a conversation.

Jeongguk might be the lead vocalist of the band, but he most certainly does not regard himself the leader. Due to this fact, he stares back at the other members of the band, waiting for a decision to be made for him. While on stage, Jeongguk enjoys playing pretend and acting as if the world was his for the taking, his for his pleasure, off-stage he enjoyed living quietly and comfortably, some might say obediently, shying under the authority of his elder band-members.

“What? Yeah, of course,” Namjoon replies almost immediately. “It’s on the way to that Korean place we went to last time we came here.”

Taehyung sounds zealous at the mentioning of the Korean restaurant, which pretty much means everybody’s mind has been made up. When Seokjin catches up with Jeongguk and wraps his longer arms around him playfully, Jeongguk finally lets himself loosen the tension carved into his skin from the studio, being pulled and pulling Seokjin out of the studio and into the sunny street.

The drive to DBOY is neither long or difficult, considering the traffic has decided to fall on their side of luck today. Hoseok, who enjoys being the designated driver for the band whenever he can help it, turns right and pulls the car into the staff-only car park, uncaring for the signs that turn him away and parks awkwardly near the shrubs behind the store.

Without being affected in the face of Seokjin’s disbelieving protests against Hoseok’s parking preferences, Jeongguk undoes his seatbelt in a grouchy silence and hops out, feeling the underneath of his knees aching due to the tightness of his jeans. The front face of his knees are torn, the tan skin poking out and slightly red from where, out of unhealthy habit, he scratches his skin, the only source of colour aside from his skin being the mustard of his shoes, comfy and worn out of love.

He always forgets just how warm America is- not that it’s not welcomed, of course. Only, now he half wishes he hadn’t worn an all-black ensemble, the sun hot on his neck and underarms. The rest of August Blue take their gentle time getting out of the hired vehicle, a cacophony on the right side where Seokjin and Hoseok have stepped out, arguing over the angle of the tyres as if it genuinely makes any difference considering the car is out of sight from the public, meaning it’s bothering nobody at all besides Seokjin, who appears to be the only person complaining.

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes, over it, and brushes his untamed parting out of his eyes carefully, avoiding catching the curled strands on the bar of his eyebrow piercing.

DBOY, like always, is quiet and glorious, rising high against the bungalow-sized stores surrounding the lot. Its architecture is refined, boxy and brown and all-in-all American, a copy of every brown bricked building you’d see in the movies. And yet, it still stands out, with bright yellow accents like the colour of Jeongguk’s shoes, similarly promoted within the interior if Jeongguk remembers correctly.

The first time Jeongguk had come here it had been with acquiesce, mostly just to shut Seokjin up after he read a few five star reviews online. That was around about the time Taehyung had joined the band, with little rockstar aura and a gift for the keyboard and saxophone, which incredibly added an accent to August Blue’s music that helped them chart worldwide, a Korean The 1975 as a headline which didn’t seem all that bad, given the leader of the latter seemed down to Earth about it.

Jeongguk now cannot deny that DBOY offers something to a piece of music that quite literally no other can, hence why he sets off first towards the oversized yellow door and pushes it open with all its weight. Like Yoongi and his brusque facade, Jeongguk’s not shocked to find the door is a heavy metal, requiring attention to push it open, but yet it always catches him off guard, as if he’s expecting it to get easier each time.

Once inside, the all too familiar sound of I Want To Break Free greets his ears, the sound echoey and tinny, like you’d expect for a building with a high ceiling decorated with pipes drenched in the signature yellow. It is bright, and chilly as he enters due to the air-conditioning, yet the warmth engulfing him as all of the band enter and the door closes. On a good day, DBOY is virtually empty; majority of their orders are online and dealt with by another customs manager that is not the staff on duty, which coincidentally is how Yoongi likes it, considering he’s a bit of a black sheep, not exactly enthusiastic about talking when he can help it.

While Hoseok and Taehyung make a b-line towards the vinyls and collection of photographs that Yoongi displays in order to show off how many celebrities he’s had the delight of selling to, Jeongguk follows behind Seokjin and Namjoon as they head towards the desk, pushed towards the back of the store behind endless stacks of records, the left side of the store displaying a rare and gorgeous collection of instruments that Jeongguk ogles at as he passes.

Yoongi is a personal collector of vintages, including exact pieces and similarly replicas, the newer models closer to the desk where the cameras can keep an extra eye on their condition. Jeongguk has half an idea to make a directional change and head right, but the opening to the operative desk appears before him, or over the shoulder of Namjoon as he walks behind him.

DBOY feels abnormally silent today, not even the distinct humming of Yoongi detectable in the stacks. Namjoon purses his lips, looking around half-heartedly before moving towards the desk, raising his hand to drum his fingers upon the varnished dark wood. The dull sound of his fingertips brings Jeongguk’s head away from the instruments, and similarly, a head from a book.

At first, Jeongguk’s only half-looking. In blunt honesty, he’s not too interested in whoever is behind the desk, a sigh leaving between his lips as he buries his hands into the pockets of his jeans with great difficulty due to the tightness, something which attracts the eyes of the little dove behind the desk, her eyes darting to the refined bulge of his biceps and veins crawling on his forearms.

“Oh,” comes a gentle voice that, with reluctance, pulls Jeongguk’s eyes back over. “Sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in! I didn’t even hear the bell…”

Namjoon’s eyebrows pull upwards. “You have a bell?”

“Yeah...I think?” Questionable. “Well, I thought we did...I bet Yoongi took it out again. Fucker, he doesn’t tell me anything.”

Seokjin leans backwards on one foot, taking a peek back towards the doors where, hoorah, there is a bell on the wall above the entrance. “Oh, look at that. Guess you do have a bell.”

“Well,” finishes the voice, and Jeongguk takes the chance to look at the little display on top of the desk, a complementary addition that spells out the cashiers name in a disgustingly ordinary font. Y/N is what it reads today, which Jeongguk makes a note of and looks away from at the same time. “That bell is definitely broken. Huh. Anyway, sorry. Can I help you?”

“Yoongi here?” Namjoon asks, his weight now entirely reliant on the weight of the desk. By this point, Jeongguk has led himself over to the instruments, the only sight of him being his back marked and outlined by the clinginess of his tee.

You nod once, smiling and slamming the book from your lap on the top of the desk. Never did Namjoon expect for the title to read The Encyclopedia of Sharks, and as you spin in your chair to heckle in the back office, Namjoon glances at Seokjin over his shoulder with an amused smile, his eyes gesturing back to the book earning Seokjin a snigger.

“...and you didn’t tell me the bell was broken at the door.”

Your voice enters the store once more from the back office, accompanied by the smaller frame of Yoongi as he discards a tinfoil ball into the trash underneath the desk.

“Sorry. Y/N, the bell at the door is broken,” Yoongi deadpans, and you sneer in reply, tugging away from his childish and playful smile to be seated. When he’s decided he’s finished fondly looking at you, Yoongi addresses the band in the room, a secondary smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, tour,” Namjoon offers as an explanation.

“Don’t sweat it,” Yoongi shrugs in reply. “You recording?”

“As we speak,” Seokjin pipes in. “And, look- went to some stores in Vancouver for sticks last year and got given this!” His tone is elevated with genuine aghast, holding up his drumsticks and Yoongi pulls a face.

“That’s what you get for going somewhere other than here,” Yoongi frowns. “Come with me. The newest collection actually just came in. You all in here? Keep sticky fingers away from my signed records.”

The remainder of their conversation is muted for you, as you watch the group of guys shuffle away from the desk and towards the display of instruments. Whereas Yoongi holds an extensive knowledge on music and instruments, you can happily and readily admit that it is not within your comfort zone.

Truth be told, the only reason you work at DBOY is for money, and because Yoongi happens to be a relative willing to pay you more than you deserve. Family history is the reasoning for Yoongi’s undying devotion to music, alongside a half-completed degree in sound engineering that he tells people he’s got, because the two years he braved University sure as hell didn’t happen for no reason.

As for you, you prefer the less audible arts, the ones starting and stopping with paintbrushes and splashes of colour. If someone were to ask, your job at DBOY offers a daily observation of the various album covers dotted around the store, ready to be fingered and thumbed when you’re changing the display shelves, or cleaning the trays.

In simpler terms, Yoongi is the expert. You’re just the person who sits behind the desk and pretends to be a professional.

“Newer Hickory over here,” says Yoongi, as he leads the three ducklings through the store towards the lined stacks of drumsticks. In awe, like a child in a candy store, Seokjin surges forward and gapes at the selection, his eyes glued to a signature collection, signed and overwhelmingly expensive. “Oh, yeah. Queen. Signed by Roger Taylor himself, wanna feel ‘em?”

Seokjin does want; his eyes light up like tiny lamps and they widen in size, followed by the rise and fall of his feet as he hops with literal overflowing excitement. Namjoon laughs at the sight of it, the sound eventually calling Hoseok and Sticky-Fingers-Taehyung away from the pride of Yoongi’s photo collection and towards the rest of the band. Something deep within Jeongguk claws, a smile on his face as he watches Seokjin get visibly excited over the drumsticks formerly belonging to Roger Taylor. Even Jeongguk himself, despite the sudden appearance of his angst, oohs and aahs at the stick set, being directed by Yoongi to the line of new guitars and boxes on show.

“New face?”

By the time Hoseok has settled with the group, Yoongi looks up from the set of Les Paul that Namjoon is admiring for its matte polish and notices Hoseok’s gaze pointed in your direction. Yoongi follows, his chin lifting with satisfactory pride when he sees you’re reading, as always, unfocused on the group and submerged in your own world.

When you wanted, you could be excited about celebrities when they came into DBOY, but there was honestly the high chance that you didn’t even know August Blue. Considering Yoongi knew them through connections and through a year exchange programme in Australia where he had met Jeongguk and gave him advice for the band, he of course felt familiar, close enough to actually consider the members to be friends.

“Sorta,” he admits in reply. “She’s been here a while now. Y/N.”

“She’s pretty,” Namjoon comments, which, to no surprise, irritates Yoongi. He glares in the direction of the guitarist and scowls, his face pulled up with disgust.

That’s when Jeongguk looks over, drinking in the sight of you for the first time ever. Usually, Jeongguk takes great pride in the fact that he fears attachment, therefore closing himself off emotionally to everybody outside of August Blue. Due to this fact, he almost never finds himself interested in anybody, his limitations at sex which, even then, he doesn’t engage in often.

He spies on you from where he is standing, next to the electric guitar displays, watching carefully at the way you carry yourself, what you choose to show people. What you are doing now is boondoggle, skimming through pages you’ve read before to present the image of you being busy. By luck, you had dressed more nicer than usual for this date- your hair pulled half up and half down, the lilac scrunchy keeping the curls together and a black and white striped dress wrapping around your body to where Jeongguk predicts could be your knee.

Without being modest, there’s really nothing world-stopping about you. Jeongguk knows this as he stares at you; he’s had better, and definitely had worse. God forbid it, but you have the audacity to look normal, mistakenly placed in the store, sticking out like a thumb that is sore.

“She doesn’t look like she should be working here,” Jeongguk throws in, offers almost, and Yoongi regards him with the raise of his brows, an amused smile on his face.

A deep groan rises out of Namjoon’s chest. “Here we go. He always does this- every time there’s a pretty girl, he gets like this.”

“Gets like what?” Jeongguk asks, scoffing.

“Jerky,” Hoseok agrees, laughing and pointing a finger at Jeongguk accusingly. When he silences with small gasps of amusement, he smiles and says, “did you know it’s a turn off for girls?”

“Then tell me why I have more game than you?” Jeongguk quips.

Hoseok just laughs, and both of them know it’s false, considering Hoseok and his unofficial girlfriend have been hooking up for the last five months, whereas Jeongguk has remained single and sexless; which he doesn’t care about, especially when there’s a million other things he could be doing and worrying over. Comfort previously found in pillowcases and sexual endauvers can now be found in white powders and green liquids, either- either warm enough to keep him happy, at least until Seokjin tells him he should stop and put it to rest.

Yoongi quietly twists the key in the display lock after confirming that Seokjin wants the sticks in his hand. “She’s good. She does her job, and in return, I let her do what she wants when nobody’s in the store. Give it a break, yeah?”

Jeongguk scoffs with surrender, raising his shoulders as he lets it drop at Yoongi’s request. Meanwhile Yoongi answers questions about the instruments for sale, lined up for the band to gawk at with ungraciousness, Jeongguk actually turns back around. Another elongated sigh leaves his mouth, the sound of creeping boredom, and finally, his gaze once again settles on yourself.

You’ve moved since he last looked over; the book on sharks is set on top of the desk again, and now you’re risen. From where he is standing, the desk curves, revealing that his predictions on dress length were fruitless considering the stretch of your dress rises above the knee, bunching around your thigh comfortably. He has to respect it- it’s hot in Venice.

Without particularly wanting to, Jeongguk’s legs wander from his original spot towards the desk, his eyes elsewhere to feign disinterest. The truth of the matter is that he isn’t really interested, unless you counted the dull rise of arousal in the pit of his stomach. That being said, Jeongguk glances up at your face once more and sucks air into his cheeks, hollowing the skin as he knocks on his heels and turns away from you before you can notice. Namjoon was right, to some extent. You were pretty.

“You like The Clash?”

A sweet voice hauls Jeongguk’s attention up and over towards the corner of the desk, where on the other side you stand with both hands flat on the surface, your entire body lifting your weight cutely. Jeongguk’s heart leaps and he glares down at his hands, finding London Calling in his hands, indicating that whilst on his solo mission of pretending to be preoccupied near you, he had just picked up the first thing in front of him.

Jeongguk clears his throat gruffly and shakes his head once. “No.”

For a few seconds, nothing is said. “Oh.” And Jeongguk hopes you’ll leave it there, let him pretend he’s invisible until he’s thought of something to say, but as always, his prayers are ignored. “Do you need help finding something?”

“No,” Jeongguk grits out. He speaks with acrimony, the tone at first catching you off-guard until he looks up, and his eyes tell a quiet story that makes your mouth close tightly. “I’m browsing. Am I not allowed to browse?”

Whether he likes or expects it, the way Jeongguk speaks makes a grin spread across your face, covering your original expression of surprise. He’s not quite sure how to feel about this, or what to make of how his chest feels when it happens.

“Sorry,” you reply, not exactly sounding apologetic. “It’s my job to ask, I guess. Well...enjoy your browsing. If you need me…” Repeatedly, his gaze lifts from the stack of CDs back towards you and it is only when you look away that he allows himself to slip, the smallest of frowns tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Although he knows better, Jeongguk sighs and pushes himself away from his end of the desk. It slides, semi-circular with the front in the store and behind it in its own secluded room, decorated with posters and old lockers that are used for storage. It doesn’t take looking up to register the fact that Jeongguk has moved next to you, parallel; something about Jeongguk feels particularly distinct, heavy and intimidating with the smell of hazelnut that enriches woody elements, a signature male smell that fills your nose.

“So.” Jeongguk starts over, his voice clipped but also clear, as though encouraging a conversation. To you, it feels unpredictable, almost as if talking to him was absurd; to Jeongguk, it is a bravado. “You like sharks.”

Out of surprise, your attention snaps towards him. His expression gives nothing away, and it is only when he raises his eyebrows expectantly that you remember the book, that stupid book you found under the desk when you clocked in this morning after your nine-am seminar. The Encyclopedia of Sharks, smiling razor blades face up at you and an embarrassed heat rises in your body.

“Um, not really?” you confess, avoiding the scrutiny of his stare. Jeongguk’s face is levelled into unamusement, challenging the fact you don’t like sharks in the same way you questioned his interest in The Clash. A bewildered smirk dawns on his face and you smile, tightly and revealing a dimple near your jaw that Jeongguk’s attention is pulled to. “I like Sharknado, though.”

“Right,” Jeongguk replies, finishing with a laugh that is mostly air through his teeth, a snigger of sorts, and he shakes his head downwards, fluffing his hair all within the same movement. It shocks you, genuinely, to hear a laugh come out from his mouth.

While he is busy sniggering to himself, because apparently what you said tickled his remaining sense of humour, you seize the opportunity to dance your eyes across his body. “Your tattoos are pretty.” It leaves your mouth carelessly, but Jeongguk looks up with a smile on his face, a gorgeous set of pearly whites on show.

“Yeah?” he asks, and then he flexes his arms unintentionally, peering at the black ink decorating his skin. Your mouth waters inside, soaking in the sight of him before it’s snatched away, like all the good things in your life. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” you offer, feeling mortified.

“I saw you’re close with Yoongi,” Jeongguk mentions, after a short pause. “Boyfriend? Best friend? Super close colleagues?”

“What? Ew, no. Yoongi’s my cousin. Well. You know, when someone just becomes a cousin ‘cos you’re close,” you reply, and Jeongguk nods casually, pursing his lips, and it ends there. “Also...none of your business.” He smirks.

On cue, an eruption of laughter simmers from across the store where Yoongi and the rest of Jeongguk’s friends are gathered, and you swallow the lump in your throat and glance at him, finding he hasn’t looked away. “Are you guys, like...in a band, or something?”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. Should he be offended or relieved that you don’t know who he is?

“Something like that,” he nods.

“Can’t be that popular then, if I don’t know you,” you tease, fighting the urge to laugh when Jeongguk’s face falls dramatically. “I’m kidding. What did you say your name was again?”

“We’re called August Blue.”

“No, I meant your name,” you laugh.

Jeongguk splutters, coughing nothing out of his throat. “Oh. Jeongguk.”

There is no reasonable explanation behind why Jeongguk’s stomach feels weird when you smile- it is an unspoken rule that Jeongguk doesn’t do feelings. Jeongguk doesn’t do romance period, only hooks up on the rare occasion that he’s high enough to feel something for someone other than himself. Yet something is unsettling inside, bubbling like the top layer of boiling water in a cauldron, threatening to spill out in waves.

“Well, Jeongguk from August Blue- who I shall be indulging in very soon, as in, when you leave the store and I can do it without you watching me-,” you pause when he laughs again. You wonder if he laughs often, or if you’re one of the lucky ones. “-, it’s a pleasure meeting you.”

“Is it?” he questions disbelievingly.

You tilt your head curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be? I mean, aside from you coming for me doing my job.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Whatever. And, I’m just saying.”

A playfulness grabs at your shirt. “Why? Are you dangerous, Jeongguk?” Your eyes narrow into slits, challenging, and Jeongguk just smirks, exhaling softly. There is something charismatic about him, that’s for sure.

“All I’m saying, is that guys like me aren’t good for girls like you,” Jeongguk settles, unprepared for the unexpected laughter that bursts from your chest, bouncing around the room until Jeongguk actually feels somewhat uncomfortable. “What?”

But the laughter is uncontrollable, loud enough to bring Yoongi back to the desk questioningly, followed by the rest of August Blue as they shadow Yoongi like lost puppies. Yoongi pushes the small gate open and his eyes widen at you hunched over on the desk, secondly acknowledging Jeongguk as he stares deadpan at you, wondering what it was he said that was so comedic.

“You make it sound so simple,” you tell him, once the laughter has subsided. “It’s cute that you think you know what kind of girl I am.”

Hoseok side-eyes the situation as Seokjin fishes out his credit card, feeling as though they’ve all interrupted something they shouldn’t have. What is more shocking is the fact that Jeongguk accepts the challenge- he’s normally isolative with his voice when around new people, only comfortable at home or on the stage surrounded by people screaming lyrics he died to dream up and write down.

