#SHRUG I DONT KNOW i do think its a popularity factor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sakuurae · 7 years ago

Text

overrated [m]

» summary: notorious bad boy, dong sicheng, was never one for attachment. well, not until he met you. surprisingly, there was more that met the eye of the reckless bad boy—something outrageously... pure.

❀ pairing: "bad boy”!sicheng & reader insert || university!AU

❀ includes: light fluff, humour, smut (trivial dom/sub elements, teasing [public & private], oral, sixty-nine, fingering, handjobs, penetration), alcohol mentions, light drug mentions

❀ wc: 41.7k

❀ note: I finally have a fic out for my baby ;; I hope you guys have fun reading this as much as i had fun writing it!! The word “bad boy” is in quotes because we all know that our baby winwin is a chaste little angel—for now ^~^

I made a few changes to this from the preview, but the most prominent one is the tense change, ahaha. I wanted to try writing in present tense, so this is a little different! And i dont think ill try this again... lmao. I also lost a lot of motivation to finish this along the way, so i apologize if this isnt the best. :( Nonetheless, i hope you enjoy!

Dong Sicheng has a tarnished reputation that is effortless for him to maintain.

Sicheng wreaks havoc day by day, practically stirring an immature calamity on university campus. He carries a storm wherever he goes, his footsteps equivalent to a roll of thunder. From his sour persona to the sharp way he talks; his words are bullets to those he aims them to. Yet, girls flock around him mindlessly and praise him like none other, falling for his recklessness without a care. On campus, students are either irked, find his personality rebarbative, or completely in love with the idea of him.

Sicheng is stellar in his own way, a star in the worst way possible that manages to outshine the rest. Men ache to be him while girls crave to spend a night with him—just one, enough to see what he truly, dutifully packed. But that is where Sicheng expeditiously draws the line, austere and grim, and leaves them. Like rain battering down on a scorching pavement, his trace disappears within seconds.

It is not because the spark of attraction towards the girl is absent, nor is it because he wants to bring each to the edge only to leave them hanging, adding each to the list of rejected individuals. It is due to something else—something borderline shameful to his existence and reputation.

And it is because not a single soul knows that Dong Sicheng, notorious bad boy and ruthless heartbreaker, is a virgin.

Dong Sicheng has not always been a scandalous “starboy.” Rather than being known for the negativity that surrounds him to this day, he used to be quite popular for factors of good. He used to have grades on the top tier, a miraculous talent in dance (and he still does to this day), but now he has made choices to never exhibit such favorable qualities. It is as if the tarnished name of “bad boy” stuck to his being like an annoying mask that can no longer come off.

Everything for Sicheng started back in high school, his breakthrough of reckless tactics. One accident led to another, like a perfect cascade that built him into who he is today. Impregnable pillars that held him up in the past to his prominent standing had crumbled down to rubble, and soon his pristine title became blighted.

All because Sicheng made the silly choice of dating.

Surprisingly enough, and as cliché as it can get, she was a member of the cheer squad. It started off simple: occasional dates to the cinema and unmitigated walks to the park. Though, despite those activities that might be seen as tedious, he developed genuine feelings for her and cherished every moment. Clearly, it was not him who diminished the relationship, dragging it down to nothing. It was due to her impatience. She was restive to win; to be more specific, to win a bet with her friends to get into the boy’s pants, and when Sicheng found out he was utterly heart broken at the least. So, the night she was ready to initiate and carefully play her cards, facing the false belief she would win the bet, he left her—hell, he never even showed his face to her since that night. Of course, she spat out angry curses at how he was gone like the wind.

Unwanted results were a consequence for him, for her sour tongue spread negative comments about Sicheng, and the fragile display of his innocent life fell apart like a poor house of cards. But rather than having those unwanted occurrences to run and take over his life, enveloping like an abrupt darkness, he took charge and swore that it would never happen again. Sicheng built himself up, never allowing anyone to cross his path or get close to him, and those who tried were given the cold shoulder. Physical contact was a virus for Sicheng, and he swatted individuals away left and right. The comments that spread around him were too much for his pure soul to handle at the time, so he skipped out on school. But of course, others claimed he ditched for the hell of it. Word even went around that he was dating an older woman—which was more than false, but who was out there to listen to him?

Sicheng maintained his stellar grades through the calamity, keeping everyone at a perceptible distance away. As much as he wanted to avoid making contact with others, spreading his name around the school, the opposite result had occurred and he was helpless to it.

Brushing this off to the side, high school is also where everything began for you too—not that there was a prominent shift in your name to begin with. You used to hear word of a student named Sicheng messing around with girls and breaking hearts like it was a hobby, but you never paid mind, always focusing on your studies.

It was how things always were for you, and how things would forever remain.

After all, at the end of that line, you and Dong Sicheng made it to one of the most prestigious universities out there—with a purpose.

The sun beats down on the slip of Sicheng’s neck as he lingers with his friend, Jaehyun, around the university parking lot. The two of them are cracking jokes about meaningless things, conversing over trivial topics, and laughing the day away. It happens so often, as if daily, to the point it is a fixed part of their routine. Sicheng and Jaehyun would typically wait for their friends to come by, to which they all converse for a short while before driving uptown for a bite, or crash at one’s place.

Speaking of Sicheng’s friends, they are making their way towards him right now. One of them, recognizable as the stellar sportsman, Taeyong, has his eyebrows crossed together in a frustrated manner; he appears to be spitting curses to the other individual who graciously listens in—as much as he is drained from the taxing day.

Jaehyun’s and Sicheng’s conversation withers into silence as they watch the two boys stop their tracks in front of them. After Taeyong indignantly rakes a hand through his hair, Sicheng questions him what is wrong, for Taeyong’s frustrating is more than out in the open.

His friend laughs, informing the other boys of the news of the century. “Our boy, Lee Taeyong, just got rejected.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen, startled to the core at the newfound information. “Whoa, Yuta, are you serious? Taeyong… got rejected? That’s a first.”

“Well why do you care so much?” Sicheng asks Taeyong. “You can get anybody in this university except for that one girl. Well, any sorority girl that is.”

Taeyong chuckles lightheartedly, annoyed by his friends’ words. “Tell me about it. I’m just as shocked as you are.” Taeyong turns his head to Sicheng, a sour expression painted on his face. “And Sicheng, I care because I got rejected—for once! The tables actually turned here.”

Sicheng laughs, acknowledging his point. “Right, right. Sorry.”

Taeyong huffs in vexation, still disbelieved—and he will continue to remain that way for a good while. It is amusing to Sicheng, a surprising twist of events, to see one of the guys in his sacred group get turned down by a girl. After all, it is a rare occurrence. Each of them are captivating in their own way, and he knows it entirely; at least one of them would fit into the standards of members of the opposite sex. Occasionally, Sicheng wonders how he placed himself in such a group of charming and devilish individuals—also cocky, if he must say. It is as if the life he has tried so hard to orbit away from has made its way towards him with might, impressioning on Sicheng’s being for the rest of his life.

Sicheng does not feel like his whole self whenever he hangs around the rambunctious group of boys, but the fun that is frequently stirred makes the wasted time worth every second. Oh, and hearing all sorts of dish about their lives. That is just on the surface though. Surprisingly enough, beneath each of the boy’s outer shell of superiority and arrogance, is a softer, gentler version of who they exhibit themselves to be. Perhaps that is why Sicheng remained; it is how he became closer to each one of his friends. And after two years in the university they still remain together like peas in a pod.

Though, within those two years, Taeyong has never gotten rejected.

“So what’s the story?” asks Jaehyun, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yuta’s eyes flash in delight, excitement running throughout his body as he clears his throat. “Well, Taeyong—”

“Why are you the one telling the story?” Taeyong asks, sourness evident in his tone. “You’re going to add all these extra details again.”

Yuta shrugs, smirking at his friend. “Fine, I’ll get straight to the point”—Yuta takes a step towards the two boys, almost like he is ready to exchange confidential information—“but don’t laugh at him. We gave him enough shit for this today.”

Jaehyun laughs and assures Yuta of his light worries. “Don’t worry, just speak up.”

Yuta smiles. “There’s a girl who always stays by the bleachers during baseball practice, probably ‘cause her friend drags her around, but she doesn’t even pay attention to us. She’s always reading her book and studying all sorts of stuff. In my opinion though, the girl’s friend is pretty cute herself.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow in skepticism. “Okay, I don’t see the problem yet.”

“And this hotshot”—Yuta nudges Taeyong with an elbow—“thought it would be a fun idea to make her interested—in him, and not our practices. So out of nowhere, Taeyong started to talk to her, but she was never interested. It was like she started to hate us after he spoke to her. He said the girl looked easy to get, and then—”

“Come on, dude!” Taeyong groaned, cutting his friend off. “She had her nose in a book constantly and I swear when we locked eyes for the first time she wanted me.”

Sicheng shoves his fists into the pockets of his sweatshirt, stultified by the story. “Are you sure it wasn’t the look of ‘leave-me-the-fuck-alone’?”

“Hey!” Taeyong stomps.

“Anyway,” Yuta continues, “when someone’s reading, Taeyong, you’re not supposed to interrupt. Oh, not when they’re talking either… In short, she rejected him pretty harshly by saying—”

Taeyong flinches, grabbing onto Yuta’s sleeve and pulling him back. “No! Don’t tell them what she said, I—”

“‘You? And me—on a date? I had hopes in you being bright, but you must be horribly stupid to think I’d go out with someone like you. It’s one to annoy me, but it’s another to actually ask me on a date while I’m here with my friend studying. Oh, are you expecting me to hold your hand that has been up other girls’—”

“Okay, Yuta, that’s enough!” Taeyong badgered, hanging his head low. Shame dawns over his being like gargantuan waves, dragging down the last of his dignity. The laughter that pours from the boys’ lips appear endless, like a never ending waterfall of jocularity caused by Taeyong’s embarrassment. Taeyong’s ears tinge with pink the longer they keep up their fits of chuckles, commenting about the utter failure that is the highlight of their day.

Yuta continues feeding the details to the two boys as if the riveting information would satisfy them for an entire week, and Taeyong wells in his own congealing ignominy. After Yuta concludes the entire story, shamelessly talking about himself amid, the boys let out a sigh in relief. Until, of course, Taeyong opens his mouth again.

“She was bound to crack,” Taeyong hisses. “But not with me. I want to get back at her but I don’t know how.”

Jaehyun shifts his weight on his feet and crinkles his nose, his mouth twisting into a confused smirk. “Tae, how petty can you get? We’re in uni now.”

Sicheng releases a chortle, leaning closer to Jaehyun. “Very petty, apparently.”

“Though,” Jaehyun adds, “your situation reminds me of something horrible, myself.”

Sicheng’s gaze veers from Jaehyun to the older boy who is boring in his desolation. Taeyong stares at Sicheng for a while, almost scrutinizing him from top to bottom, and soon his lips quirk into a sly smirk. Sicheng raises his eyebrow, dumbfounded to his friend’s change of expression, and asks him what is wrong.

“Sicheng,” Taeyong says in a singsong voice. “Want to do me a solid?” Desperation drips onto his tone. Each word that leaves Taeyong’s mouth appears to be leading into the next thread of ideas that run through his mind; all Sicheng has to do is pay more mind to decipher what he is saying.

Sicheng remains silent for a while, unsure on what to say. The other boys exchange curious glances and wait for their friend to continue.

“Get her back for me—for rejection, please?” Taeyong requests.

Sicheng laughs out of pity, unamused by his question. “Taeyong, we’re too old to play games.”

“Seriously!” Taeyong persists, walking up to the younger boy. “I already have an easy, perfect plan. Just lead her on, get her on the edge, and leave her hanging—you know, what you usually did with girls back then.”

Sicheng clenches his teeth in disgust when he heard Taeyong’s reasoning. Back then? Right, Sicheng has completely forgotten that Taeyong, and his other friends, are aware of his prevalent title and the actions he has “committed” to achieve it. Sicheng forces out laughter, a disguise of how repulsive he finds the entire idea. “What the heck? You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Taeyong insists. “Come on, go pick her up in your nice car or something. Take her out for a ride—then take her out for a ‘ride.’”

The thought of Sicheng witnessing a member of the opposite sex wholly naked makes him sweat profoundly, and he shakes his head, brushing aside Taeyong’s request. Shit, Sicheng never has evocative imaginations of any women before and he refuses to start here and now. “N-no thanks,” he denies, his eyes averting from Taeyong’s.

“But—”

“Enough of this,” cuts in Jaehyun with an announcement, “I’m starving. We’ve been waiting for you and Yuta for a while, can we just get something to eat already?”

“The billiards hall?” questions Yuta, fishing in his pocket for keys.

Jaehyun nods in response, and seconds later all of the boys separate into multiple vehicles, driving right on over to their local hangout.

Sicheng, situating himself in the driver’s seat, wonders who Taeyong is referring to. Sicheng is lost to why he is inquisitive to the girl’s identity. Maybe it is the fact there is a student out there who withstands Taeyong’s overflowing charms. If Sicheng was not driving, he would close his eyes and remain deep in his thoughts. He grips onto the wheel and shakes his head, removing the thoughts out of his mind to have a momentary peace. Though, the moment Jaehyun opens his mouth to complain about his empty stomach the evanescent peace is disrupted.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Back at the university you are waiting under the overhang of the indoor swimming pool for your friend to exit. Your eyes scan the familiar campus, searching for out of the blue occurrences that would be an obtrusive scene; but of course, within your university, nothing far too estranged ever occurs.

Your friend, Sowon, has finally exited the building with a gleam on her face. (y/n)!” she exclaims, latching her arm around yours. “Have you been waiting long? Why didn’t you just go inside?”

“No, don’t worry,” you assure. “And the smell of chlorine is far too much for me.”

Sowon smiles, innocent. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug off, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “Are we going to the bleachers again? I brought my biochem book so I can distract myself as you drool over the baseball players. You know, we have an exam tomorrow right?

“You’re always studying,” she complains. Sowon pulls you back when you start to walk away from her. “And no, the guys I’m usually there for left—so we have an afternoon to ourselves. I saw them leave when I was entering the locker room.”

“Wait, the guys you usually are there for?” you question, steepling your fingers to your chin as you attempt to recall the boys she is referring to.

Sowon forces a stern frown towards you, pursing her lips into a pout soon after. “Yeah, remember? The one you coldly rejected as you walked me to practice.”

“Oh, him,” you spat out distastefully.

Sowon giggles at your bitter response. “Taeyong!” she sings his name. “God, he was the cute one I was searching for, and he asked you on a date—and you rejected him. What were you thinking?”

You glared at your friend, unable to fathom what she has seen in a man like Taeyong. “What were you thinking for ever seeing something in him?”

“He’s—”

“The question was rhetorical.” You rolled your eyes, irked and unwilling to hear a response. “Well, if you’re not going to drag me anywhere then I’m going to head back to my apartment.”

Sowon grips onto her duffel bag, dutifully following you like a shadow as you begin to saunter to the street parking. “I’ll come with! We can study together—in quiet like you’ve been asking for.”

You reluctantly look at Sowon, thoughtfully considering whether or not she would disturb your restless studies. Knowing that she would be sustained, you release a sigh. “Fine, just for today though.”

After all, who would you be to reject any sort of study session? Your studies are always valuable to you, and they tend to be more productive with others in the milieu; you spend hours on end immersing yourself in books. Ever since high school it has been your goal to attend the university you are currently enrolled in—and your dream has been achieved after zero contact from the social sphere outside. You carried on your studies for a good while for the beginning of your first year at the institute, but afterwards was when everything crumbled down for you. The walls you built around yourself during high school to block students out had finally diminished, for girls were intruding on your personal space and boys were beckoning you over countlessly.

Honestly, it used to feel like you were placed in an outlandish environment against your will, which consequently made the environs that surrounded you wider. That is actually how you met Sowon, one of your closest friends. At first she pestered you like a wearisome fly, feeding off the few bits of energy you poured into arriving at the institute. After you became used to her presence the two of you became friends without verbally establishing it. Lunches together became a part of one another’s routines and so was hanging out in the city on empty weekends.

Oh, and she was the one who brought you to your first party uptown, which was where everything had taken a turn for the unexpected.

You, the bibliophile and quiet learner, attended one of the most dynamic parties of the year with your polar opposite, Sowon. Keeping details at a minimum and compacting everything within a nutshell, it was the first night you drank an immense amount of alcohol—and the first time you had sex.

It was spontaneous and out of the blue, but surprisingly you did not mind. Nervous would be an understatement to how you felt, but those anxious wrecks were becoming sparse as the scene carried on. The man who you had a drunken makeout session with and the one who prompted the idea of sex was nothing but talk. And you remember his name perfectly: Jung Jaehyun.

From the word you had heard many times about him, he was a stellar soccer player and an ultimate playboy. To be fair, you believed in the rumours you heard about him; it was what made you anxious in the first place; but, it was nothing surprising at the end.

Jung Jaehyun was a complete derision to his notorious group of friends—and you found that out during the unpremeditated night. Not that you cared or anything. He let you take over, and he said that it was the first time he allowed a girl to top him. But, pushing your own limit and his, you rode his cock intentively while dirty words spilled from your mouth. His skin became marked by your masterpieces as if his body was a blank canvas waiting for your color, and he enjoyed every second of it.

Before the heated scene with Jaehyun had escalated you thought the first time you had sex would be your last; oh, you were dead wrong. There was a sort of thrill you got during it, and some sort of element that made you spellbinded to the sensation. Or maybe it was the delight you had received after catching the completely drained out look on Jaehyun’s face. To say he was surprised by your skill in be would be a euphemism. What else was he supposed to feel though? The girl he recognized from the cafeteria and always had her face in a book showed up at a party. If that was not an easy shot to him, what else would be?

In short, Jaehyun was dead wrong.

You left him alone in the bedroom and made way for the exit, grabbing onto Sowon’s arm as you tried to weave past the crowded party house with quivering legs. The moment you were out of Jaehyun’s sight your face flushed with the deepest shade of roses, and Jaehyun laid on the bed in unmitigated disappointment.

It did not take long for stories about you to spread around the university. Drama that stood on equal par to high school turmoil stirred out of the university twist, but they were far too fraudulent for you to pay enough mind to. It was a shocker for others to hear that someone like you fucked Jung Jaehyun, for you were the definition of erudite and you never associated yourself much with others. And that factor was what drew other guys to test their own abilities with you.

Occasionally, the times you grew bored and had studied enough for upcoming exams, you would act like you had fallen into the other boys’ traps—for a good night to yourself. As weeks and months flew by it was some sort of unwonted rumour that you slept with a couple of men. It was always old news that no one believed except for those you slept with and Sowon, who knew the verity, and you were thankful for so.

After all, no one would ever think that one of the university’s taciturn bibliophiles would go around sleeping with men for fun.

You and Sowon spend the rest of the day avoiding distractions and diving into each other’s studies. It is an even longer night full of passages after extensive passages, and you fall asleep at the kitchen table as she knocks out on the comfort of your couch.

When you wake the following morning there is still an hour and a half prior to class beginning, and you shake Sowon until her eyes open. “Get up,” you order, ignoring the curses that spill from her lips since you disrupted her slumber. “I didn’t say you could sleep over! See, we got so distracted to the point we had to stay up late.”

“Sorry!” she laughs. “It’s not my fault I never come here often. You have a sweet place so it’s impossible for me to not get distracted. You usually linger at my dorm room, but your apartment is way cooler.”

You roll your eyes and drag her off the sofa. “Go hit the shower and borrow some of my clothes. We have to get to class.”

“But we have an hour!”

“And we have a test,” you argue, the glare you send towards Sowon providing hints of fear to shoot up her spine.

Sowon groans and makes her way to your bathroom to prepare for the day. You and Sowon get ready to head over to the university within half an hour, and quickly enter your vehicle. She then makes herself snug in the passenger seat, her eyes fluttering closed as if she is ready to knock out again right then.

“No sleeping,” you order her, twisting your keys into the ignition.

Sowon let out some complaints as you start to drive; the roads are surprisingly vast considering the time of day. A serene quietude fills the empty spaces of your car and you use the remaining time before the exam to rehearse the frequently leaned information in your mind for the upcoming exam. Considering the time of day, not many people would be present in the student parking lot at your institute. So, rather than fixating your vehicle on the far end of the busy street, you drive straight into the lot in search for parking—which is graciously everywhere.

You move your car to the center of the lot, parking it neatly between two vehicles, and step out with your arms stretching to the sky. Sowon yawns as she starts to trudge out of the car and to the lecture hall, her arm looping around your own as she moves in a desultory pace.

“I don’t get why we’re here earlier than usual…” she mumbles.

You sigh, pulling her to the hall. “You can nap in the room and I can study. It isn’t bad to be at class a little earlier.”

“God, now I completely understand why people don’t believe you sleep with a shit ton of guys,” she announces.

Sowon grumbles out of pain and allows you to drag her past the doors of the lecture hall, sitting her next to your seat. You leaf through your textbook, eyes perusing every single passage in hopes of absorbing the unknown information. To no surprise, after a good ten minutes, Sowon has drifted off into a gentle sleep. Sighing, you resume your studies until it is time for the assessment to start.

After a few more moments as time soars by, you peer up from your textbook. You notice that majority of the seats have been filled; you have been in your own expanse when you were studying, and it is the weight of the exam that halts time, allowing it to crash onto your shoulders.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Twenty minutes past the designated time class begins; Sicheng finds himself speeding down the streets in high hopes of making it to the lecture hall within a heartbeat. It is as if the higher his speed meter went the baggage that falls on his shoulders from the teacher’s scornful gaze would not be as substantial as he expects.

“God damn it,” he spits out. “Note to self: no drinking on weeknights anymore—especially with a devastated Taeyong.”

Sicheng mutters other curses under his breath, the indignant words swirling with the blaring music that suffuses his vehicle. He is twenty minutes late to an exam, and the mere thought of this reality is poison to his thoughts. Sure, Sicheng the notorious “bad boy” and, claimed, epitome of devil-may-care, might not pay mind to trivial details—but when it comes to exams and studies he takes them very diligently. In fact, if all the rumours that circulate around Sicheng did not exist then he would be unrecognizable to everyone.

In a tight rush he erratically veers his vehicle into the parking lot and goes to his designated spot—which he finds out is taken, to his surprise. Confused, he studies the car that is present in his student lot for a good minute or so, only to become more vexed at the sight as more time passes by. “You’re fucking kidding me,” Sicheng sighs. “I didn’t pay the fee for student parking to have this happen.”

Sicheng turns his head over his shoulder and leans back, his arm resting behind the neck of the passenger seat as he swiftly exits the crowded lot. He zooms out of the classified parking tact and roams the streets, his eyes attentive to the road and curbs to find a vacant spot. The streets are fairly crowded with pedestrians and passersby, cars speeding down as if they are racing against one another amid their routinely commute. After another ten minutes he sees an empty spot at the far end of the bustling street, almost perfectly unoccupied as if it is to bee waiting for him. Sicheng kicks up the speed of his car and rushes to the spot, the carking honks of certain vehicles directing towards his recklessness. He finally parks after what feels like aeons.

Apparently it is immensely taxing to find a spot that is by the institute. Then again, Sicheng is running on three hours of sleep—a disturbed slumber created by Taeyong and Yuta cracking jokes as if being dormant is not in their dictionary—not a single cup of coffee, and a tired mind. He rests against his driver’s seat and takes a deep breath, his chest palpably heaving, and he closes his eyes as his head leans against the headrest.