“Aren’t I right though?” Jeongguk asks, smiling like he’s got it figured out. “The pretty innocent girls like you...I’m the kind of guy your family warned you about.” While Namjoon snorts, Taehyung nods, supporting Jeongguk’s statement as you look over his shoulder at him.

Before you can even speak, Yoongi barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he returns Seokjin’s card. “Guk, you have no clue.”

If there’s one thing Jeongguk dislikes, it’s feeling as though he’s missing out on something. Back and forth, he looks at both yourself and Yoongi, waiting for an explanation. Yoongi prolongs it, finding sadistic enjoyment in the gradual irritation solidifying on his face, his tongue prodding his inner cheek with a bored expression to match.

“Dude, her daddy’s Axel Choi,” Yoongi snorts, and he laughs loudly when Jeongguk’s whole face drops to the floor, the butterflies in his stomach replaced with an instant sourness, like the bitter burn of alcohol after one too many glasses.

Bewildered, Jeongguk is rendered speechless, and while Yoongi burps laughter and makes a note of the stock now that Seokjin has purchased something, the respective remaining four members of August Blue share cautious glances, apprehensively watching what Jeongguk does or says. Saying Axel Choi feels stupid and minute, but within Jeongguk’s world, it has the same consequence as saying Lord Voldemort in Harry Potter. Whatever attempts Jeongguk has made to forgive or forget what Axel Choi once said to him in that 7-Eleven in Busan is fruitless, the judging and patronising tone clear in his ears, flooding back like a PTSD.

“Wait, what the fuck?”

“Ooh,” you start, lifting up with excitement, “what did he dooo?”, at the same time that Namjoon warningly mutters Jeongguk’s name.

“You look nothing like him,” Jeongguk says dumbly.

“That’s kinda where the step comes in. Stepdad, no blood relation, thank fuck!”

“Come on, Guk, it’s not like she was even there when he shat on all your hopes and dreams,” Yoongi frowns, raising his hand slightly in an effort to diffuse the tension. Purposefully, he ignores the way you look at Yoongi with question, realising instantly that Jeongguk’s behaviour isn’t a matter of personality but instead pride, a desperation to prove himself. “Lay off.”

“He’s family.”

“Is he fuck,” you snort, the sound and language together making Jeongguk even more confused, his head pounding with a mixture of nausea and relief, the upset of his seventeen year old self something he can’t quite shrug off, like the memory of a bad dream. “And, come on. Isn’t that unfair? Put it this way- your dad kills someone, should we go to jail too just because we’re family?” Jeongguk says nothing. “Besides, he’s been married to my Mom for like, six years? And I still don’t like him or get along with him!”

“We just have...bad experiences with him,” Namjoon admits, not forgetting to throw a glare in Jeongguk’s temperamental direction, and he reacts with a jerk, an annoyed scoff leaving his mouth.

Jeongguk crosses his arms. “He told us we’d never succeed. The fucker basically said we didn’t have the talent to be big.”

“And yet, here you are,” you point out thoughtfully, and Jeongguk pauses, acknowledging you fully. “People always succeed when others are negative. I guess we’ll just have to prove him wrong, hm?”

The funny part is that Jeongguk absolutely knows that you are right. In spite of the jarring fact that Axel Choi’s memory is now back in his life with the news of your connections to him, Jeongguk is fully aware of how none of this is your fault. Jeongguk knows better than anybody that baseless judgements were more often unhelpful and toxic than not, and instantly, an apology is brewing in his mouth, words connected by thin strings in his brain, formulating two simple words that feel impossible to mouth.

Alas, rockstars and their inflated egos; Jeongguk swallows the words back down, battling the urge to say what’s truly on his mind because he’s afraid of what might come out in its place.

So he walks.

Dejected and confused, Jeongguk spares a look at everybody in the room before shaking his head, as if trying to get something out of his head. The worry that slightly pools in your stomach at the sight of it worsens when he storms back down the length of the stacks, closely followed by Hoseok who is a foot away from calling his name. For the rest of the band, it seems, this is instrinctic of Jeongguk, and they quietly but speedily finish up and follow suit. Before he exits, Namjoon smiles over at you, something hidden in the movement that assures you it’s not your fault, even when your agape mouth and stuttering starts suggest you feel otherwise.

Jeongguk makes it out of DBOY before his lungs cave inwards, the hot smell of air pumping into his body as he steps outside to catch his breath. Hoseok’s hand comfortingly presses between his shoulder blades as he finally catches back up with the younger, and Jeongguk refrains from snatching himself away. The demon in his head cackles and the desperate angel pets his hair, tells him that if he pushes more people away, he’ll have nobody. Jeongguk’s not sure if he’s heard that angel speak before.

Hoseok guides Jeongguk back towards the car, silently accepting that Jeongguk didn’t mean it. He never does. He quietly accepts it, patting his leg when Jeongguk sits down once the car is unlocked. Jeongguk doesn’t say a word, not even when the rest of August Blue pile in the car, animatedly talking about the Korean restaurant they’re planning to eat at next. Clockwork routine, they never bring it up afterwards.

The car pulls away and Jeongguk winds the window down with a frown. He’d like a cigarette.

Not that Jeongguk has been counting, but it has been four days since August Blue had visited DBOY.

Against his tight schedules consisting of long hauls in Adora’s studio, revising songs and making minor changes to each track in preparation for the album release in a few days time, the mere memory of DBOY has been the last thing and least important thing on his mind. In sooth, he doesn’t think about it until he’s alone, vulnerable in his own personal comforts surrounded by white and red. The memory haunts him, keeps him awake for no reason. Jeongguk wishes he could go back, wipe the slate clean, listen to the angel and not be such a prick. He can do this- he does do this.

On the following day, Jeongguk wakes up with a free schedule, waking in bed with the dark grey sheets belted around his lower waist. Casting a glance to his phone that lights up distractedly with notifications, he sees that the time reads eleven am and he yawns. Knowing the rest of the band, they’ve probably scattered already; Hoseok had mentioned something off-handedly last night about spending the day with Roseanne, and Namjoon would most likely be reading alone or exploring with Taehyung, the final man of the hour, Seokjin, sleeping in until it hurts to sleep.

He could do the same, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jeongguk gets himself up and ready, finding his body lead itself back in the direction of DBOY, only realising that he’s come back when he’s outside the front blinking up at the sign.

Somewhere down the street, the sound of screaming reaches his ears- sometimes it’s hard to escape the fans who long for a glimpse at their idols, and to avoid them catching on as to where he’s fled to, Jeongguk hurls himself through the heavy metal door and into the store. It comes as no surprise that it’s empty inside, cool again and this time bursting the lyrics to a Fleetwood Mac record he can’t quite remember the name of but recognises.

The long walk down the length of the aisle is intimidating, daunting as Jeongguk walks and sees nobody behind the desk. Aside from the echoed sound of Fleetwood Mac, the store is virtually silent- admittedly, there is a small group of teenagers at the other end talking quietly, but they are so muted that Jeongguk at first doesn’t realise they are there. Instead he continues forward, slowing significantly when he reaches the desk and finds absolutely nobody in attendance.

For a second, Jeongguk considers leaving. However, the herd of fans he had stalking him outside are no doubt still outside somewhere, and as soon as he considers it, the sound of your voice makes his head snap up attentively. The door that joins the desk space to the back office rattles slowly and then pulls open, and Jeongguk inhales a breath when you step out, as charming as you were five days prior.

Jeongguk is all you see when you pick your chin up, staring at his face closely as he hovers lumpishly, looking out of place. Before he can speak, you regard his appearance, a flattering mixture of tonal blacks; the tight leather jacket covering a black roll neck and tight skinny jeans, even the trademark face-mask that has been pulled below his face, hanging by his neck.

“Oh,” you breathe softly, stunned. “Jeongguk, right?…”

“Hi,” he replies, and you take pleasure in noticing the dulled volume of his voice. “You’re here.”

He considers it a win when you smile. “Well, I do work here.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t know why I said that,” Jeongguk mutters. “I just...Are you free?”

You make your way towards the desk, gently kicking an empty storage box with your feet. “Sadly, I am always free. You know, considering Yoongi is so popular, this shop is always empty. What’s up with that?” It’s rhetorical, and Jeongguk laughs gently. “What’s up? Left something here? I didn’t think you’d come back...well, after…”

Jeongguk frowns immediately, the unmissable darkened gaze of regret on his face. “That’s actually why I came back. Look.” He sighs, deeply and loudly. “I know it’s not your fault. With Axel.” As he speaks, your gaze is glued on him, your eyes occasionally scanning various parts of his face. “And it’s so fucking unfair for me to hold you against things he said before you even knew him, or whatever, yknow? I guess it just caught me off guard.”

You nod genuinely. “It happens.”

“And, look, I know I don’t even really know you that well, but I can tell you’re just nothing like him,” Jeongguk continues, his temper rising slowly. “You’re kind, and funny, and he’s just an asshole and-” But he stops. And, what? And, he’s still family.

“You’re right,” you agree, laughter spilling from your tongue. “No, he’s the biggest asshole. And his music sucks, let’s be honest.” Jeongguk’s mouth opens, like he wants to speak. “No wonder it took him fourteen years to make a hit…” And he laughs, loudly and in agreement.

It must be a rarity to see him smile, to hear him laugh; with your heart in the sky, staring at Jeongguk laugh makes you feel warm, your hands quivering with satisfaction at the way his eyes curve into horizontal brackets, like moons, his teeth free with the comfort of knowing he’s safe being happy.

So, explicitly, he doesn’t say sorry like he wanted to. He tries- the words are right there, it would be easy, it is easy. As always, you are understanding, sympathetic to Jeongguk as he struggles to get his words out coherently. You know what he means. You like that he cared enough to try, anyway.

Realistically, he could have left it there, and maintained that stereotypical air of mystery and unavailability he’s used to showing people. On the contrary, Jeongguk finds more reasons to slink back towards DBOY, until he’s entirely familiar with your work schedule, having accidentally turned up when you were at a lecture, and had to suffer the pressing curiosity of your cousin. Yoongi had been so over Jeongguk pretending he was here out of personal pleasure of being surrounded by music that he had eventually just told him your work times, prompting Jeongguk into working harder in the studio to ensure more free time.

Like always, nobody in the band minded. If it meant Jeongguk was investing his spare time in something other than his own loneliness, they were happy to let it be. As for yourself, the reoccuring showing of Jeongguk in DBOY was at first, something you anticipated until the third showing where he had turned up in what you think might be his best look yet. Finally, he wears splashes of colour, his aura breathing with life as he turns up to the store wearing blue denim jeans, with maroon boots and a red beanie over his hair which has been flattened.

Each visit from the man is memorable in its own way, for either parties; you gradually learn that Jeongguk was the lead singer of August Blue, his accent distinctly Australian no thanks to his mother’s dual citizenship that resulted in many family holidays out there, and the year abroad that had chanced him to meet Yoongi. In return, Jeongguk learns that you haven’t even turned twenty yet, your birthday approaching soon, and that your a dilettante, knowing virtually nothing technical about music and instead comfortable in the field of physical art, a first year studying visual art and media.

Jeongguk learns all of this on the third visit. On the fourth, he finds out that you’ve finally listened to his bands music in time for their album release the following day, now in love with the truth of their lyrics, a direct quote from your mouth that Jeongguk remembers perfectly. And on the day of THREE AM’s release, on one of his final days before tour preparations are due to start, Jeongguk finds himself in DBOY with the sound of his own voice on the speakers, and the breathtaking sight of you dancing while stacking the shelves.

It’s a new track, one off the album that dropped this morning. Dancer In The Dark plays all around him, his mind reeling when he reaches you, your back to him and hips twirling as you work. You don’t even need to turn around for Jeongguk to know that you look gorgeous- that’s something that has changed over the past few weeks of Jeongguk returning to DBOY to see you, and annoy Yoongi, respectively.

Something inside of Jeongguk now craves you, beyond the simple lust he would have imagined. Perhaps it’s the way you didn’t know who he was, treated him like a human being rather than a God; maybe it was the way you’re so ordinary, a taste of normality Jeongguk misses, or the way you’re a relation to someone he’s been working for the past four years to prove wrong. It could well be all three.

The baby blue teddy coat over your body covers your skirt, a display of smooth and tanned legs for him to leer at, your hair once again twirled into loose curls, half up and half down, a signature style like Ariana’s high pony.

Evidently, you’re unaware of his entry. Yoongi still hasn’t changed the bell above the door and the speakers playing his record are right above your head; this gives Jeongguk the perfect opportunity to quietly approach you from behind, waiting until the chorus fades to an end for him to carefully press his hands into your waist with a soft “boo” pushing between his lips.

In turn, you jump, his hands momentarily cupping your waist as you move out of his grasp, turning around defensively to see who in the right mind would dare to put a hand on you, only for the guard to be dropped with reassurance once you see Jeongguk behind you, a grin on his face.

“Hi, you,” you say to him, wincing when you realise how loud the music is. “Congrats on the album release!”

Jeongguk laughs boyishly. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Mhm!” you assure, nodding with emphasis. Jeongguk follows the hint of moving away from the loud music as his voice transitions into the opening chords of a David Bowie track. “Do you even have a bad song? Like, the difference between Vibes, Dancer in the Dark and Keep it Up...gorgeous.” He laughs again, feeling over the moon at your authentic excitement. “I really love your voice.”

If humans could melt, Jeongguk would be gloop. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it, I’m glad you like it.” His brows quirk playfully, “Clearly.” He means your dancing, circular swirls to his voice, and you conceal a smile and look away quickly.

“I recognise Hold Your Breath, too,” you continue, choosing to deliberately ignore his playful comment. One might even assume it to have been flirting. “Isn’t that one of your earlier songs?”

By this point, you’ve hopped over the desk, slid over the wood as Jeongguk watched your coat and skirt hike up with the lift of your leg. “Mmm. I see you’ve done your homework,” he comments.

“I got...curious,” you defend weakly. “I like that song. I’m so glad you decided to do a studio version, it is what she deserved!”

Today might be a new record broken for How Many Times Can Jeon Jeongguk Laugh In Your Company.

“Well, there you have it. You can listen to all of it in HD to make up for me not being here for a while.” Your smile falters and Jeongguk smiles in an attempt to ease your disappointment. “We start our promotions next weekend, actually. Just a couple shows in the States, nothing huge.”

“Oh,” you nod, your voice oddly lost and spacious. “Ugh, I’d love to see you live. I bet it’s gonna sound amazing.”

A breath hitches in Jeongguk’s throat. Come on, idiot, jeers the demon inside of him. The angel slaps him on the back of the head but his words do not cease. You haven’t got all day to do it.

“Then come,” he blurts.

Mirroring him, your mouth falls round, open. “...O-M-G, I’d love to...but I’m like...broke,” you tell him, jokingly but around the truth you both know is there.

“Y/N, you can come for free, I’m inviting you,” Jeongguk explains slowly, the grin widening on his face. Awestruck, you’re lost in the beauty of it. “I want you to come. See us play, see me. You won’t have to pay for a single thing- everything’s on me.” He breathes, “Please,” added as an afterthought.

Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated the following silence. “When?” you ask, breathily.

“Next Saturday,” Jeongguk offers, having thought about it since before the album came out. “At the Hollywood Palladium. It’s our opening show, and I’d just really, really like for you to be there.” You think about the date for a moment, smiling when you realise what day the date falls on.

“Hollywood? That’s...amazing, Jeongguk, really,” you tell him, your voice quiet still. “...Can I bring a friend? When I listened to August Blue, they were there and we both got really invested.”

A weight is lifted off Jeongguk’s shoulders knowing that his offer has been considered. He smiles brightly, the moons back out. “Depends. Is your friend male?”

Now it is your turn to grin, your weight held up by your elbows as you lean on top of the desk towards him, slotted between his hands. His familiar hazelnut scent is strong here. “Yes. He’s male, gay, and incredibly in love with my cousin.”

What Jeongguk feels is not relief, or irritation; an elevated feeling of happiness stirs in his chest. You are so unlike anybody he’s met, from the way you see the humour in everything he says, not taking him seriously enough to treat him like he’s better than everything else, and the way you make him feel like there’s something about him worth liking; to the way you’re probably the only person he’s ever met who genuinely likes the Sharknado franchise. It without a doubt goes without saying that good things pop up where you least expect them to, in people you didn’t anticipate meeting. Feeling like his head is in the clouds, Jeongguk’s lips press together into a smile, bashful in appearance and nods, satisfied.

“Okay then,” he nods, taking a second to grasp the situation before he laughs to himself, scratching his ear absentmindedly. “Here’s my number for then, then. You can call me when you arrive, and then I’ll come out and get you, or I’ll have our manager sort some things out, so you can skip the lines and get in before everyone else.”

“Alright,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Jeongguk.”

Although he shakes his head nonchalantly, feigning only a moderate amount of happiness, on the inside, Jeongguk’s body is screaming, his heart vibrating rapidly in his chest. On the other side, even when he bounces into a following conversation about your hair and the new book placed on the desk that you’ll probably read when you’re bored later today, you feel like you can’t breathe, can’t quite comprehend the fact Jeongguk is standing before you, his number in your phone, the sun unmatching his smile.

Some things don’t feel right, but being with Jeongguk isn’t one of them. Maybe luck is on your side for once.

(LOS ANGELES)

“So. You’ve decided to be late.”

Adjacent to where you’re standing, Park Jimin lies like a starfish on your bedsheets, his chin tilted up to the ceiling in agonising boredom as you fuss over your hair for the literal fifth time in the last four minutes.

Meeting Jimin was both the joy and the bane of your life, the boy being an unstable balance of chaotic and neutral, his sole purpose in life being to annoy the shit out of you. It had been a lovely sunny morning the day you first met him- only it had begun to thunderstorm the second he entered the arts classroom, pathetic fallacy. Being the quiet black sheep clearly did not always work in your favour considering the only spare seat left was the one next to you, meaning fate had decided to bring you both together to sketch still-life pears and grapes. Either that or a case of big, bad luck- the opinion differed depending on who you asked.

Regardless, here you both are; by cordial invite from Jeon Jeongguk himself, you have around twenty minutes to get to a venue that is thirty five away, and Jimin huffs for the fifth consecutive time, pointedly glancing over as you finish applying a generous amount of lipstick that no doubt will fade during the show. Your face is an art-piece, your body modestly covered in a silk buttoned shirt patterned with red flowers, tucked into some comfortable black jeans that Jimin turns his nose up at.

“They’re comfortable,” you argue weakly, finally following him to the car and deciding to do your shoes in the backseat. As half promised over text, Jeongguk sent a vehicle, the driver impatient and displeased by your tardiness but he says nothing, because it’s his job to drive, not to speak.

“Skinny jeans are the most impractical outfit for getting dicked down,” Jimin says with a clipped tone. “And isn’t it obvious that Jeongguk wants to do that?”

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. “It might not be like that.”

Jimin genuinely laughs. “Oh, come on- it totally is. Why else would he invite you backstage, send a car, and stop by at your work almost daily?”

“Maybe he wants to be friends?” you suggest, but both you and Jimin know that’s so far from the truth that you can’t even see it- you just don’t want to admit it just yet. When Jimin’s tongue darts out of his mouth with a smirk, you roll your eyes and lean down to your feet as the driver cruises down the street on the clock.