Ready to drift off into a much needed, entailing sleep, Sicheng shakes himself up and gets a mental reminder that he is already far too late for an exam. He bolts out of his vehicle and begins to zip past the streets, the chill of the wind pricking at his skin with every fast, large step he takes towards the institute. Sicheng is using the last of his energy to reach the lecture hall, and he wastes the remaining pieces of his mind to read the directory boards.

When he storms into the lecture hall it is as if he is a raging tornado, bringing down a few loose papers by the desk near the door. Out of breath and making his way to the front, he grabs onto an exam that is lazily, and angrily, being held by his professor, and begins to sit at the first vacant spot available.

The disturbance is vexatious enough for your eyes to peer from your paper to study the interference. All you see is a rowdy boy, a recognizable face from Taeyong’s obstreperous group of friends, and high school, finding a solace on a plastic chair within the room. You sigh, shaking your head in disappointment before you return to your exam.

The boy’s distant rummaging for supplies fades away from your senses after a few moments, allowing you to give complete focus to your exam.

Sicheng briefly glances at the assessment before him and releases a sigh of relief, mollified that the content on the paper is everything he can claim he has an expertise in. Biochem is never a struggle for Sicheng—if he even struggled with studies to begin with. The years he has poured into studying sedulously in high school truly paid off, from treating it like a hobby and using it as an escape from the nasty rumours that disseminated around him. He used to be the top of his class while he was in high school, and that was what earned him the open door to his present, prestigious university.

The longer Sicheng stares at the test the quicker the answers arrive to him. His pencil is creating scribbles all over the scratch paper, and the solutions piece together not long afterwards. It takes him forty-five minutes for the exam to be thoroughly completed and skimmed through, and he grins at himself as if he has achieved a nonpareil victory. Around this time you finish the exam as well, taking longer than usual by returning to skipped questions and reviewing your work.

Contemporaneously, you and Sicheng make each other’s way to the front and hand the exam to the professor, who accepts it with reluctance. Well, to be completely true to the story, you halt the boy’s stride by stepping in front of him, practically shoving the assessment to your professor. Sicheng cocks an eyebrow upwards towards your miniature stunt, hoping it is an accidental disrespect, and waits.

With belongings in your hand you leave the lecture hall with haste. You hope that the last minute studying for the exam is worth it; after all, it is a refresher. Looking back at the room, Sowon is still sitting at her spot with a furrowed brow, torn on which formula to use for one of the many onerous questions.

Sicheng, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on you as you walk out the door, blinking twice to your phantom-like action to leave the hall. He then proceeds to talk to the professor for a short while about the following unit. Soon afterwards he meets up with one of his friends, Taeyong, and they roam the university campus for a good while amid conversing about random topics in regards to women and pointless get-togethers.

“So, Sicheng,” Taeyong starts, “our next party is going to be next week.”

Sicheng looks at his friend, engrossed by the conversation. Hearing about parties is either music to Sicheng’s ears, or the complete opposite if there is a vital project or assessment close. “Really? I’m down, where is it though?”

Taeyong shrugs. “Probably at Yuta’s. We haven’t had a party at his place in a while.”

“More like we haven’t been there in a while—it’s like he wants to keep us away from his shit.”

The boy lets out a laugh, agreeing with his younger friend patently. “We can stop by his place when he comes back. For now, we can just chill out in your car.”

“Yeah, we—”

Sicheng cuts his words short. It is not until Taeyong speaks the final statement for him to recall it: his car is not in the student parking lot, and it is the momentous event of the day. Taeyong becomes startled at the sudden groan Sicheng lets out that is quite similar to an enraged beast waking.

He rubs a palm on his face as he says, “Right, my car isn’t here.”

Taeyong’s curiosity catapults rapidly before he asks, “What are you talking about? This is where your spot is.”

“I know,” he says with a sigh, shoving his fists into his pocket. His face is contorting into an expression of annoyance, a childish pout appearing on his pursed lips. “But someone was in my designated parking spot. Tae, you know what I had to do?” He swats his friend’s arm. “I had to drive all the way to the end of this busy street just to park—I could have gotten hit if I wasn’t careful!”

“Well, good thing you were careful.” A small fit of titters is impossible for Taeyong to fight when he heard the lilliputian story, it being the highlight of his week.

Sicheng sternly frowns at his friend. “It’s not funny. I don’t pay the parking fee for this uni for nothing. I was late today too, and it had to be on the day of an exam.”

“Sorry, bro,” Taeyong comforts. Well, an excuse of comforting his downhearted friend to be precise. “If it makes you feel better I’ll drive you to the end of the street so you don’t have to risk your life on the sidewalk.”

Taeyong’s frolicsome tone brings out Sicheng’s querulous side, like a storm that has been waiting to strike its thunder, but the younger boy is in no mood to shoot back any rude remarks.

“Come on”—Taeyong urges his friend with a hand—“let’s go. Then we can text Jae and them to meet up at the billiards hall later before we head to Yuta’s.”

Sicheng stares at the vehicle that is occupying his space for a few more seconds before shadowing Taeyong to the opposite side of the parking lot, brows still together in a derailing manner. The walk to Taeyong’s vehicle is a good ten minutes, considering the wide parking tract. Once the two boys reach the desired car they plunk inside and prepare to drive.

Taeyong’s engine purrs and he begins to back out of his spot; shortly, he slowly makes his way around the area and heads for the exit. Sicheng is reposing in the passenger seat, his eyes closed as if he aches for a deep sleep to make up for last night—and quite honestly, he does. The smooth drive is going well until Taeyong’s car comes to an abrupt halt, causing Sicheng to open his eyes in a desultory rate to gawk at the reason why.

“Why’d you stop?” Sicheng asks, looking at his friend.

Taeyong glowers, displeasure priming on his features. “People are crossing the street. You know, one of them being the girl that rejected me.”

Sicheng bats his eyes, blinking the sleep away as he leans forward, examining the students. One of them, Sicheng recognizes within a dream, and he is ephemerally caught off guard. It is the same girl who shoved himself in front of him after the simple test, cutting off the thread of his actions swiftly—in fact, she is you.

You are dragging your feet to your car as Sowon’s arm is compactly looping around your own, almost dragging you back. She is voicing an exasperating legion of complaints about the exam, constantly claiming that her life has now come to an end after that devastating assessment. Then again, this is just a typical Sowon.

Sicheng is ready to lounge and nap in the passenger seat until he noticed the transparent path you are walking on. At it was to his parking lot; to your vehicle.

“Wait a second,” Sicheng mumbles, his gaze narrowing on your figure. He roots himself in the passenger seat of his friend’s car until he is sure you are going to his designated spot, and Taeyong ogles at his friend in unmitigated dubiety.

“Dude, that’s definitely the girl that rejected me. That’s—”

“Her,” Sicheng completes mindlessly. Sicheng notices the way you are fishing for the keys in your bag, and later unlocked your car.

Taeyong speaks some more about you as he rambles on and on, but Sicheng is highly inattentive to his friend’s words, for he is far too invested in his anger building up inside of him. God, because of you he is more than late to the exam, and it seems like the fee he paid for the parking is put to waste. Exasperated, he unbuckles his seatbelt and impulsively exits Taeyong’s car, marching towards you in an indignant manner.

Taeyong’s eyes blow wide to his friend’s brisk exploit, calling out for him, but nothing stops Sicheng’s bourning stride.

“Excuse me,” Sicheng calls out for you. Rather than catching your attention it enraptures Sowon’s, who quickly tugs onto your sleeve to notify your awareness. The drag Sowon creates pulls you back, and you shake your arm out of her grasp with a whine.

“What is it now?” you question her. Her head is facing elsewhere when you bombard her with the question, and your gaze follows her rising arm that is pointing to a man a short distance away. With an angry gait he approaches your being after a few moments, and he is a short yard from you.

The man you recognize as Sicheng clears his throat. “You parked in my spot today. It’s actually assigned to me.” Sicheng tilts his chin high as if he is looking down at you, but the words that left his lips come out gentler than what anyone would expect.

It takes you a moment to assess his words and Sowon creeps off to the side, watching the spectacle like it is an all-star movie. Your gaze fleets from the parking lot ot Sicheng, and you release a huff of breath. “Your spot?” you repeat distastefully. “I thought parking at this university was for whoever gets it first.”

Sicheng crinkles his nose at your mistake, how conspicuous it is. “Y-yeah,” he stutters, attempting to approach the incident in a collected fashion. With none of his friends around he has no point in keeping up the malicious bad boy mask he created. “You’re wrong. There’s actually a fee we pay to—”

“If you bothered to show up to class on time, especially on a day of an exam, maybe this would’ve never happened,” you comment. You notice the way Sicheng gets taken aback by your sour tongue, for he never thought that someone like you would speak with flames, matches igniting every word that left your mouth. The fire scorches Sicheng’s dignity—enough to burn it to ashes.

Sicheng’s mouth gapes as he agitates at your response; it really is the polar of what he expects to come from the pretty lips of yours. You are a sweet trap in his eyes, the epitome of one. A simple appearance with angelic features to him, but that one statement reveals all the poison that vests within your being. “I’m sorry,” Sicheng lets out with a laugh, “what did you say?”

“You know what I said,” you articulate, not willing to spend another second conversing with him. There is an ache to return to your apartment after that arduous exam and create comfort in the familiar confinement, but here Sicheng is, preventing you from doing so.

Sicheng’s lips twist into a smile, his impatience running thin. “Look, girl, I—”

“(y/n),” you correct. “My name is (y/n), Sicheng.”

Sicheng abides to your patience and he takes a second to calm himself down before he blows a fuse. “How do you know my name?” he questions, steering away from the topic at hand. The mask he has constructed for a day-to-day basis has come out, hoping it would rip an apology out of you. “Ah, of course. Who doesn’t?”

Though, to his surprise and your unamusement, the opposite occurs. "Aside from us attending the same high school and hearing all the rumours about you, the girls who sat behind us wouldn't shut up for a good two minutes about how ‘adorable you look when tired’—during an exam. I'm upset the professor didn't notice.”

Sicheng shrugs, pushing his interest about the girls’ words to the back of his mind. “Really? If I was not late due to someone taking my parking then that wouldn’t have happened. Half an hour, (y/n).”

“You can be ten minutes late, twenty, or even half an hour—I don’t care.” You start to walk to the driver’s side of your vehicle, opening the door vehemently.

Sicheng continues to follow you halfheartedly and questions, “Seriously?”

Your hand hangs off the car door and you toss him a look of annoyance. Meanwhile, Sowon slips onto the passenger side. “Do you only know how to ask questions in disbelief?” you spit out to him.

“No, I’m just—”

“You seem surprised that I’m talking to you this way,” you think aloud. You pull on the strap of your backpack and start to take your baggage off, lobbing it onto the backseat.

Sicheng swallows another breath of air, waiting for you to continue. “A little.”

You indicate a sound of annoyance and you start to step into your vehicle. “You’re at our university, Sicheng, so you need to have a purpose. If you were seriously a hardcore 'bad boy' as everyone says, then we wouldn't be having this conversation. Why? Because you wouldn't be here."

With that, you shut the door on the boy and start up your engine.

Sicheng’s jaw drops to the floor as he watches you back out from his assigned spot. Nothing but raw shock takes over him and he is more than startled that you would talk in such a lethal fashion—especially towards him. In fact, he is not used to it. Someone has little to no interest in him, and treated him with such impudence to the point his inquisitiveness soars. Maybe the rumours he heard about you are true, and that you possibly did have a prestige of getting into countless of men’s pants.

You roll your window down once you completely back out of the driveway, only to say to the boy, “I won’t park here tomorrow for you though.”

And there is no apology. The last sound he hears from your vehicle is the excited screaming that comes from your friend, who is equally surprised at your attitude towards the notorious bad boy.

Sicheng remains planted onto the concrete of the tract until Taeyong pulls up next to him, snapping him out of his daze. “That doesn’t seem like it went well,” Taeyong points out the obvious.

Sicheng scratches the back of his neck and shuffles involuntarily. “Tell me about it… Say, Tae, you were interested in her?” Sicheng is unable to put it together: why would Taeyong ever show an interest to someone with a sour personality like yours? It is as if you are a rotten apple that would blight those who linger around you; absolutely abrasive.

Taeyong nods, somewhat ashamed from the brief past. “Yeah, why? Was it a mistake? Isn’t she kinda’ cute?”

Sicheng gives it some thought before shrugging. “I guess.”

“Don’t you want to get her back? You know, people say that she’s always down for a good fuck. You should do your signature: leave ‘em hanging.” Taeyong questions, implying more than just a request in his tone. He speaks with certainty, inexorable to his plan. His lips quirk into a cunning smirk, an expression that would enchant women, but Sicheng merely laughs it off.

He shakes his head, seeing no use with meddling in rumours. “No point. Come on”—he enters Taeyong’s vehicle, shielding how enraged he is with a smile—“let’s just go to the billiards hall.”

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

For majority of the drive, along with the car radio’s convivial tunes to set the impressible mood, Sowon’s voice entangles with the music. She speaks like a broken record that is unable to shut off, and you really want to mute her as if she is a rebarbative vinyl. It is not because you feel animus towards her, as hard as that may be to believe, but Sowon refuses to quit maundering about your daring exploit to Sicheng. Sowon is more than aware with who Sichen is, or, to be exact, who he makes himself to be; after all, the rumours have spread around the first day of university like wildfire. Oh, and he lingers within Taeyong’s compact crowd.

“I still can’t believe you talked to him like that,” Sowon lets out, her arms animatedly flailing around.

You roll your eyes and grip onto the wheel, paying close attention to the road as you search for the correct street to turn at. It is a good mid-afternoon, the preeminent time to eat lunch with your friend, and, with empty stomachs, you are both looking for a delectable place. Each time Sowon speaks of the scene you remain quiet, not allowing yourself to reply to her petulant reaction.

And so she continues, “Most girls are either too infatuated with Sicheng to even commit a fraction of what you did, or are entirely afraid of him. It’s strange though—like he and his group just has a spell over girls but you’re immune to their abilities.”

“You’re speaking of them like they’re witches,” you say with a laugh.

“They are,” she jests, a wide smile crossing her face. “I didn’t go to the same school as Sicheng, but I heard so much stuff about him.”

You raise an eyebrow, allured by her words and how she views the story of the notorious starboy. You ponder how much it differs from what your information of him, how you are most likely the one who is aware of the truth. “Like what?” you ask her.

Sowon hums a tune to the melody of the current song, her eyes upped as if she is soaring past her thick clouds of thought. “I heard he messed around with a lot of girls—more than he did in this uni. But it was all for fun. Those girls are so lucky—they got to go in his pants!”

“Yeah,” you agree, thoroughly carefree, “the boy rarely showed up to school when the year was ending though.”

Sowon giggles, her fingers hovering over her mouth. “I heard too. He went around with his friends downtown to sleep with older women. They were probably the most wild group out there.”

“He still acts like it,” you mumble.

“Because he still is like that—he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to change.” Sowon lets out a frown. “Since Taeyong is interested in you, should I just go for Sicheng?” she asks with a smirk.

For the first time throughout the entire drive your gaze breaks from the road; you study her buoyant face in hopes that this is another one of her jokes. “You’re talking as if you’re a part of their group.”

Sowon tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the instead-of-getting-in-his-pants-i’ll-go-for-their-friend’s.”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” you sigh. “It’s funny, I know Sicheng in a completely different way.

Sowon’s mouth gapes and she leans in over the center console, inching closer to invest herself in the details that are about to spill from your mouth. She acts as if she is a overwrought reporter, ready to receive the news that would be the talk of the century. “How so?” she questions. Then, a lightbulb flickers on in her hand—one that has been shut off for aeons. “Right, you went to the same high school as him!”

“Unfortunately,” you add. “I had to deal with the cheer team members in my class whispering everyday about how Sicheng broke their friend’s heart. Then when that was over, I had to put up with all sorts of girls being intrigued by how heedless he was. I never even crossed paths with him until today—thankfully.

“Sicheng was a stellar student from what I could tell. The times he were present in school he was always studying and such, or maybe wasting daylight in the dance room. That’s why I refuse to believe he’s a stupid starboy that loves getting in other’s pants. That boy’s probably a total softie—you should have seen how easy he went on me from earlier.”

Sowon’s eyebrows are raised, and she is somewhat taken aback from your description of the ultimate bad boy. She sees Dong Sicheng on a completely divergent path from you, so hearing new facets about him—from your experience—come as a large shock. She wonders if you are truly correct; she has heard so many stories like how he was an obstinate biker, but quit after a horrible accident. Word used to go around that he smoked dependently until he met Jaehyun. Everything was absolutely preposterous, but others asininely believed in everything they heard.

Laughter escapes her parted lips once more and she leans back in her chair, her head turning out the window as she thinks more about your words, imagining Sicheng as a milksop. It is futile for her to attribute the characters you provided her with to someone like him, for the image of Sicheng all around Taeyong and the other negligent personages is imbued into her mind. Almost like it is carved onto a tomb until eternity.

“I guess so,” she acknowledges. “So he’s kind of like you in a way.”

“What do you mean by that?” you ask her, defensive.

Sowon thinks for a few seconds, struggling to find the words to say. “Well shit spreads about you sleeping with a lot of guys, but no one believes it. Actually, you’re not the person people think you are—same with Sicheng. You’re my cute little bookworm, but to others you are a sex goddess who—”

“I don’t want to hear the details,” you say with a slanted grin.

“Moving on,” Sowon chants. “Now you know to not park there again. He’d probably break your windows or something next time.”

You raise an eyebrow at her words, parking your vehicle at the curb of the retail restaurant plaza. There is a specific look that sketches on your face, one that insinuates an instigating action that is bound to evoke a mirthful reaction.

“Would he?” you question yourself, voice inaudible to Sowon, who is preparing to exit the car. It takes a couple of seconds for you to come to a personal conclusion, and you result in going back on your word.

An unspoken game has been declared between you and Sicheng, and you are ready to make the first move tomorrow. Rather than having guys chase your back for a special night, it is your turn to chase a man for the sole purpose of teasing.

You and Sowon ate a fairly large lunch yesterday, and after dropping her back off to the dorm you got the best amount of shut eye you have had in weeks. But that is because you slept early, not due to sleeping in.

Once the first light of the morning seeps through your sheer curtains you rise as if it is your alarm, and you become ready for school within a short amount of time. It is pointless to spend a lot of time to look your best that early in the morning, so you keep apparel simple with leggings and a sweatshirt. Then, you enter your vehicle with your belongings and start to drive with a wide grin on your face.

Vastly emptier than usual, you cruised the streets in the ensconcement of your seat and comfort of your car. With the windows rolled down you have the gentle breeze whistling through your hair somewhat, and it all comes to an end when you reach the student parking lot. The more you get closer to the designated spot that is not yours, the more giddy you become. You are humming a tune in joy and narrow your eyes down on Sicheng’s spot, eager to fill it with your annoying vehicle.

Once you stop the car and pull out your keys you send Sowon a text, informing her that you have arrived at the university. You slip your phone into your bag and start to walk to the girls’ dormitory, almost dancing with each step towards the building. A good ten minute walk from the parking lot is what it takes for you to reach the entrance to the dorms, and Sowon meets up with you, opening the door to allow you inside. She greets you with an excited hug, dragging you to her dorm room as if she is an electrified child ready to play a few games.

“I’m surprised you decided to come early,” she comments, letting you waltz inside her dorm.

The familiar scent of vanilla created by her lightened up candles kisses your nose, and you take a seat on her messy bed. “Me too, but my morning’s been surprisingly well.”

“Mm, I wonder why,” she says in a singsong voice. Sowon looks out her window, observing the condensation present on the thick glass. “Isn’t it a long walk from where you usually park? It’s kinda’ cold out this morning,” she comments, a little worried.

You assure her with a smile, waving your hands to shy off her concerns. “Don’t worry, I parked closer this time.”

“Where?” she asks, lounging in her bean bag.

“My new spot,” you declare with credence, “where else?”

Sowon’s eyes blow wide, shocked at the confession that easily slips from your lips. “No way.”

There are stars twinkling in your eyes from the incoming victory, and you nod to confirm her suspicions. Like stated, it is a game that you and Sicheng have never spoken of, and you have every intention of winning.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

When Sicheng wakes he is not behind the time schedule like before. There is no blare of his phone alarm to snooze, no ostentatious early morning yelling from his friends; in fact, there is nothing but silence, and it sends him a plethora of peaceful sentiments. Sitting up in his bed for a while, he thinks deeply amid the calming quietude. It is enjoyable: the serenity of the morning with no disruptions, and he wonders if this is what his life would constantly be like if he purged the mask he set up for himself.

Sicheng presently makes the choice to get out of bed and prepare himself for a placid day. He strays away from his phone to avoid the rowdy group chat and he moves slower than usual, like a tranquil streamline. He is only going with the flow of the aerodynamic, allowing it to carry him throughout his day. Breakfast is small and simple, and he dresses up for school. It does not take long for him to enter his car and begin driving to the university.

The drive is strangely quiet, pellucid. There are not many clouds in the sky, like the sun has scared them all away, and the heat pours into his vehicle to create a slight discomfort. With his eyes on the road, periodically veering to the atmosphere, there is a contrail that he seems like he is following to reach the institute. Sicheng hums in thought and is going through his mental checklist as he drives into the student parking lot. The day is peculiarly calm, and it constructs a perfect morning for Sicheng.

Until he reaches his paid parking spot, only to find that same vehicle from the day before occupying it.

As if his mind is still slow, like he is wakening from a recent slumber, he stares at the unavailable spot for a good while before reacting. Sicheng takes quite a while to fathom your daring action, and he only responds with a tired sigh, making his way to the busy street to park his vehicle. So much for his good morning.

Sicheng has a sea of sheer purple underneath his eyes to indicate his tiredness, and his mouth is being dragged down into a frown that intimidates others that walk by. He is trudging through the campus in a search for his friends, completely irked by your new stunt. There are flames that are hazing around his being, warning students away from him—a mere lock of eyes would be enough to burn their pneuma.

In the distance underneath the tree in the center of the campus Sicheng sees Yuta perusing an article on his phone. “Hey, Nakamoto!” Sicheng calls out to him, smug as ever.

The sound of his name enraptures his attention and he diverts his awareness to his younger friend. “Sicheng!” he responds, walking towards the boy. “You’ve been dead since last night—we were making plans this morning in the chat, what’s up?”

“Oh, I couldn’t find my phone,” he responds rapidly, quick in thought. “What’s going on?”

“The usual,” Yuta laughs. “Why are you coming from that side? The parking lot is on the other.”

Sicheng’s expression runs niche, and he is motionless for a brief second or two. “My parking got jacked.”

“Again?” Yuta asks, taken aback. “You know, this is actually kinda’ funny.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes and roots his fists into his pockets, shifting his stance. “It’s not. My money is being wasted for someone else to take my fucking spot.”

“Take it back,” Yuta says without thought. He is speaking flamboyantly, like jokes are the only way he can keep up a conversation.

Sicheng looks his friend in the eye austerely, and Yuta, one who typically shares the flames of anger with Sicheng, is being scorched by his look alone.

“Yeah,” Sicheng breathes. “Let me just crash my car right into hers, you know? So none of us can use the spot.”

“You can always break her windows,” Yuta proposes.

Sicheng gruffs, raking a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to get in trouble at this point in the semester?”

“Didn’t you always used to get in trouble back then anyway? This isn’t anything new for you,” Yuta falsely claims.

A few moments is what Sicheng needs to comprehend Yuta’s words. Of course Yuta would think that; Sicheng used to go to the counseling office every other day for help with the transfer program, and to vent about the stress that eats him from the inside, out. For a good week rumours had spread about Sicheng—to no surprise, and yet again—that his mother was forcing him into counseling at the school to work on his personality.

Recalling that episode in his life makes Sicheng sigh in disappointment, for he has a brief epiphany that everyone’s outside opinion of him is based off false columns that built him to where he is.

But all Sicheng can let out is an, “I guess.”

Yuta and Sicheng start to walk around the campus in search for the other two boisterous boys; for the most part, Sicheng is complaining endlessly about the taken parking spot. And the second they walk past the dormitory building, he shuts up. Not because he has been rambling seamlessly or that he dedicated ten minutes of his life to grousing, but because he sees someone not too far from him, recognizing the person within a heartbeat.

“God damn it, (y/n),” Sicheng spits out abhorrently.

“(y/n)?” Yuta repeats, looking at his friend. “Oh, the one who rejected Taeyong?”

The answer is obvious, but Yuta still commented unsurely amid Sicheng angrily striding your way. You and Sowon have recently waltzed out of the dormitory, giggling from miniature jokes.

“Hey,” Sicheng calls out to you.

Your jocular giggles wither into silence, and you stare at the recognizable boy before you. “Hey there, starboy.”

Getting straight to the point, Sicheng calms himself down with two deep breaths prior to continuing. You notice the way his chest puffs in and out, indicating that he is trying to lock the choleric fraction of his personality away.

“What happened to not taking my spot now? I don’t pay half a grand to have you take my parking,” he informs, forcing a smirk on his lips.

Sowon stares at Sicheng, intimidated by his fuming presence. Her gaze is exchanging from you and the boy, and she takes a step back as if a quarrel is ready to take place. Yuta on the other hand, who is leisurely observing from a close distance, takes entertainment.

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to walk that far again,” you tell him jovially. A part of you wants to be honest with Sicheng, to just announce ‘ Let this game begin ’ to see his next move, but instead you wrig in excitement.

Yuta joins Sicheng’s side, nudging the younger boy with his elbow and waggling his eyebrows to imply something else. It is a golden chance for Sicheng to break out a premier line, but not for you. If it is not obvious enough, their petulant antics have no effect on yourself; like you have a shield around you that is infrangible.

“You have to make it up to me somehow then,” Sicheng proposes, taking a step closer.

You cock an eyebrow upwards and tilt your head as if it would help you assess his words. Seriously, of all times and the array of things he can say to lighten up the situation, he has to draw out the poorest of utterances.

Letting out a titter, you take a step as well and tilt your chin up, a leonine presence coming over you. “How so?”

A fit of chuckles that failed to be sustained is audible in the background; of course, coming from Yuta. Sowon looks at the other boy and scrutinizes him for a good while, and when the two outsiders lock eyes, Yuta winks her way.

Sicheng swallows his breath, feeling tyrannized by you. It is not a normal occurrence for Sicheng to feel subdued by another member of the opposite sex; he usually has a way with words; typically his smile is all that is needed to charm others. His gaze averts from you and he flutters his lashes, silent for a couple of moments. Fuck, it really was not a smart choice to prompt something he is not able to finish.

Staring at the boy in front of you breaks down his bravado, it tumbling down as if it is an unstable house of cards. You wait and wait for Sicheng to answer your question, but he remains silent, uneasy as the tension in the air rises.

“Come on, starboy,” you edge, smirking from the prominent standing of having the upper hand, “Finish what you started.”

Sicheng releases a sigh, brushing off the weight of the moment but turning his back to you. “There’s no point,” he articulates, walking back to his friend. Yuta’s eyebrows are raised in a fashion of attentiveness, unable to pinpoint the exact reason for Sicheng dropping the tight scene.

The moment the back of Sicheng’s head is what you are spitting your false sense of superiority towards, Sicheng’s expression withers into relief. It is like the strength he utilizes to hold up the mask of braggadocio is not even a fraction of what he needs to face you head on. Giving it more thought, Sicheng recalls the few hearsays that once spread the campus about you—and frequently the same words still make rise—and how you truly are not the donnish student you display yourself to be.

With his suspicions rising, yours are sensibly confirmed.

As Sicheng walks to Yuta, the older boy looping his arm around the younger’s neck to pull him close and hound his friend for backing out, your eyes cannot tear from his figure until he is out of sight.

Narrowing down your thoughts, you conclude that Dong Sicheng is nothing but talk, the epitome of overrated; the personality he exhibits to others a mere act he has molded himself to fit in almost perfectly. But it is the faulty fraction that allows you to see through his false persona. With a smug grin, he dissembles his true self inside. And knowing this defective element absolutely galvanizes you, prompting you to maintain the unspoken game.

Thinking in terms of a game, there are those who fear him and those who ache to be near the being of vehement carelessness. And then there is you: someone who has always been made aware of his noxious existence since high school, but has chosen to stray far away from him. It is like crossing paths has kindled the start of a spirited stratagem, and you want to give Sicheng a taste of what he is unobtrusively missing, which is a night of zealous coition.

You are snapped out of your daze when Sowon waves her hand in front of your face, catching your attention abruptly. Looking at her, you smile triumphantly.

“Seriously? What are you thinking?” she asks you from witnessing your farcical stunt. “Sicheng’s going to get you back for this. I heard that the last time sometime tried to reject him his friends—”

“Everything you hear about Sicheng is so absurd,” you acknowledge with a breathy laugh. “But whatever he does—if he wants to do anything—it’ll be amusing.”

Sowon presses a palm to her forehead before dragging you to the main path, pulling you to the direction of the lecture hall. “You really are diabolical,” she comments.

Shrugging, the two of you chuckle, pushing the recent moment to the back of each other’s minds, refusing to speak about it until the short future.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Yuta’s hands are flying all over the air as he talks animatedly, passionate about his thoughts from the recent encounter with you. If one is to look towards his way, they would assume the worst; after all, Yuta is speaking with anger and a sour tongue.

“You should have said, ‘Make it up to me tonight’!” Yuta exclaims, annoyed at his friend’s reluctance. “It was the perfect chance, and you said the opening line to it. It was your open window, and all you had to do was jump out!”

Sicheng grumbles in annoyance. “There was seriously no point.”

“Um,” Yuta hesitates, “yes, there was! Are you forgetting about sex? You would have given her a night to remember.”

“It’s not like I want that,” Sicheng comments, his voice silent like a whisper. He thinks about his statement a little more, assessing Yuta’s confused expression before Sicheng adds, “I mean, f-from her.”

Yuta sighs in defeat; it is anticlimactically futile to argue with Sicheng. “You’ve always been the softest one out of all of us. It’s kinda’ funny, everyone else thinks so highly of you to the point they fear you. But you don’t want to fuck around with that many girls. When was the last time you even had a good fuck?”

Sicheng rolls his eyes at Yuta’s persistence. “Long enough, I suppose.”

“That’s why at my party next week, you’ll score big—maybe.”

“So the party’s really going to be held at your place?” Sicheng questions.

Yuta nods his head, confirming his question. “You bet. Get ready, ‘starboy,’ you’re probably gonna’ score it big.”

Sicheng’s breath is lodging in his throat, unsure on what to think about the upcoming party. Wild festivities are a must within the group, and every so often they are held—each being deemed as the party of the month, always to be better than the last. As much as the others look forward to them; men looking to score and women searching for a long night; Sicheng somewhat dreads them. It would be questionable if he is absent without a valid reason, and studies is not rational enough in their books. So, typically at intimate gatherings like those he would stray off to the side and avoid conversing with drunken individuals, and leave after a few hours of sitting and moping.

Usually girls would crowd him though, but a party is the last place Sicheng would want to converse with anybody. The impression of the other individual would substantially drop; it practically screams that they are there to get into someone’s pants. When Sicheng is being held down by a sphere of excited partiers, his friends orbit around him and prompt him for a drink or two, but it always leads into a few more.

Whoever would be lucky would be leading Sicheng into a bedroom where the only occupiers are the two of them, and, sure, kissing would occur and sensual touches, but once clothes begin to get discarded Sicheng becomes reluctant. Though, to the other’s eyes, it seems he has lost interest within a heartbeat, growing bored when they try harder to catch his attention again. Sicheng would try to talk them out of it—if he is not too flustered by the sight of a half naked body. However, it is his turn for him to rid himself of his apparel, he stands up irresolutely and heads straight for the door, no words needed.

In short, parties are no fun for the false starboy.

You have never been one to dwell within your thoughts. Problems pass by like quick showers of rain, disappearing within a couple of moments, and negative reflections are always shattered. However, the rumination of the damned boy, Dong Sicheng, has never left your mind. It is impressioned onto your brain like ancient carvings, and they do not seem to be disappearing any time soon.

Throughout your two years of being present within the university, the stir of events you have witnessed recently, and the game you set up for yourself have to be the most eventful. It keeps you occupied, pushes you to the edge of your seat in excitement, and gives you another action to do aside messing around with guys who crave a taste of you. In fact, with the line of guys who test the rumours and theories of your sex skill that you once found alluring, they no longer have a spot in your aspirations. All because Sicheng is in your radar, and he is the next target.

It is interesting to see how the events have cascaded upon one another: you never batted an eye to Sicheng in high school, now all you want is to tease him. Conceivably, you want to tarnish that “bad boy” reputation that surrounds him—because that would be your greatest accomplishment. Hearing the nosy speculations that encompass Sicheng makes you burst out in laughter. Who everyone sees as a negligent but charming man is nothing but rotten to you. Some say that he used to get in fights uptown when he was in high school, and others say that he never studied, always skipping class to find older women. Though, after attending the same high school as him and noticing the trivial particulars, taking every detail into consideration, Sicheng is far too overvalued.

Sicheng skipped class from the negative insinuations that surrounded him, and everything made sense to you within seconds. Almost like the sky has cleared after its storm, you gained a decent understanding of him and who he makes himself to be.

Sowon has a point: you and Sicheng are similar in many ways, yet differ substantially at the same time. Both you and the starboy have speculatory gossip besieging to the point going against it is futile. There is even a false impression of you that other students have. The university bibliophile and intellectual—one that no one expects to even converse with the opposite sex, lewdly—has scored with far too many guys on campus. And because of your assiduous exhibition, no one truly believes that you have slept with one or two of them.

The following day after an easily deemed victory you wake up with intentions to steal his parking spot again. You are running a little bit later than the clock, but with enough time to get dressed; and so, within ten minutes, you are out the door. The weather feels identical as the day before: clear skies and a warm sun, but the rush you face to reach Sicheng’s parking spot makes it difficult to enjoy the mild weather.

Amid your careening, you have reached the entrance of the student parking lot and see a familiar vehicle driving down the opposite end of the tract. Focusing your vision, you recognize the driver as Dong Sicheng, and the man in the passenger seat as Jung Jaehyun. You sigh and let out a sound of annoyance, your head turning left and right to see if there is another way to beat him to the locale. And it is either you turn left and enter a one way zone, or obey the rules and go all the way around. Obviously, with your ache to top Sicheng—in many ways, that is—the answer is in the air. Taking a deep breath, you grip onto the wheel and turn it, veering your vehicle into the one-way zone that is opposite from you. You are driving recklessly as you zip down the road, and just as the other car is about to make its way towards its designated spot, you swerve right into the vacancy.

The other vehicle comes to an abrupt halt, for its brake is rapidly pressed down onto as you cut off their bearing. “Shit,” spits out the driver, Sicheng. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Jaehyun’s body is jerked from the sudden freeze of momentum, and he gets dragged back to the passenger seat, groaning, “Whoa, what happened?”

Sicheng tossed his head onto the headrest and closed his eyes, frustrated at your stunt. He calms himself with a few deep breaths, his grip loosening on the wheel as Jaehyun studies his actions.

“You good, dude?” Jaehyun asks, hitting his friend’s arm with the back of his hand like he is an empty shell.

“Yeah,” Sicheng concludes, his voice descending. “Just a little frustrated.”

Jaehyun bats his eyes and looks at the vehicle that has taken Sicheng’s paid parking spot; it takes a while for Jaehyun to comprehend the situation, then he finally speaks. “Again? Isn’t this the third day in a row?”

Sicheng nods and opens his eyes, his teeth biting the outline of his lip. There is a concerning mien that is priming on his face: an empty-looking stare, but fire hazes this two orbs. Though, when Sicheng opens his eyes and shifts his gaze to his friend, he notices someone else in his field of view—he notices you, hiking your backpack over your shoulder as you start to walk across the lot.

“Because of that fucking—”

“(y/n),” Jaehyun interrupts, his voice susurrous and questionable.

The sound of your name leaving someone else’s lips sounds incredibly foreign to Sicheng, and it catches his attention. Jaehyun appears uneasy as he gawks at you, shaky eyes and his hands balling into fists. Sicheng takes in every detail and he is about to question the well-being of his friend; until, Jaehyun smiles reassuringly to him.

“Sorry, I recognize her from a year ago,” he informs.

Sicheng raises an eyebrow, his hands coasting off the wheel. “What? Did you guys have a thing—an actual relationship?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No,” he says with a laugh. “It’s a short story, but I can tell you later.”

“Whoa, it’s something I don’t know? I guess there really is a first for everything.”

Jaehyun laughs lounges in the passenger seat, his stare finally breaking from you and your friend. There is a bitter taste that reposes on Jaehyun’s tongue, a familiar heat efflorescing in his chest; it is the taste you left him with, the anger that has been created the night you two had sex. Jaehyun has seen you around campus a couple of times and he ignores the innocent look you have whenever you enter another social surrounding. At the time, he was aware that voicing his complaints about you would put everyone in a state of disbelief, and Jaehyun would be deemed as a first-class liar—despite the truth pouring from his lips like endless waterfalls. Oh, and Jaehyun would never let anyone else know that he allowed a girl to top him for a night, then leave him as if he was nothing but detritus. There was no call back later, and a conversation the following day was absent. You and Jaehyun turned into instant strangers afterwards, and there has never been a reason to go back on that title.

You wave your hand in the air to catch Sicheng’s attention, to which he diffidently forces a smile your way, his anger failing to be shielded. Grinning at the starboy, you finally see the familiar boy in the passenger seat clearly. Jaehyun’s head turns out the window; he is refusing to look at you, and you titter quietly. Sowon pushes you ahead, bringing you out of the parking lot as she tries to hide her own sounds of entertainment.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Sowon surmises.

“I’ve been doing the same thing for two days—this is my plan,” you inform her.

Sowon pouts. “I mean when you entered the one way zone—what if someone was trying to exit? Or of a staff member saw you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you assure. “This whole thing is foolproof.”

Meanwhile, Sicheng and Jaehyun are driving out of the parking lot, finding no point in complaining about the unexpected occurrence. Sicheng is making his way down the familiar street, hoping that the line of cars parked snugly at the curb would end soon. Jaehyun appears to be back to his wholesome self once the vehicle exits the parking lot; he releases a sigh of relief and Sicheng questions him yet again.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Just show me where you parked on days like these,” Jaehyun jests.

“At the end of the damn street,” Sicheng informs, vindictive rancorous lacing his tone. “Jae, you sure you never dated (y/n)? You two act like you had a horrible relationship.”

Jaehyun swallowed his breath, systematizing his thoughts in order to deliver the plain truth—in a way that will not shock his friend. “We didn’t have a horrible relationship—or any relationship!” Jaehyun protests, his voice rising as if it would support his defensiveness like a pillar. There is a period of soundlessness that creeps into the vehicle as Sicheng finally finds parking, praising the fact he is not at the busy end of the curb. Sicheng is about to cajole in joy like a young child, the feeling as if the parking is an oasis within a parched desert standing on equal par, but Jaehyun mutters incomprehensible words that rouses his interest.

Jaehyun’s voice lowers, and the entire aura around him appears enervated as if the thought of you feeds on his lively energy. “We had a horrible night together,” Jaehyun mumbles; this time, his words swimming through Sicheng’s ears.

Sicheng presses his foot down on the break before asking, “What did you say?”

“We just had a bad night together.”

“A bad night?” Sicheng repeats, his eyes wide. “As in, you guys had a bad fuck?”

Jaehyun lowers his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of chagrin to hear the truth come out his mouth.

Sicheng does not react for a good ten seconds. His mind is not able to piece together the scattered puzzle fragments and evaluate the entire situation. Jung Jaehyun, stellar soccer player and complete expert under the sheets, had a horrible sex experience with you? The thought of that is as unbelievable as the truth behind the rumours that circulate him. Then, it hits him.

The demarcation that splits shock and jealousy becomes prominent, and Sicheng is lodged right in the middle of the side of jealousy. There has to be some truth behind Jaehyun’s words; after all, why would he choose to fib about something like this? Hell, maybe the entire thing is valid—but that is the root of the tree of covetous desires.

“She’s very, um, ascendant,” Jaehyun mutters. “I mean, it was a good bang in some ways and I liked it, but she left me hanging right afterwards. I actually felt an attraction towards her, and I thought that with, you know, someone like her—innocent on the outside and sweet personality and whatnot—would not have sex with someone unless she really liked them too.

“But God, she is the opposite. She’s literally the guy version of Yuta: accepting invites to fuck whenever she grows bored, but by the end of the night she’ll grow bored of the guy. I didn’t think that’d happen to me—especially with someone like her! Those rumours that go around about her are true; well, some of them. It’s true that a lot of guys want to test the waters and see if what they heard is true, and it’s true that she chooses to spend a night with one of them, but that’s all I can say.

“But no one really believes what goes on behind the scenes. It’s all some large exaggeration of some sort.”

Sicheng goggles at his friend, concentrating on his information. It is more than palpable that Jaehyun has never spoken about that episode in his life before, and considering it is the first time, the words pour from his mouth endlessly. And for some reason, Sicheng is fazed. Hearing his friend talk about you, the word that surrounds you have all been confirmed.

“Oh,” Sicheng whispers. “Whatever, I see where you’re coming from, Jae. You know, this isn’t anything to really be ashamed about.”

“It is when people will laugh at my story like it’s a joke.”

Sicheng turns his head back, judging the distance from the curb and his vehicle. “I’m not laughing.”

“‘Cause you’re a bro, dude.”

“I’m more surprised that it took you a year to break out that news to me.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, wondering, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t bother me,” Sicheng says quickly. He fights the urge to say something else; he has no opinion towards the information he has recently heard about you, no negative comments, for Sicheng and you are on the same boat.

He smiles, leaning in the seat. “Gosh, you are such a bro!”

“But I’m really surprised at this,” he adds.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun assures. “I still am too.”

Jaehyun plants a punch on his friend’s arm and Sicheng laughs, finishing his imperfect parking, and the two of them make their way to the university. Their backpacks are slumping, gait free; they speak with one another as if there are no problems present in the world. But it all comes to an end when they walk by the parking lot and see a notable staff member sauntering to the main office.

Sicheng pauses, his lips pursed into a pout of curiosity. “Jaehyun,” Sicheng begins, “I’ll catch up with you later. I left something in my car.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows come together, puzzled, but he does not question anything. “Alright, I’ll be looking for Yuta then. Later, dude.”

“Later.”

Sicheng turns his back to his friend who is then walking away, and he peers over his shoulder to see if he is still in sight. The second Jaehyun becomes occupied by his phone and enters the main hall, Sicheng pivots and begins to chase after the faculty member.

“Excuse me!” he calls out for the staff. Sicheng is jogging, a luminous, innocent grin sheening on his face.

The staff member halts and rotates his body to the boy, inspecting his unkempt appearance. “Yes?” he says, ignoring the aspect of disheveledness.

“I sort of have a problem, and I wasn’t sure on the answer, but someone has been parking in the spot I paid the fee for—it’s been occurring for three days now, and I’ve always been parking down the street because I don’t know who it is to tell them to stop.” Sicheng scratches the back of his neck and presses his lips into a thin line after he lets out a mingy deception.

“Someone’s been taking your spot?” the faculty member repeats, thinking aloud. “I can report it to the main office. What’s the spot number?”

The corners of Sicheng’s lip tug upwards in a scheming manner as he says, “2810. What’s going to happen to the car?” Sicheng feigns fear, stammering as he says, “Y-you won’t tow it out or anything, right?”

The staff member shakes his head, clinching his worries. “Don’t worry. At the university we give the student a warning the first time, the penalize them the second. And boot their car the third. For the third they’d have to come to the office, where we penalize them again.”

Sicheng’s mouth gapes. “Ah, I see. Thank goodness. Would you like me to come with you to the office to report it? This is the third time it happened, you can check the cameras if you’d like as well.”

“If you’d like,” the staff member says with a single breath, unwilling to deal with miniature drama in the early morning. “Or you can write out your name, license number, ID number, and spot number on a piece of paper. I can submit it to the office.”

“Oh, great”—Sicheng slides out a slip of paper and scribbles on the desired information, using his hand as a stable surface—“here, t-thank you, Sir.”

The staff member grins and takes the paper from the student’s hand, bidding him goodbye as he starts to make his way to the main office.

Sicheng stands in silence, feeling completely giddy from the instant. Springing in his glee, he heads straight to the lecture hall for his class rather than searching for his friends.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

After a long day of classes you feel drained of your vitality, and all you crave for is to catch some snooze-time in your own apartment. Lectures feel like they grow longer by the day, and it is impossible to fight the breakers of fatigue that come over your body. You meet up with Sowon first before you two part, and she talks to you about upcoming plans to procure.

She is accompanying you to your vehicle, straying from the main topic at hand occasionally; and all of a sudden, her final sentence remains unfinished. Right when you reach your vehicle Sowon has an empty stare at the front wheel, crossed on how to break the news to you.

“Is everything okay?” you ask her, your eyes following the alley of her stare. “Can you finish what you were saying so we can go—”

But your sentence endures as unfinished likewise. Your eyebrows furrow together, heartbeat kicking up its pace, and you take a shallow breath. So much anger has been briskly unsheathed, like a determined knight ready to face a cataclysmic battle, and you are ready to act upon it—because over the front tire of your car is a scintillating saffron car boot.

“You’re kidding,” you scoffed. “God damn it Sicheng.”

“We should go to the office,” comments Sowon, attempting to be tenable.

Your head turned in every which way in search for the aggravating boy; but to no revelation, he is absent within the area—probably at the opposite parking lot with his lawless friends. Exasperated breaths are leaving your lips and you shake your head, turning away from Sowon.

“(y/n), I don’t think we should act impulsively and—”

But you are already off. Sowon is left talking to nothing but the gust of air you left her with when you stormed away like an irate tornado. Your hands are balled to fists as you have an angry gait towards the other side of the parking tract, and the flames that surround your being have never been so visible. Students gawk at your enraged self, some scared to even be within the same area as you. It takes a ton of slow breaths for you to calm yourself down, at least enough to be reasonable with Sicheng, but the second him and his noxious group of friends come into sight your incensed fire is kindled abundantly.

“Sicheng!” you pant, your bag sliding off your shoulder as you marched to him and his friends. Despite their puzzled stares being aimed in your direction you are only able to look directly at the pernicious starboy, absolutely vexed to the core.

Sicheng smiles at you, holding his arms out as if he is ready to take you into a loving embrace. “(y/n)!” he exclaims. “Funny how you’re coming to me for once.”

His friends exchange mutual, confounded looks; each is unsure to the reason behind your storm. The words that soar from your lips are equivalent to a strike of lightning, but it is inefficacious towards Sicheng.

“You freaking asshole!” you exaggerate, allowing your bag to drop to the ground. His friends take a perceptible step back, marveling at your sudden exploit.

Sicheng’s jaw drops, feigning apprehensiveness. “What happened this time?” he questions you.