[17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: hey are you on your way?? [17:39PM] Jeongguk 🎼: havent heard from u [17:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: u ok?

About ten minutes into the drive, almost peaceful save Jimin’s random questions about Jeongguk, or the venue, neither particularly answerable at this stage, a series of notifications flood your phone. Taking the chance to answer while Jimin finds time to bully the driver into talking to him to cure his driving boredom, you glance down at the messages, your body reacting with a flush when you see Jeongguk’s name light up in bold.

[17:41PM] You: yes !!!! in the car rn

His reply is instantaneous.

[17:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cool 😋 as long as ur safe [17:42PM] Jeongguk 🎼: got worried lol

“Five minutes,” the driver calls, to nobody in particular as he pulls up to a set of traffic lights. Oblivious to speed limits, he seems to have got you there in the designated twenty, before the gates opened for the crowds outside.

[17:44PM] You: we will be there in five minutes ☺️ [17:44PM] You: : i’ll text you when we’re here [17:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok cutie, see you then 😛

You are grown, and too old to be crushing over a boy like you’re in high school, but the way Jeongguk interacts makes your toes curl with a whole new alien type of fondness, the need to giggle paramount. You refrain from doing so, because if Jimin hears he will never let you live it down. In an effort to ignore the excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins, your leg bounces erratically as the driver, who is apparently named Joe after the chauffeur bodyguard in The Princess Diaries (no thanks to Jimin and his “boredom” which borders insensitivity), pulls up in the barricaded staff car park. The fans outside have no idea: they just see a car and start screaming, their cheers making goosebumps ripple up your arms like romantic kisses.

“That makes me feel really important,” Jimin mutters, perhaps glum about the fact that he hasn’t had this much attention since he was chubby and innocent in third grade. “Ready to go?”

“Yep,” you breathe, unsure as to whether or not you mean it. Nevertheless, Jimin opens the car door and steps out, instantly making a crowd gathered by the barricade scream. They scream for anything, just wanting to be heard, but being Jimin, he soaks it up as you clamber out on the other side.

Jeongguk seems particularly popular, and it probably wouldn’t look good if fans saw an unknown girl get out the car to go backstage. You know how fans are, how it’s easy to jump to conclusions without the facts. While Jimin raises his hand to teasingly wave at the girls who scream in response, you follow Bodyguard Joe to the backstage door guarded by two oversized muscular men, bowing your head as you enter and feel the heat of the backstage rooms hit you in the face.

At some point, Jimin joins you inside, shuffling around your body when he spots Yoongi appear at the end of the opening corridor. Yoongi is always invited to August Blue shows, by personal invitation of the band-members who are mostly Namjoon. Remembering that Jeongguk technically has no idea you’re here, you quickly shoot him a text message before a female staff member touches your shoulder gently, offering a lanyard with VVIP written in black ink, likely a band members handwriting. She smiles, quickly running over the safety regulations because, give her a break, it’s her damn job. You’re nodding, acknowledging her words blindly until she’s done, sending you on your way towards Taehyung who pops his head around the corner and smiles brightly when he sees you.

“Hey, you!”

Quite honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever said a word to Taehyung before. He doesn’t seem particularly awkward to speak to you despite this fact, and beckons you closer with a wave of his hand. As you draw nearer, you smell the faint aroma of vodka crossed with raspberry, clinging to his clothes and mouth as he comes close to speak so you can hear him over the heavy bass filling the speakers.

“What?” you ask him loudly, seeing his mouth move with nothing coming out. All you can hear is the recording of Obsessive on the speakers, pounding, reverberating the floor beneath your Dr Martens.

“I said,” Taehyung shouts, his lips on your ear, “Jeongguk’s waiting for you. I need a wee really badly, but he’s in the artists lounge, that way.” He points vaguely in a direction, but the sight of Jimin stepping in and out of a room indicates the general direction regardless. “Enjoy the show, yeah?”

“Course!” you nod to him, and he wastes zero seconds staring at you and legs it in the opposite direction, towards where you assume the toilets are. Your eyes follow him as he leaves in endearment; he’s cute, constantly looking bewildered and confused. It’s his almond eyes, like puppy dogs’.

But the thought of seeing Jeongguk outweighs watching Taehyung leave; you hurry down the corridor and enter the room you expect to be the artists lounge, and your breath is taken away immediately when Jeongguk is the first thing you see.

As if anticipating your entry, he stands the second you enter, and while he moves, you freeze. Jeongguk looks absolutely breathtaking: his hair is curly, falling over his face with a slight parting not directly centered, hooped earrings hanging from his earlobes, adding a sparkle secondary to the way his eyes are shining in the backstage lights. His skin is gorgeously tanned, shaded and accentuated by the slipping material of his shirt that reveals the expanse of his collarbones, the black complementing the tightness of his jeans. You don’t get to look at his shoes- he stops at your toes and you peer back up at his face, rendered speechless by the smile on his face.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says, laughing as if it’s so crazy that you’re here, actually here. Before you can even think of speaking, Jeongguk inhales a breath and brings it back in with one movement; he reaches for you, encircling his arms around you for a quick hug that you’re not going to let go to waste. As soon as he feels your hands on his back, he pulls you closer, tighter almost, one hand on your lower spine and the other on the back of your head.

The hug is genuinely short, but it feels eternal.

“You made it,” he comments, his voice so bewildered that for a moment, you’re actually confused. Jeongguk speaks insecurely and it makes your heart wrench- you wonder who hurt him before, what made him think that he wasn’t deserving of things as simple as somebody coming to a show when he asked them to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” you tell him truthfully, your arms slipping to his forearms. “I’m excited!”

Jeongguk grins happily. “Me too! Ah, I’m happy you’re here. You look gorgeous.” And without shame, he drags his gaze up and down your body.

“That’s good, then,” comes Jimin’s thrown in comment from across the room, where he occupies one of the leather seats next to Yoongi and across from Hoseok, who fidgets skittishly and fiddles his fingers at a Rubix cube. “Do you know how close we were to being late because she was busy deciding a lip colour? Jimin should I go red or nude? Jimin does this shirt go with my shoes? Jimin should I paint my nails red or black to match?”

A laugh ripples out of Jeongguk’s chest and he looks back at you adoringly.

“That’s not how it happened,” you protest weakly, pouting when Jimin cackles and smirks. “And we made it didn’t we? Shut up before I revoke the plus one card.”

“I’m already here, though,” Jimin reasons.

“I’ll force you outside,” you reply.

Yoongi pulls a face, then, finally joining the conversation. “Y/N, you can’t even open the front door to the shop when you enter, let alone drag Jimin outside. Nice try, though.”

An offended gasp leaves your mouth and Jeongguk turns around, petting the top of your head. “It’s okay. Sometimes, even I can’t open it. Anyway- drink?”

You decline this offer, not really wanting to drink anything heavy in fear of vomiting it up when the show starts. Based on your history, throwing up when you’re overly excited seems to be a dirty habit, something Jimin is very happy sharing when you opt for a glass of water while Jeongguk carefully pours himself a glass of whiskey. He doesn’t tease or poke fun. Jeongguk simply smiles, like the story is a memory he’s fond of remembering, and nods you in the direction of the couch where he wants you to sit. It stays this way right up until the show starts, and then the chaos begins and the nerves settle.

Now, you’ve never been backstage before, never seen how crazy it gets as the show’s about to start. While the rest of the band hurry around collecting outfit pieces, taking a drink or tuning their instruments to perfection, Jeongguk quietly tugs at your arm and brings you to the side, a gentle and reassuring smile on his face, a frequently used expression when it concerns yourself.

“Rachel is our main backstage manager and she’s gonna take you and Jimin down to where I’ve put you for the show, yeah?” he explains, his gaze intent. Rachel is the woman from earlier, smiling patiently near the door. You spare her a glance and then look back at Jeongguk. “I’ve put you down by the stage so I can see you, okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re not in the crowd, you’re right by the stage in front of the barricade with the staff,” Jeongguk says. “Safe and sound, comfy and cosy. Can you come back after the show? There’s a party. I’ll- I’ll take you?” His tone is expectant, hopeful, and you’d be absolutely insane to let him down.

“I’ll come,” you promise. “Good luck!”

Again with the boyish charms; Jeongguk’s following smile is relaxed and lopsided, his head similarly quirked.

“Thanks, baby,” he calls, his smile widening when he notices the surprise flood your cheeks. “Cheer loud for me?”

“Always,” you tell him, gauging the scrunch of his eyes before Rachel directs both Jimin and yourself out of the backstage vicinity and towards the VVIP standing just next to the barrier. Whether or not Jimin overheard the entire ordeal is unclear; he doesn’t comment even if he did happen to overhear, remaining uncharacteristically silent until you reach your spot and he loosens up, gazing up at the stage in wonder.

When the venue feels packed to the brim and the reverberating bass of guitars literally vibrates the room, Jimin screams something about his excitement over the noise, catching your widened smile in his direction and laughing, throwing his arms around you.

Hollywood Palladium is genuinely packed to the brim, the fans by the barricade stamping excitedly as the VCR rolls to an end, the lights fade to a crimson red and silhouettes of August Blue appear on the stage. They are sensational, eliciting a chorus from the crowd that is deafening. Jimin laughs again, looking back and forth at the crowd and back at the stage, two girls from the barricade recognising him as the guy from outside and taking a photo, likely anticipating that he is of importance.

Like all concerts, the first five minutes are mind-blowing, epic and fantastical and slightly nerve-racking for all parties. At the sound of the opening chords of Meddle About, another wave of screams pierce the crowd and you wince, not expecting it but a smile still wide on your face. The cymbals crash and the lights flash brightly, revealing Jeongguk on the stage at the front, both his hands on the microphone as he speaks the first words of the night, lyrics dripped in smooth vocals that make your body swirl like on drugs. It’s mesmerising, sexy and sounding perfectly like the studio recording.

Hearing them live is a whole different experience- the way that August Blue perform is otherworldly, feeling like you’re in a subspace of slow-motion, every movement on stage emphasised. Not wanting to waste all of the show gawking at the lead vocalist, you glance at all of the other members, in awe of their talents and presence on the stage, even spotting the golden gleam of a saxophone in your peripheral vision. It is only then that you register the fact that Taehyung plays the saxophone live, and excitement and anticipation replaces birthed nerves from the opening song.

When Meddle About fades to a finale, Jeongguk smiles to himself widely as the melody to Obsessive plays almost immediately after, Namjoon’s riff introducing Jeongguk’s welcoming, “Hollywood Palladium, are you ready?” before he dives into the song. Here, Taehyung fiddles for his sax and beams down at both you and Jimin, returning to his spot to play as the song continues.

Like all songs from August Blue, you wish it would never end, your heels grinding the floor as you bop in Jimin’s arms, his chin buried in your neck as he rocks you from side to side affectionately. For the entirety of the song, and even after then, you refuse to take your eyes off Jeongguk; he moves with calculation and care, the world his bitch beneath his feet as he smirks, fucking the crowd, swirling in figure eight motions as he sings. Jeongguk is the eighth wonder of the world.

Obsessive ends, your torso rising and falling after their performance. It was a show of elan, your body buzzing with small vibrations like a bumblebee; Jeongguk’s hair is disheveled, and he exchanges caring looks with the other members, giving them the opportunity to catch their breath as he once again addresses the crowd.

“Hollywood…” he starts, smiling wolfishly when the crowd erupts into piercing screams, the fans at the barrier pounding against the metal bars impatiently and Jimin eyes them cautiously, wrapping his arms tighter around you and considerately shuffling further away. Jeongguk glances down, then, making sure everything is okay, and his eyes fall on you. The first thing he sees is your smile, enamoured and bright and wide, like golden light at the end of a dark tunnel he can’t get out of. You notice now that he speaks how strong the accent is, months and years of Australian visits clearly paying off. It’s nice, new and different, completely unlike how he speaks in Korean. “We feelin’ good tonight?”

The crowd respond gleefully, and Jeongguk chuckles into the microphone.

“Thank you all for coming out here tonight,” Jeongguk begins, swaying slightly on his feet. The movement is endearing. “Being here, on this stage, is something we have dreamed about, and now that we’re here...Wow. We couldn’t be here without you guys. Everyone who’s here- friends, family, lovers-” the crowd scream because they’re used to being mentioned this way, but when Jeongguk’s gaze briefly flickers down to you, you immediately burn up, curling into Jimin as your best friend laughs knowingly, squeezing you tighter when Jeongguk finishes his speech to the crowd, “-you guys are fucking awesome. You like the album?”

Of course, Jeongguk is not alone on the stage. Reminded of this fact, you pay attention to each members introduction, occasionally finding your eyes wandering back to the lead vocalist who seems to always be staring back. In a sea of screaming fans and waving banners, Jeongguk’s eyes land on you each time, as if reminding himself that you are here, you are here for him.

When the band finish their introductions and Jeongguk says his piece, and the opening hum from the guitars around him announce Dancer in the Dark, Jeongguk glances at you one final time and sees the way your body reacts to the song familiar to your ears, a curve extending the corner of his mouth. Jeongguk brings his attention back to the crowd where it will stay for the rest of the concert, his mind wandering between each lyric and break. Maybe- just maybe, things would work out for him in the end.

DEVIL IN THE DARK. (HOLLYWOOD)

There is a constant hum in your ears, your fingertips vibrating as you force yourself out of the car.

Judging by the sky draped in an ebony black, it’s either extremely late or extremely early, the loud music from the large estate already audible and you haven’t even entered the party yet. Even though Jeongguk had expected to take you in his personal vehicle to the party that would celebrate their first American show of the year, things hadn’t exactly gone to plan; his eyes met yours as soon as you hurried backstage to find him, pleading and frantic and your name on the tip of his tongue, unspoken when Rachel ushers the band out of the venue after an already overstayed welcome. Still, the frequent vibration of your phone under your thigh when you settled travelling with Yoongi and Jimin instead kept your thoughts preoccupied, Jeongguk’s contact practically permanent on your lock screen.

[23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: shit !!!!! [23:40PM] Jeongguk 🎼: i wanted to wait but they kept pushing me outside [23:41PM] Jeongguk 🎼: did u get out safe? [23:43PM] You: yep don’t worry !!! [23:43PM] You: we’ll be on our way soon [23:44PM] You: im hungry so we’re getting food first oops [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼: ok baby see u soon [23:45PM] Jeongguk 🎼 is typing…

The triple dots are constant.

Bodyguard Joe is the driver who drops you off, muttering under his breath when all three of you pile out the back and he’s free to leave. Before Yoongi can even shut the door properly he is speeding away, desperate to get out of there. Yoongi can’t say he blames him- he’s only staying for a little bit, at least until Jeongguk starts being Jeongguk. He deliberately doesn’t mention it to you. He wants you to see it for yourself.

Inside, it’s hard to see through the smoke. There had only been about fourty minutes difference between Jeongguk arriving there and the three of you, and evidently, they waste no time bringing the party into motion. Already, guests either by invite or chance are drunk, intoxicated with dark beer bottles and shot glasses, a wreckage of splintery glass by the door surrounded by a pair of shoes, like a warning. The lights are dimmed, each room dark save a lamp with a dying bulb or LED lights, flashing rainbow colours to the beats of songs, the smell of alcohol and weed lifting in the air. It’s rancid, strong and pungent but typical of parties you’d expect celebrities within the realm of Jeongguk to do, people who held the world at arms length.

Along the wall, the coat pegs are covered in a bundle of mismatched coats and jackets, a single Converse hanging by its laces as some sort of practical joke. In light of this, you decide to just keep your coat thrown over your shoulders, the black suede comfortable and moreover protective as faces you’ve never even seen before regard you with high interest as you pass. Jimin scowls and drags you closer to him, Yoongi leading the way with a gaze that could kill, parting the sea of dancers like Moses. The vibe, however, remains undisturbed, the bodies continuing to dance and drink as they were before Min Yoongi stepped through the mix, with two virtual nobodies behind him. He knows where he’s going- he’s done this before.

This mansion is a maze, with corridors leading everywhere, filled with bodies you didn’t know. You deduce that the main parlour where you’re headed to is the hub of the party, judging by the way the small groups of people outside become multiplied, the sound of laughter and music louder when you enter through a doorway. The room is soaked in an indigo neon light, the long haul of strip lights attached to the moulding by the ceiling by silver pins; almost all of August Blue accommodate one of the recliner sofas, one particular male suspiciously absent.

“Yoongi!” Faintly over the sound of the music, Namjoon’s voice carries its way to your trio, Yoongi’s attention moving to the band and he moves in that direction, with both Jimin and yourself close on his heels. Namjoon already looks affected by the alcohol stirring in a whiskey glass, the colour clear and making no difference when it sloshes over the side onto the bare skin of his forearms. Exchanging a tight lipped smile with Hoseok, who seats a beautiful girl on his lap who sips her drink quietly, you glance around the room for Jeongguk, your heart sinking when you don’t spot him anywhere.

“Great show,” Yoongi says, now that the music has been turned down somewhat, no thanks to Taehyung who has just stepped out of the bathroom and winced at the volume, now sitting back in his original spot beside Seokjin and his widened legs. As an afterthought, he adds, “as always. This is Jimin, by the way- and you know Y/N.”

Seokjin looks up from his glass: “Hi honey. Good night?”

“Yes, it was amazing,” you reply, your eyes wandering again. A few strangers are seated on the couch alongside the members, including three girls you aren’t familiar with. Two look out of this world, mentally vacant and the third watches you carefully, her lips pouted sourly. “Hello,” you call to her, uncomfortable.

“This is one of Rosanne’s friends, Cassandra,” Seokjin introduces, although he doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.

“Cassie,” she throws in.

“Oh, like the song,” you judge, looking back at Seokjin and catching the roll of his eyes before he can hide it away. Concealing a smile you look back at Cassandra.

“Yeah. Isn’t that funny?” she asks, giggling sweetly. “I like to tease Guk about it. It gets him shy. Did you see him on the way in, by the way? I’ve been looking for him.”

Oh. So she’s one of them- it’s evident in the way August Blue glance over at her with annoyance, glancing back at you with a blank stare. You know better. “No, actually. I just got here.”

“Well,” Cassandra-Cassie continues, smiling tightly, the look so ingenuine that it looks as though it hurts her to fake politeness, “if you see him, let him know that I’m looking for him.”

“Does he even know who you are?” Jimin asks before he can stop himself. Cassandra narrows her eyes.

“We met in passing.”

A snort exits Jimin’s nose. “If he remembers you, I’ll genuinely be surprised.”

Whatever is or isn’t said by the rest of the couch is unheard by you; once Jimin has finished his slander of Cassandra-Cassie whilst perched on Yoongi’s knees, you decide you’ve heard enough and pick yourself back up off the couch despite having only just sat down.

Whoever remains at the couch pays you no mind, aside from Yoongi who nods gently as you gesture to the connecting hallway, an arch in the cream smooth wall that no doubt leads to either the outside, the kitchen or a bathroom, perhaps all three at once. His eyes do not leave you until you’ve wormed your way out of the room, quietly and meekly weaving through bodies on the walls and declining at least three drinks offered in your direction. After peering into several rooms, including the kitchen that was far too crowded and scorching to even enter, and glanced out through the french doors to the scattered party outside, looking on the patio glowing in blues and pinks, the pool splashing with laughter.