You rake a hand through your hair and point to the opposite side of the tract, acting vivaciously. “You fucking called someone to boot my car! Y-you told the office,” you declare. “Do you know how much work it will take to get that removed? I’ll be stuck at campus for another hour!”

“You’ll be here for two hours if you continue to yell at me,” he bites back, tilting his head with a dishonest smirk. “You should get going.”

“Seriously?” you pant, catching your breath.

Sicheng shrugs, an innocent expression sketching on his face as he ushers you to leave. Out of all if his friends, Yuta is the most dumbfounded. After all, Yuta has been egging on Sicheng to slip into your pants, butter you up with sweet words, but the opposite result is occurring this very moment.

“I’m fucking tired today, Sicheng,” you add.

Sicheng snickers, “Well I’ve been tired of your bullshit too! I had to do something.”

“So reporting me to the office was—”

Your sentence is left on the edge once your mind catches up to wrap itself around the fuming moment. It calms your apoplectic self, and prompts a few amused chuckles to leave your lips. Sicheng stares at you in confusion, pondering the sudden change of demeanor. He raises his eyebrow, a signal for you to continue.

You craft a guileful smirk whilst saying, “What kind of ‘bad boy’ reports someone to the office? I was expecting you to slash my tires, or maybe even bust my windows out.”

“If I did that then I’d be the one in trouble,” Sicheng informs you rapidly, quick to thought. “You’re smarter than this, (y/n).”

“I thought you’d be smarter than this too,” you spit out, glancing at his friends. In their eyes they either have the sentiment of horror or entertainment hazing their two orbs, and you push your chest out in confidence. “Whatever,” you say. “I’m wasting my time talking to you.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” Sicheng cackles.

You bend down and reach for your backpack, hoisting it over your shoulder as you start to trudge to the office. Seriously, this is the last thing you want to deal with after a taxing day of lectures.

“Anyway…” Jaehyun comes in, breaking the ice. “Yuta, your party’s next week?”

Your attention is raptured and you start to slow your pace, listening in to the last of their words while you are able to.

Yuta gives his friend a thumbs up, grinning. “Yep, on Tuesday night. So, Sicheng, what was that all about?”

Sicheng shrugs, keeping himself quiet. “I’m not sure myself, but, hey, I’m looking forward to your party.”

“Same,” Taeyong chimes in, “Yuta hasn’t thrown one at his place in ages—and they’re always the best.”

Those are the last words you hear from the loud men before you exit the area, and not long after your insistent stride, an idea blossoms in your mind—one that is a larger step in the game than the others you have committed.

It takes a while after negotiating with the office to retrieve the code and remove the car boot. You have to pay a penalty nonetheless, but it is not as much compared to other students who go against the rule; after all, the notable angel of the university who only studies would never prompt such hasty premature to begin with. The false reputation has aided you once again, and within an hour you are out of the university, driving impetuously to your apartment.

Once you are within the familiar comfort of your quarter you situate yourself on the sofa, slipping out your phone to send Sowon a text.

You [4:33 p.m.] Did you hear about yuta’s party next tuesday?

Staring at your phone in anticipation for her response, for a split second you wonder if your latest scheme is the brightest idea. The result is unknown, the line of result that is dashed into a nebulous haze. All you know is that the aggravation you have felt from today is fueling you, and Sicheng will soon face another degree of irascibility after your idea.

Sowon replies after a few seconds, straying away from your question.

Sowon [4:33 p.m.] since when were u interested in parties

Sowon [4:34 p.m.] especially ones by yuta and his friends ;)

You [4:34 p.m.] Get real. I’m just asking

You stare at the device for a second; your thumbs roaming the keypad after you decide to break out the question.

You [4:35 p.m.] Do you know what the address is?

And of course to that, Sowon responds within a heartbeat.

Sowon [4:35 p.m.] whoa who are u

Sowon [4:35 p.m.] i dont btw but i can ask around

Sowon [4:36 p.m.] wanna go?

You [4:36 p.m.] Fuck no

You [4:36 p.m.] But yes please ask around

Sowon [4:37 p.m.] here i was thinking u were ready to live a little :(

You [4:37 p.m.] Not around those guys.

Sowon [4:38 p.m.] haha, alright alright. ill text u later when i get the deets

The topic shifts abruptly after she sends that message, and you and Sowon result in texting about onerous classes and the abundance of assignments that have come each other’s way. With each message you send you become tired out by the second, the notification of a received message nothing but white noise as you fall into a deeply desired slumber.

When you rise the following morning, it is a placid Saturday aurora, gentle sun rays leaking into your apartment from the windows. You realize you knocked out cold on your couch, allowing the fatigue to overcome your body and take you into a cavernous sleep. Your phone is resting on the floor and you reach for it, vision still blurry from the stupefying rest. Struggling to focus your vision, you see the first message is from Sowon—and it has been sent not long after you decided to shut down your mind for a few hours.

Sowon [5:22 p.m.] i got the addy

Sowon [5:22 p.m.] what are u planning?

Instantly, you mind awakens and a sheepish grin that is impotent to fight paints on your face. The second you received the address of the appointed location, your next move is ready to take action. You slowly reply to her, humming an aubade as your thumbs press on the keypad.

You [5:25 a.m.] Let’s call off their party

The weekend passes by gradually for Sicheng, a largo build up like the calm before a storm, for he spends his entire weekend studying for exams. He keeps his phone tucked away elsewhere, notifying his friends that he will be busy for an unknown reason as a poor excuse. Sicheng, though, finds it comparatively burdensome to bide focus—because every twenty minutes or so he thinks about you and how mirthful your reaction was to his significant stunt. It feels like the accomplishment of the year, as if the trophies and gold medals he has earned from past dance performances no longer surpass the success that is angering you remarkably.

The thing is, he finds it quite strange.

Why is he lingering on the fact he earned a reaction from you—and why does he ache to prompt more? There seems to be an underlying phenomenon that rests beneath the root of the feat, one that he might be horribly blind to. As obscure as it might be, it is not negligible. Sicheng merely lacks the elements to piece together the scattered puzzle fragments to view the gargantuan picture. But, sooner or later, he will retrieve them.

When it is Monday morning Sicheng drives to the university with little-to-no expectations. There is no vehicle of yours—or any—that is filling up with parking space, and the slightest trace of you and your friend are absent. Walking to class alone and lingering with his friends for a small while, he never crosses your path once. It seems as if your role in his life as a pest has disintegrated, eroded off the face of the earth to give him a few sentiments of peace; but, Sicheng feels the opposite. There is a sense of discomfort from not even looking at you from afar, despite the new quietude and lack of annoyance. That factor pricks at his mind even more, rendering him unable to focus on future lectures and coursework.

The boys within his group are cracking jokes like normal and play games to see who can get the most girls’ numbers—nothing too out of the ordinary for the false starboy. Of course, it is perceptible that there is a stick of worry prodding at Sicheng’s brain, and Jaehyun is the first to ask about it.

But all Sicheng responds with is a smile of assurance, brushing away his friend’s worries.

“It’s okay,” Jaehyun tells him. “Yuta’s party is tomorrow night and you can drink away your problems.”

Sicheng laughs at his friend’s response, concealing his worry for the upcoming night. For a moment he wonders if you would show your face at the gathering; but knowing you, that thought alone is a joke.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Tuesday night comes quicker than Sicheng prefers.

Lectures that usually feel extensive are over within a blink of an eye, and lingering around his friends makes time soar by quicker. Word of the party at Yuta’s place has spread around like wildfire, creating it the most anticipated university bash of the month—because there is bound to be another the following month. Students they have not interacted with before gain an interest and swear to show up, empty handed and some with bottles of potent to make it a memorable night. The fame that douses the party gives Yuta joy, and the drags his friends over to his place early evening before the first group of guests show their faces.

“Shit might break, people might get too drunk,” Yuta lists out, “but we will still have a fun night.”

The boys laugh, opening bottles of beer and clacking them together to cheers and take a few sips. Taeyong plugs his phone into the aux and starts up the tunes in his playlist, indicating the start of Sicheng’s dreaded night.

Sicheng is luxuriating in the last few minutes of peace before guests start to roll in. It feels as if parties are forced for him to attend to; he would much rather slump in the comfort of his apartment any day over a wild get-together. Jaehyun rests next to him, clacking his beer bottle to the younger boy’s, and flashes him a grin. “Have fun tonight,” encourages Jaehyun. “Quit thinking about (y/n).”

Sicheng blinks his eyes a few times, comprehending the last part of his words. “I wasn’t,” Sicheng informs him churlishly, biting on his tongue to hold back his protests.

“Really?” Jaehyun cocks up an eyebrow. “Whatever you say. You should have told her to come over tonight.”

“Why would I do that?” Sicheng questions with a scoff. “She’s the last face I’d like to see here.”

A playful smirk dances on Jaehyun’s lips as he remains silent towards his friend’s excuse.

“Whatever,” Sicheng huffs.

The first guests to the household arrive soon afterwards, entering the house that is practically a booming mansion. Greetings are exchanged and friendly introductions are made; it does not take a while for others to arrive, each contributing to the long night with their own belongings of alcohol and other substances. Sicheng remains in his seat as if he is glued to the chair, and rarely he rises himself to grab another handful of chips to snack on. He searches for his friends within the sea of conversing bodies, them soon to be drunk, as a protective caution to stop them from going past their limit. After all, being surrounded by his friends—especially without them being a hint of sober—is an absolute aggravation.

Sicheng closes his eyes and allows the music to swim through his ears, paying enough attention to the bass and lyrics to pass time. However, a voice louder than the music he is attentive to breaks his false peace. “Is that all you’re going to eat tonight?” asks a silvery voice.

Sicheng’s eyes remain closed as he assumes the question is not being directed towards him. Though, the same inquiry comes once more, “Is that all you’re going to eat tonight?”

That time it came out more raucous, as if there is a thread of indignation that is choking each word. Sicheng opens his eyes and stares at the individual in front of him, to which he believes is the one who asks him about his excuse of dinner.

He looks down at the chips in his hand that rest over a napkin and nods at the lady. “Pretty much. I don’t usually have an appetite during our parties.”

“I see.” The girl brushes her shoulder-lengthed hair behind her ear and smiles at the boy. Sicheng stares at her for a couple of seconds, wondering if he has ever seen her around campus before or if she is a local who is not from the university that heard about the party. She is dressed in a white cropped top and blue shorts—nothing too revealing or extravagant. “I can say the same,” she adds, squeezing herself onto the couch.

From the lack of space that was originally on the sofa, her body and Sicheng’s are practically being pressed together from teeming.

“Mind if I have some of your ‘dinner’ then?” she asks him, revealing her pearly whites.

Sicheng gazes at her, continuing to study her appearance. Getting a better up-close view of her, he is able to say that she is pretty, the type of pretty that is strangely rare. The type of beauty where stars are placed in one’s eyes, or flowers bloom whenever one would brilliantly grin. Sicheng feels himself become flustered at the sight of her, and his heart starts to race from the tiresome feeling of embarrassment. He had no plans to leave the sofa the entire night, but with a fresh face squeezing her way onto the sofa and being little to no proximity from him, he suddenly has an urge to bolt from the party.

“Go for it, I can always get more.” Instead of holding the napkin-full of chips to the girl, Sicheng places it on her lap and starts to lift himself from the sofa. Though, his plan to escape fails horribly when she latches her hand around his wrist and tugs him back.

“W-wait!” she spits out. Sicheng looks down at her past his fringe, an empty stare scrutinizing her desperate self. “I-I don’t really know anyone else here at this party, and my friend left me. I don’t usually go to parties like these and you seemed approachable. I was wondering if you’d stay with me for a bit? At least until my other friends arrive.”

The girl’s eyes veer away from Sicheng; she bats them innocently as he takes a few seconds to think. “Fine,” he sighs. “But I’m not going to squish on that couch with everyone else.”

The girl shoots up from her seat and tugs him her way. “We can always stand at the corner or something, maybe in the hall.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sicheng responds, his voice carrying over the blaring music.

The girl leaves the napkin-full of chips on the table and starts to follow Sicheng to the side of the room, like a lost puppy desperate to find its way home. As much as Sicheng aches to go home, he cannot leave his friends without guidance, and he decides to bide time by conversing with a stranger—at least for a short while.

Sicheng and the woman lean against the wall in silence, hardly any words being exchanged between the two of them. Periodically, Sicheng takes a sip of the beer he grabbed on the way over, relishing in the unpleasant taste.

“May I have some?” she asks him, holding her hand out.

Sicheng motions his hand to the counter across the room, telling her, “There’s plenty for everyone over there.”

She laughs at him and brings her hands to her side, perusing the scene. “I’d rather not get pushed around by a bunch of drunken partiers.”

For the first time throughout her presence invading his own, his lips quirk into a smirk, addressing the accuracy in her statement. “I can see where you’re coming from. Though,” he adds, “from my experience and the countless times I’m stuck at these parties, you can’t really avoid the crowd. They sort of just come to you.”

She gawks at the taller boy, unable to pinpoint the root of his words. “Is that so?”

Sicheng nods his head and motions the beer bottle to her. “Yes.”

She gushes, her face flushing a bright shade of roses as she realizes who he is referring to. Like a helpless orbit, she found her way to Sicheng; she is a part of the crowd that he is unable to avoid. She squirms against the wall, thankful for the dark lighting to mute out her red hues.

Sicheng glances at her from the corner of his eye and takes another sip. “I was just kidding,” he lets out.

She grins, her gaze still casted downwards to the floor. “You have a strange sense of humor then.”

“People are surprised I even have one,” he laughs.

She chuckles, her hand covering her mouth, coy. “I support that statement.”

Sicheng freezes at her recent affirmation, reading in between the lines of her words. To be fair, Sicheng has been in a situation like this far too many times to figure out where it will lead, and with the woman’s recent proclamation, everything is confirmed. She knows who he is; he deciphered what her intentions are.

He lets out a frown and brushes the thought to the back of his mind, his head leaning back against the wall. This would be the cue for him to leave, but with the rest of the night still waiting to make its way through, he needs someone to converse with.

And so for the next few hours the girl and he talks to fill up the empty spaces. He drinks more and she finally downs a few bottles of beer, but he does not consume an abundance for him to lose his mind—not like Yuta or the rest of his friends. It is sufficient for him to notice the minor details: she becomes flirtatious with him and far more physical contact is initiated, she starts to laugh at everything he says as if her humor is strange, and he realizes that her friends—the ones that she has been waiting for—never arrive.

As she speaks doltishly, Sicheng’s eyes scan the crowd in a desperate search for his friends—an occasional check-up to see if they are not the ones stirring asinine trouble. He feels a rough hand land on his shoulder, the manner similar in one ready to force someone to face the other for the sole purpose of bashing their face in, and Sicheng jolts from fright.

“Agh, Christ,” Sicheng groans. “Seriously, Yuta?”

Yuta’s grin widens, almost in a cheshire fashion. He takes a heavy breath, the plethora of alcohol lacing the air that leaves his mouth creating a tribulation for the younger boy. Yuta shrugs, a question resting on the tip of his tongue.

“Sicheng, can you - hic - fetch me my phone? It’s charging in my, uh, room,” Yuta requests, the words pouring from his mouth fast enough to be a single slur. He locks eyes with the girl that is standing next to Sicheng, winking at her coquettishly.

“What, I’m—”

“Thanks, bro,” Yuta cuts him off, flashing a sign of approval his way. Yuta drunkenly dives back into the crowd, conversing mindlessly with his guests as Taeyong throws himself on the sofa.

Sicheng groans and trudges to Yuta’s bedroom, leaving the girl alone like her existence is little to nothing, and waves his way past the vivacious crowd. He pushes the door open and switches on the lights, revealing the mess that is his chamber. Clothes are scattered on the floor and stacks of paper find home on the desk—and his phone. Sicheng walks over to it, his back facing the door, and unplugs it from the charger. Just when he is about to head back to the foreboding party, he hears the door softly shut behind him.

The sound startles Sicheng, and, sooner than he is able to realize, a pair of hands rest on his shoulder. It captures his attention and he turns his head to the identity: the same girl from earlier. A sneaky chuckle emits from her lips and her hands coast down to Sicheng’s torso, wrapping her arms around his toned chest.

“What happened to waiting for your friends?” Sicheng asks her, nonchalant and austere.

She remains wrapped around him, smiling. “They’re not coming. And my other friend is too drunk—partying with Yuta too.”

“You should be out there with her. Aren’t you worried?” he questions her.

“What’s there to be worried about?” she asks him, her hands sliding off to allow Sicheng to turn and face her. “I sort of want to spend time with you.”

‘Oh, God. Not again,’ Sicheng thinks. He grips his friend’s cellular device in his hand, finding relief in the force he is exerting, and tries to sort out an excuse to exit. Currently, he is in a confined room with the stranger—a fairly good-looking one as well—and she does not seem to have a desire to let him go. Sicheng gulps, hesitant and badgering his brain for being reluctant during situations like these. He would always be dumbfounded, far too flustered to react coherently or even run out the door.

Sicheng curses at himself for not running away from the expected situation sooner. He has been made aware of the girl’s true intentions, catching the train before it was even able to make a full stop, but he still decided to push himself—for his own benefit of passing time. Now, he is stuck in a room with her, apprehensive to move.

“Was all that talking earlier for nothing?” he asks her in a jestful tone, his question coming out as a joke to her ears.

She hums, confirming his statement. “No… I really did enjoy speaking with you. I just wish”—she places a hand on his waist, sliding it down to his hip to wrap her fingers around the belt loop of his jeans—“we sped things up a little. To get to this moment, you know.”

By then, her face is inching closer to his, her breath dancing over his petal-like lips. Her warm huffs meet his mouth, and it is still mingling with the unpleasant scent of alcohol. Craving for a kiss, she smiles up at him with her innocent eyes. Sicheng sternly frowns at her, his gaze not breaking with hers. He appears like a rigid man, unable to be moved from the slightest touch—the lightest contact—but in reality, that is the complete opposite on the inside. His heart is beating erratically against its rib cage, almost like it is its own beast that aches to be set free; his hand is in a compact fist, the other still wrapped around his friend’s device; a cold sweat starts to drip from his temples.

Of course, with a prepossessing woman standing temerarious before him, proximity only a few inches, it has an effect over him. It comes as a helpless wave, one that is unable to be ran away from, and he falls victim to her spell. There is a tent that starts to form in his pants from sharing the heated moment with her, and she has merely placed a hand on him. He becomes shameful and finally breaks eye contact, his lashes fluttering their lush blankets.

She releases an audible chuckle, tugging on the belt loop. “Do you want me?” she asks him.

Sicheng gulps, spilling the truth, “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

“Good,” she whispers, her candy-coated lips now ghosting over his, “because I want you. I’ve been—the whole entire night.”

Sicheng is unable to voice an equally sensual response, for she hushes him with a kiss. One would expect that with her guiltless appearance she would kiss softly with care, as if each one has love pouring with every slight movement; but, that is not the case for her. The girl kisses him with the drive being lust, a shameless flame that notifies him that she wants nothing more but to get into his pants—to be the one girl who succeeds—and he can taste that on her tongue as his palm snakes its way to her lower back.

As a result, he retracts from the indecency.

“Sicheng,” she mumbles, “why’d you stop?”

Her hand starts to trail lower and there is something within her question that makes his curiosity raise. But he is far too perturbed to go against her at the moment. Sicheng never introduced himself to the girl; consequently, she is like every other partier he meets at a rowdy gathering.

Sicheng takes a step back and opens his mouth to speak, but the sudden swing of the bedroom door shakes the two of them up, shivers running high on their bodies. Staring at the cause of the distraction, Yuta is there with surprised eyes, panting as if he ran a marathon to reach his own bedroom door.

“What’s up, Yuta?” Sicheng asks, holding up Yuta’s phone. “I got your phone right here.”

Yuta takes a deep breath before talking in a single huff, “Party’s off, bro.”

Sicheng’s eyes dart around at the information, walking towards his friend. “What’re you talking about? It’s only been a few hours.”

“W-wait, Sicheng.” The girl grabs onto Sicheng’s wrist, frantic to prevent him from leaving.

“Get your hands off me,” he demanded, shooting her a cold glare. “Sorry to say this, but I’m not interested in girls like you.”

Her face becomes pale, alarmed at the sudden change in his demeanor. A few moments ago he was unfazed by her evocative actions; she fell under the umbrella of assumption that her hands were free to roam his body however he liked. Though, she has been proven wrong.

“Hell,” Sicheng adds, “you never even told me your name.” Sicheng drags his feet to his drunken friend, placing Yuta’s arm around his shoulder as he says, “What’s going on?”

The younger boy ached to tell him more, some words of thanks since Yuta unintentionally saved his ass from another long night; but, with Yuta’s desultory mind caused by potent grog, Sicheng keeps his mouth shut.

“Someone…” Yuta trails off. “Someone called the cops on our party. And some of us are in some major shit right now, bro.”

“What?” Sicheng raises an eyebrow, his forehead crinkling. “Are you serious? Dude, I swear this wasn’t even as bad as the others we threw.”

Yuta rubbed a palm on his face, unwilling to listen. “I know, I know. But - hic - what else can we do?”

“I don’t know.” Sicheng shrugs. “But we can try to—”

“Yuta!” exclaims another friend from the front door. The two boys turn their attention to the noise and notice Taeyong waving his hand in the air as if he is trying to hail a cab. “They wanna talk to you.”

Yuta narrows his eyes, attempting to focus his vision. “Who?”

Sicheng, though, with full capability on seeing who is barely still in the household and who is not, sees familiar uniforms at the front door. “The fucking cops.”

The boys face a longer night ahead—not in the manner that they preferred. They attempt to question Taeyong and Yuta—of all people—to find out whether or not illegal matters are occurring. Though, Sicheng commits to most of the negotiating by being the only sober individual present. It takes a long while of negotiating and speaking, assuring them that everyone is safe—that every action they acted upon is legal. With Sicheng’s astute way with words, the boys are left with a warning, and the few who remained in the household (that did not sneak off from the back) leaves the busted party.

Jaehyun tosses himself on the sofa in relief, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. His entire world is spinning in his eyes, his mind a whirlwind.

Yuta crows, “Who the fuck would call out our party? My neighborhood’s chill as fu—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Taeyong appealed, making himself at home at the kitchen table that was once crowded with bags of chips. “This whole thing blows.”

“You guys act like we don’t hold parties every month,” Sicheng chimes in with a smirk.

“But this one was actually getting places,” argues Yuta, taking a breath every few or so words. “I was having the time of my - hic - life, Taeyong was winning beer pong, and Jaehyun—who knows what he was doing, I’m sure it was fun. And you? You were about to get some pu—”

“Okay, Yuta,” interrupts Sicheng. “No need to give me a re-cap. She’s gone, it’s all done with.”

Yuta chuckles maniacally, slapping his thigh as if he has heard the joke of the century. “But you were really going to score big!”

Sicheng releases an exasperated sigh, finding it useless to argue with Yuta unless he is sober. “Not her.”

“With - hic - with who?” Yuta leans in, nudging the younger boy with his elbow. “Tell me the truth, would you bang (y/n)?”

Sicheng’s eyes widen and he impulsively pushes his friend away, defending himself hastily. “You all need to knock out right now.”

The boys erupt in a static laughter, each finding comedy within Sicheng’s forestalling opposition.

“God,” Sicheng articulates, “I should have left earlier…”

When Sicheng wakes the following morning, the noticeable deprivation of sleep sets his morning to imperfection. His friends have risen earlier, and they are fooling around in the kitchen whilst trying to clean up the remnants of the busted party, shoving plastic cups in the bag and wiping down the counter. He presses a hand to his forehead, an oncoming headache ready to pound its way through his mind.

“Morning, Sicheng,” greets Jaehyun, tossing a pillow onto the boy’s head.

Sicheng grabs onto it and hurls it to the other side of the room, loathing their early morning antics. “Morning. How’d you guys sleep?”

“Good,” Jaehyun replies. “Well, I did at least. I went to go take a piss but I saw Taeyong puking his guts out into the toilet.”

Sicheng shudders from the thought, and Taeyong stumbles into the room to defend himself with, “I’m actually fine—thanks for asking.”

Yuta laughs, tossing a bag of trash in the corner of the kitchen for later disposal. “Of course you are. I feel like out of all our parties—this was the most wild.”

“Because we got busted?” asks Taeyong.

“Pretty much.” He shrugs.

Sicheng yawns, stretching his arms in the air. “I’m so slumped,” he declares. “And we still have class today.”

Jaehyun chuckles, his joy fraudulent. “Blame that on Yuta who decided to throw a party on a Tuesday night.”

Yuta argues, pointing to his friend. “You know how much crazier this place would be if it was a weekend—we’d have shit in the pool!”

“I’m going to head back to the uni in a bit,” informs Sicheng. “Are we going to carpool?”

“Hell yeah we are,” states Taeyong, who starts to dash for the door. Sicheng stares at him, already regretting the fact he even asked the question. If he kept his mouth shut and left while they were busy cleaning, then his morning would be peaceful, and maybe he would catch hours of sleep in his car.

Jaehyun and Yuta soon follow afterwards, slipping into the vehicle like children squeezing their way onto an amusement park ride. For the most part of the taxing drive, Sicheng’s friends each are voicing their complaints about their hangover, repentant about even showing up to the university. They each formulate brainless plans, stating that they will lounge in the library to catch some sleep or down all the water given at the student cafeteria. They speak as if they are a broken radio, going on and on with nothing but quibbles of condemnation.

Sicheng turns into the parking lot after a couple more minutes, completely irked at the lack of peace he has received throughout the morning. Though, the intruding thoughts of his friends are replaced when he sees the empty spot at his parking space. It is absent of your vehicle, not a fraction of your presence lingering; thus, Sicheng hums in thought. He has not seen you for a while, and the ache to tease you being unsatisfied sets him off.

Sicheng parks his car neatly between the other two vehicles, and the boys hop out, their voices raising as if the compact confinement of Sicheng’s vehicle prohibited them from speaking at their normal level.

“I’m gonna get to class,” informs Sicheng, locking his car while he starts to walk the other way. “We can meet up later.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows come together, worried about his friend. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Sicheng confirms with a miniature smile. “I think I have to catch up on some lessons—I’ll talk to my professor.”

Sicheng waves off the rest of the comments that lies on Jaehyun’s tongue, leaving them unsaid. Yuta chuckles and loops his arm around Jaehyun’s neck, whispering, “He’s just upset ‘cause he was about to score before the party was called off.”

Jaehyun startles at Yuta’s words, “Seriously?”

Yuta sheepishly grins at Jaehyun, pulling him closer to fill him in with false details and assumptions. Sicheng groans, yawning as he begins to wander the university. He tries to distract his tired eyes by allowing them to peruse the campus, taking in the minor details like students passing by and watching the leaves dance in the gentle breeze. Finally achieving a state of peace, he takes a few deep breaths to enjoy the momentary stoicism.

Though, it is easily disrupted the moment a recognizable voice calls out his name.

“Hey, starboy!” you exclaim, catching his attention. Your grip tightens around the strap of your bag and you start to saunter his way, your lips quirked up into a smirk.

Sicheng’s small smile withers into a frown, galled at the sight of you. The dishonest expression that is painted on your face raises his curiosity, but all he can do is respond with a lifeless, “(y/n).”

Tilting your head, you question him, “Why so glum?”

“My day was well until I ran into you,” Sicheng says with an airy laugh. His gaze stops roaming the campus and locks with your own, a spark of electricity emitting from the ephemeral engagement. “Aw,” Sicheng grins, bloviating a joke, “are you worried about me? I knew you’d come around.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, releasing a scoff. “Dream on, starboy. What’s there to come around? You don’t even know what you’re capable of packing,” you state. You lower your head, giving attention to his package below the belt.

Sicheng lifts his chin and waits for your eyes to meet his. “You’re always welcome to help me out.”

“Maybe when you have experience.” You laugh. There is a brief silence that lapses, allowing the whistles of the wind to fill up the high-tensioned scene. You then blurt out, “How was the party last night?”

Sicheng is taken aback by your inquiry, taking a step back. “It was great,” he fibs. “How’d you know there was a party last night?”

You stare out in the open, shuffling involuntarily as you are placed under the spotlight. “Y-you guys talk obnoxiously loud. I was actually interested in going.”

“Oh?” Sicheng raises an eyebrow, genuinely interested in your statement. “Why?”

“I wanted to see what you guys pack at those festivities. They’re not really for me, but I was willing to check it out for a moment.” Shrugging, your smile becomes unwarranted. You nod as you speak, trying to amplify your deception. “I sort of wanted to see you too—I wonder how you are when you’re drunk.”

“Please,” Sicheng says with a breath, “I’m not that much of a drinker.”

“You’re not that much of a banger either,” you add.

Sicheng remains silent at your comment; as true as it is, it strikes a chord within him. You gloat in hitting a weak spot of the boy, finally adding another statement, “And neither was that party.”

His eyes widen, finally comprehending your words. He finally pieced two and two together, only to end up with the prankish result caused by you. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“What?” You take a step closer to him as if his voice is a whisper, leaning in to listen. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re the one who fucking called the cops to bust our party out? I mean, you did me a favor, but all the other guys would have gotten into some deep shit because of you!”

“I did you a favor?” you repeat abhorrently. “Damn, that wasn’t my intention. Why? What happened?” you question him. “Was a girl about to enter your pants?”

And his silence is the easy answer to your question.

“Of course,” you let out with a breath, not surprised from the obvious. Taking another step closer to him, you puff out your chest as if it would draw out more of your leonine presence; he takes a step back, intimidated, only to have you ease in. “I’m not even surprised, Sicheng.”

The proximity between you and the falsely stated starboy is now at a minimum, merely a few inches away from each other as the conversation progresses. Your fingertips dance at his belt before they wrap around the loop. Giving it a light tug, you bat your eyes innocently to the man.

Sicheng gulps, counteracting your movements with actions of his own. His hand races up your side, an index finger twirling a lock of hair before he moves it behind your ear. “When you act like this, it makes the rumours that surround you sort of believable,” he mutters.

“Does it? It depends on what you heard,” you mumble.

Sicheng smiles, his hand now resting on your shoulder. “Why can’t you show me?”

“When you act like this,” you begin, “it makes the shit that goes around about you believable.”

Sicheng backs away from you, the threat that is your existence getting to his head. The fire that hazes your eyes scorches him, discouraging every fiber of his being to put up another fight. You chuckle in triumph, but the moment ceases when another chimes in.

“Sicheng!” calls a familiar, friendly voice.

You study the figure that starts to approach you and Sicheng, eyes narrowing as you attempt to recall the familiar face. “Jaehyun,” you and Sicheng both say in unison. Sicheng’s gaze darts to you and Jaehyun gulps a mouthful of air at the unpleasant sight.

“It was nice talking to you for once,” Sicheng lets out, concluding the moment.

You stare at Jaehyun for a short while, taking in his differences from the time you last saw him. “I wish I can say the same”—you turn around swiftly, starting to drag your feet away—“See you at class later.”

Jaehyun’s gaze is locking on your walking figure until you are out of sight and turning the first corner. He lets out a sigh of relief, almost like your presence had prevented him from breathing steadily, and looks at his friend. “When did you guys become friends?” Jaehyun asks. “Are we gonna be seeing her around often?”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow in skepticism to Jaehyun. “We’re not,” he corrects, defensiveness dousing his tone. “And there’s no way she’s going to be around us.”

“So she isn’t eating lunch with us?”

Sicheng looks at his friend in disbelief. “Isn’t that a good thing for you?”

“It is,” he agrees. Silence ensues for a few moments before Jaehyun clears his throat, hesitant to ask the next question. “So…” Jaehyun purses his lips, dragging out the word. “Fuck buddies?”

Sicheng presses a palm to his forehead, annoyed. “Not even close.”

Though, the thought of occasionally fucking you spontaneously does not sound entirely bad to him. Not anymore, that is. But first, Sicheng recalls Taeyong’s words, and the invitation on his plan to get you back is suddenly tempting.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Sicheng spends most of the time in class staring at the back of your figure, scrutinizing it as if it would help him formulate a plan to strike you back. He has never been one to cross the line; he always attempts to veer out of the road that would intentionally cause unhappiness for the other party, but you are a different story. Unable to focus on the lecture, his mind is piecing together the sparse ends of the thread to create a demise that would bring upon your misery.

Christ, he really is not sure why he is placing a lot of effort into spiting you. Is it because of the stunt you pulled with the party, rejecting Taeyong, or messing around with Sicheng, himself? The fact that “all of the above” is a proper option makes his insides boil, and Sicheng places his head on the desk like his mind short-circuited.

“She’s impossible,” Sicheng mumbles to himself, shutting his eyes.

Unintentionally, Sicheng has drifted into a deep sleep and finally caught the shut-eye his body has been craving for. The non-stop messages from the group chat and annoying prods of his friend always keeps him up late at night; it seems as if sleeping during important lectures is the only chance he has to make up for the lack of preservation.

His slumber lasts for a good hour but he feels as if he has drifted away for centuries. The student chatter is background noise to his lethargic brain, and he is not completely dragged back down to earth until another external factor intrudes his space.

You approach Sicheng with your belongings on you, an arm tight around your notebook as the other reaches for him across the desk. His head is still resting snugly on folded arms, taking deep breaths as he soars through his clouds of stupor. His raven-like hair has copiously dragged down over his features, giving the flawless appearance of an onyx waterfall. You clench your jaw at the sight of him, staring his features down fleetingly before you shake your head to reality.

“Wake up, starboy, you missed an entire lecture—again.” You drum the pad of your index finger on his head, tapping him until he awakens.

Annoyed with your irritating prods to his head, he grabs onto your wrist swiftly and moves it away as he raises himself in his seat. “You know,” he begins, his voice raspy, “I was having a really nice dream.”

You raise an eyebrow, dubious of his upcoming story. “Was I in it?”

“Well, no—but I wish—”

“Then I don’t care,” you cut him off, shaking your wrist out of his gentle hold. Both of your arms wrap around your notebook, hugging the bind of paper close to your chest as your eyes roam the classroom. Students pass by the two of you, glancing at the awkward silence that is wrapping around both your beings. It seems like an early start to juicy gossip, for no one would ever expect that the notorious bad boy would talk to the university bibliophile; two opposite sides of the spectrum unfathomably coming together.

As you try your best to not lock eyes with Sicheng, his gaze is glued onto your physiognomy, unintentionally adoring it. There is a distant look in your two orbs, a falsely innocent glow that has the capability to bewitch others.

“You look good,” he comments, thinking aloud, “but I wonder what you’d look like if you’re on top of me.”

You roll your eyes, twisting your lips into a smile. “All of a sudden I have regrets for even waking you up.”

“Is it ‘cause you can’t resist me?” Sicheng insists, leaning in lovingly.

You tilt your head to look at him, your mouth pressed together tightly as you release an exasperated sigh. “Where is all this flirtatious talk coming from? It’s annoying.”

Sicheng shrugs, his lips pursing into a pout. “If it’s annoying then why are you still here?”

“You’re right, why am I still around you? I might catch your sickness that is your stupidity.” You rotate your body to the exit, already beginning to stride towards the door. “Later, starboy. Don’t break too many hearts by tomorrow.”

“Is that the best you got?” Sicheng calls out, shooting up from his seat. “Did you just want an excuse to talk to me?”

Your mouth opens to bite back with another vehement statement, but you swallow your words with no desire to kindle his flame. After all, he does have a point. What is the reason you went up to him to begin with? It seems as if the root of teasing Sicheng has changed, shifting into a guilty pleasure to be under the light that is his attention. And it took you a good week or two to realize this.

After class you find Sowon waiting for you in the front of the institute, her patience running thin. You greet her with a bright grin, waving at her.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her weight rolling from the balls of her feet to her heels—a sign of her excitement.

“We’re just getting lunch, why are you so eager?”

Sowon hums, clutching on the strap of her bag as she tries to think of a response. “Because I’m excited to try out that new cafe. You know how much I love coffee.”

“You know, I almost forgot that we were eating lunch together.”

Sowon pouts at you, falsely hurt by your comment. “I know you don’t mean that—you don’t forget about plans.”

Laughing, you allow Sowon to accompany you to her vehicle. As if Sicheng and his group of rebarbative individuals are not the slightest bit significant in your life, the two of you joke around as if your paths have never crossed to begin with.

The drive to the retail restaurant roundup feels shorter than what it really is: time has passed by quicker due to the nonstop converse that is exchanged between you and Sowon, the music you both jam out to—the fun that occurs. Once she drives into the plaza she finds parking and lounges in the seat of her car for a few moments as if driving is a galling chore.

You and Sowon spend a good three hours in the restaurant plaza walking in search of a place to eat, and relaxing within the confinements of the chosen joint comfortably. Conversation has been kept at a minimum, most of the time being poured into enjoying the delectableness. The unpleasant thoughts of Sicheng never come into your mind until Sowon swallows her last bite and clears her throat to ask, “So how did it go?”

You look at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Sowon smiles, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “About the party—you shutting it down. Did Sicheng find out it was you?”

“I think it was pretty obvious I did that. I ran into him today and he didn’t seem that happy,” you say risibly, gaining joy from recalling his crossed expression. It was a face you would be able to feed joy from for aeons, and you feel giddy at the thought of it. “Not that I care though.”

“Of course you don’t,” Sowon agrees. Her eyes roam the perimeter as if she is searching for a new topic on the walls, but past the window pane she sees a recognizable group of boys—one of them being Nakamoto Yuta, who was Sowon’s guilty crush. Sowon hums, blinking a couple of times to confirm that it is not a dream, and grins. “Speak of the devil.”

“What?” You rotate your body and peer over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes to follow Sowon’s line of sight, but once you see the element you wince in disgust. As if running into two of them once in the day is not enough. Sicheng and Jaehyun are cracking jokes side-by-side, appearing as thick as thieves. “Of all places we had to run into them out of uni, it has to be here? I just wanted to enjoy my lunch.”

“It’s almost as if the universe doesn’t want you and Sicheng to move away from each other,” Sowon jests.

“God, universe, why?” You laugh, rising from your seat. “Let’s just leave now in case we actually run into them later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sowon agrees, shooting herself up. “But first, I’m going to use the restroom. Sit tight for a minute or two, then we can head out.”

You raise an eyebrow at her, keeping the question to yourself as you sit back down. “Don’t take too long,” you complain. “This place is like poison to me after seeing those boys.”

“Don’t worry!” she assures, kicking up her pace to the restroom. “I’ll be back in five.”

Sowon dashes to the restroom, a mischievous smile sketching on her face as she heads the opposite direction the second your head dropped to look at your phone.

You check the time and roam some of your social media, scrolling through old news and uninteresting headlines. Releasing a sigh, you watch as the servers start to clear your table and wipe it down for the next set of customers—and Sowon is nowhere in sight after five minutes. With pursed lips you impatiently wait for your friend to return, but no trace of her comes back into the milieu. It seems as if she has left you to pay for the bill like it is an actual date set for ruin, but the bill has already been paid for and she promised you a return. You groan, turning your head around to see if she is chatting up some waiters, but the sight you see is more galling than charming.

Past the window pane you see Sowon talking to one of the rambunctious boys—conversing with Nakamoto Yuta, of all darn people. You press a palm to your face, releasing a sound of annoyance as you shake your head. “God,” you mutter, “what else was I supposed to expect.”

Watching Sowon playfully mess with Yuta’s hair makes you shudder in disgust, and you can practically hear the vexatious laughter emitting from his mouth as the boy throws his head back. The sight being unwanted, you shoot up from your seat and grab onto your bag, strolling out of the restaurant door to fetch your friend.

“So”—Yuta clears his throat—“I didn’t think I’d run into you here. I never see you anywhere else aside the uni.”

Sowon shrugs, brushing off his statement. “I was getting lunch with my friend. Maybe we got lucky then.” She winks, stars twinkling in her eyes.

Yuta smiles, an act of interest clear to his friends and Sowon. “Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, gaining an idea from the person who he is referring to—unpleasantly. “Which friend?”

“Oh, (y/n)—”

“Sowon!” you exclaim, stomping your feet with every step. The amount of force you exert due to your anger makes it seem as if the ground would crackle, and it rattles up Sowon’s spine out of fear.

Yuta winces at the sound of your voice, almost as if it has a similar impact to striking a blow to his face. The rest of his friends stand on guard, alerted by the storm that is currently heading their way. Sowon smiles nervously over her shoulder, waving to you innocently like you are a distant acquaintance.

You roll your eyes at her gesture, standing confidently beside her. “What happened to going to the restroom?” you question her, borderline ready to interrogate. “Is this the long way?”

“Uh,” she begins, her gaze fleeting from you and Yuta, “I meant the bathroom over at the other coffee shop!”

Confused, your eyebrows cross together and you release a sigh. “Let’s go,” you ask her, tugging on her sleeve. “You don’t want to be around these boys any longer”—you lean closer to her ear, whispering as your eyes scan the crowd and lock with Sicheng’s—“you might catch their stupidity.”

Sicheng cocks an eyebrow upwards, bored by your words. As susurrous as you attempted to make them, Sicheng heard them as if they were announced emphatically, contemplating to whether or not he should respond.

Sowon backs away, grinning like a child at you. “No way—that’s an impossibility.”

“Then let’s go,” you complain, pouting to her.

Yuta chimes in, tugging on the hem of his shirt as an act of nervousness. “What if she wants to hang out with us for a little while?” he questions you, peering towards Sowon.

The mere thought of that gives you an urge to gag; Sowon has the opposite reaction, for she is flushing deep with roses. “No way,” you spit out defensively, “we have plans and she’d never want to—”

“Actually, (y/n),” she mumbles, apprehensive before she finishes her sentence. You gawk at her with curious eyes as you await her finishing sentence. “I don’t know. I sort of want to get to know Yuta—after we ran into them at the parking lot.”

You attempt to recall that scene, and it barely rests in your mind from how irrelevant it is to you—due to the boys, that is. “Seriously?” you ask in astonishment. Sowon and you spark a conversation, almost forgetting about the boys that share the same milieu as you two. “I don’t even know how long ago that was, but Yuta? Seriously? He’s the university fuckboy.”

Sowon shakes her head. “I heard, but I just want to spend the afternoon with him. Seriously, if I’m not interested then I’ll call you right away.”

“And I’ll beat him up right afterwards if he tries anything,” you threaten, holding a fist up in the air.

Sowon laughs, her hand flying to shield her mouth. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better—wait, what about me? How am I going to get home? You’re the one who drove,” you question her, suddenly regretting your choice. “Unless you give me the keys to drive your—”

“Not happening,” she interrupts, walking to Yuta’s side. “Sorry, (y/n), but you’re more of a reckless driver than I am so there is no way you’re gonna be driving my car.”

You take a step back, dazed at her response. “How am I going to get back to my apartment?”

“Uh”—Sowon turns her head to Yuta—“do you mind if we only spend two hours together?”

Yuta smiles, admiring her effort. “Well, we can always have more time later on.”

“Oh gosh,” you continue, “nevermind, I’ll just take the bus. Those two hours would end up as five.”

“I’m willing to drive you home.” Sicheng winks.

With a split moment passing to comprehend his words, you grumble, “Piss off, starboy.”

You throw your arms in the air in defeat, walking past the small gap between Jaehyun and Taeyong, and start to search for the nearest bus stop. Rummaging in your bag, you attempt to search for your wallet to pull out some cash to pay the bus fare—which would probably be an hour and a half ride from the distance of the university to this town. A disappointed sigh leaves your lips as you turn the corner; you lean against the brick wall of the building and take a breath, annoyed with yourself.

The sound of distant footsteps near you around the corner and you tilt your head in expectations on who the person might be. A part of you hopes it would be Sowon saying ‘sorry’ and ready to drive you back; the other aches for it to be Sicheng—for an unexplained reason. However, the person that turns the corner is a mere passerby, one of the many bustlers that is probably on his way to work. You release a puff of air, kicking the dirt as you people watch the busy street. Paying more attention to your surroundings, you begin to notice the loud roads that are filled with vehicles and chatty citizens.

Becoming too lost in the scene, you do not realize the man that approaches you to the left. His shadow towers over you, and that is what catches your attention. Diverting your attention to the man, you recognize him within a heartbeat: starboy, Dong Sicheng.

“What do you want?” you ask him, twiddling your thumbs together.

“Nothing,” he answers rapidly. “I parked my car down this street and I need to head back to my place—to study, that is.”

“Not for me?” you joke, crossing your arms over your chest.

The corner of Sicheng’s lips quirk upwards, an impish expression priming on his face. Sicheng starts to stroll by, ruffling your hair. “You wish.”

Sicheng continues to mess up your locks, ogling at you and your figure in front of him. The sly smirk withers into a look of adoration as you nag him to quit, and Sicheng startles from the thought of being charmed by such a simple action. He takes a step back and turns his head the other way. “Ah, it’s getting a little chilly,” he changes the subject, shoving his fists into his pockets.

You fix your hair, smoothing it down with your palms as you look in between the lines of his words. “Then go to your car,” you huffed. “You said it was down the street, didn’t you?”

Sicheng hesitates, gawking and standing in silence for a few seconds. “Do you want a ride back?”

You tilt your head, puzzled by his unforeseen gesture. For a moment, you consider saying yes, accepting the ride back rather than waiting in the cold for your friend—or even riding an extensive, bumpy bus ride to your apartment. But the smaller part of you takes control, causing you to blurt out a, “No way.”

Sicheng presses his lips together, blinking twice before responding. “You sure?” he asks. “It seems like it’ll get colder—and you might fall asleep on the bus. What if you end up at the east part of town? That’s a good two hours away.” Sicheng takes another step away, slowly starting his stride to his vehicle whilst waiting for your response. “I mean, not that I care or anything.”

Smiling, you look at him through your lashes. You scrutinize the boy, eyeing him from top to bottom. It is enough for you to notice the shades of red that creep onto his cheeks, and the rosy hues that tinge his ears. The boy is blushing, almost embarrassed, and vulnerable to your goads. “Sure you don’t.”

Sicheng grumbles, halting the beginning of his stride. “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Try harder,” you comment, pushing yourself off the wall to brush past him. “Where’s your car, starboy? I can deal with an annoying car ride with you over a boring bus ride that’ll last for an hour.”

“Really?” Sicheng’s voice cracks. “I-I mean, what’s gotten into you?”

You shrug, the change in your demeanor protruding. “Answer the question.”

“R-right at the corner,” he stammers, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He follows with a reluctant point before walking to the vehicle, and you shadow him with a high guard.

Sicheng unlocks his vehicle and allows you to plop inside. He situates himself comfortably as he starts up the car, the radio instantly turning on and blasting the horrendous tunes on the radio. He reaches over quickly and shuts it off, uttering out an apology as he begins to back out.

You smile at him. “No need to apologize.”