Even the end bathroom that is larger than the kitchen is practically empty save the guy passed out in the bathtub with a glass of sparkling champagne in a slender glass on the sink, and you suddenly feel very dejected, closing the door behind you as you exit back to the long hallway. Maybe everything was too good to be true- maybe girls like Cassandra were girls Jeongguk had invited, like he had you, suddenly ghosting when they all appeared in the same room. It feels rude to assume that, but with no text messages or indication as to where he might be and with whom, disappointment begins to simmer in your stomach.

It nearly settles, confusing dejection with nausea and the thought of Jeongguk having played you is a thought you ruminate, until you’re halfway down the hall and a door to a connecting room that has now opened welcomes a body cloaked in the bedroom darkness, an arm leaning out to grasp your sleeve and pull you inside.

A strange sense of deja-vu hangs over this situation, familiarity striking with the hand that unwraps from around your arm and meets the second around your waist. Before you have even finished twirling to face the body in ownership of said arms, the sound of quiet chuckling makes you relax instantly, a smile growing when you fall with a soft thud against the torso of Jeongguk, his mouth in level with your eyes.

“Hi, stranger,” you laugh softly, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jeongguk hums, and you catch a whiff of alcohol practically pouring off him. “Been hidin’. You found me, you win.” Jeongguk does a poor job of attempting to be sober, his speech slurred and his smile cheesy and smirkish. “I was tryna ride with you, but Joon shut the car door and we just drove off, you know?” You honestly don’t, but you nod anyway. “Tried to call you but dunno where my phone’s gone. Think Joon’s got it.”

“That explains why you weren’t replying,” you say, mostly to yourself. Jeongguk inhales the air through his nose quickly, one sniff, and relaxes his arms around your middle; his forearms are resting on your hip bones with his fingers gently stroking and drumming against your lower back, and it is here, with him so close, that you notice the glow of sweat on his hairline, the fringes slightly matted down and smudged black under his eye, glitter shines of his eyebrow piercing. “Got worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” he repeats, that same smile on his face. Jeongguk sounds so amazed by this fact, so bewildered that you’d care.

Anticipation whirls in the pit of your stomach as his voice drops in volume and hardness, and the school-girl crush swims back to bite when Jeongguk’s forehead bends to press against your own, the taste of alcohol on your tongue before he’s even leaning in to kiss you. Jeongguk’s hands immediately fly to cradle your face, accidentally bringing a fistful of hair to your cheek as he holds you, practically picking your face up to warm to his mouth. It is just one kiss, long and deep and soft, leaving behind the taste of a bitter liquor.

Jeongguk’s eyes open through slits when he pulls away, analysing how you still haven’t come back to reality from it, and so he moves in again, in a body roll motion stealing a second kiss, his lips pressed up against you in full. He doesn’t know if it’s the booze in his veins or the electrifying feeling of your hands over him that has him buzzing all over- it could be both, for all he knew.

Beginning to doubt his own self control when you mumble and sigh into his mouth, Jeongguk gently brings himself away, out of the kiss and sending your eyes open in a daze. Cracking his own eyes open, Jeongguk restrains himself from going right back in- the orange glow from the outdoor lights shine on the left side of your face and his heart leaps, drumming in his ears. He frowns loudly, feeling your thumbs rub against his wrists. “Sorry.”

You pause, “Why?”

“For making you worry,” Jeongguk explains, his voice murmured through pouted lips. “I made the baby worry.”

“The baby?” you repeat, chuckling. He grins. “We’re almost the same age, y’know.”

“The baby,” Jeongguk coos, his giggles indicative of his level of soberness, which seems to be unlikely. “Little nineteen year old baby-”

“Twenty,” you add, and Jeongguk stops with a quiet “huh” that sounds like a baby, ironic. Jeongguk remembers you telling him your age, and that you’d be twenty soon. Had he missed your birthday? As if hearing his internal struggle, you smile softly: “Today is my birthday, actually.”

Truly, Jeongguk doesn’t know what to say. His mouth hangs agape, like the information was sacred. “What…? You didn’t say anything- I could have got you something, done something-”

“This whole day has been a gift,” you stress, cutting him short and calming him down. “Truly. My Mom and Asshole are in the Maldives because that’s more important than me, and so I went out for breakfast with Jimin, skipped my yoga session because treat-yourself-vibes only on my birthday, and then I had the best time at your show and now we’re here. So, honestly-” as you talk, you finger his shirt, wrapping the material around your nail, “-everything has been amazing. This is my gift- you are my gift.”

Jeongguk pouts. “You’re way more important than the Maldives...you wanna go to the Maldives? Shall we go?” Based off the state of things, Jeongguk is a playful, chatty and overall excited drunk, his eyes blown wide with what you hope it just alcohol buzz. “I’ll take you.”

You laugh, gently stroking his jaw and very briefly, before he can get too addicted, kiss him. Before Jeongguk can pucker his lips back for you, you’re back on the ground with your feet flat, shyly smiling at the way he still tries anyway- because you can’t blame a man for trying.

“You like the party?” Jeongguk asks, unconcerned. His hands are back on your back, now, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Mm, it’s fun,” you agree. “Will you come out and join all of us? We’re all in the lounge-” you smirk up at him and he raises his brows, “Cassandra is there.”

“Who the fuck’s Cassandra?” questions his voice, and you laugh loudly, surprisingly gleeful.

“Someone else who was looking for you like me,” you tell him, frowning. He hums, interested in this fact and your expression. “Think she likes you.”

Outside the door, someone rattles at the handle, the noise falling short as though they’ve been stopped from entering. Jeongguk seizes the last word with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t worry,” he assures, and your gaze drops to his lips as his teeth drag on the bottom, pulling teasingly. “I’ve got my eye on someone special.”

There had been reasoning behind Yoongi’s decision to not mention Jeongguk’s habits.

For one, it’s none of his business to talk about what Jeongguk does and doesn’t do when under the influence. Secondly, he feels as though he’s not supposed to say, like it’s a secret he’s sworn to keep. Truthfully, Yoongi doesn’t want to give the wrong idea- he doesn’t want the truth to be misunderstood or misinterpreted, and so he stays quiet. Like all other members of August Blue when Jeongguk touches alcohol, he’s quiet. At this stage, there’s nothing he can do but wait for Jeongguk to stop, patient and helpful.

It has to be early hours, now, and if Yoongi’s phone wasn’t dead, he’d check. By this point, the party is on its last legs, the volume of people decreasing dramatically as songs become more slow and sultry, all the lights blood red. It’s about time he and Jimin leave, actually; like always, Seokjin and Taehyung have disappeared into one of their bedrooms on the second floor, and Namjoon is asleep on the couch with his mouth ajar, Hoseok and Roseanne planning to remain present in the hub until the party goes to sleep, because someone needs to clean up, and it sure as hell won’t be anybody else.

Yoongi bids his farewells individually, with Jimin needily clinging to the sleeve of his shirt with the vodka oozing out of his body, his head on a whole other planet. By the time Yoongi makes it to the other side of the room where you are with Jeongguk, he’s worried Jimin might actually fall asleep before they get to the car.

Something interesting has happened. Yoongi slowly moves towards the leftover crowd around Jeongguk and sees your face immediately, worry crossed with affection etched into the look on your face as Jeongguk tightly holds you on his lap, his legs twitching and smile on display. It’s around about this time Yoongi begins to overthink it, letting his gaze drop to your hands holding one of his while his other reaches out to the coffee table, littered with bottles and shot glasses, and most importantly, the puddles of white. He gulps, looking back at you. Surprisingly, you don’t look put off, or disgusted- more so you look sad, as if filled with intense guilt as Jeongguk hugs you, his heart in one place and head in another.

When one of the girls next to Jeongguk pats his arm and Jeongguk looks over, you spare the chance to look back in the direction of Jimin, overwhelmed with relief when you see him losing balance over the shoulder of your cousin. Jeongguk struggles for a second to let you free but he does, and you move towards Yoongi, already expecting his departure.

“You should leave too,” Yoongi says seriously. “Before he gets worse.”

He- you look over your shoulder at Jeongguk. Now, he’s on his knees, his chin on the coffee table as he inches towards a fresh line on the surface. Someone’s credit card sits decorated in the powder and Jeongguk, whilst pressing his finger to one nose, snorts the line without question and with a smile. You look away, facing Yoongi with a dark expression.

“You knew?”

“We all knew,” Yoongi sighs. “This...is moderate.”

Processing what he’s saying, you shake your head stubbornly. “If I leave, then it will get worse. I don’t want to leave him on his own. I wanna be here for him, before it gets worse than what it already is.”

“It will get worse, always does.”

“I don’t care, I’m not leaving him here,” you reason. “Before you tell me I’m not special and I can’t change him, I’m not here to change him. I’m here to support him. I’m gonna stay, make sure he’s okay.”

Yoongi really wants to intervene, warn you against it. People before you have tried, he wants to say. But he doesn’t; he smiles weakly, thinking about how you’re too good for the world and people around you and he brings you in for a hug, kissing the crown of your head.

“Alright. Happy birthday, by the way. Twenty...Hag,” Yoongi mutters before he pulls away. Jimin mirrors the movement, drunkenly giggling in your ear as he pulls away and thuds against Yoongi’s side. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t complain; secretly he likes the clinginess.

“Thanks, Yoongs,” you laugh, standing still until he steers himself and Jimin away from the scene and you’re left with no other option but to retreat back towards Jeongguk, who must be on his third line. The distinct and slightly jarring sound of snorting makes you hurry quicker towards him, until you can reach out and pet his hair, making him look up before he’s even finished the line.

The boyish grin that Jeongguk gives you when he looks up and sees your face is beyond beautiful, and he’s so distracted from the lines that he doesn’t notice or care when the girl next to him, displeased with his lack of attention, finishes it off for him. Doing everything in your power to not cry about how Jeongguk looks, fucked and wrecked with white powder under his nose, you shoot him a smile and smooth your hands down the side of his face.

“‘m pretty,” he mutters. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Laughter tugs at your throat, little puffs of air through your nose as you bend your head to meet his wandering gaze, wiping the powder from his nose before it kills you to keep looking at it. He sniffs, finding that it tickles, and plops his chin in your lap, hands on your thighs.

“Sleepy?” you ask, petting his curly hair.

“Mm.”

“Mm yes, or…?”

“Mm...comfy,” mutters Jeongguk. Through his hair, he looks up at you. “Can we make-out?”

You snort out a laugh, massaging his scalp. “Oh my God, you are so drunk. Come on, big guy.”

“Wanna stay with you,” Jeongguk says. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” you tell him. “I promise. Look, everyone’s getting ready to leave now, too, I think the party’s pretty much over.”

Jeongguk eyes the room with a half-lidded gaze, furrowing his brows like he doesn’t quite know where he is. “Huh. Everyone left.”

“Mhm.” He starts to reach for the cocaine on the table again and your heart beats with panic. “Hey, I think that’s enough now.”

“Lemme finish,” Jeongguk requests.

“You’ve had enough,” you stress, taking hold of his hand. “Let’s leave it there for tonight, okay, baby?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps towards you. “Baby?”

You nod, affirming. “Yes. Look, oh, I’m so tired-” you pretend to yawn, keeping one eye open to observe his expressions as he smiles childishly.

“You’re faking,” he accuses.

“Nope. I’m so tired, let’s go sleep,” you continue.

Jeongguk continues to smile, occasionally laughing when the sound can get out of his throat. You’re half expecting it to be a waste of time, for him to insist on taking more lines and drinking more booze, but he does neither of these things. Jeongguk nods once and runs his hands across your thighs, taking them in his palms and roughly squeezing, getting to his feet when you tug him up.

Across the box shaped recliner pattern, Cassandra-fucking-Cassie glares up from her seat, alongside several others who stare at you as if you’ve grown another head. Truth be told, and unbeknownst to yourself, Jeongguk has never listened to anybody like he does for you. You have no idea how insane it is to see Jeon Jeongguk following the orders of a girl nobody knows, and honestly, you don’t care. Feeling Jeongguk’s hand slide into yours and the other occasionally reaching to fondle the back of your leg as he searches for you in dark is enough, it’s the only thing you care about.

You don’t really know where you’re going; behind you, Jeongguk is mumbling the way to his bedroom, which appears to be up the grand staircase and on the top floor, where he can pretend he’s above the world. Even with his directions, the path seems unpredictable, his torso occasionally bumping into you when you pause at corners. Eventually, Jeongguk notices where he is and conceals a yawn, his face contorted into sleepiness as he gently pulls you in the direction of his room, unsurprisingly at the end of the corridor, a master. Before he can open the door, Jeongguk yawns loudly, slumping against the doorframe and laughing slowly when you curve around him, reaching for the handle and forcing your way into the room.

Inside, it’s cold, the window propped open and a midnight colour hanging on the walls, silence. Jeongguk doesn’t turn on a light, and he doesn’t want you to either. He still holds onto your hand, or rather your fingers, and leads the way inside. His bedroom is like a hotel suite, a small lobby area of sorts when you walk in with three doors North, East and West, all leading to separate rooms including the main bedroom, bathroom and closet, all his for his own liking. He, of course, heads to the East, in the direction of his bed. It’s equally as cold in there but Jeongguk doesn’t care.

Under his breath, Jeongguk hums something unintelligent, waiting until he’s right by the side of his bed to twirl around. His arms find themselves back around you, lifting you off the ground which elicits a squeal of surprise and falls with a soft pat on top of the bed. Your pelvis is on his abdomen, your face on the bed next to his neck and he holds you tighter, engulfing your smell and warmth. Amongst the drugs and the childlike excitement, Jeongguk is an affectionate drunk around those who matter to him. His exhale of breath akin to a sigh tickles a breeze on your ear, and you struggle to pick your head up and look at his face; he meets you with a titter and puckers his lips, kissing you before you can decline. He grins triumphantly.

“Got it.”

“Mm, you did.”

He laughs again, the kind of laugh that sounds gravelly. He’s so drunk. “Got you.”

Humming, you entertain that thought, reaching your head to peck his jawline. Jeongguk sighs contently, about to move his hands from your waist to your thighs when you shuffle up and away, his brows furrowing with perplexion. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk’s head tilts. “Where are you going? Don’t leave.”

“I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’ll be right back,” you promise him. Jeongguk pouts, emotionally clingy which is unusual, but flops back down onto the bed without vocal protect.

In the time it takes for you to rush to the bathroom, pee out of nervousness and nervously pet your hair and make it look absolutely no different, Jeongguk is knocked out asleep when you re-enter the room. His breaths are quiet, and heavy, his legs hanging off the side with his heels on the floor. The urge to sigh is unreal, but you know he must be tired, more tired than you are. Standing just before him on the bed, you’re uncertain of what to do first, but then you move to pull his feet out of his shoes, quietly tossing them to the side and then hauling his legs up onto the mattress. At some point during the night, he might shuffle- he does, slightly, when his body is on one level, and he sleepily worms his way to the side of the bed closest to the window, the right side, his side.

Half of your heart wants to leave. Maybe the way Jeongguk acted tonight was purely because of things he drank, things he lets into his body. But, subconsciously, you know better; the other half of you begs for you to stay. If Jeongguk changed his mind, it would be one walk out of the door and out of his life, easy and simple.

Instead of thinking about that, you gently toss your jacket to the floor and kick off your own shoes, laying flat next to Jeongguk as he falls deeper into sleep. Even if he wakes up with cold feet tomorrow morning, at least he won’t be alone.

The next morning, it is raining. It doesn’t often rain, and so you can’t help but hear the heavy sound of rain outside the window, no thanks to yourself for forgetting to close it before climbing next to Jeongguk. Speaking of the man, he remains asleep, his head twisted on the pillow facing you with his body flat on his back, one leg up and the other spread out. He looks so peaceful, hopefully at peace with his dreams.

Without waking him up, you roll over off the bed and sink your feet to the floor, silently retreating to the bathroom with your phone in your hand. Surprised by the time, it reads eight fifty am, and you scroll down your notifications which seem to have multiplied unusually. Few are from Instagram but majority are texts, from Yoongi and Jimin, one from your Mom that reads a simple “happy bday” and nothing more.

[03:32AM]: Yoongi 👹: hope ur safe and ok [03:41AM] Yoongi 👹: did u go home?

He sent those at three.

[08:50AM] You: shit sorry [08:50AM] You: was sleeping [08:51AM] You: im still with jeongguk, he passed out and i stayed so he wouldn’t wake up on his own

There is a short silence.

[08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: ok, be safe [08:53AM] Yoongi 👹: jimin says good morning lol

Sitting on top of the closed toilet, you hurriedly reply to the flurry of messages and by the time you’ve finished, ten minutes have passed and it is now nine. Checking over yourself in the mirror and deciding that you could ultimately look a lot worse, you move back into the bedroom, overhearing loudness from the remaining people in the house who had an early start to the day.

Jeongguk stirs slightly, showing signs of being awake. Under his breath he groans, reluctant to confirm his consciousness by keeping his eyes closed, and you slowly reach to put your phone back on the bedside table and clamber on all fours onto the bed. With the weight dipped, Jeongguk huffs, peering open one eye and watching you crawl up to him, knees near his body and hands brushing the long hair out of his eyes.

“Morning, sleepy-head,” you coo, voice quiet because nine is still early.

Jeongguk groans, saying nothing. He shifts, ironing out the cramps in his limbs and sitting up, reaching a hand out for you, grabbing air like a child. Your gaze drops to the way his fingers roll expectantly and you slip your hand into his, taken aback when he tugs you over onto him, your legs over his hips as his arms steady around your waist.

Suddenly he’s very awake, moving your hair back and then kissing you, like he’s been starved of it. It begins gentle, timid, with his hands barely touching you as if he’s expecting you to move away and reject it. You don’t, however; when he pulls back you immediately move back in, twisting your arms around his neck, prompting him to follow by tightening his arms around your body, bringing you flush up against him, hips touching, sex throbbing. Jeongguk groans into your mouth, his hands guiding your body as you make shy movements, barely rolling up against him creating friction he wasn’t aware he needed so badly.

Jeongguk isn’t sure if what he’s doing is okay, and you don’t care. All that seems to matter is having you near him, as close as you can possibly be. Under your shirt, Jeongguk slides his hand up your back until it’s at the back of your neck, his left tight on your hip bone as the guider. He welcomes, no, encourages, your hips rocking against his slowly, teasingly, perfect momentum for the morning with the rain. It is both unnerving and exciting in how Jeongguk remains silent, save his occasional groans into your mouth.

Once Jeongguk has grown bored of kissing your mouth, satisfied with all he’s done, his mouth departs and moves to your jaw, peppering a line of wet kisses from the underside to your neck. His hands spring away and move to hastily unbutton your shirt, unpopping one at a time as you whimper, feeling the hardness buried in Jeongguk’s jeans begging to be free.

Jeongguk breathes heavily, desperately pulling the buttons undone and undressing your shirt from your body. At first, he barely notices the fact that your bra is missing until the shirt is down to your elbows, sexily like a shawl, and his eyes land on your hardened nipples. Jeongguk half laughs, touching his thumbs on the underside of your breasts.

“Just like that,” he mutters, and you pout through a whimper that brings his eyes up to your own.