As Sicheng backs out, he glances at you occasionally, unable to fight the urge to gawk at your features that were getting kissed by the incoming sunlight. “Whatever,” he responds.

Sicheng veers onto the road and begins to drive smoothly. He has a tight grip on the wheel as he continued to head to your apartment and you voice directions every now and then. He stops at the red light and slumps in his seat, tapping the wheel as if he is anxious to speak to you. The mood of the car is quite stiff; two polars are stuck in the same, condensed space right now, and he is not sure what to think.

Until he has a question that prodded at his mind for him to ask. “So,” he sighs, “why’d you call off our party.”

You look at him, cocking up an eyebrow in interest. “That’s quite a conversation starter.”

Sicheng does not bother to lock gazes with you; rather, he waits for the light to turn green and he begins to drive again for ten minutes in your reticence and enters the freeway.

You and the boy sit in silence, anticipation for your response raising the tension, and you hum. “It’s because you booted my car—and I had to pay a fine.”

Sicheng gains an urge to stop the vehicle where it is to look at you, addressing your stupidity, but instead he presses harder on the pedal. “What are you expecting? For me to let you park in my spot all the time?”

“You could have told me—”

“I did.” He grumbles. “You just don’t seem to listen.”

Your mouth hangs open at his comment, and the quietude that is caused confirms the validity behind his statement. You lean to the car door, your sight aiming out the window.

“So I also heard you slept with Jae,” he adds ten minutes later, exiting the freeway and starting to drive to your street as you ordered.

“Geez,” you sigh. “You really don’t know how to start proper conversations, do you? Ah, Make a left here. It’ll be in sight in a few moments.”

“I’m just saying.” Sicheng shrugs, steering the car in the desired direction. “Would you believe me if I said he was interested in you—for more than a, you know, bang?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, thinking about it in a wider perspective. “Yeah.”

Sicheng tilts his head. “Is that so?”

Sicheng starts to slow down on the road after you inform him that he is nearing the complex. His eyes are scanning the area, absorbing the new scenery. “You live pretty close to the uni,” he comments.

“If a fifteen minute drive is ‘close,’ then I guess so,” you reply. “It’s this one on the left. Just enter the parking lot and it’ll be fine.”

Sicheng nods and turns his car into the lot, driving all the way down with intention to pull up at the side.

“My turn to ask a question.” You clear your throat as Sicheng braces for it. Who knows what would leave your mouth—what you would be up to. To him, you are cryptic—a labyrinthine of emotions and negative events at every dead end. “Would believe me if I said I was interested in you—for just a, you know, bang?”

Sicheng gulps, stopping his car in the middle of the lot. You take notice of how his ears tinge with peach hues, and how his eyelids flutter from embarrassment. “I-I,” he stammers, grip deadly on the wheel. Sicheng struggles to find his breath, his gaze looking everywhere but your own. A hundred different lewd scenarios cross his mind—all sparked by your evocative question. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, but mostly because there is a growing tent in his jeans.

You giggle, opening the door to take a leave. “Later, Sicheng. I’ll see you at class.”

The name catches his attention, causing Sicheng to finally look at you with a grin.

“What?” you ask.

Sicheng chuckles, tossing his head back momentarily. “I’m so used to you calling me ‘starboy,’ it’s kind of strange to hear my name come out your mouth.”

“Maybe you can get me to scream it one of these nights,” you suggest, winking at him before shutting the car door.

His expression runs niche and he is unable to move an inch from your parting words. Fuck, that really did not help his situation. Sicheng stares down at his crotch, the bulge sticking out prominently as it remains stuck in his pants. He gulps, one of his hands letting go of the wheel to sail down to tend to it, but he is interrupted by a loud honk from the vehicle behind him.

“God damn it, (y/n)...”

The note you left Sicheng off of even surprises you.

Sure, the point as of now is to tease him endlessly, but there appears to be an underlying sentiment behind each witty phrase you shoot towards him. You crave his attention and ache for a response whenever you badger him; likewise, he can say the same.

When it is the third day of the week you drive on over to your class, wondering what you would say to Sicheng throughout the entire commute, and sauntering to the lecture hall. You are gripping onto the strap of your bag tightly, your mind in its daze as your eyes remain fixated onto the floor. When you approach the lecture room you up your vision and see Sicheng lingering around some of the classmates in sight. Smirking, you walk towards him, stopping in front of the door to the room.

“Hey, Sicheng,” you greet with a sly quirk of your lips. Your arm wraps around him, a hand resting on his shoulder as you give it a light squeeze. You bat your lashes at him, feigning innocence as you await a reply.

Sicheng’s breath hitches in his throat as he diverts his attention your way. The simple gesture you are giving him feels like complete electricity, warming up his chest from such a diminutive contact. The exchange of similar glances spellbinds him, and he is barely even able to utter out, “H-hey.”

The conversation that has once been taking place comes to a halt, the colleagues he has been conversing with staring at both you and Sicheng in curiosity. “Why aren’t you in the room? Is the professor not here?”

“Ah, no. That’s not it,” informs Sicheng. “We’re just getting in some conversation before we go inside.”

“I see.” You nod you head. “Well, it’s better to be inside early, right? Or”—you sail your palm down his back, a feather-light touch ghosting over his clothed skin—“are you always going to be one for late attendance?”

Sicheng does not bother to respond to your question; instead, he watches you swiftly enter the lecture room with a foolish grin on his face. His face feels hot from an easy gesture, and it is more than clear that he is a blushing mess in front of his colleagues.

“(y/n)’s always caring about everyone,” says one of them. “I asked her for help with an assignment and she agreed within a heartbeat.”

“Really?” responds the other. “I should try talking to her some time. Invite her to the next party!”

Sicheng crinkles his nose at their talk—how oblivious they are to you and your devilish tactics—and says, a little out of jealousy, “Don’t bother. It’s better to not get involved with her anyway.”

Sicheng then follows your footsteps into the lecture room, it echoing in the quietude. Sicheng immediately finds you lounging at the second row, and he joins you, sitting two seats away. He takes out his belongings and prepares for the lecture, peering at you from the corner of his eye occasionally. He twirls his pen in hand as your chin is propped on your palm, and, finally, after ten minutes you two lock eyes—right when the lecture begins.

As much as you try to remain focused on the lecture, Sicheng’s presence is a complete blight to your focus. Your mind cannot help but run to the direction of him, thinking about him seamlessly about multiple scenarios that are, to no surprise, quite carnal. He is simply leaning in the seat, a childish pout on his lips as he tries to absorb the material, yet you are utterly distracted by him and his looks. His hair is a little more on the messy side this afternoon; is that the after-sex hairstyle that would take place? God, you are incredibly curious. All of a sudden you ache to tug on his hair, perhaps when he is going down on you irresolutely.

Sicheng grins at you, noticing how you are lost deep in a fantasy; he cannot help but wonder if you are thinking mutual thoughts as he. He is replaying the scene from earlier over and over in his mind, like it is the only movie the cinema of his brain can project, and it makes his mind jumble out into scattered puzzle pieces. And each piece is one impure thought after the other.

Sicheng bites the outline of his lip as he allows his imagination to run wild. He wonders what you would look like if he has the upper hand. If he is to be the one taking charge of all situations instead of you—if he is to be the ‘bad boy’ that everyone thinks he is. Once, just once, does he want to hear you whimper his name as you are beneath him.

Your eyes widen at Sicheng tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth; you never thought that was a sight you wanted to see until then, and you turn your head away to try and block out the distraction. Sicheng chuckles and lifts his head, trying to return back to the lecture. Of course, it is not as easy as he wishes because in his pants again is his own rising hardness.

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

Once the lecture comes to an end you pack up your items by shoving them in the bag like it is an oblivion. You snap your fingers to enrapture Sicheng’s attention, and you gain it with posthaste.

“What do you want?” he asks you, his voice groggy as he has recently risen from a heavy slumber.

“You,” you respond playfully. “And for us to get out of this lecture hall ‘cause I feel like I’ve been suffocating in his room for far too long.”

Sicheng fixes his gaze on your figure that towers above him and he releases a sigh. He rubs the nape of his neck and gathers his belongings, accompanying you out the hall. “You actually waited for me,” Sicheng points out, grinning.

“Stop commenting on everything I do,” you demand, bitterness lacing your tone.

“I can’t help it,” he pleads, “it’s all so cute.”

You draw in a sharp breath through your teeth, disgusted by his stunt. “Gross.”

“So, answer me,” he requests, stopping your stride before you exit the entire building. “Just what are you trying to do?”

You narrow your eyes, furrowing an eyebrow. “Trying to do about what?”

“You know,” Sicheng edges. “You’ve been touchy lately.”

“Oh,” you acknowledge, “nothing. I’m just having a little fun.”

You lean against the wall by the door, arms crossed as you scrutinize Sicheng’s response, and he isn’t buying it at all. He is finding your reply unhumorous, as true as it is. You are only playing around with Sicheng because it causes you fun—and of the irresistible attraction that creeped its way onto the surface, but he has no reason to be aware of the latter.

“But why—”

“Hey, Sicheng!” calls a familiar voice.

You and Sicheng look to the direction of the voice, only to realize it is coming from Yuta—who has Sowon hanging around him like a puppy.

“I’m assuming that date went well?” Sicheng thinks aloud, waving to his friend.

“Unfortunately so,” you add, shaking your head at the disappointment that is Sowon and Yuta possibly becoming an item. “Be careful, Sowon.”

Your friend giggles, almost feeling your seeth. “It would’ve been better if his friends didn’t stick around us.”

“I had space in my car,” says Sicheng. “I could’ve lessened the load.”

“Oh hell no,” you comment, swatting Sicheng’s arm. “It was bad enough dealing with you.”

Yuta tilts his head in confusion, looking at Sowon as if she has an answer. “I thought you needed to go home, bro. Why was (y/n) with you?”

“Ah,” he pauses. “I-I did. I ran into her on the way to get to my car and she was on the way…”

“Don’t get any ideas, Yuta. The last thing I need is for your mouth to run on and on about how Sicheng and I would be an item,” you demand, already calling for the future. Knowing Yuta, his mouth only knows how to talk and spread rumours—and that is only one of the many reasons you hold an antipathy against him.

Sowon chimes in, breaking the ice. “So why are you two still in here? Our lectures ended at the same time.”

Sicheng peers at you, motioning you to speak. Sighing, you say, “We were just talking.”

“Talking?” Yuta laughs. “Or flirting?”

Yuta winks at his friend, notioning your way that has Sicheng bursting into a fit of chuckles. “Totally,” Sicheng agrees, obtaining and idea. Sicheng steps closer to you, the remaining proximity closing as he places an arm around you comfortably—an act that makes it seem as if it is the most natural gesture in the world. “I’ve been trying to get her to go on a date with me, but she loves playing hard to get.”

You turn your head to look at him, incertitude painted all over your face, and he leans over to whisper into your ear, “Don’t you?”

You bite onto the outline of your lip, his breath hitting your skin, sending goosebumps to race up your spine. Heat flows into your face and the blush is more than evident, almost like a wave of coral hues splashed on your skin. “Get real, starboy.” You push Sicheng off you, taking a step away as you calm yourself down. You feel your heart beating rapidly against your chest as if there is a raging animal that wanted to be set free, and you are unable to calm it down. “T-try again next time.”

“So we have a next time?” he asks you, smirking in victory. He appears to have found a weak spot of you—one that he can use to his advantage to win the game.

“Get a fucking room, you two,” implores Yuta. Yuta latches onto Sowon’s hand and gets ready to guide her out the door, but Sicheng says something that makes the older boy explode into childish laughter.

Sicheng shoves his hands into his pockets, swaggering back to you. “There’s a room right there—a classroom—if you’re into that.”

Your eyes widen at his idea, another vehement desire to follow his proposition present. You shake your head at the intruding thought, the longing for you to satisfy your amorous desires difficult to maintain. Speechless and unable to think properly, your flustered self watches the starboy exit the lecture hall in triumph and all you want to do is clout the back of his head.

“Gosh,” you spit out, “he needs to piss off…”

Yuta and Sowon exchange similar expressions, both making a silent call for the future. It causes them to chuckle and you face them, your face still tinted with pink—the mark of embarrassment. You are unable to stop thinking about Sicheng and his words—everything he has stunted today. Looking at the entire moment in a wider perspective, Sicheng seems to crave to take the game in his own hands; to kick you off the pedestal and take charge happens to be an event he is absolutely ravenous for.

But it is arduous for you to pinpoint the root of it. Shit, when did Sicheng start to put up such an act—and why is it working on you? You have ever been one to feel anything by flirty words or touchy gestures; you have always been the one to initiating a stimulating response, but the tables truly have turned. Because...

It is not until now for you to realize that this is no longer a game, but a chase for who breaks first.

To say that you enjoy Sicheng’s method of peppering compliments on you would be an understatement.

It feels like a guilty pleasure whenever you hear him make a positive comment about your appearance or wit—whether he wholeheartedly means it or not. Every encounter you have with him, he gives you a playful wink and, if you are to be lucky, words that keep you keen. And that routine continues for a good two weeks. For you, it seems as if you have made zero progress in pushing Sicheng to the edge and he is always one move ahead—always getting you on checkmate. There are times you have attempted to avoid him by purposely walking the longer way to the lecture halls and taking the back path to go to where you typically park, but as if there is a hopeless magnetism, you and Sicheng have always been made bound to cross paths—which leaves you utterly weak.

You notice as time passes that with each time you see Sicheng your heart kicks its pace up; not due to the thrill or anger of seeing him, ready to grind on his gears, but for a feeling that has always been foreign to you: a complete attraction to a man that you used to see as the epitome of pest. After such a realization you have tried to sort out your thoughts, but the more you think about Sicheng the more crazy it drives you. It isn’t rocket science—what you feel for the falsely stated bad boy—but it is something you are borderline ashamed of feeling.

And what if he finds out?

With the two weeks of avoiding Sicheng and attending classes, bolting for the exit once the shared lecture ends, he finally catches on. Well, to be fair he has always had an idea of your feelings toward him—and he knows you would never voice such as if it is to be a curse. Sicheng finds your reaction to be cute, charming whenever you told him to get away like he is a fool in love, and he aches to be around you even more.

However, two weeks passing is far too long of a wait for him and he decides to take the larger step, a more riskier move on the game board.

He sees you walking across the parking lot with your notebook held tightly in your arms and he grins, pausing his converse with his friends to say to you, “Looking good, (y/n), but what’s new?”

His voice catches you by surprise and the heat returns to your face. Ignoring him, you start to pace yourself to the hall, but he ditches his friends to run towards you, joining you by your side. He laughs, ruffling your hair as he points out, “Are you blushing?”

You bare your teeth, glaring at him as you spit out, “Piss off, Sicheng.”

“Why are you so brash to me?” He places his hands in the air in defeat. “I’m just complimenting you.”

“I don’t want your stupid compliments.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, genuinely curious. The compliments don’t work, and neither does his loving gestures; he wants to crack down to the bottom of this like it is a cryptic code that has been impracticable for aeons. “That I’d love to f—”

You place a hand over his mouth, hushing him as you push him back. “We’re in front of so many people, have some decency, Sicheng.”

“We can go somewhere private,” he says easily with a shrug. He grabs onto your wrist and lowers your hand, giving him some free space to talk openly. Your expression is still the same: a foolish blush with sparkling eyes, a shy demeanor—like Sicheng’s true self has an impact on you. “You seem like you’d like that.”

You remain silent and walk away from him in hopes that you have escaped his scripted plan of the day, but he chases after you, opening the door for you to the lecture hall. You stare at him and that prince-like smile that is blossoming on his face. With such gestures, it confuses you even further, and you release a sigh as you enter the hall.

Sicheng frowns at the lack of response, shadowing you from behind. “Why are you so annoyed with me?” he complains, both hands gripping tightly around the straps of his backpack. “And there are twenty minutes before the lecture. No one is even inside the hall.”

Rather than being able to formulate a coherent reply, you are more focused on the rapid beating of your heart—the swirled up thoughts in your brain—and it prompts Sicheng to tail you like a puppy, pestering you for attention. “(y/n)?” he calls out to you, catching up to your side. But you refuse to reply, ignoring his presence. “(y/n), is everything okay?”

You reach for the doorknob of the lecture room, but a clasp around the small of your wrist prevents you from doing so. Sicheng turns you around, enrapturing your attention has his gaze beats down on your face. “Did I do something wrong?” he questions, his voice frail like a child that has gotten in trouble. “Did I cross the line?”

Sicheng’s gaze casts downwards to the floor, his eyelids fluttering like pirouetting butterflies. The solemn countenance that is conveying on his face makes you feel guilty, a clear sign you have fallen victim to his previous manners. “No,” you respond, unable to look his way.

“Then why are you ignoring me?” he questions.

“You act like I haven’t been trying to ignore you for the past two weeks.”

“But why?”

“God,” you spit out, attempting to turn your body so you can swing open the door to the lecture room, “you’re so annoying.”

But Sicheng stops you from doing so. His grip is tight on your wrist, yet he acts with hesitance as if he is calculating his every move, afraid to hurt you. His eyes finally meet yours when he prevents you from escaping his grasp, and it is a moment that is far too electric to break the current. In fact, this is the closest you have ever been face-to-face with the starboy. There is no turning of heads, no gushing or childish blushing to prompt an abscond—but a pure moment as if one is reading far too into the other.

The silence that is filling the moment is amplifying the weight of the moment, and Sicheng releases a shaky breath. He is studying your expression: your pursed lips that are coated with a thin gloss, the apples of your cheeks that have a natural tint on them—because he caused it. One by one he notices your features, and he hears your unsteady breath get drawn in.

Your heart is beating furiously against your chest; his is aching to be set free from its own cage. The compulsion to enter the lecture room is no longer overpowering, and you are rooted in stance before the boy, your mind completely blank as well. The last bits are drawn back to your mind once you hear a breathy laugh come from his mouth.

You tilt your head, eyebrows coming together as if frustrated. “What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing,” he clears out, shaking his head. “You’re blushing,” he whispers with a smile quirking at his lips.

“No I’m not,” you respond instantly, defensive on where you stand. Your head turns the other way, shielding your face from the truth.

Sicheng chuckles, finally gaining the last piece of the puzzle to see the larger picture. It explains it all: the times you avoid him, spit defensive words, and the countless blushes and hopeless grins that blossom on your face. “Did this game you declared turn into something more?” he asks you. “Am I beating you at your own game? And here I was, worried that I crossed the line.”

You are rendered speechless, coherent sentences unable to thread together as he voices out validity.

“But I didn’t.” He finishes off, “You just have feelings for me.”

“I don’t,” you announce.

Sicheng closes the gap that is shared from your face and his, inching closer and closer until you are able to feel his warm breath hit your skin. “I think you do.”

You slowly face him again, witnessing the stunt he is trying to pull. What has gotten into him? It truly isn’t like him to be head-on flirtatious with a member of the opposite sex. Why isn’t he gushing or running away? Cowering in embarrassment? Perhaps what you thought you know about Sicheng is completely false—and it has always been the reason to why he has the upper hand. As cryptic as you are, Sicheng is the definition of arcane—a walking enigma that is solely made for you.

Sicheng lets go you your wrist and trails his hand up the outline of your body slowly, a desultory action that sets your insides ablaze. He moves your hair behind your ear, gaining a better view of your features, and smiles lovingly.

Gulping and in need of a riposte, you spit out the first thing that comes to your mind, “Are you saying that as defense?” You narrow your gaze on him, the fire in your two orbs evident. “Are you not the one who has feelings for me? You’re constantly complimenting me and following me around—I think it’s for more than just to—”

“But I do,” Sicheng informs, cutting your sentence short.

Every word you have wanted to say dissipates on the tip of your tongue, for his response has caught you by surprise. It is like an impact you never expected, like someone has came from your behind to strike. So your suspicions have always been on the right track. There has always been an underlying reason for Sicheng’s actions that you brushed to the side—but why? Has it been a method for you to fight how you feel towards the starboy?

The silence that is being shared between you two has turned deadly—an uncomfortable still as you allow the words to sink into your mind.

“What?” you question him, your voice a whisper. Sicheng has not moved from where he stands the entire time; his head has always been a few mere inches away from your own, and your breath brushes against the petals of his lips.

Sicheng swallows his breath out of nervousness, relieving his anxious sentiments. His mouth constantly opens and closes every now and then because he is crossed on what to say. Every sentence that comes to mind does not make it past his mouth, and he swallows his words as if they would be the wrong choice to make—like it would be the key to set you free from his presence.

The boy has waited for a moment like this for quite a long time—longer than the two weeks you have been annoying him. The first three encounters with you have been nothing but unpleasant, but as time has passed and the paths kept on crossing, intertwining, it would be impossible for him to not gain an idea of you under another light. The night of the party a girl approached him, and he rejected her for more than just avoiding an intercourse with her—because Sicheng thought of you. The girl was even closer to him physically, her arms wrapped around him; you are inches apart, and the pull has never been stronger.

Sicheng shakes his head and stares through you, whispering your name. God, what on earth is he thinking? The more time that passes the greater the urge grows to become closer to you. He craves for a kiss, a pull—anything that would diminish the game that has stood.

And so he asks.

“(y/n),” he mumbles. You blink twice at him, a signal that he has all of your attention. “C-can I kiss you?”

You look up at him through your lashes, unable to turn away. Sicheng twirls a lock of your hair in between his digits as he watches you with dilated pupils. Fair enough to say, he is as nervous as you are. Both hearts are racing as if there is a finish line, breaths are being held and let out shakily, and words are being chosen oh-so-carefully.

So you hope that your response is enough—even if it is a breathy, “Yes.”

Sicheng’s eyes blow wide for a second, surprised at how quickly you complied, and he watches you close your eyes delicately, waiting for the impact. He smiles softly to himself, admiring the longing that is painted on your face.

Slowly in the empty hall, he comes closer and closer, his warm breath a tease for every second his lips are not pressing against yours. Sicheng acts with reluctance—not because he fears that this is the wrong choice or if he is leading you onto the wrong direction but due to the lack of experience. Nonetheless, his head leans in and the last sight he sees is your lips being pursed gently.

His forearm moves to rest against the flat of the door as he closes the gap, and the contact is more electrifying than ever. There is a smile that plays at the corner of his mouth that you feel; you cannot help but do the same. Sicheng’s lips dance with yours to the melody of each other’s brisk heartbeats, the softness an unfamiliar sensation that provides you with the pleasure of longing. It feels as if you have waited aeons for a benevolent kiss, like your existence has been created for the lush act.

He sucks on your bottom lip, swiping the tip of his tongue against the surface, and gets a taste of you—and it is surprisingly sweet. It appears like you are a fruit off a tree with a sour appearance, drawing people away, but if one is to peel away layer by layer they would catch a look at the real you.

Sicheng’s other hand snakes its way to the small of your back, pulling your body closer to him to deepen the kiss. You cannot help but break the kiss to laugh, for his act is entertaining and unexpected. Locking eyes with him, you see more than just the mischievous glint, and it prompts another playful kiss.

He smells of coffee and musk, the two scents swirling together in a divergent harmony that sends your senses to the edge. There is something that impels you for more—a craving to taste him even further and to bring your bodies closer, and as the heated kiss progresses it is the only thing that intoxicates your mind.

There is one thing that is holding the two of your back, and it is the fact that you are both two shadows standing right in the middle of the lecture hall, in front of the door to the classroom. Anyone could walk in at any moment and be astonished to the core to see that the university bibliophile and notorious bad boy is locking lips. It would be the gossip of the week and the puzzle of the century. What witchcraft has taken place to bring two polar opposites together? Whatever it is, you are glad it has charmed you.