“Shut up, there was no way I was sleeping with it on,” you reply, and he hums, it makes sense. Jeongguk doesn’t blame you- why would he? He’s a guy, he likes tits; he likes your tits, smallish and round, big enough for him to hold and fit in his mouth, which he does.

Raising his eyebrows, Jeongguk smirks and brings his mouth to your right tit, his mouth around your nipple and you moan sweetly, your hand raking through his messy bed-curls. Like taking a toothless bite out of a whip of ice cream, Jeongguk’s lips pull around it, his eyes flickering up to observe your expressions- one glance and he immediately feels overwhelmed, a pressure on his crotch, discomfort, the need to be free. His hips stutter and he ruts up against you, two clothed crotches rubbing together, stolen gasps in the morning ambience. Finished with his hands on your tits, Jeongguk fully removes your shirt, balling it up and throwing it across the room, where it lands pathetically on one of the knobs of his drawers.

In one movement, Jeongguk secures his arms around you and hikes himself up onto his feet, squatting and turning so you should fall on your back. Following, he pushes you down into the mattress, your head half on the pillow and this time, his legs on your hips, not an overpowering weight but enough to keep you pinned down. You writhe, your back arching up off the mattress as Jeongguk’s mouth trails down from your face, where he leaves a starting kiss on your lips, down your neck and between your breasts, encouraging the roll of your hips with his hands. Muttered incoherence is all he can hear as he shimmies down, his tongue on your skin, teasingly licking a stripe up across your crotch covered by uncomfortable jeans.

Jimin, that fucker, he’d been right. Skinny jeans truly were the least practical outfit.

Jeongguk straddles himself up, planting his body over you like one would during sex. Humming against your lips, Jeongguk’s teeth pull at your bottom lip, his left hand gripping your leg and positioning it around his waist, your legs parted and his crotch directly hitting yours with every grind. Jeongguk gives nothing away- he stares, unwaveringly and deadpan directly into your eyes, grunting at the faces you pull, the whimpers leaving your lips, your rutting underneath him.

He buckles unexpectedly, pounding you deep into the mattress with a high pitched moan, captured by his mouth as he squeezes your flesh around his hand, holding you to him like letting you go would result in him losing you entirely. Jeongguk’s torn between wanting to cry and scream; in his short, sad, twenty one years of living, he’s not sure he’s ever felt as desperate for another person before. Never craved somebody the way he craves you, never needed somebody the way he needs you. Jeongguk stares into your eyes, opia. For fucks sake- he likes you so much, needs you so much-

“Jeongguk, you up?”

Freeze frame. Namjoon steps into the room, his eyes widening with surprise when he comes through the East and spots your shoes and bra by the door, shirt hanging off the cupboard, and Jeongguk on top of you with his lips on your neck, hands on your waist, leg around his middle and crotch up against his. Over Jeongguk’s bicep, you stare at him, your eyes blown open, but Jeongguk doesn’t seem to stop, or even care. Even when you grip on his bicep to let him know you’re not alone, Jeongguk looks up from your neck and spots Namjoon. A soft exhale leaves his lips and he grunts, unbothered.

“Yeah,” he replies bluntly, biting down on your neck and revelling in the tug he receives in his hair when he does so. Still, Namjoon stands by the door in awe, unsure of what to do or say. Jeongguk pulls away, his face still stuffed in your neck, “you need something, Namjoon?”

“I,” Namjoon says, gathering his thoughts. He clears his throat. “Sejin called...He said he’s going to be round at about eleven ish, so I was, um, coming to see if you wanted breakfast, or…” As he speaks, Jeongguk is selfish, still grinding against you like Namjoon’s not even there. He’s listening though, his ear free to hear as he sucks his mouth on your skin, practising sex against your jeans.

Naturally, Namjoon’s gaze wanders to your breasts when Jeongguk picks himself up slightly, grabbing one with his palm and kissing patterns across your sternum. He gulps, uncomfortable.

“Be down in a minute,” Jeongguk says, shrugs, not really a promise. Namjoon nods, flushing as you moan unexpectedly, your traitor pussy having a mind of its own, controlling the way you think. Namjoon about makes out an arch on the grey comforter and catches your gaze, half-lidded, and he turns away, he’s seen enough.

“Take your time,” Namjoon squeaks out, unsure of whether the flush is for his head or his dick but he’s not sticking around to find out, and hurries out the door and back into the house. Jeongguk’s facade doesn’t fall until he knows for certain that Namjoon has left, which means he waits until the sound of laughter resonates downstairs, meaning Namjoon’s said his piece to the rest of the band likely gathered somewhere, waiting for him.

Planting one final kiss to your breast, Jeongguk groans and picks himself up onto his hands, his torso still over the lower half of your body and his gaze on your chest. It doesn’t move for a moment, staring in silence until he suddenly starts laughing to himself. The tangled mess of hair bounces with his shoulders and his head drops for a few moments, and then he peers up at you with a smile and you can’t contain your own bubbling laughter, scandalised.

“I know I’m a day late,” he breathes, “but.” Jeongguk smiles softly, “Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

“Mmm. Thank you,” you preen. “Best birthday ever.”

This causes Jeongguk to guffaw, laughing under his breath. “Joon enjoyed it too.”

“You’re such a prick, you could have stopped,” you laugh to him, slamming his shoulders gently. Jeongguk grins, shuffling until his ass is on your stomach, straddling with his hands intertwined with yours.

“Yeah,” he agrees, because he could have. “Didn’t feel like it though. Plus, he said you were pretty once. ‘Mnot taking any chances with you.”

You gasp, astounded. “And what if I had thought he was pretty, too?”

“Then I’d cry,” Jeongguk replies simply, considering it a successful quip when you laugh sweetly, your cheek on your shoulder looking up at him like he was God’s angel. He blinks, like he’s processing the information, “thank you for staying. Look, if last night I was fucked up, it’s okay if you’re not cool with that. It can be a lot and I-”

“Jeongguk, I’ll always stay. If you need me, I’ll stay,” you tell him seriously. “I’m here for you, even when it’s difficult. I-” you pause, “I care about you.” It won’t be the last time Jeongguk feels like he has nothing to say to you, and honestly, it’s not the first time either.

Jeongguk looks down at you, his face devoid of a smile now that your words have settled in. When he realises what you’re saying, what that means for him.

“I’m sorry. I’m...a fucking shit show,” Jeongguk says quietly, and he barely moves when you instantly sit up, rising with your palms cupping his face, holding him gently and closely.

“Please don’t say sorry. I’m here, if you need me,” you say to him. “If you want me.”

“I do,” replies Jeongguk. He licks his lips, “of course I do.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest, and it would be easy to kick back, let him keep kissing, stay in the warmth of his bed covers. So suddenly, life feels like it can get better. So suddenly, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

(LOS ANGELES)

Things begin to change quite suddenly.

In the moment, you hardly realise how fast paced life is moving for you, too caught up in the moment, in the thrill of what has become of your life after the show at the Hollywood Palladium. For some reason, you didn’t expect to be an addition to Jeongguk’s life after the party, especially considering August Blue still had several other shows and cities to perform in, meaning the likelihood of seeing him decreased.

He had surprised you, though, by making a considerable effort to frequent DBOY whenever he could before he left for Jersey, alongside the rather spontaneous decision to take you for dinner after your shift, ending with a bang and a kiss and your mother peeking from behind a curtain inside the house when Jeongguk pulled up to drop you home instead of your own flat afterwards.

As far as you knew, nothing with Jeongguk had especially changed; judging off the lingering smell of nicotine and alcohol when he turned up to get you, and pictures of dark lights and white tables on his private accounts, which only made it harder to say goodbye to him.

There had been a change in pace between Jeongguk and yourself, an establishment of feelings discussed over that afternoon dinner looking out at the ocean. It had been unexpected and impulsive, you still dressed in your lackluster University outfit and Jeongguk in attire that he put on when he woke up in the morning, but everything seemed to feel right.

It hadn’t been much, nothing but him setting the record straight that he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he wanted to do it- if you would have it, he’d like to be in your life. There was the bump in the road that was his status, his tours and his unspoken struggle with white lines and drunken nights that could be troublesome. Could turn you off, could make you not want him. You laughed at that like it was the funniest and simultaneously the stupidest thing he’d ever said, and maybe it was.

Across the room, Jimin kicks his feet up onto the coffee table despite countless efforts to get him to stop. Now that the late birthday weekend spent with your family had come to a happy end, you were once again welcomed in your shared flat with Jimin; it’s a measly apartment close to campus with an expensive empty third room that you both use as art storage. Next to him on the couch is the greasy pizza box, his fingers pulling a slice off the cardboard. You stand behind the couch, looking at the back of his head, and then look back at your phone. As always, there’s nothing, no notifications besides an Icloud storage backup failure. You sigh, having expected it.

Jimin looks up when the couch dips in weight as you sit next to him, moving the pizza box to his lap rather than your spot. He has the nerve to appear offended, still shoving a slice in his mouth.

“I’ve picked the movie,” he starts.

“Swear on God, if you’ve picked Orphan again, I’m going to beat your ass.”

“It’s the best horror movie to date, come on!” Jimin argues, making zero effort to change the movie once it’s already started. People who didn’t know Jimin would take a look at him and anticipate him to be an angel, questioning why you would ever be annoyed by such a cute face. This- this is why.

Regardless, all you give Jimin is an eye-roll and decide to quietly accept the fact that your movie night has, once again, become an ode to Orphan. It’s not a problem- if a movie could define and represent a friendship, Orphan could summarize your relationship with Jimin.

The movie plays as far as Esther pushing her sister into the road when disturbance arises. Jimin is the first to stir, hearing the front door to your apartment crack open and a sheepish Yoongi steps inside, a bag of takeout in his left hand and keys in the right. He is, of course, late as always, and you expect he won’t hear the end of it by the time he’s wedged himself into the room; rightly so, Jimin interrogates him on being late as the front door closes, and right as the sound of arguing fills the room a blaring ring from your phone picks up.

It’s sad to admit that you pick up your phone in lightning speed, peering in the light as Jeongguk’s contact fills the screen. The way seeing his name light up on the screen feels like an urgent release, like finding treasure after searching for so long- you haul yourself up off the couch and head back towards the kitchen as the couple shuffle in. Glancing at them as they collapse in laughter to the couch, you smile and answer the call from Jeongguk that never stops ringing.

“Jeongguk,” you say, once you’ve picked up and heard nothing but murmured party ambience over the line. Something crackles, like the movement of clothes, and Jeongguk hums like he’s in a trance. “Can you hear me?”

“Hi baby,” his voice calls. He laughs, lucid, “Y/N, baby. Hi baby.”

“Hi,” you coo in reply. “Where are you, I can barely hear you…?”

“Party!” laughs Jeongguk. “Wrap up party. ‘so funny, you should come.”

A smile ignites. “I can’t, I’m not in that state. Are you having fun? What are you doing?”

For a moment, Jeongguk doesn’t reply. From the sounds of it, he seems otherwise occupied, for in the background the quiet sound of party laughter and glass clinking reminds you of where he is, what he’s doing, what he’ll end up doing. You swallow thickly.

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk says after some time. “Kinda fun.” He waits one second and then says, “can’t hear you. I’m gonna go outside, don’t hang up.”

“I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jeongguk moves outside, the party tucked behind as he leans against the brickwork of the rented bar used for the party. There’s a payphone on the wall, dripped in neon lights and he stands next to it, his body chilled by the night, leather on his skin.

“What are you doing?” Jeongguk asks, sniffing. That’s the indicator. Something inside of you sinks thinking about what he’s done, how sad it is that he does it to himself and nobody bats an eye.

You throw a glance back across the room; Jimin is settled in Yoongi’s lap, bringing soft laughter out of your cousin as the still frame of Orphan burns the television screen. “It’s movie night, so Jimin and Yoongi came over.”

“Mm yeah?” Jeongguk says. “Fun, sounds so fun, Yoongi said you lived with Jimin.”

“I do,” you reply gently. “When do you come home?”

“Saturday, maybe,” Jeongguk estimates. “Then I’m gonna come see you. Wanna take you out again, can we go out somewhere, I wanna go out.”

You laugh, tucking yourself into the kitchen when Yoongi and Jimin start laughing too loudly. “Course. Just let me know when, I’ll make room for you.”

For a while, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything interesting. In fact, it’s mostly a string of incoherent and confusing sentences, his pout audible as he speaks and at least he’s not making bad decisions, half the reason you haven’t told him to go back to the party. Maybe you’re in it too deep, maybe you have no right being worried about him like that. If his band members didn’t seem to be too worried, and they’ve clearly known him longer, then why should you be so concerned?

“Called you for a reason, you know,” Jeongguk says, after a short breath of silence.

You raise your eyebrows and lean against the doorframe, pulling at your bottom lip with your teeth after asking him why.

Jeongguk sniffs and then drops a deep exhale of breath. “Missed you.” Your heart thuds painfully. “Miss you, miss your voice. You should have come.”

“Maybe next time,” you offer. You’re unsure if telling him that you didn’t come because you don’t know what you are to him is wise at this exact moment, and so you decline to offer him a reason. Not that he asks. “I miss you too. I miss you coming to see me at work, made my day.”

Jeongguk laughs to himself. “I miss it. Coming home on Saturday, can I see you then?”

You pause to think. “Ah...it’s Yoojung’s birthday.” Yoojung is Yoongi’s sister, which Jeongguk remarkably remembers. He frowns, questioning. “There’s a party at her house, I’m obviously going because I’m family.”

“Yoo is a fan of the band, I think,” Jeongguk says. “Maybe I’ll ask Yoonie if I can come, surprise her or something. Wanna see you.”

“You can’t wait an extra day? I think I’m free all day on Sunday,” you offer, but Jeongguk declines.

“Nah. Greedy.”

He sniffs once, curtly and quickly, like inhaling sandpaper. You repress a sigh, not wanting to give away anything that might upset him, and you tuck further into the kitchen to escape the noise of the couple on the couch. It rises in volume, Jimin’s tone calling for you which Jeongguk can surely hear, but clearly cares little for.

“Fair enough,” you reply, smiling. “Are you going to go back in and party?”

For a second, Jeongguk says nothing. Unbeknownst to you, Jeongguk leans against the damp bricks with his chin tucked to his collarbones, gaze hazy and a smile on his lips. The air is cool enough to straighten his head, at least clear his vision from speckles to something clean.

“Just like talking to you,” he mumbles. “I don’t know, I don’t know if I wanna party anymore.”

“Then don’t, baby, it’s okay,” you tell him, trying to avoid eavesdroppers in the living room. “Find Seokjin and leave for the night, hm? Have some rest and then we can see each other when you get back for Saturday, m’kay?”

Jeongguk says nothing, listening in the background to Yoongi and Jimin as they heckle you into living room to finish the movie. He wants to say something, more than anything he has words on his mind, sentences on the tip of his tongue; he doesn’t. His head isn’t clear enough for him to trust himself to speak. So, instead, he takes an inhale of the outside air and glances around at his surroundings, observing the moonlight on the lake nearby and the dark green ferns around the car park.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna go to bed,” he decides to say.

“That’s good. Just let me know when you’re home safe, okay?” you tell him, silencing the duo with a finger to your lips and the couple on the couch suppress giggles of amusement. To them it’s funny. “Okay?”

“Yep. I’ll text,” Jeongguk promises. From behind him, the door to the club opens and you can faintly hear a voice calling him. It’s out of your hands but you hope that it’s Seokjin, or another member of the band. “Miss you.”

You smile, “I miss you too. Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday.”

Jeongguk hums. His voice is gone in the wind, too small to speak out.

(HIDDEN HILLS)

“And, you know, don’t get me wrong- I love parties as much as the next person, believe me, but if you can’t have an Iron Man balloon just because your parents are too damn lazy to go across town to Party City to get me one, then is it really a good party?”

Min Yoojung takes a sip from her glass and practically shrivels with distaste. For some or known reason, she had assumed that when you turned eighteen, life would dramatically change and you’d suddenly enjoy the taste of alcohol. Or, at least, that’s what UK TV shows had told her- mind you, she now knows that’s entirely inaccurate.

“I mean, think about it,” she continues with a huff. “Yoongi gets his own private club hired out for his birthday with the members of KISS playing on stage, and I can’t even get a balloon?”

Yoongi sits directly across from her on the patio sofas, a cigarette between his two fingers and a glass of red wine on the small table. He hides a smirk, feigning absolute disinterest as his sister speaks, waiting until she’s finished and looking between yourself and Jimin for some sort of explanation before he speaks.

“It’s because you’re adopted,” he replies smoothly, which only sets her off more.

To some extent, what she is saying is not flawed. For Yoongi’s eighteenth birthday, he had gotten everything he wanted, things he brought up in passing wrapped up and gifted to him on the morn of March 9th. And, Yoojung is walking proof that the myth of the baby sibling being the favourite is simply not true. Granted, Yoongi’s only the favourite because he’s semi-famous, whereas Yoojung still attends public school and dines in three star restaurants with allowance money she may as well not have. That’s not to say that her birthday sucks; it doesn’t, because the Min’s have money and standards and this party in the backyard might make a headline in some Indie magazine online. Who knows.

It’s leisurely and small, with only few celebrities in attendance not including the Min’s and their relatives. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the life of stardom- unfortunately, being the step-daughter of Axel Choi therefore meant having a camera in your face once or twice. Even though Axel was no relative of yours, and by no means did he ever have the audacity to assume he could fill the role of your Dad: Axel was an okay guy, protective of his family and by extension, protective of you. You didn’t mind, just one less camera to hide from, one less ugly photograph uploaded online for a bit of money.

That being said, Axel pulled a few strings and got a few A-Listers to show up, including a KPOP group that Yoojung had liked when she felt like an alien in her own country. Amongst those are some of Yoojung’s friends, who fear sitting near Yoongi because he’s the hot older brother type, and fearful of you who they don’t know, which isn’t any less scary from them knowing you.

“You haven’t done the cake yet, right?”

From behind Yoongi, out comes Wheein, one of his old friends from University. She carefully climbs over the seat to sit next to Jimin, mindful of her glass that sloshes and Yoojung sighs, pressing her chin into the heel of her hand.

“Nope. Yoongi says people haven’t turned up yet, so I don’t know what’s up with that,” Yoojung shrugs. “Honestly-” now she rises slightly, her back straight and finger pointed accusingly, “you fucking planned my whole party. Is this the Yoongi and Co show, or what?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies, as though it were obvious. He drinks. “Stop complaining and wait, it’ll be worth it.”

Yoojung scoffs, “Yeah right. If Tony Stark doesn’t come to this house dressed in his suit making that suity noise, then consider this birthday over.”

Yoongi pauses. “Okay then, I guess I’ll start sending people back home, because you can’t even get an Iron Man balloon, what makes you think he’s gonna pop round in person?”

Yoojung shrugs, “Poetic cinema?”

“Keep dreaming, cabbage patch baby.”

“Cabbage patch baby?” Jimin laughs. That’s when Yoongi ignores Yoojung’s frustrated groans and launches into an explanation behind the name, which involves Yoongi telling Yoojung when she was little that their Mom found her in a cabbage patch. You’ve heard it before, so you’re not listening when it’s explained. Your gaze instead lifts across the patio, awkwardly catching your mother’s as she looks around for you.

Her eyes light up when she spots you and immediately she waves you over, not taking no for an answer as those round holes turn into slits faster than you can even mouth the syllable “n”. While Yoongi dives deeper into Yoojung’s misery, you pick yourself up with a sigh and head on over towards your mother.

She stands next to Axel, as well as Yoongi’s parents, and two celebrities you vaguely remember for being present at Yoongi’s birthday many moons ago. You fake a smile, wanting to be polite, wanting it to be over. It seems your arrival had been pre-planned and expected, for your aunt turns to you with wide eyes and brings you by the elbow.

“Y/N. We were just talking about you- you know Maxine, don’t you?”

No. You regard the stranger, subtly looking them up and down and smiling tightly. “Of course! It’s so nice to see you.”

“We were just talking about the arts- classical, of course, because we all know how you turn up your nose at the modern artists of today,” your Aunt says.

“Well, I do like modern art, I just find classicals more interesting to study. More composition, colour, texture...more empathy.”

“Whatever,” your Aunt interrupts. “Maxine has a son who works in the Louvre. He’s looking for junior guides, people to talk arty to visitors and make everything sound nice.”

Maxine smiles to intervene. “Actually, he’s not high enough in the business to request people, but I do know that he’s got an eye for women who like the arts. Miyoung told me that you study it at University level.”

You nod, bored. “Yes, I do. I’m not sure I want to move to Paris for a job, though...so…”

“Oh, no,” Maxine laughs. As she does this, one of Yoongi’s other friends, Jaehyung, creeps up behind you and quietly says hello to your mother and to Axel, half listening when Maxine says, “Duke is actually on pursuit for somebody who can match his artistic background.”

This, of course, makes Jaehyung laugh suddenly. He takes a slice of cake off a nearby tray and takes a bite, moving to walk away as he says, “Y/N doesn’t need help in the dating department, I don’t think.”

You glare at him.

“What does that mean?” your mother asks. “Do you have somebody?”

“No, Mom. Nobody.”

“Sure she does,” Jaehyung winks. “Was all over Instagram.”

“That’s a lie,” you gape.

“Is it?” he shrugs. Is it?

Aunt Miyoung gasps like she’s heard an offensive secret, touching her collarbone as she looks between Jaehyung and yourself. Jaehyung grins, saying nothing and running back to Yoongi before you can slander him. You’re in for it now.

“The boy that dropped you home?” your mother presses.

“You knew about this?” Miyoung asks. “Maxine, I am deeply sorry- I feel foolish.”

“I-Yes,” you tell her finally. Jeongguk, the man in question, might not be what everybody now thinks he is, might not even be what you think he is. “It hasn’t been long, so I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“And he’s famous?” Axel asks.

You look at him. “Yeah. I guess. You wouldn’t believe he was, but he is.”

Axel raises his eyebrows, by now not in the least surprised by the bitterness in your tone that has been there since your mother first introduced him. He’d probably be more surprised if you didn’t talk to him like that. Regardless, Axel takes it with acquiesce, glancing at your mother for some sort of guidance that she can’t and won’t give to him. It is in this moment that the back gate that leads to a leaky trail next to the spacious garage and past Holly’s doghouse opens, like arms inviting a hug.

The gate needs oiling, screeching to gain attention as it opens and in steps pairs of booted feet. The selection of pauses, gasps and an excited murmur from Yoojung’s friendship group out over by the poolside paints the picture for you, and you don’t feel the need to turn around. Noise alone confirms that the person who opened the gate is the same man in topic of conversation, his eyes dancing around the yard until they land on Yoongi’s father, acknowledgingly and then finally onto Yoojung, who he happens to notice quickly than he does the back of your head.

“Speak of the devil,” your mother starts, recognising him.

Axel hesitates visibly and audibly. “That man. That’s him?”

You purse your lips, taking a peek over your shoulder at Jeongguk. He speaks for himself; his muscles cling underneath a white tee and leather jacket that feels overdressed, paired with faded black jeans decorated with gashes and two zips. Axel only frowns because he’s not dressed like a prep, or a future Doctor like he would have liked for you, hypocrisy. Not even dressed ‘normal’ like boys he sees on the covers of magazines belonging to your step-sister, his own blood, his actual daughter. Jeongguk is dressed for attention, his gaze high over his glasses that you’re unaware he owned.

“It might be,” you reply quietly, and it’s telling enough that Axel sighs, folding his arms.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Miyoung says quickly. “You should have just told us it was Jeongguk.”

“You know him?” asks Axel.

Miyoung nods, sipping her wine. “Sure. He’s been friends with Yoongi for a few years now- we actually cleared him to visit for Yoo’s birthday.” Finally she acknowledges you: “Handsome boy, Y/N. How did you find him? Yoongi?”

“More like he found me,” you muse. “I tried to remain professional, but he kept coming back to visit me at work.”

“Romantic,” your mother sighs honestly.

Yoongi’s father laughs. “Jeongguk has a type.”

You stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “The last time he had a girl on his arm he bed her and got rid of her. Funny, actually, you two had the same hair.”

“Hair isn’t a type,” Miyoung snaps.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, shrugging again. “Don’t get your hopes up, honey.”

“So, he’s a player?” Axel grunts.

“No,” you defend quickly. “No. Well- yes, he was. People change when they’ve found the right person to change for.”

Axel chuckles wryly. “And you think you’re the one to change him?”

“Not change him, but I’ll be there for him whenever he needs me,” you nod. “I trust him.”

“I can feel my ears burning.”

Jeongguk’s voice creeps over your shoulder before you can even notice that he has made his way over towards you; the feeling of his chin rested just above your ear makes your body pause and he wraps one arm around you, observing everybody in the huddle. The Min’s consider Jeongguk secondary family, welcoming him with a smile that Axel doesn’t reciprocate, not that Jeongguk gives a shit. For Jeongguk, this is monumentous, the time for him to prove himself to the guy who didn’t believe in him.

Actually, he’s surprised to find that the feeling of worship he felt for Axel as a teenager is still there, now that he’s standing right in front of him. It’s strange, subdued and numbing, but still there and pressing. Jeongguk tries to look anywhere but at Axel, but he can’t help it. Axel doesn’t even remember him, and has the audacity to stare at Jeongguk like it’s his first time, first impression of the guy dating one of his daughters.

Jeongguk pauses his thoughts and thinks back to you- are you dating? Wouldn’t hurt to lie, just to piss of Axel even more. Jeongguk wasn’t an exceptionally smart guy but he wasn’t stupid; it was evident that Axel didn’t like him, obvious from the ugly grimace on his face. He doesn’t care- Jeongguk relishes in his dislike. That gives him power, now.

“Jeongguk,” says Miyoung, smiling wide.

Beside her, your Uncle sips his drink, silent and occasionally glancing between Jeongguk and Axel. Maybe everybody disliked Axel, Jeongguk thinks to himself, as he stares at the pulled crease between your Uncle’s eyebrows. He knows vaguely that you’re related to the Min’s through your mother, and that they, unlike your mother, never got over the death of your Dad. Maybe they too can’t stand the sight of Axel, bragging and sour-faced, acting like a member of the family when in reality, all he is is an imposter, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, awkward and looking misplaced.

Jeongguk smiles back at Miyoung. “Hi, it’s good to see you. Thanks for having me.”

“Our pleasure,” Miyoung replies. “You’re a punk, y’know- dating our Y/N. None of us had any clue! Why hide such a beauty?”

Jeongguk grins. His arm wrapped around you tightens gently. “Sorry. We didn’t want to rush into making anything public…” He trails off, looking at you. “Get nervous and tell people?”

“Actually, you have Jaehyung to thank for that,” your mother pipes up with a sigh. For the first time, Jeongguk looks at her entirely. She looks nothing like you, too done up with surgery and makeup for him to see a resemblance. Maybe you looked like her before, maybe you favoured your Dad. “I’m Jennifer, Jenny, by the way. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Jeongguk smiles constantly, accepting her tight hug as she welcomes him. “Jeongguk.”

“Y/N doesn’t talk about you,” she says.

“In fairness, I don’t talk about anything,” you add, but she’s not listening. Jeongguk is, though, and his heart tugs. He’s got the situation kind of figured out.

“I don’t blame her,” Jeongguk replies smoothly. “We weren’t sure it was time to make things official- it’s new.”

“And it’s serious?” Axel asks, speaking for the first time.

Jeongguk watches him. “Yes, sir.”

Axel bristles. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Axel, I’m Y/N’s father.”

“Step father,” you cut in.

“Father,” he repeats. Axel extends a hand outwards for Jeongguk to shake. Even though he hesitates, Jeongguk accepts, firmly shaking it. It’s a good handshake, Axel ought to be impressed. What doesn’t sit right is Axel calling himself your father- something he’s never been given the right to say.

“We actually have met before,” Jeongguk says, and around his arm he feels you tighten, briefly glancing up at him.

All eyes in the huddle are on Axel, including the long forgotten Maxine who watches quietly. “Did we? I don’t remember you.”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Jeongguk explains with a flat tone. “We were in Busan. You came into my work and bought some cigarettes, I had your opinion on some of my work.”

While Axel thinks about it, your mother gasps happily, clueless and embracing her hands. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Honey, it’s great that you helped this young man.”

Unknowingly, the Min’s writhe on their spots. They know this story. They know the truth- maybe that’s why they dislike Axel the way everybody else does.

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk continues, with the same flat tone that makes you shudder. “Yeah. You told me our music was shit and that I’d never make it in the business because I was a Korean boy from Busan with dreams I couldn’t reach. You told me we’d never succeed and that we’d be stuck in Busan flipping burgers and working night shifts at 7-11, and that the only way I’d succeed was if I was American. Dunno if you remember that, but I did.”

Nobody says anything. Not even Axel, who stares coldly.

“Well, we made it,” Jeongguk laughs quietly. “I took your advice and it really helped motivate me to prove you wrong. We’re number one on Billboard and we’re making history as the first all Korean band to top the charts and headline The Governors Ball next year. Not bad for a basement boy from Busan, right?”

Your mother gulps. “That’s really wonderful, Jeongguk, you should be really proud.”

Jeongguk pities her. “Thank-you. We worked hard for it. Now we’re here.”

“And I suppose it will do Y/N some good, being with somebody so successful.” For the first time since Jeongguk’s arrival, Maxine speaks up. She cradles her champagne glass tenderly and examines Jeongguk with her slinted fox-like eyes, as if nursing a different agenda.

“Thank you,” repeats Jeongguk. He tightens his arm around you, obviously enough to create a statement. While it’s mostly to prove to everybody- and himself- that you and him are an item, it’s also to rub extra salt into Axel’s wounds, his face like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Y/N helps keep me driven a lot. I owe her so much already, I’ll make her happy and do her proud. Thanks to Y/N, I don’t think I could be here. I’m here because she suggested it, actually, for Yoojungie.”

“And a good job, too,” Miyoung finally says, trying to avert the tensions. “Else Yoojung would be miserable at her own birthday party.” And everyone laughs, apart from Axel, not that anybody cares. “Jeongguk, shall we start the music up?”

Jeongguk nods. “I’d love to. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles, walking away to prep. Feeling Axel’s stare cold on your skin, you gently push yourself into Jeongguk, until he’s walking backwards towards the selection of trees where you turn in his arms, looking up at him. Jeongguk smiles honestly for the first time, his heart thumping.

“Hi,” he says gently.

“Well, you know how to make an entrance,” you note thoughtfully. Jeongguk’s eyes rake your own, wordless. “Be careful how you act around Axel. He’s strangely protective.”

“I thought he wasn’t family.”

You frown. “He’s not. But he’s still… you know. Part of the family.”

Jeongguk says nothing at first. “I get it. I do,” he assures with a nod. The next moment, he has his hands on your upper-arms, smoothing. “It’s good to see you, by the way. You look beautiful.”

A smile crosses your face. “It’s good to see you, too. Missed you.”

“I missed you too, we just got off the plane this morning,” Jeongguk explains. Took a nap on the way home and then got dressed and we came straight here.” He pauses playfully: “Do I look okay?”

You laugh girlishly, catching his elbows with your fingers. “You look great. Who knew you wore glasses?”

Jeongguk grins. “They’re fake, I’m a fraud.”

“Of course,” you joke. “Like all rockstars.”

“Hey, don’t bring in my fellow rockers!” Jeongguk laughs too, an unusual sound. “As much as I wanna stand around and stare at you, I need to go and say hi to Yoojung and perform and stuff. It’s kinda why I’m here…”

“LOL,” you say. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Guk. Go, I’ll survive.”

“Okay,” he resists. “But I’ll come back later, yeah? Can’t ignore my girlfriend.” Jeongguk raises his eyebrows mischievously and then, rustles in his pocket whilst speaking, “Oh, wait. Happy-” he checks the time and shows his phone screen to you as he steps backwards, “-ten minute anniversary, babe.”

As Jeongguk steps away, dragging his fingertips along your palms as he steps backwards towards the curved pathway around the pool, a warm feeling simmers in your stomach. Maybe it’s the sunlight shining gold across his skin or the way his smile finally reaches his nostrils, extending wide, his eyes folded into moons- but something about the whole ordeal seems safe, seems gorgeous and heavenly, at the same time domestic. He winks, turns and heads towards the rest of August Blue sheltered around Yoojung and Yoongi, and you’re left with the imprinted image of Jeongguk’s smile on the spot of grass he just stood on, burning, refusing to leave.

[23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: so i don’t think ur family like me…. [23:39PM] Jeongguk❣️: am i out of the picture now?

The sound of your phone fills the room and pulls you out of the bathroom, which connects to your family bedroom back in the house your family live at currently. Yoojung’s party had ended hours earlier, the grand finale with Jeongguk helping bring out her cake, fireworks on the evening, a hand on your waist.

Rubbing at your wet hair, you sit on the bed and reach for your phone, glossing over the messages, smiling.

[23:40PM] You: hey now [23:40PM] You: i don’t think my family like me either [23:41PM] Jeongguk❣️: wanna run away and be my family? [23:42PM] Y/N: where are we running to? [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: idk yet [23:42PM] Jeongguk❣️: somewhere nice [23:43PM] Jeongguk❣️: far away [23:43] You: omg yes [23:44PM] You: kinda wanting to go to hawaii...what are your thoughts on hawaii, gukkie? [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: hawaii on a first date? imagine that….. [23:45PM] Jeongguk❣️: u DO dream big [23:45PM] You: i tried [23:46PM] Jeongguk❣️: it’s not exactly hawaii [23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: but how about a late night rendezvous at olive garden

(At the same time…)

[23:47PM] Jeongguk❣️: omg … as if i just spelt that word right [23:47PM] You: autocorrect, u cant fool me [23:47PM] You: and omg sure…..,,,,,, [23:48PM] You: something tells me ur already here and thats why you’re asking

(A honk outside your window.)

[23:49PM] Jeongguk❣️: 🤪 [23:49PM] You: my hairs wet 🥺 [23:50PM] Jeongguk❣️: i’ll roll down the windows?

(A sigh.)

[23:50PM] You: pls give me five minutes

Jeongguk had been parked up outside, his car hidden half in the shadows by a flickering streetlight, inconspicuous and with the inside lights on. It had taken all but three minutes to find his car, and another three for you to warm up to talking to him inside the car. Slipping into the passenger seat with the sound of Magnetic Moon on the AUX and the shining smile from Jeongguk had been nerve-wracking, perhaps nerve-wracking is even an understatement. Nonetheless, the song had rolled to an end and just before Tiffany could transition into the smooth vocals of Lana, Jeongguk said his first few words beyond “hi”.

Olive Garden was a few miles away from your neighbourhood- small and pushed to the side with a selection of palm trees scattered outside, like a postcard for Malibu. Like most, if not all American’s, you’ve been here before, already have a go-to on the menu. Jeongguk drives into a parking bay near the shrubs and opens the doors for you, pulls out chairs, goes the extra mile ordering wine in advance in a private section of the restaurant that you didn’t know existed. You’ve only ever been here with Yoongi and Yoojung, two celebrities who sometimes have the luxury of leaving the house and not getting immediately noticed.

“What do you wanna do after?”

Jeongguk, halfway through cutting his sirloin steak, glances up with an honestly surprised expression. “You still want to hang out after?”

You shrug, taking a sip of the wine. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because our first date since I got back from tour is at fucking Olive Garden,” Jeongguk states.

“I like Olive Garden…” you mumble, which he hears.

After swallowing a large mouthful, he sends it down with a gulp of wine. “Well, I’m not gonna complain. Shall we go for a drive? You ever been to the beach at night?”

“I live in LA, who hasn’t been to the beach at night?”

“Okay, true,” he replies. “I used to do it all the time in Busan, too. Lived right across the road, could see the sands from my front porch.”

Once dinner is over, and once Jeongguk has quite finished coercing you into sharing an ice-cream sundae with him, Jeongguk takes you up on the invitation to drive to the beach, the night sky like looking into the eyeball of a stuffed animal, the stars like specks of dust on an Afterlight edit. The boulevard is lit up by circular bulbs, tiny attractions for moths, bright like close up stars. Jeongguk drives smoothly, the window slightly down and occasionally his eyes glanced over at you; your hair is messed in the wind, the sound of Kim Petra on the AUX sending your body into little bops, something Jeongguk wants to remember for the rest of his life.

“So much for letting my hair dry.”

Jeongguk laughs from the back of the car, closing the boot and bringing out some spare towels to hand over to you. They’re yellow, like fresh little buttercups, and slightly wrinkled, smelling like faint juice and sea-salt. Regardless, you take the towel off him and begin to quickly rub it against your hair, once again trying to even out the wetness, less than the shower back home, enough to still drip on your arms and legs.

“You splashed me first,” Jeongguk replies, standing outside the door whereas you sit with your legs hanging out, sideways on the backseat. Behind him is the beach, dark and the sound of the ocean lapping like television static, the faint sound of the amusement arcade down the prom. His body is wet too, the ankles of his jeans clinging to his skin with ocean water.

You turn your head to him, smiling. “Guilty.” When he laughs, you continue to speak and bring the towel back down to your lap, “Okay, it’s what they all do in the movies. What else are you supposed to do on a beach at like...midnight. Wait, what time is it?”

“I dunno, like, three?” he guesses.

“No way.”

“Feels like three. Check the front.”

You lean over to check. “It’s definitely not three.”

Jeongguk shrugs boyishly, that same grin creating dimples near his chin. “Not far off. It was a guess.”

“Good for a guess,” you assure. Jeongguk wrangles the towel from your hands politely, wringing it out and throwing it back into the boot. Your hair can dry again in the wind when Jeongguk drives away, the same way it did when he picked you up. He has this theory on his mind as he walks back around to the open door, although the words leave him when he returns, having found that he has nothing at all to say now it’s come down to it.

Jeongguk moves back in, his body shoved between your legs slightly as he moves closer. You gaze up at him, the light behind him making his body glow dark, sighs like whispers in the quiet ambience.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight,” Jeongguk says, like it’s a secret. “Even though this morning your family almost had a heart attack discovering that we were, well, whatever we are...I still had fun.”

You hum in agreement, watching his face as it moves into the light. “Yoojung had the best time. I haven’t seen her that happy since she met Paul Rudd at Disneyland, and that’s seriously impressive.”

Jeongguk laughs quietly. “Paul Rudd.” He almost can’t believe that.