Sicheng presses harder against your lips, sucking on them passionately to solicit a quiet moan from you—and he obtains one. You break the kiss, cowering out of embarrassment, and he chuckles. He assures you of your worries by cupping your cheek and running his thumb across your skin. Kissing you once more, you decide it is your turn to make a move.

Your hands tug at the hem of his short before one tugs at the belt loop of his jeans to drag him in close. As he falls victim to your grasp, his crotch comes in contact with your front and you feel something preposterously… hard. You break the kiss to catch a glance at the tent that is building in his pants—the uncomfortable hardness that gives him pleasure once you palm him through his pants.

He takes a breath in between his teeth and hangs his head low, positioning it at the crevasse of your neck prior to him peppering kisses all over. Sucking on your skin, he leaves a mark—a promise that more would come and the moment would be finished later.

You grip onto his hardened member past his jeans, feeling him up, and he releases a moan right by your ear. “Fuck,” he utters, his voice weak. “God, (y/n), t-that feels good…”

“Does it?” you ask him rhetorically, gripping onto it with more force.

“Shit,” he says within an instant. “Y-yes! God, I—this is the first time that I—”

You shake your head and he raises his, allowing you to plant a kiss. “You talk too much,” you comment, pecking him again.

Sicheng chuckles, sweat accumulating on his forehead. “Whatever.”

You take a step away and change spots with the boy, pressing him against the door. Your mouth is ghosting over the cupid bow of his own, enticing him by the second. Sicheng is unsure on how to act next. Should he leave it up to you, or take charge once more?

Whatever he has been thinking, it is far too slow because you act first. Acting as if you are about to kiss him again, Sicheng closes his eyes to brace; however, your hand chases for the doorknob and your clasp around it, twisting it so that the door to the lecture hall opens.

Sicheng, who has been leaning on the flat of it, stumbles right into the lecture room from the loss of balance.

“We can save the rest for later,” you tell him.

Sicheng is on the floor, rubbing his forehead as he gawks at you. The blush returns to his face and you laugh in triumph, entering the room with a grin. “Good morning, professor,” you greet her—the professor’s eyes scrutinizing the two of you.

You move to take your seat, unwilling to help him up, and start to unpack your belongings to prepare for class. Sicheng watches you, his mind dazed and struggling to fathom what just happened. Only ten minutes have soared by and it was ten minutes of confession and sexual build-up. He groaned, picking himself up and stretching his arms into the air.

You stare at him, still entertained.

Sicheng used to be someone you could not stand to be around—a man that made you dread. Now, the one thing that has always been killing you is making you feel incredibly alive. You can only hope that the promise to satisfy your need for him would come sooner than you expect.

There is no point in faking your antipathy towards Sicheng anymore.

No walls have to be built to protect yourself from the truth and to prevent him from seeing it—especially what has happened a good four days ago. Sicheng and you were having an empirical, heated make out session in the middle of the lecture hall. Feelings were dutifully exchanged and one thing led to another; that was, before everything came to an abrupt halt.

A large fraction of you regretted opening the door to have him fall inside; it was your chance to tell him to dip class and spend the two hours in private, getting an even better taste of one another, but you didn’t.

So for the past four days you have been outrageously frustrated, the thought of Sicheng driving you insane. He’s like a drug—an element you are completely hooked on and you cannot seem to fight the urge to want him. Thing is, no matter how far the scene can escalate between you two, you have no idea what the boy is thinking.

Well, that is because Sicheng has no idea what he is thinking. He never had such a heavy crush on a girl before; let alone, had a makeout session until he crossed paths with you. The feelings you provided him with gave him a thrill, a rush of excitement and so much longing to the point he is addicted. Of course, with the way events have cascaded perfectly into one another, he could not help it.

With similar thoughts to yours, he never thought that he would be willing to go so far with you. He kissed you, ached for more, and was ready for you to guide him—no matter how shy he was. And the most shocking part to him is that you have no problem with him being a virgin. You used to take pleasure in annoying him—teasing him to the edge about the truth and what he makes himself to be—but that all strengthened the magnetism of his attraction to you.

So here he is, standing in the university parking lot with his friends, excessively sexually frustrated from the lack of contact he has had with you. To be honest, the last time he has had a full-blown conversation with you was four days ago, right in front of the lecture hall. Everything that came afterwards was quick ‘hello’s’ when passing by one another. And that got him thinking: did the kiss mean nothing to you to the point you’d act like it never happened?

Or maybe he was thinking out of proportion. After all, he never experienced such a turn of events.

However, there was a moment where he saw the mark he left on your neck—the sign that what happened four days ago would take off where it was left off from, and the only question became ‘when?’

Sicheng is staring at the sky as his friends chat the day away. They are talking about the usual: girls, planning the next party, and whenever they will go the billiards hall. There is nothing too out of the ordinary occurring and the day is stunningly placid. Sicheng’s head is in the cloud as they listen to Yuta bicker about his progression in his relationship with Sowon—the potential of how ‘serious’ the two of them might become, and the other two boys cannot take him seriously.

Hearing of such an instance reminds Sicheng on how he first started with you. If he made the choice to not attend class that day due to the wild night from before then none of this would be happening. It sounds even more preposterous that Sicheng is hopelessly crushing on the girl he used to wholly have forebodings about.

Sicheng closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, relishing in the reminisce. The boys’ laughter intrudes on his journey among his thoughts and his lids flutter open, whilst attempting to catch onto what he has missed.

As Sicheng’s vision slowly refocuses as he blinks a couple of times; from the corner of his eye he sees you. Habitually, you are walking with Sowon across the parking lot to return to your vehicle down the street. It is distinctive that you are trying to avoid running into the group, which is notable by being on the opposite side of the small lot. Sicheng smiles, and the manner is strangely perpetual. The little things of you appear to drive him crazy, whether you are annoyed by him to the point you would walk away with a blush, or if you are to prod him with belittling jests. And he feels helpless to them.

Yuta, who is talking endlessly, finally puts an end to his roam mid-sentence when he sees you and Sowon on the opposite side of the lot. “It’s Sowon!” he points out loudly, causing the boys to divert their attention your way. Though as booming as his voice naturally is, it did not reach the two of you who are vivaciously laughing the day away.

“Is Yuta seriously pursuing a real relationship?” asks Jaehyun, giving Taeyong a light punch. Taeyong chuckles and nods his head as Yuta glares at them, biting onto his sour tongue to restrict ill-mannered comments.

“And she’s friends with that total witch,” hisses Taeyong. “(y/n), wasn’t it? How do you feel about that, Sicheng?”

But there is no response.

Taeyong rotates his body to where Sicheng is standing, only to find out he is no longer there and is dashing for the two girls. Sicheng’s presence blended so well into the shadows for him to abscond, confusing the three boys on his chase towards you.

“What the hell is he doing?” Yuta questions, piqued.

Jaehyun’s face contorts in displeasure and inquisitiveness as he watches his friend run towards you. Setting all feelings aside, he lets out a sigh. “Sicheng’s facing the same thing you are, Yuta.”

Taeyong’s jaw drops to the floor in shock, the color in his face washing away as he is the last to catch onto the recent turn of events. “No fucking way. How did he get her? No offence to Sicheng or anything, but aren’t I hotter in more degrees?”

Yuta blasts out into a childish laughter, agreeing. “Very, Tae.”

✾ ✾ ✾ ✾

… “So then after I said I would take the bus back home, he offered me a ride!” Sowon rambles. “I never thought he’d be like that, but we ended up having a second date I guess—in his car.”

You skeptically raise an eyebrow at the information, studying it thoroughly. “Don’t tell me you two used the back of his car to ba—”

“No!” She shakes her head, waving her hands towards you dismissively. “W-we didn’t do anything! I mean, he kissed me and that was it—I promise!”

“What the”—you halt your stride to look at her, pondering if you are hearing things correctly—“you guys already kissed? You guys are moving faster than Sicheng and me. You know when we first kissed? Two weeks ago.”

Sowon laughs, grasping onto your hand to pull you towards her. “That’s because you two hated each other when you first met. You don’t just make out with someone you don’t like.”

“Good point.”

When you think about your friend’s comment you realize how childish the story of you and Sicheng sounds. Both of you acted upon one another by a petulant drive, only craving to see the other well in their own misery, and now all you both want is each other. You press a palm to your face for recalling the immature acts and sigh.

Sowon starts again, giving you another tug, “Anyway, I really want to go and eat some—”

“(y/n)!” your name is called in the distance.

You turn your head instantly, attributing the recognizable voice to the familiar face. Sicheng is dashing towards you as if he has forgotten a beloved belonging in your grasp, and you slip out of Sowon’s hold to wave to him.

Sicheng stands before you and your friend, catching a breath before he says to Sowon, “I need to borrow her for a second. Maybe the whole day.”

With a sweaty palm, Sicheng takes a hold of your hand and pulls you away from your friend, dragging you from the lot to behind the main building of the institute. You attempt to dig your heels into the ground to prevent him from doing so, uttering, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You study the boy, noticing the hint of red that stains his ears—a small blush that gives you an idea on why he is acting so promptly.

Sicheng is grumbling some words to himself, already flustered from the stunt he is pulling, and groans exasperatedly. He releases you from his grasp once he makes it to the back of the main building; his back is turned to you for a good while before he opens his mouth again.

“Two weeks,” he declares. “It has been two weeks since we kissed and you rarely made any contact with me since. Is something wrong?”

Sicheng rotates his body to face you, and the glint in his eyes is a mark of genuine curiosity.

“Is something going on with you?” you ask him, chuckling from amusement.

Sicheng’s eyebrows come together in a frustrated manner as he blurts out the truth. “Yes, I’ve been sexually frustrated the entire time! How can we kiss and then leave me out like that?”

“You do realize that’s what you do to all the girls that try to get into your pants, right?”

“But that doesn’t mean you should do it to me…” Sicheng whines. He grabs onto your hand tightly and releases a breath of air. “(y/n), come on. I’m getting impatient. I haven’t felt this way towards anyone else before and you’re really leaving me on the edge.”

His confession comes as a surprise to you. You are not sure on what to think. You gain from watching him struggle to keep his dick in his pants, but also from hearing him come to the edge due to sexual frustration. Giggling, you say, “Sucks to suck, Sicheng. But you gotta wait.”

“W-what?” he stammers. “How long?”

“I have an exam coming up—I have to study.”

You shake out of his grasp and start to walk back to Sowon; however, he tugs on the hem of your shirt, stopping you. “W-when is it? What class—where?”

“Next Monday at around three. The second portable—why?”

“Just wondering,” Sicheng tells you. His grip tightens as he thinks out another addition to his sentence. Whenever he is with you, the words do not come quickly to his mind. “Do you want to go out after your exam?”

“Out?” you repeat. “Or… out as in—”

“No,” he corrects you, interrupting. “Out as in an actual date. I can treat you for finishing.”

You narrow your eyes on him, trying to see if there is an underlying message in his proposition. “All of a sudden you’re being romantic, what’s going on?”

Sicheng chuckles, his head hanging. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“I’m not.” You shake your head. “But that sounds like a good plan.”

Sicheng finally allows you to part from him. You walk back to Sowon with a childish grin painted on your face, for the mere thought of going on a proper date with the boy makes you giddy. Sicheng watches you make your way back to your friend. The smile that has been pressed on his face withers away instantly as he realizes what he just committed.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Did I say I was okay with waiting another week?!”

Despite his silly mistake on allowing another week to past, time soars by quicker than expected.

Sicheng occupies his time by digging his face into his books, absorbing necessary information for his classes to prepare himself early for exams and whatnot. It is not the best distraction, but it is enough to suffice as you have the time of your life preparing for an exam—and teasing him. It is another story when you are in the same class as him. He really cannot focus, no matter how far away he chooses to be seated from you, and it prods at his brain like an unwanted stick.

So, when Monday comes along he decides to look extra spiffy.

The morning of, he spends more time styling his hair and picking out a decent outfit to impress. He sprays on cologne and tests out award-winning smiles at his reflection in the mirror; he wants the day to go by perfectly. Sicheng attends his classes like normal at the university, and his mind runs wild the more minutes that pass by. It is a countdown to you, when he can see you again and possibly score the night.

Sicheng dashes out of his lecture once it concludes, running by his group of friends who call out to him, but he does not bat a single eye. The wind whistles in his ears as he runs across campus to reach the portables (considering he has been at the opposite side of the campus) and hopes he is running on time. The lecture ended at around 2:47 p.m., and that gives him thirteen minutes to make it to your class—well, if it already did not end early. Lectures never run on schedule to begin with.

Sicheng is starting to break out into a sweat in his outfit: a blue flannel with black ripped jeans, a plain white tee under as well. Not only that, but his hair is an absolute mess, like a cat has made a home on the top of his head. There are so many elements that he can be fretting about, but the second he sees you in the distance, his worries erode away.

He is standing on the top of the staircase, noticing you leave the portable of your class at the bottom of the steps, and he calls out for you, “(y/n)!”

The sound of your name being exclaimed captures your attention, causing you to turn your head left and right for the direction the sound is coming from. Other people are attracted to the stunt Sicheng pulls, and he keeps chanting your name, waving to your frantically like a young child greeting his friends at the start of the day.

“Shut up!” you retaliate, your face flushing with pink.

You start to walk up the steps to meet him, gossip already circulating among your colleagues. Whispers upon the topic of you and Sicheng being an item start up—and people would be foolish to not believe it at this point. With the givens that you and Sicheng have spent with one another, him tailing you and you pestering him with insults, the signs have been everywhere.

Sicheng lovingly watches you climb up the stairs, the tired look on your face making him laugh. It is not until you are three-fourths of the way up for him to notice your lasting beauty. You are wearing shorts and a loose white tee, an outfit that seems like you picked up dirty laundry from your room floor because effort was not in the dictionary this morning. Even so, you look incredible to him.

Your hair is messy, a look he expects to see after sex with you and—fuck, is he getting a hard on?

Sicheng’s expression turns niche as he looks down at his crotch, the hardness barely noticeable (thankfully). He gulps, hoping that it would go away soon. Is this what happens when sexual longing is extended for three darn weeks? Sicheng proceeds to smile at you as you meet him at the top of the staircase.

“How was the exam?” he asks you.

“Good,” you reply, your pace not stopping. Sicheng accompanies you, leading you to the path to his car. “I think I aced it.”

“I’m sure you did,” he agrees with nervous laughter, fighting the uncomfortable sensation in his pants. “We both study like mad—and you blew me off to study.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, “so I can focus.”

“Do I get a reward if you get an A?” he questions you with beady eyes. Even though he asked it as a question, it sounds like Sicheng is implying another—an obvious craving he has been wanting to become satisfied.

Smiling, you say, “Maybe.”

The walk to Sicheng’s car is filled with smalltalk and gossip on what is going on between Yuta and Sowon. A couple combination that no one even expected—but that is what makes it so risible. It is just how you and Sicheng start off, and possibly how the word will spread around. Sicheng is smoothing out his hair as he ambles to his vehicle, laughing the day away with you as he breaks out in a sweat from the hot weather. What brilliant choice did he make to wear jeans and a long sleeve?

The moment you both reach his vehicle at his parking spot, he strips the flannel off his being and tosses it in the back seat once the car is unlocked. Your eyes are glued onto his figure, the somewhat muscular man feeding your eagerness. Shit, has he always looked this good? In fact, have you ever seen Sicheng wear anything else aside longsleeves and sweaters? He looks divine.

“What are you staring at?” he asks you, tugging on the seat belt.

You mimic his motion. “Nothing, you just look good.”

He smiles, red chasing the apples of his cheeks again. “Thanks.”

Sicheng starts up his car and starts to back out of the lot, informing you of the plan for the rest of the day. “So there’s this restaurant downtown that just opened, it seems pretty good. There’s a bakery right next to it as well, so we can stop by there afterwards—I heard their macarons are amazing.”

“You planned out the entire day?” you think aloud.

“No, I didn’t plan out the details—but that’s just the gist.” He beams. Sicheng enters the street and begins to drive. He switches on the car radio to fill up the moments of silence that come along after the end of each conversation topic. You notice the way he nods his head to the music, tapping his fingers to the beat rapturously.

“I see,” you mumble. “So, how was your day? You actually look pretty good.”

Sicheng grins jocundly, shrugging his shoulders. “It was fine. Do I really? I just put on whatever,” he fibs.

You nod your head. “Yeah, you do.”

Your eyes roam his vehicle, enjoying the look of it. It is a black, e350 mercedes, and it smells just like him, and a hint of the scents he has hanging on the air conditioners. At every stoplight Sicheng has a tendency to look your way. The mere sight of you alone sets his insides ablaze, and he over thinks: what should he say? Is there even anything to say?

You snap him out of his thoughts when you ask him, “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” he retaliates quickly. “Y-you just look really good.”

“I’m in a white tee and shorts, Sicheng. This is a typical outfit that half the university can wear.”

“B-but you look good…?” His voice raises at the end of his obscurity; he ponders if he is choosing the correct words properly, or he is ready to cower in his own embarrassment.

“Would I look better beneath you?” you ask him, tilting your head the other way. You bite onto your lip to ease your anxious wrecks, your eyes clamped shut as you wait for his response.

It catches him by surprise and his foot eases off the gas pedal, prompting him to stutter, “W-where did that come from? I thought w-we were just having a nice innocent date…”

You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful he didn’t unleash his wit. You face him again and ruffle his hair. “We are,” you admit. “I just wanted to get this out there.”

Sicheng’s eyes bat continuously your eye, his vision fleeting from the road to you dangerously. “I-I see...”

An uncomfortable hardness forms in his jeans and it bothers him. He is barely able to focus on the road, for his attention is devoted to you. So, when the next red light comes after eight minutes of continuous driving down an avenue, he is more than thankful.

At the red light Sicheng’s fingertips tap onto the wheel. His lips are pursed as he whistles a playful tune along to the music of the radio, and you look at him admirably. His lashes appear lush, like curtains and whenever he blinks they sweep over his skin. His lips are decently plump, kissable if you have to admit, and it intrigues you in. You lean over the center console to gain a better look. With him at such a close distance again, you are able to notice more about him and his features. He has a complexion that is almost too perfect; well, his being as a whole. It seems as if what creates perfection has been doused onto this man, charming you and others. Of course girls fall for him, he is outrageously good looking—it is one of the reason you have as well.

But the larger majority is due to the playful cat and dog-like feud you had with one another. Unpleasantries grew into an irresistible magnetism; grievances blossomed into loving memories. To be honest, the first kiss you shared with him had you hooked like crazy. You made a mistake by opening the door for him to stumble in the class, but there was no going back. The date you have with him right now is like a redemption.

The longer you stare at Sicheng the more enchanted you feel; soon, it is enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

The action catches him by surprise and he quickly rotates his head to look at you with eyes blown wide. Utterances of shock rest on the tip of his tongue, but as soon as he locks eyes with your own he is unable to speak. The words disappear and his mind becomes blank from you and your noticable beauty. His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, the perfect cupid’s bow he wants to peck, and he swallows his breath.

Sicheng acts by his desires and places his lips against your own. He acts in a desultory pace, testing the waters to make sure kissing you is okay—if it is granted by you and that it is enjoyable, and it is. His lips are paradisiacally soft against yours as they dance with one another. The action alone impels you to place a hand at the back of his neck, and you pull him in to deepen the kiss. Sicheng sucks on your bottom lip and swipes a tongue over it, the slickness a peek of what is coming next.

He softly bites onto your bottom lip with his teeth, dragging it out before coming in for another rousing kiss. He takes a breath, the scent of your perfume sweet and alluring. A compulsion to take everything to the next level dawns upon him—the struggle for him to resist. His right arm reaches over the center, a palm being placed on your thigh for him to squeeze.

You cuff him with your tongue before invading his mouth, and he willingly accepts the invitation. His tongue capers with your own, swirling in harmony before he retracts to fervently suck on your lip.

With foreheads touching, breaths being taken, you both smile at one another and move in for another kiss—that is, until there is a series of honks being aimed towards him for halting at the light that has recently turned green.

“God,” he whispers as he fixes his posture, pressing on the gas pedal. “Of course the moment has to be ruined.”

His hand stills rests on your thigh as he drives with one hand; the palm runs up and down your delicate skin. You place your own over it, grasping onto his hand tenderly. Sicheng’s grasp is tight around the wheel, eyes glued on the road, but his other hand inches up your thigh. He is attempting a light tease, a gentle touch to give you a light push to the edge of your desire. You enjoy the moment of childish teases for the five minutes that it remains, but it comes to an end when he retracts to grip on the wheel, turning it to guide his way in a roundabout.

The loss of his touch angers you, and all you want to do is finish what has been started from day one. The fight for who can get what they want; in this case, you want Sicheng. You reach over and place a palm over his cock, coaxing it gently.

“W-what are you doing?!” he stutters, dangerously slowing the vehicle down in the roundabout.

“Forget the date,” you fume, no longer able to fight your overexcited urges. “Drive to your apartment.”

“W-what?” Sicheng pauses, his foot easing off the gas pedal again.

You proceed to palm him through his jeans, squeezing his hardened member through the thick fabric of his pants. Sicheng hisses in a sharp breath, struggling to maintain his composure as he is a victim of your impure touch.

“F-fuck,” Sicheng spits out, making a full circle, “yeah—okay.”

“I want you so bad right now…” you tell him, palming his crotch. The friction you create makes him hiss in a breath through his teeth.

He nods his head frantically, pressing down on the gas pedal once he exits the roundabout. “So do I—give this a good seven minutes.”

“What if I can’t wait that long?”

“You made me wait for three weeks,” he tells you, annoyed.

You lean over the center console, whispering in his ear, “And I’m sorry”—you kiss his neck, swiping your tongue over a part of his skin—“But I really want you now.”

He shakes his head and starts his hasty pursuit back to his apartment. Sicheng dangerously drives down the road, cutting a couple drivers off as his sexual longing takes over. You are gently petting his cock over his jeans the entire way there and once he parks it in the lot of the complex, he takes the keys out of the ignition and presses his lips against yours.

The kiss catches you by surprise; it is intense, passionate and filled with lust, and you break it. “I-Inside,” he says when you catch a breath.

You nod your head, stepping out of the vehicle. You follow him throughout the complex, eyeing the details of the outdoors as a temporary distraction. He fumbles for the keys when he stops in front of the door, and he shoves the house key into the lock, twisting it to push the door open. He makes way for you to step inside, grabbing his keys amidst to toss them in the room. He shadows your figure without much things to say, but he definitely eyes your figure from top to bottom, loving every bit of it.

Sicheng presses you against the door as he forcefully closes it, his mouth coming in contact with yours amid. This time, he kisses you with more fervor, quick and sloppily. Tongues are swiped against one another every so often, and the sucking on each other’s lips continue vigorously. His forearm is pressed against the flat of the door, the other hand snaking its way to your lower back. You have a tight grip on the collar of his flannel, pulling his head to you to deepen the kiss as the other slides down his torso and to the waistband of his jeans.

You mimic the motions you have done in his car: slowly palming him through his pants and squeezing his solid cock to satisfy the extensive longing you have been through. Sicheng’s breath hitches in his throat and he breaks away from the kiss to take in a gasp of air, a puerile grin sheening his face from the minimal pleasure being provided. Your action prompts him to slide his palm under your tee, and his warm hands meet your skin in a blazing touch. He moves in a similar pace as you, taking his sweet time.