“As for us,” you continue, stress on the ‘us’ which brings Jeongguk’s attention full circle and back entirely onto you in the backseat of his ride, “well...what are we?”

For a few moments, Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. “I have the fantasy and the reality.”

You nod, encouraging, and so he continues. “The fantasy is that we give it a go. We try it, really try. Y/N, with every small inch of my delicate, precious body-” (giggles are delivered by you as he speaks)- “I absolutely adore you. And I never knew I could feel like how I feel with you. I only ever wanted the sex, and even then, I didn’t want it that badly, and then you wandered into my life and everything feels so...so...I don’t even know a word. I just know it feels amazing when I’m with you- I feel amazing. And, of course, the reality is that we’re two sad early twenties rich kids who are pining and don’t know what to do about it.”

And it’s true, it’s so true. The sad reality of it all was that unless either one of you stepped up first, this dynamic of uncertainty would continue on as the norm. Where you were too shy to be bold and make a move, Jeongguk felt too insecure to step up.

“Well, then…” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek, thinking. “How about we try making the fantasy our reality?”

Nothing.

Jeongguk blinks and cocks his head in bewilderment. “Really?” You nod. “You want to?”

“If I didn’t want to, why the hell would I leave my house with wet hair to go eat at Olive Garden and lovingly stroll on a beach at midnight?”

Jeongguk’s eyebrows raise in amusement. “Oh, so it was loving?”

“I was definitely feeling some kind of way,” you confirm.

At long last, Jeongguk smiles wide, shuffling closer. His hands wrap around your face gently, like holding a delicate bird in two palms, and his fingers brush against your ears, tickling the skin, nails fingering your hair.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, “Great, actually.”

“Yeah?”

Now, Jeongguk hums, his trademark reply for when his eyes are too lost for words to be conjured up to describe how he feels about what he sees. He is, what one might recall to be as “lost for words”. His teeth clip at his bottom lip as he questions what he’ll do next, and for a brief moment you catch his tongue darting out in nervousness as he leans closer, smell of mint on his breath as his lips touch yours, and the heavens open.

Metaphorically and literally, so. As Jeongguk brings you closer to him, his lips still pressed on yours, his heart elevates into subspace, his body light and euphoric. At the same time, the sky grumbles, hungry, and it begins to pour, tiny droplets on the roof of the car and on Jeongguk’s back. He winces, doesn’t pull away, and quickly separates himself from you to squint at the sky.

He sees nothing, because it’s way too dark, but he feels it. Sighing briefly, Jeongguk turns back to you and nods his head upwards, miming for you to shuffle backwards into the car. A rush of something hot creeps down the middle of your body as you do so, feeling Jeongguk’s hand on your calf as he climbs in after you, his ankle caught on the door bringing it to a close, but not fully. The red alarm light is bright and begging for attention but Jeongguk pays it no mind.

Instead, he crawls back to you, eager to pick up what he left. It’s welcomed, warm and inviting, as Jeongguk holds you back closer to him and returns the kiss, hot and open mouthed. Something clicks inside of you, a moment of realisation as Jeongguk sets himself over you, his thighs like a cage and his hair tickling your eyebrows. When this feeling simmers, you grin, something Jeongguk is only mildly surprised about. He doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t really need to.

In fact, Jeongguk doesn’t really say anything at all; he doesn’t need to, and he actually can’t, given the volume of the rain now it comes down heavier. It’s so loud, almost deafening, which you almost thank out loud for. The rain at least covers up your breathy moans as Jeongguk’s hands wander, pulling at the bottom of your dress and fisting it into a ball, the fabric rising higher.

When Jeongguk finally pulls himself away, it is selfish. He pulls back and sits down, in the middle seat so there’s a window view from every angle, his feet in either footwell. Jeongguk shakes his head and hair out of the way, his hands making their way back to you to bring you up and over into his lap. This time, Jeongguk accepts a kiss from you, his cheeks cupped almost by your hands which gives his hands free reign to smooth across your body, swiftly lifting the bottom half of your dress up, wrapping it like a belt across your hips. If the rain were silent, he’d like to have heard you, heard the way you whimper as the bulk in Jeongguk’s jogging bottoms brushes against your pussy, the fabric of your underwear making it hypersensitive and ten times more exciting.

Jeongguk’s lips widen, his mouth open and inviting for you, accepting tongue when you bring your lips back to his after a short break. His eyes flutter and roll backwards, the tickle of your breath through your nose on his skin as he holds you closer, as if you can get any closer than what you already are. Then, when you quite suddenly bite down onto Jeongguk’s tongue and lips, he groans, pleasured, his hands moving beneath your skirt to grab your ass, lifting you up and down on his very attentive boner.

If Jeongguk or yourself ever thought that the first time you’d have sex would be near the public beach in the back of his car in the middle of a very thunderous rainstorm, you might have laughed, or said there would be more to it. In actual fact, it’s just how it is- Jeongguk shimmies himself out of his bottoms soon enough, reaching into the back side of the car to pull out a condom, since he always has some in case of emergencies, like most guys do. He’d like to not use one, but he knows it’s not safe- he doesn’t know if he’s got something, or if you’ve got something. Either way, he rolls it onto his dick in a record speed and sinks you down onto him all within the same ten seconds, and, yeah- it’s not what he expected to happen, it’s not what anybody expects to happen, but it feels right, feels great. When he’s fucking somebody as good and as lovely as you, he’s not allowed to be picky on the location.

He can’t allow himself to be picky- he knows that he’s wanted you ever since he saw you swirling to Dancer in the Dark, he knows that things are meant to be how they play out. Actually, he doesn’t mind it. He likes the risk of someone seeing, likes the way the windows fog up and how the car rocks slightly, obvious to people outside. Jeongguk relishes in that excitement, crossed with the pleasure and arousal coursing through his body when his attention is pulled out of hit thoughts and back onto you. The rain quietens down and he hears you, feels his hands grip tighter around you and his guided pace quicken, all with a breathy high tone in his ear, occasional breaches of rain and roars of thunder, an orchestral accompanying each of you through the sex, until gushing sounds of rain are what he hears when he sees white in his eyes and over his dick, a melting handprint in the condensation on the window.

[02:34AM] You: def just heard something on my balcony so if i die, pls tell yoongi that it was ME who lost his left airpod and it was also me who stole his signed Nirvana album it’s on my shelf im sorry [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: um [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: wtf….. [02:35AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: u really just gonna die and not leave anything for me???? [02:36AM] You: SSKSSKKSKSKSK [02:36AM] You: u can have my bank account details + contents [02:36AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: !!!!!!!! [02:37AM] Jimin 🦶🏽: omg rip y/n <3 u will be missed omg…..omg cant believe ur dead

All jokes aside, you stare for a long time at your balcony doors, going insane at the sight of nothing at all through the glass and your curtains, slightly see-through to allow the sun in the mornings.

The night burns on your eyes, flashing swirls of colour taking over as you stare for too long at seemingly nothing at all. Quite possibly, it is the wind, or an animal that has climbed onto the balcony from out of one of the trees. It’s happened before- one time, a family of raccoons migrated onto your balcony during the September months of last year, and stayed there for so long that you forgot your balcony had doors. Those same doors are locked, like they always are on a nighttime, but the bedroom window remains open, slightly pushed out to allow in a breeze to circulate the room.

Knowing that it’s probably nothing, you settle back down into bed, drifting back into sleep remarkably fast for somebody previously quite concerned with being killed. This fact is startling- not just to you, but also to Jeongguk, who cocks a leg over your balcony rail and then through your window. What also shocks him was how easy it was to do all of this, now that he’s standing in your bedroom with nothing to say given the fact that you’ve fallen back to sleep.

Jeongguk sighs softly. It’s been about a week and a half since the beach, and the car, and the rain and the first time, but it feels like it’s been months. Jeongguk had to leave for a few days, three at the most, to film some puppy interview for Buzzfeed and continue other solo interviews while the rest of the band settled for a break in their LA residence. Every moment away felt like agony, so painful that Jeongguk found himself back outside your house, surprises stored in emails on his phone.

He steps quietly over towards your bed, wincing when his weight on top of the comforter causes a loud rustle and squeak. Still, you don’t wake, not until Jeongguk lays himself over you with his hands near your shoulders, his voice quiet and murmuring your name, hair tickling your face, lips on skin.

“Wha-Jeongguk?” you ask quietly, your voice groggy. “How’d you get in here…?”

“I think you need security, urgently,” Jeongguk replies quietly. When you roll over onto your back, he smiles gently and wraps hair from out of your face around your ear. “And you need to start locking your windows. You make a robbery look very easy.”

You sigh. “Oh. I thought it was okay.”

“Just be glad your intruder is me and not somebody else,” he says caringly. “Sorry I woke you.”

“No,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I was awake...and then I closed my eyes for a bit. Hey, was that you out on the balcony?”

Jeongguk grins. “Knew you saw me.”

“I didn’t. Well, I did, but I thought I was being overly paranoid,” you tell him. You yawn away from him, “What time is it, babe?”

Jeongguk purposefully ignores the feeling in his chest. “It’s two fourty.”

You groan. “Are you stopping the night? Get in, I’m tired.”

Jeongguk brings himself down to kiss you once. “No. No, no, you can’t sleep right now. I wanna go out.”

“Now?” you ask, aghast.

“Yeah. Let’s go somewhere.”

“At like three-am?”

“Yeah, sorry, it was the only time I could get it. I wanna take you somewhere special.”

Once Jeongguk is finished speaking, you open your eyes wider and observe him. It’s only then that you notice his clothing; over his upper body, he wears a large oversized grey hoodie, slightly worn out and wrinkled with the drawstring missing, and as always, dark jeans that blend in with the night. A frown worms its way onto your face, your expression unreadable to Jeongguk’s eyes.

“Get it? Get what, babe?” you mutter.

Jeongguk hums, like shrugging.

“Where are we going?” you ask, starting to sit up which forces Jeongguk to roll over on the bed, until his feet swing over the side and hit the floor. He wants to stay quiet for the sake of yourself, considering he’s not looking forward to accidentally waking up your family. You’ve been staying at your parents' place for the entire week, abusing reading week for sleeping in, going out for something to eat, and returning home to watch Glee rather than finish your art assignments. Naturally, Jeongguk doesn’t want the whole family to reject him just because he woke them up at three in the morning to collect you from your room.

“Hm,” Jeongguk starts, straining to hear if anything outside your bedroom catches his ear. He faintly hears the sound of claws across the wood, remembering you once mentioning that your family had a dog. “How about we go to Paris?”

You whip around to look at him, making out his silhouette in the dark. “Paris? Are you fucking with me?”

“Why, what’s wrong with Paris?”

“There is nothing wrong with Paris,” you affirm, gasping. “I just...really? Paris?”

“Yeah. Thought we could stop by The Louvre to see that dude Maxine tried to set you up with.”

You snort quietly, moving to turn on a lamp which brightens the room into shades of orange. “How did you even know about that?”

“I hear things,” he says, shrugging. Jeongguk then shakes his head and looks back at you, making his way to the bottom of the bed. “No. I just really wanna take you out somewhere special.”

“The beach was special to me,” you tell him.

Jeongguk smiles, “Me, too. But...Paris.”

Laughter bubbles at the back of your throat. “Okay. Let’s go to Paris. Why not?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees, laughing also, “why not? Need help packing anything? You won’t need a lot, I can take you out when we get there.”

You pull a face, looking back at Jeongguk. “Wow...our first vacation together and you’re already going to spoil me?”

Jeongguk grins widely, “Well, on our first date I humped you, so I guess we’re pretty unconventional.”

You have nothing to say in reply to that.

(PARIS)

One thing you never thought you’d get the chance to do is take a trip on a private jet, holding up the scheduled flight times of other aircraft at the airport. That changes the second that Jeongguk pulls up outside of LAX, his hand carefully and tightly clamped around your own as he escorts you whilst also being escorted by his own small handful of security right into the large building. Thankfully for him, the airport is empty, occupied by sleeping flyers who wait on hard, metal chairs, the tinny sound of music playing at volume three.

His jet is small, yet luxurious; it’s everything out of a movie set, decorated in mocha creams and whites, clinking glasses of champagne waiting to be swallowed. His pilot knows him by name, and there’s a handpicked air hostess who looks bored and old, her lock screen a picture of her children. Jeongguk smiles at her, even addresses her by name and introduces you with a chirpy tone. The lady looks surprised, covering it up with a tight smile of nervousness. Maybe you’re the only girl Jeongguk’s ever brought on the plane before. Maybe you’re another girl he’s brought on the plane, you don’t know for sure.

After take off, Jeongguk spins in his recliner seat and drums his fingers in his lap. You sit opposite, looking meek, your gaze out the window at the dark clouds and sky. As you continue to fly, the sky opens up, into ombre colours that fascinate. One is looking at the beauty of nature and the other is looking at the beauty of a woman. Neither says a word.

When the plane reaches touch down, the airport is quite bustling and energetic, thankfully again no fans who caught an air of mystery from Jeongguk’s suspicious tweets at one in the morning, when he spontaneously booked tickets without even getting the green flag. Money to waste, risks to take, is what he’d say. Jeongguk helps you carry your small bag to the hired vehicle, an inconspicuous black car with black-out windows. He’s half expecting the vehicle to give him away, but nobody present actually gives a fuck about who is in the car and who isn’t. So, he climbs in without being noticed, his hand in yours, right up until the doors close and you’re hotel bound.

“Fuck, jet-lag.”

Jeongguk dives onto the bed, his back on the duvet and nose tipped up to the ceiling. Presently, you’ve been in Paris for a few hours, staring at the roads below with tired and sleepy eyes, heavy shoulders, a day indoors. Jeongguk’s been to Paris before, quite a few times actually - you haven’t, seeing the city in glimpses outside your balcony. To his right, the bathroom light clicks off and you shuffle out, a towel wrapped around your body as you cross the width of the room.

“Right?” you agree with a small frown. You crouch to pick up a fallen jacket off the back of the chair, tucked underneath the white vanity. “I almost fell asleep in the shower.”

“Yeah? You tired?”

“Exhausted,” you say honestly. “Once I’m dry, I think I might head to bed.”

Jeongguk hums in reply, maybe agreement. He lets you do what you need to do; of course, he takes a peek, because he’s a boy and he can’t help himself. You’re dressing by the window, staring out at the pretty Eiffel Tower who shines, lit up for the evening. The room is dark, dressed in midnight tones, the only light outside and the glow of one of the lamps upon the table top. Jeongguk is so wordlessly in awe that he doesn’t care about not being able to see. He sees your silhouette against the light of the city, curved and beautiful, hidden away by a long button up that you picked out of the wrong suitcase, not that he cares. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he feels his body lifting up off the bed like he’s levitating. God, his chest is so light, it hurts, he wants to scream, he wants to cry, laugh, smile, leap up and yell. You finish buttoning and turn and he returns to the mattress.

The bed dips as you crawl up onto it, your knees by Jeongguk as you sit next to him on the bed. Instantly, Jeongguk’s hands move to your hair to move it away from your face as you look down at him, one hand on your knee also. On command, the smile on his lips widens softly when you brush away his fringes off his face, humming and then reaching down for a kiss, stealing one from his lips without warning and another off the slope of his chin.

“Paris is pretty,” you tell him. Jeongguk hums. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He shrugs awkwardly. “Sorry it’s not the Maldives, baby.”

“Whatever. Paris is better,” you say. “Our view is gorgeous.”

You look back at the window. Jeongguk does not. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“Must have been expensive as fuck,” you exhale, turning back to him. His hand that was once on your face drops to your back, wandering until it’s found on your ass. It feels nice, you can’t complain.

“Rich kids of LA come to Paris to make noise and take tourist photos by the Eiffel Tower,” Jeongguk replies, joking but sounding serious, which is a talent of his. You laugh, so he knows it’s something you recognise. He laughs too. “It’s actually in Yoongi’s name. Just asked him if I could use it for a weekend away.”

Your brows curve upwards in amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m a fraud, it’s not my apartment,” he sighs, “but, at least we’re here. Like it enough, and I’ll buy us a house here.”

“Are we really there yet?”

“Might be,” Jeongguk theorises. “Wanna try it for a bit longer?”

Nothing is said. Outside, a car honks and you sigh at the same time, through your nose, playing with your fingers with Jeongguk’s locks of hair that grow longer over his face. His head hasn’t moved, still squashed against the pillows, his earrings tangled and most likely stuck to strands of his hair, a difficulty for when he decides to move. He feels your hand on his face again, comforting, and he inhales your familiar scent and knows you’ve come closer by the time you’re there, pressing your lips to his.

It’s fleeting, fast. You pull away right as Jeongguk comes to terms with what you’re doing, and so he follows you up as you move away. He’s sitting up, his hands on your elbows as he moves to kiss you again, finish what you started.

A bar door outside opens and music spills out, just as Jeongguk’s hands move from your elbows to your ribcage, his heart in his throat when you reach up to tenderly hold his face, fingers near his ears on his neck. This is euphoria; your hands drop, Jeongguk moving once more to prod and palm. As he kisses you, his thumbs gently massage around your breasts, in circular motions, soft and cradling and exploring. Into his mouth you groan, quietly, like a vocal moan that lasts for a few seconds before being captured by his lips again. Jeongguk’s left hand claws at your boob, grabbing, reaching up to your neck. Now he’s holding you, his hair in his eyes tickling as he guides you. On your cheek, you feel his thumb grazing, holding you close to him even when you pull apart for a modicum of a second to capture your breath. Quite possibly, he could be sick out of nerves - your hands fall limply to his wrists, then down as his hands hold the damp back of your head. After a little longer, Jeongguk pulls himself away, his eyes half-lidded and yours closed entirely.

He admires what he’s done and what he sees. Once more, he kisses you, dragging it out until he’s moved away again, simply admiring. You’re far from done, though; you pull him back after catching your breath, your eyes now open and slightly fuzzy. Jeongguk smiles, warmly, gently. You might cry. As his hands drop from your head to the top of your shirt, fiddling with his fingers around the buttons, your lip gets caught between your bottom teeth and Jeongguk’s eyes are drawn to the sight. He might make a comment, might not. He decides not to. Instead, he moves back in and bides his hands time to undo your buttons.

The cool silk of your shirt drops as he undos the buttons, sliding like rainwater down your shoulders and arms, until it pools around your elbows. Thankfully for him, Jeongguk’s only in joggers and a button down, something he can easily slip himself out of. You’re wearing next to nothing, now that the shirt’s out of the question; all that decorates underneath is underwear, which Jeongguk doesn’t care for anyway. His hands paw at the shirt, trying to undo the last button without pulling away but it feels impossible. Frustrated, he huffs and moves away, his gaze locked on the final button above your pantline and he flushes when a laugh leaves your lips, something small and delicate and girly. He twitches.

“You, too,” you say, once the shirt is removed and you’re only in underwear, which is next on Jeongguk’s list of things to remove. He looks up with mild surprise, having the audacity to be confused by what you’re talking about. It is only when your fingers curl around the waist of his joggers that he smiles, like an idiot, and hums charmingly.

“Shuffle back for a minute?” Jeongguk asks, and you do, excited and buzzing when Jeongguk quickly pushes the joggers down his thighs. When they bunch around his ankles he kicks furiously, like a child, grunting - and you’re laughing, giggling like a school-girl, drunk on the residue of his lips. Of course, he smiles too, because happiness is a goddamn drug. He inhales with exasperation, muttering “아이씨” under his breath. He finishes it up with a chuckle, a voiceless laugh out of his throat, and then he kisses you again.

Jeongguk eventually ends up lifting you, one arm flush against your waist and his other hand graciously ripping down your underwear, careless and selfish when he hears the fabric tear. Your eyes widen, having heard it too, but you’re too dazed to mention it. The undies are tossed towards the balcony door and Jeongguk settles you back on his lap, for a brief moment. He kisses you again, pulling himself snug against you and then, he lays you down.

“So pretty,” Jeongguk comments, his hands sliding down your sides.

“You can’t even see me,” you say.

Jeongguk shrugs, shuffling down the bed. His elbows pinch into your thighs, locking his arms over them and his chin is on top of your groin. “Don’t need to. I just know.”

You slightly laugh, finding it endearing. Jeongguk chuckles too, pressing a kiss to your stomach and then his hands push up at your calves. With your legs up into arrow shapes, knees to the sky, Jeongguk kindly peels them apart, planting himself right in between.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe his name. He grins, you can feel his mouth extending against your skin. He doesn’t reply.

Situated between two smooth legs, Jeongguk’s head dips and dives. A groan is rasped out of you, followed by a string of moany exhales as Jeongguk’s tongue lays flat, covering every inch of your pussy further with sucks and nips that make your toes curl. Jeongguk’s not done this to you before. He feels slightly anxious, because he wants it to be good for you. He wraps his arms around your thighs, burrowing his head in.

“Mpmf- Jeongguk,” you gasp, your head hiding in the comforter. Jeongguk’s on his stomach, nonchalant. Jeongguk licks everywhere he can, kitten licks that stretch out into long ones, exploring. Your mouth drops. Jeongguk moves one hand away from your leg, his fingers curling up to your pussy to stretch out your labia, one finger lazily brushing against your clit. Each brush is exciting, teasing, sensitive. He hums. He’s heard you. He wants to hear more.

He doesn’t do more, because Jeongguk doesn’t want you to cum yet. He has his fun, feeling your thighs lock around his head and quiver when his fingers swipe on your nub, his tongue inching into your cunt, driving out sounds from your lips. Jeongguk entertains that for a few more minutes, hard and throbbing by the time you’re begging for him to stop, rather than keep going.

When he pulls away, your legs shake, quivering like being left out in the cold for too long. He lays down flat instead, tapping your body for you to make a move when you’re ready, which doesn’t take long. Soon after, he feels the brush of your wetness against his leg as you haul yourself up and onto him, hovering over his middle, your hands on his chest.

Jeongguk cocks his head thoughtfully. “Want to?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Hair falls over your shoulder. “Do you have a condom on you?”

“In my bag, somewhere,” Jeongguk suggests. He glances to the pile of bags near the door, “But it’s so far away. Are you on the pill?”

“No,” you frown. There’s nothing for a minute. “Want to anyway?”

Jeongguk hesitates, “Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah. I do,” you tell him. Just as you’re about to take his dick in your hand, Jeongguk reaches out to stop you. You look up at him, finding the glimmer in his eyes in the dull light, “what?”

“What if I cum?” Jeongguk asks.

“I’d like you to.”

“What if I cum inside of you?”

A short silence. Jeongguk drums his fingers impatiently against your thigh. “Whatever,” you settle with. His heart trembles when your hand wraps around him. “I’d be a good Mom.”

Jeongguk laughs, then, his other hand joining the other on your waist. “If it happens, I’ll look after both of you. You can be unemployed and pampered if that’s what you want.”

“God, that’s fucking sexy,” you sigh.

He’s kidding, so are you, but the risk is still great. Jeongguk swallows a thick lump down his throat and settles his hands on your hips, embarrassed to be nervous with the build up of you rising up on your knees, planted either side of his waist. A tremor of coldness makes him shudder as your hand touches the base of his dick, hypersensitive without the rubber. For a brief moment, he catches your gaze, slightly hidden away behind fringes of hair that cast over your eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, nervous and rubbing his hands against your skin.

You dip your head. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Mhm. I just - just want it to be good for you,” he confesses. “Don’t want it to hurt you. Don’t want you to regret it.”

“Well, are you clean? I got tested not too long ago, did it before my last pill. I’m clean.”

Jeongguk shifts. “Did it on tour with Hoseok. He was going because of Rosie and I was going because he suggested it for us. I’m good. That sound alright for you?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It sounds perfect for me.”

And so it’s perfect for him, too. Jeongguk questions whether this is right, whether he should stop, but right now he can’t think properly. Not when he can feel himself growing rigid in your grasp, the bristle in his body when you slowly rub your clit across the head of his cock, vibrations. He grunts under his breath, his fingers shaking against your hips. Looking up at Jeongguk once more between your hair, catching the pull of his bottom lip in the scarce light and feeling his body rising beneath you, you shake your head over your shoulders and position yourself. And then you sink.

Paris is a gorgeous city, bustling with life. Across the narrow road, where another small apartment sits with a bay window and a balcony decorated with plants, the lights flicker in strobe patterns, neons bleeding into dulls seeping into pastels. A party, a parade, an applause when the size of Jeongguk adjusts inside of you. He can’t hear you, not over the noise of the party that has suddenly birthed in the moonlight hours. Perhaps Jeongguk is thankful for this, and the way it covers up his noises also.

Jeongguk groans inwards when you clench around him, familiar with the way it feels, remembering the unaccustomed sting and burn. After some time to adjust, you relax, making your first movements up and down, testing the waters, building a rhythm. Jeongguk can’t breathe, his mind paused, his breathing lodged in his throat, his lungs singing. You keep it up, the momentum, finding a pattern in the beat of the music in the background; the bass is your routine, each bump a drop onto Jeongguk’s hips, the brush of his head against your inner walls, euphoric.

“Oh my - fuck,” Jeongguk hisses, his voice barely heard. You catch it though, like a faint whisper, the sound burning your face with embarrassment. His grip tightens, nails digging into your skin as his palms slide from your hips to your ass. He holds like handles of a motorbike, guidance.

You’re slouching, hunched over with your hands on Jeongguk’s chest. He feels a pressure, not sure if it’s your hands pushing down or if it’s his own body, forcing down an orgasm he doesn’t want to have too soon. He sees purple behind you, your dark silhouette cast over him like an angel. With every slap against his body made by your ass, Jeongguk groans, grunts, borderline moans. When he strains to hear your gasps of air something in the background masks them, a sabotage.

“Feel good?” Jeongguk asks. His hands move to your wrists.

You whimper, thoughtless.

“Babe, does it feel good?”

“Mhm.” Your head falls to the side, cheek on your shoulder: “Mhm, feels good.” Something moany comes out of your lips, something muffled and whined. Imploring, spoiled. “Fuck, Jeongguk, that feels so good - keep….keep it like that.”

Jeongguk thinks it over, familiarising himself with his own movements. His grip squeezes around your wrist.

“Like that?” He follows with his body slowly thrusting up, like he would move if he were grinding the air, like inching his hips up under the covers to feel his dick on the duvet.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Even though he can’t see that well, you glance down at him: “can you - can you hold my hands?”

Jeongguk feels his stomach sink and rise, flipping, the butterflies. “Sure, baby.”

When you feel Jeongguk’s hands in your own, you hum to yourself, rising with your fingers interlocked. Jeongguk lets you do what you want with them, obliging when you slightly part his arms, hands locked on either side in the air. You sink, and rise, and sink, and rise, and Jeongguk is lost in the stars. Red, orange, blue, magenta- the rainbow appears as your wings, Jeongguk’s eyes trying to adjust in the dark on your face, on your tits, on the bits that are grainy in his vision. He imagines instead, based off memory of the beach, and the rain. When he feels your cunt clench around him again and your hands slip away to fall back behind you, Jeongguk curses into the air and lifts himself up, his arms wrapped around your middle.

“You feel so good,” Jeongguk says, his lips ghosted over yours now that he’s sitting upright. “Mhm? Hear me? Fuck, you feel so fucking good right now-”

You whimper. Jeongguk seals it up, steals it, captures it with his mouth as he kisses you. His hands are all twisted and searching, one between your shoulder blades and the other on your ass, his mind reeling when you put your palms on his cheeks, absolute bliss. It’s loud, or it would be if he could hear over the sound of the music in the apartment over, and Jeongguk picks up pieces in between the basslines, vocals and harmonies stripped apart so he can find your voice underneath. He pulls his mouth away, latching it to your neck, where your mouth is near his ear, right where he wants it. A hot flush runs up his body when he feels your breath on his ear, hears your needy moans and groans, feels your hands clawing at his back.

“Ugh- umf, Guk, I’m - I’m close,” you pant, his reply a bite to your neck. He sinks his teeth in, like a vampire with dull teeth, and you cry out into his ear. His cock twitches inside of you, the ridges of his cock smearing against your walls. He hums, not sure if you’ll hear it. You don’t. He pulls away and mouths the bite.

“Cum when you want to,” he says sweetly, moving his mouth to your ear briefly before moving back away. His hair is soft against your neck, his head angled to kiss at your skin, covered in a glow.

“What about you?” you ask.

Jeongguk smiles, his teeth present on your skin. “Don’t worry about me. I’m right behind you.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, his eyes closed serenely as he holds you tight, holds you as you bounce up and down for the finale. Above him, your body trembles.

“Tired,” you laugh breathlessly, and Jeongguk makes a confused noise, like he hasn’t quite heard you correctly. After no reply, he sniffs, collecting you in his arms to hold you tighter than before, using his energy to move you. You may as well be paralysed, a fucktoy for him as he bounces you up and down, basking in the moans in his ear, pornographic and nasty and lewd and heard over the music that has changed tempo.

“Ah!” Jeongguk grunts into your ear with every slam onto his dick, feeling his body seize up in warning. “Gonna - I might…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re not listening to it. All you can focus on is the feeling in your stomach, pressing your nails into Jeongguk’s skin.

Jeongguk saves his own release for later. He focuses, instead, on you and making you feel good, slowing himself down in the race so that you can come first. His lips press back to yours, tongue hot, and he stops bouncing you. One arm is tight around your waist and the other snakes to the front of your body, between your legs where around your thighs he finds your clit, rubbing with his thumb. He can feel your body tense and dither over him, a tightness clenching around him as you squirm, Jeongguk’s hips tiredly thrusting upwards in a slow and steady rhythm.

“Ah - Jeongguk,” you cry, words sinking into his mouth. “Baby-”

With one final flick upwards, Jeongguk lets out a throat-forced grunt into your mouth right as the pot spills, and down the length of Jeongguk’s dick trickles white. You can’t see, it’s dark and blurry, and everything feels numb. It’s nothing like the beach, which was sweet and tender and a rainy haze. This time, it’s a burning that feels dull until it races up your body, like hot goosebumps, until it washes over your body like the drop from the tallest roller coaster. Jeongguk milks it up, his own hands shaking as he grunts wordlessly, until he stutters, his toes curling.

“Umf- babe,” he pants. He moves his hands, you’re attempting to move for him but you feel stuck. Instead you clench, hard and soft, Jeongguk squirms. “Gonna- I’m-” He’s silent. One moment, you hear the laughter and a cork pop outside, and the next moment, Jeongguk’s moans are in your ear, his hands rubbing up your thighs as he moves twice upwards, as if storing his cum in safe spots inside. And then, as if on cue, he pulls out, stuffing his hand where his dick was to feel the cum drip out, like a melting ice-cream.

On his forehead he feels your lips parted and breathing and he fiddles his fingers around, non-sexually, curious. The cum stains his fingers, dressing them, and he laughs from his chest, lost of breath.

Jeongguk sighs, slotting his fingers into your mouth quite suddenly. He can barely see you, the light is still dim behind you but it’s enough for him to make it out, the grain obtrusive. He feels your lips close around his fingers and your tongue on his fingertips, a dazed smile across his face.

He sighs again. “Shit. You’re incredible.”

With a wet sound, he moves his fingers out. Despite cumming, his dick is still semi-hard, on it’s way out. Jeongguk preens when your arms wrap around his neck, his mouth needily on yours for a brief kiss. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask quietly.

“The best,” he confirms. “Where’ve you been all my life, hm?”

You laugh through your nose, quiet. “Wasting money at Uni and working for my cousin.” He laughs too, a small one that makes him sound small. You play with the hair at the back of his head, “Sorry for making you wait so long.”

He shrugs. “Was worth it. You’re worth the wait.”

You hum in reply, too tired to move.

“Sticky,” you say with a frown.

Jeongguk’s arms tighten around you, acknowledging your words. “And you just got clean.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll shower in the morning.”

After a short while of sitting there, you slowly untangle your arms from around him. Jeongguk has the nerve to be confused, a small hum in question as you climb off him.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“I’m going to pee,” you reply. “To be safe.”

“Oh. Okay, pee on.”

“Sorry,” you say. Leaning up to kiss his lips, Jeongguk smiles into it and all the while as you move to hurry towards the bathroom. The sound of the toilet seat being lifted, and a slight squeak from the toilet that Yoongi desperately needs to consider replacing, and then Jeongguk settles down onto the bed with a happy sigh. His chest rises and falls as the party goes on outside, fireworks behind the Eiffel Tower.

He could get used to this.

Something wakes you up with the sunrise, twisting into soft orange colours that stretch across the agriculture of Paris. It barely lights up the city, enough for shadows to still be drawn across the mocha coloured buildings, the stone still cold in the shade. You wriggle inside the sheets slightly, discomfort between your legs and very slowly, your eyes adjust to the slight light brewing in the bedroom.

The patio doors leading out onto the small balcony are drawn open, the see-through curtains swaying like slow hips in the wind. Beside you, the bed is cold, untucked and open where Jeongguk has climbed out. Mentioning Jeongguk, you notice that he sits on the end of the bed, facing the sunrise and the Eiffel Tower with a notebook in his hand. The pages are folded over the spine, bulking it up, and he taps a pen against his ear quietly. The sound is all you can hear alongside the early-rising birds, a car honk outside and the next door neighbours hanging out of their window with chocolate bread and strong coffee.

“Mmm. Guk?”

Your voice is slightly hoarse, bedirdden, and Jeongguk manages to hear it as he turns his head over his shoulder. A smile dawns on his face and he shifts, one hand on the bed and the book closing shut on its own. “Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

You yawn, rubbing your eyes. Some mascara rubs off onto your hand. “No, you’re okay.” He doesn’t say anything at first, there’s no competition for the next word. When your vision finally settles onto a visible image, you see Jeongguk’s face and the book in his lap. “What are you doing…? Wait, what time is it…”

“It’s about five thirty,” Jeongguk estimates, although he’s not sure. He’s actually not far off, it’s five fourty one. “And, um...not much.” For a moment, Jeongguk sounds bashful. He shrugs, hiding the book and smiling at you. “You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“Kinda hungry,” you admit. You inhale the air, “Oh my God, those fuckers next door have coffee.”

“Chocolate bread, too. Caught a glimpse when I opened the doors.”

You groan. “What the fuck…”

Jeongguk laughs, genuinely. His head turns back towards the Eiffel Tower, in awe, and after a few minutes of nothing but morning silence, you sigh and clamber over the sheets. They’re cold, crisp and wrinkled, and Jeongguk looks up at the noise. He frowns, only because you’re wearing barely anything.

“You’re gonna get cold,” Jeongguk points out, his hands reaching for the bed throw that had been kicked onto the floor during the night. “Want me to close the window?”

“No, it’s pretty.”

“It’s cold, though.”

You push your face onto Jeongguk’s shoulder blade. “Whatever.”

He chuckles, resigning from the conversation. You’ll win anyway. A tiny bird lands on the patio rails, and you inhale the morning air, planting a kiss on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re okay?”

This makes Jeongguk look up. His eyes wear confusion and adoration, round and searching as he looks over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why, why wouldn’t they be?”

“I worry about you, ‘s all,” you reply quietly. “All the time.”

Jeongguk’s heart breaks.

“I’m...I’m good,” he replies honestly. “Really good. I haven’t been doing this great in...well...I don’t know, forever? Call it cringey, or whatever, but having you in my life...Fuck, it’s changed everything.”

You gaze up at him. “You’ve made a pretty big difference in my life, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m here for you. Always.”

Jeongguk doesn’t miss a beat- his hand wraps to stroke your hair, curled from the shower earlier, pressing a little kiss to your nose. He nods, and his hair brushes against your face. “Yeah.” He nods, confident, “Yeah. Actually- LOL,” he laughs, “I. Um, I wrote something.”

“Oh? Yeah, what did you write?”

He reopens the book. The pages are littered with lines of writing, alongside small doodles in the margins, words like arrows shooting across the lines. His hands flip to a page that has the corner marked down, the numbers “23” in bold outline at the top of the page. You inhale, nervous, your eyes lazily looking at the lines.

“Just a song,” Jeongguk explains. “Woke up, looked over at you, just got the idea. I had to write it down as soon as I thought about it. Got the melody and stuff worked out, just need to make a note and tell the guys when I get back.”

You hum, genuinely enthralled. You quickly look at him, “Can I hear some?”

If it were light enough, you might have caught a blush across his face. He clears his throat, shy.

“I’m fadin’ away off some kind of drug, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s love,” his voice is quiet, almost as if speaking the words is something wrong, “I know I said I’d straighten a week ago, I feelin’ though, bout to reach my peak, you know. This city’s got me fallin, now, I’m fading away, I’m losing my head…” He mutters the lyrics, singing quietly. As he skims over what he’s got scribbled down, you can feel your heart thudding, soaring, feeling numb and soft and warm and everything else.

“It’s about you, called 23,” Jeongguk says. At some point, you’ve missed the rest of the lyrics, intent on gazing at Jeongguk like he is God’s angel sent down from Heaven. He is so beautiful, so kind and pure. “Sound okay?”

You nod, and maybe Jeongguk sees tears pearling in your eyes. “Yeah. Fuck- it sounds beautiful, Guk.”

A smile immediately reaches across Jeongguk’s face. It lights up the room better than the sun, now reaching higher into the sky. “You’re beautiful. I wanna make you so happy.”

“You do make me happy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, laughing, his eyes turned into moons. “Well...Look. I’ve never had to ask anyone, so it’s awkward as fuck right now, but...like…” He laughs, and you do too, because you know it’s coming, “Do you, like...wanna be my girl?”

“Your girl?”

He laughs louder. “Fine - my girlfriend! Y/N L/N, the light of my small and sad life, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Once your laughter has calmed down, and Jeongguk’s hand tiredly slips from your hair down to the bed next to your own, you really, honestly look at Jeongguk. Above everything else, you can’t quite believe that you are here with him; with somebody you never thought you had a chance with, with somebody who you would do absolutely anything for. The way you presently feel about Jeongguk is overwhelming and dangerous, so strong that sometimes you feel afraid by it. You bite your bottom lip, amusing the idea of actually thinking about it, and then you nod.

“Sure. Of course,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. His head follows you, his breath on the bare skin of your shoulders as he ducks his head to kiss the side of yours. “You’ve got me.”

Jeongguk feels like he could quite honestly burst into tears. “I’ve got you.”

(“I’m not 23 though,” you say to him once the love has died down. He cracks a smile and pushes you back onto the bed, returning to look at the Eiffel Tower.)

part two (final)

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