Travelling down the crevasse of your neck once more, he leaves a light trace of soft kisses as he allows himself to feel every inch of your body. His hand paths its way down to the curvature of your ass, leaving it there for a few seconds caused by hesitation before squeezing it. You release a quiet titter and you feel Sicheng smile on the tender skin of your neck. He lifts his head up by an inch or two from the canvas that is your body and takes a few breaths. The warmth of his respiration splashes on your complexion, a blissful sensation you relish yourself in momentarily.

Sicheng continues to act with reluctance, hoping he is not making any mistakes for his first time, and allows his inner, prurient desires to overtake him. The ache to act on what he has been yearning to do to you finally washes over him like an elephantine wave, making this his pristine chance. The times he imagined causing your ecstasy, joyously kissing you all over, and driving you wild can all come to a reality tonight. Being aware of how close he is to his prolonged aspirations makes his cock harden even more, his imagination continuing to run on its own frenzy.

A hand of his streams under your shirt and up your torso; he grabs the underside of your breast and squeezes it mildly as his lips press onto your skin again. You crane your neck to provide him more access and grip onto the belt loops of his jeans. Sicheng takes a step closer, hardly any proximity present while he begins to grind his hardened cock onto you for more delight.

An exasperated groan leaves his throat; it is an experience he has never felt before. God, has he been missing out on this much? Sicheng parts from you to lock gazes. With parted lips and accumulating sweat, he releases an airy laugh. You smile at his innocent act; despite the animalistic exploit being put to play, he is still as ingenuous as ever. Seeing him amused by the moment makes your heart flutter, but it also makes you want him more.

Sicheng pecks your lips, and you return it with a kiss on his jawline. Your arms tangle with his neck and his trail around your lower back.

“Up,” he whispers.

In a high heaven, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist. His hands have a tight grip on your thighs and he locks his lips with yours as he attempts to stumble his way to the bedroom. You part from the kiss and rest your head on his shoulder, your eyes barely open as he guides your enmeshed bodies to his room. You are able to feel his rapidly thumping heart from being pressed hard against his chest; he has a sense of yours as well. It is like the two hearts are racing to have their desires be met—but the race has been going on for too long.

“Eager?” you ask him.

Sicheng darts his gaze to you and sets you down carefully on the soft of his bed. “I’ve been waiting for this far too long,” he tells you, crawling over your frame.

You scoot back on his bed, almost to the head rest, and he meets your face. His features are centimeters apart from yours; the sparkles that typically stain his eyes have diminished into darkness, the mark of a nonpareil desire he cannot withstand.

“So have I,” you respond, your voice clear and audible under the immense quietude of the room.

Sicheng kisses the apple of your cheek before moving to the conch of your ear to ask, “Tell me what you want—what you want me to do.”

You rotate your head to face him again, shocked by his willingness. Gulping, you gape at him for a long while before peering at your crotch. Your core is uncontrollably soaking with need, pulsing with desire, and you need it to be satisfied. The weeks have built on so much and the sexual attraction towards the bad boy skyrocketed.

Sicheng follows where your line of sight is being directed at and thinks for a second or so. Wordlessly, he strips you of your tee. No words need to be exchanged for him to catch onto what you want; the distant look in your eyes give it away, a silent beg. He unlatches your bra in a single go and tosses it to the side, discarding it as if it has no relevance. With steady palms, he roams your whole torso until he reaches the valleys of your breasts. Squeezing them again with cordial, you blithely throw your head back in acquiescence, fancying the enormous satisfaction. Intaking a hiss of air, you allow yourself to let loose and give Sicheng the main control for once.

Whilst massaging circles onto your chest, he kisses down your cleavage. With zeal, his plush lips leave its amorous trace in a peppered path of admiration. With every peck you feel the sturdy walls you have built around your being crumble. Sicheng acts as a weakness, your kryptonite, and you cannot do anything to stop it. The compelling indulgence is too much for you to resist at this point. He kisses you until he reaches your hip bones, to which he leaves a love bite before he continues his pursuit for your drenched core.

Carefully, his fingertips hook at the waistband of your shorts along with your panties, and he starts to tug them lower and lower. The sight of him pulling down your fabric kicks you on the edge of anticipation for what is about to happen next. Impatient, you want him to charge already with his tongue at your core, to feel his lips around your bud that is aching for anything to touch it.

You thrum, a hand being sent to his locks as you lay yourself flat down onto the bed. Tugging onto the soft strands of his hair, you whisper, “Sicheng, come on.”

Looking past his delicate lashes, he locks mesmerizing gazes with you. His listens, his head then hovering over your core—close enough for you to feel his breath linger over the dampness that stains your skin. He pauses, staring at you emptily like he is facing a mild debate in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” you ask him, petting his head.

Sicheng swallows his breath, afraid. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

You blink twice to comprehend his words, your mind moving slowly still. You chuckle and stroke his locks again. “Don’t worry, I can guide you through it. Just go—do something—please…”

Sicheng nods his head and opens his mouth. The last sight you get of him is his tongue peeking from the wide parting of his lips, his movements still mellow. You rest your head on his pillows and close your eyes, his breath hovering at your core a moderate tease. But nothing comes.

“Sicheng…” you trail off. You stroke his hair, trying to encourage him and ease him of his insecurities on lacking experience. “It’s okay, Siche—fuck!”

Sicheng has taken a breath before he sticks his tongue out completely. From your core and upwards he laps at your womanhood. The warmth of his muscle on your pussy causes your mind to twist in its own whirlwind, and your eyes clamp shut. You hear a few chuckles from the boy before he continues, and you are unable to question him in regards. He repeats the same action and earns the same response, like a puppy finding out what pleases its owner to earn a treat; in this case, your libidinous moans are a rhapsody to his ears.

His velvety lips wrap around your clip and he sucks onto it mercilessly. Sweaty hands of his rest on your thighs; every now and then he gives them a slight squeeze when you attempt to close your legs around his head. Sicheng lifts his head off your womanhood to take a breath—after a few moments, he dives right in. His tongue swirls all over your core, he takes your clit in between his lips and drags it out gently before he wraps his entire mouth around it for a vigorous suck.

“S-Sicheng!” you gasp, your head digging into the plush pillows. Your chest starts to heave, breathing now erratic as he continues. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

Sicheng continues to lap at your core with avidity to earn more of the pleasurable music rip from your throat, and it is not until he slides one of his hands over to your core for you to scream his name. Sicheng lifts his head for a split second—and that brief moment is all he needs for him to slide in two digits without warning. Your desire coats his fingers after a single pump, your dripping wetness a prominent sign of the unbeatable desperation you feel towards him. He stares at you for a few seconds, his eyes glued onto your bare torso: chest heaving as you struggle to catch a breath, and the marks he left on your body giving you the appearance of a masterpiece.

He starts off slow with his fingers, pumping them in and out at an agonizing pace. The stillness of the situation allows you to steady your breathing, and once you do Sicheng chuckles as if he has a plan hidden in a vault.

And he does.

Sicheng pulls out the tips of his fingers to your hole, the squelch more than audible in the room, and he rams his digits inside of you intensely. Consecutively, his tongue meets your pussy again and he savors in your taste—the muscle licking up your womanhood. A cry of his name leaves your mouth and you feel like you have hit the verge of tears. The grip on his locks tighten and you tug onto them, aching for a break—but a larger part of you craves for him to continue.

The force and pace becomes a set momentum, and the feeling is far too overwhelming for you to keep up with. Your mind can barely utter out words to the boy; let alone, think of coherent praises. Bits and pieces come together only to eradicate. You are unsure why—until your thighs begin to quiver. With Sicheng’s digits prodding in and out of you with slight twirls, curls of the fingers to attempt to hit your sweet spot, and his tongue ruthlessly acting onto your clit, you feel yourself coming close to the edge.

Your moans become louder as the exquisite scene continues, and your mind is doused by delectation that he is providing you with. You feel like you have hit a high heaven with each fervid thrust of his digits inside. It is not until Sicheng takes your clit between his lips once more, rubbing it in between the soft skin and immediately sucking on it as if it would soothe your ache for you to scream out for him.

It all happens so quickly: the transportation to a blissful seventh heaven. Your body is raptured by the pleasure and you cry out for the boy as the elation hits its brink. It is like the bliss he has created you has overflowed, similar to a cap popping off a bottle from the pressure. Your hips grind down onto his fingers as his head raises from your core, allowing you to ride off your state of thrill.

You never expected it to happen so quickly. To be honest, it is the fastest that a man has brought you to an intense release—and the fact Sicheng has little to no experience stuns you to the core. Sicheng slides out his fingers to slip his hand inside his pants, one digit after the other wrapping around his length to slightly jerk himself off. He lets you rest on his bed for you to catch your breath, your naked chest still heaving. Occasionally, your muscles spasm as a part of the aftermath, and he laughs.

Sicheng slips off his jeans and leaves them on the floor by the side of his bed. He joins your side, a tight grip still present around his member as you rest. Groggily, your arm reaches over his torso and you pull him close—a loving embrace that lasts for a few seconds, for your palm sails down to his cock and you replace his hand with your own.

Sicheng grumbles at the touch, especially when you give it a light squeeze. The feeling of your grip compact around his pulsating dick has him swimming in delectation. The lustful scenarios he always imagined is finally making its light into reality and he can barely wrap his head around it. You swipe your thumb over the head of his leaking cock, the tip a soft pink that is slowly bleeding into a saturated red, spreading the precum all over.

With licentious a gaze, Sicheng is gaping at you and your actions. It is like a young boy witnessing the wonders of the world for the first time: astonished to the core and curious to find out more. In this case, the wonder is you and you are providing him with an immense amount of indulgence that will eventually bring him to the edge of wanting more.

It becomes difficult for him to keep his breath steady from your hidden teases; he has to bite onto his lip with force to hold back any of the wanton noises that struggle to rip from his throat. Though, his efforts are all going down the drain once you slide your hand up to the tip of his cock, jerking it down to the base with a twist of your wrist.

A strangled groan pours from his mouth and he lurches over for a few seconds, caught by surprise with the raunchy action. His cock is warm in your hand, thrilled with desire—you only ache to satisfy it. However, watching Sicheng begin to wiggle under your touch makes you miss his own, and the wanting between your legs resurfaces.

Nonetheless, you jerk him off steadily. You raise your hand to the head of his cock once more only to bring it back down with force, tightening your grip. The tension that is occurring with Sicheng’s dick does not help the situation, for it merely amplifies the amount of rapturous glee he is feeling. He never thought that his cock would become so sensitive; he has been accustomed to his own hand, so it is an entirely divergent story when someone else is doing the deed for him. Sicheng has no control over it: he cannot slow down the pace or loosen the grip when he needs to take a break—and you keep on going.

You speed up the pace of jerking him off, your hand gliding up and down his cock quicker than before, and Sicheng throws his head back into his pillow. He struggles to properly catch his breath as you continue. His cock tenses under your touch. Being fully erect, it is the best feeling in the world to have your hand swirl over his hardened member, the leaking precum dripping to his length to aid it in its smooth journey.

He is facing a state of constant arousal with you being by his side, your hand wrapped snugly around his cock. Frankly, you are able to say the same. Watching Sicheng struggle to keep his moans of pleasure to himself, his chest heave for air, and the accumulating sweat on his forehead makes you miss the sensation of him touching you.

“God,” you mutter, voice barely audible.

Sicheng takes a while to respond, the letters coming together to form a word piece by scattered piece. “W-what?” he says with a groan, his own palm soaring downwards to wrap around your wrist.

You watch him with hungry eyes: his other palm is twisting his sheets and he can barely open his eyes as you jerk him off—almost turbulently.

“I still want you…” you whisper to him.

Sicheng chuckles as a response, his face turning slightly red. Even in a situation like this he is unsure how to react. The typical flush of cural hues and his lips quirking upwards into a smile is all he can really get out. That is, until your hand loosens its grip around his cock and you retract it, bringing it to his chest. The loss of contact makes him whine, and a few moments later without being tended to there is an ache that comes to it.

His eyebrows cross together in frustration due to the loss and he reaches his own arm over, willing to take care of business himself because you refused to—but you stopped him by swatting his wrist and holding it down to the mattress.

“W-what are you doing?” he says in between breaths.

You repeat, uttering each syllable. “I still want you.” You tilt your head higher, kissing his neck tenderly.

Sicheng pauses. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Smiling, you propose, “Eat me out again.”

Sicheng appears taken back. Maybe it is his mind being swirled into its own tornado, or perhaps it is due to his lack of understanding in this situation. “I want you too—but how is this going to work…?”

With a fit of playful chuckles, you raise yourself from the bed and start to position yourself on top of his face. “It’s called a ‘sixty-nine.’”

Sicheng’s eyes are blown wide as he has an A-class view of your rear, his two orbs glossy while his mouth begins to water. Sicheng stops you from lowering yourself with both of his hands on your hips. Nervous he asks, “Wait, what do I do?”

With your lips quirked into a smirk, you lean down, your head hovering over his cock. You wrap your fingers around his red member again, unable to take your eyes off his leaking slit.

“Same as earlier,” you tell him. Sicheng sighs at the lack of clarity in your response. An abundance of questions is resting on the tip of his tongue, but rather than voicing his unsurities he tightens his hold on your skin and pulls you down to him, jumping the gun.

Sicheng darts his tongue out onto your core, lapping at it hesitantly. So far, nothing is different aside from the position; he is trying his best to not falter his motion, to make you feel your greatest, but the second he feels a moist warmth over his cock he loses his focus.

Rather than jerking him off with your hands, your mouth wraps around the head of his cock. You start with a few kitten licks over his slit, the salty wetness kissing your tongue before you lower your head halfway down his length. Sicheng grumbles from the magnified sensation, making him take a quick breath. Lifting yourself to his head, you flatten your tongue as you sink down his solid length again—this time, going as far as you could to the base. With Sicheng’s cock you have to wrap around the space your mouth is not able to cover with your hand, and with a tight squeeze you suck.

The pressure he feels is overwhelming, but it is like a reward he has earned for treating you like a divine being. You bob your head up and down his hardened dick, your tongue swirling over the tip whenever you take a quick breath for air, and you sink your lips over his cock once more. As you continue to bob your head over his leaking cock, your hand swirls around his member, slightly jerking it off with each feral suck.

Sicheng is unable to yelp in joy as you give him the sensation of a lifetime. His wanton moans are muted by digging his face in between your folds, and instead of focusing on trivial motions to make you feel incredible, he is mindlessly licking stripes up your womanhood, sucking on your clit in replacements of cries of delectation. Whenever the sensation gets to you your grip becomes more compact, and it causes his muscles to spasm.

Or maybe that is because he is becoming close to his release.

Sicheng is starting to squirm more under your touch, his muscles tensing and twitching. You notice the quivering of his thighs—a signal that his orgasm is merely at the corner. As he continues to aid you in your pursuit for extreme elation, you act the same. Your lips are tightly packed around his head, his glistening cock throbbing for release. Your hand paths down to his balls, to which you squeeze and fondle—playing with them in your hands to brace yourself. You sink your head all the way down his cock, and Sicheng squirms uncontrollably from the sensation.

The wetness providing a smooth passage for you, and the warmth his aching dick is met with is more than satisfied. His entire length is covered by your mouth, and it is enough for him to feel a high heaven. Sicheng’s head is completely away from your core, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Fuck, fuck fuck—” he utters.

Then, you swallow around his cock.

There is a light sensation of pain that pricks at your throat, the feeling of his dick lodged in your mouth bringing tears to your eyes; as you feel a slight pain, Sicheng gets an intense wave of pleasure.

“D-do that again…” He begs, “P-please.”

Fluttering your eyes, you swallow around his cock again. Sicheng bucks his hips up your throat, prompting your gag reflex to occur. You raise yourself from his quivering dick, sitting comfortably on his torso as you cough, struggling to find your breath for a few seconds.

It takes you a while to realize the string of broken syllables that are your name leaving the boy’s mouth, his hips rolling into nothing but the air. Then, you see it. Sicheng’s cum spurts out of his hardened cock, sending its opaque whiteness into the air and back down to his sheets. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as you watch his cum leak intensely out of his member, its twitching erratic.

Sicheng takes a breath, speaking amid gasps for air,“God… (y/n)... I-I’m cumming.”

You are mesmerized by the sight, hypnotized by the melody of his cries of delight.

Sicheng’s mind is whirling in its own intense thrill, the frenzy provided by you overwhelming for him. His hands no longer gripped onto your skin, but onto the sheets as if it would relieve the raptures he is soaring through.

Mindlessly, you lower yourself over his cock again to catch a light taste of his cum. For his dick to meet the wetness that is your tongue makes him jerk in elation. The saltiness that meets your tongue is a taste you expected, but there is something about it that drives you into a delirium, making you ache for more than his mouth digging into your folds.

“(y/n), okay, o-okay… This is good,” he struggles to say.

Sicheng’s dick is now flaccid and you move your body by his side, almost ready to pass out from the tiring moment. However, there is something in your sexual drive that prompts you to act one more time, for the scene is not finished yet.

Sicheng takes his soft cock in between his thumb and index finger, coaxing the member gently to avoid the painful sensitivity. There is a childish smile that is gracing his face; his body is relaxed; muscles no longer tense, but occasionally spasming. Laying by each other’s side in silence, glancing at one another with striking look, is like two hearts coming together as one. There is nothing wrong with Sicheng being by your side, nude; vice versa as well.

Five minutes pass, and that is five minutes of Sicheng continuing to coax his dick. The continuous touching has made him a little hard, making you realize this is a chance you have to take.

“Are you tired?” you whisper, nuzzling at his neck.

Sicheng needs a moment to respond. “Not really… why?”

“Well neither am I,” you inform. Your arm reaches over his chest to give him an embrace before you add, “I want to keep going.”

“S-still?”

You chuckle at his startle. “You said you’re not tired”—your eyes cast its gaze downwards to his cock, and the comment of you wanting more than his tongue alone made the blood rush down to his dick, so it is as hard as it was earlier—to no surprise—“and you seem like you need something as much as I do…”

Sicheng hums, questioning you, “What do you have in mind?”

“Well…” you trail off. “Do you have any condoms?”

“C-condoms?” he stutters. Sicheng lifts himself from the bed and moves himself against the headrest, gawking at you.

“It’s fine if you don’t,” you assure, “we can do this another—”

“I do,” he interrupts. Sicheng reaches over to the nightstand beside his bed and tugs on the handle of the drawer. His hand rummages in the depths of the drawer for a short while before he pulls out two square packages of foil, tossing them on the mattress.

He shuts the drawer closed, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Confused, you hold one in between your fingers to examine the packaging. “I thought you’re a virgin,” you tell him.

“I am,” he confirms.

Ripping a packet open, you toss the other onto the floor. “Then why do you have a stash of condoms in your drawer?”

Sicheng’s face turns pink, embarrassed as he says, “Taeyong gave me a pack around two months ago. He said he had too many and he wanted to get rid of some, so I took two boxes.”

You blink at him, your digits digging inside the packaging to take out the slick material. “I’m not even going to question that.”

“Good choice,” he jests.

You reach over and take his dick in one hand, sliding the condom over the head. Sicheng pays strict attention to you rolling the material over his length; after all, he has never really used one before. He watches your expertise as the material covers his entire cock, and the corner of his lips quirk upwards.

“I’m learning so much from you,” he says with a fit of laughter.

Blushing, you lay back down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Whatever.”

“So, uh, how do I do this?” he questions you.

You press a palm to your forehead, disbelieved at his lack of understanding. “Have you ever watched porn before, Sicheng?”

“Yeah, is it really the same thing?” he questions. “Jaehyun always told me it’s nothing like it so I don’t know if I should—”

“Just go—do anything. Trust me,” you tell him, reaching to hold onto his hand, “once your dick is inside me nothing else is going to matter.”

Sicheng nods his head and plants a kiss on your forehead. It is not unexpected for him to act slowly. He appears to be doing mental calculations before each action: to kiss you, have his hands roam all over your body, and for him to finally rest on top of you.

His left palm trails down the outline of your body before sliding down your core, making you shudder in the cold contact. He slides in two fingers, testing the waters to see if you are stretched out enough; the last thing Sicheng wants is for you to feel pain during an indulging moment. Luckily, you are.

Sicheng takes his cock in hand and positions it at your entrance. You close your eyes, hearing the deep breaths he takes to calm himself down. Your stroke his cheek with the back of your hand and say, “Do you want to do this?”

Sicheng nods his head, moving to kiss your forehead once more. “I do.”

“Take your time.”

He nods again and looks down. Slowly but surely, he starts to enter you. Little by little his cock becomes wrapped by your folds, starting with his tip. The wetness of your womanhood makes the process easier, enjoyable for both parties, and it takes a good minute for him to be completely inside of you. You take a deep breath and flutter your eyes open to look at him.

No words need to be exchanged for such a heartfelt moment, and none are. He presses his lips against yours before he starts to move, rolling his hips onto you. The motion is enjoyable off the bat. The feeling of Sicheng filling you to the brim, his hardened length sliding in and out of you is the root of the exquisite sense. Movements are fluid, slow as his lips dance with yours. It is quite similar to the act of two lovers having sex, and knowing that makes your heart warm.

The gentle thrusting into your aching pussy is slowly transforming itself into prods of passion. Once you order him to go faster, he acts by it and kicks up his pace for you, amplifying the force of his sharp movements. His cock is making you feel excessively full of desire, and you start to breathe out his name. “S-Sicheng,” you whisper, your arms looping around his neck.

You pull him close to your chest as he starts to thrust harder into you, and his lips latch onto your skin, sucking marks all over your breasts to create a masterpiece. Your own dew was coating his cock, and it only aided in the smooth flow of his dick being propelled in and out of you. He feels a compulsion to bring you to your orgasm, a profound fixation you make you feel the fascination he had; so, he rams into you with more force—moving quicker.

Sicheng shifts his position a little, making himself a little more comfortable; though, it is that one simple shift of a few inches that gets him to hit your sweet spot at the proper angle.

“Fuck!” you cry out, your back arching off the mattress. “S-Sicheng—shit, t-that feels good.”

Sicheng takes his cock out of you, only leaving the tip of it at your entrance, and he takes a breath. You are about to whine at the loss, but the cries of sadness transformed itself into a moan of elation as he snaps his hips into you, hitting your sweet spot with an incredible amount of force.

Tears begin to well at your eyes from the inordinate feeling, your mind is in its own ecstasy as he keeps up the motion.

The moans you have struggled to keep lodged in your chest finally come out in screams, broken syllables of his name and commands. Your hands untangle from his neck and slam onto the mattress. You grip onto the sheets tightly, quite similar to the tight sensation that forms at your abdomen. Your muscles start to twitch and the libidinous moans that pour from your lips feeds Sicheng’s drive.

It is fair to say that he feels the exact same way you do. Your pussy is clenching around his throbbing cock; it is disturbingly hard and is aching for release, and he is doing all he can to hold off until you finish. The pressure that wraps around his dick is immeasurable; groans rip from his throat and the two of you create a rhapsody of sensual noises.

“F-fuck, Sicheng, I’m g-going to come…” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his back. Your nails dig into his skin as you feel yourself coming close to the edge—dangerously close.

He nods his head in understandment, and he takes his cock all the way out, only to slam it back it—which is the final cue for you to reach your extreme rapture of delight. You scream his name like it is the only thing you know and impassionately pull him close.

Sicheng subsequently acts in a similar manner, moaning your name as he releases his load into the condom. The wave of pleasure spreads throughout his entire body for the second time; a wonderful, euphoric feeling, and it is like bliss is coursing through his veins. He proceeds to gently roll his hips in and out of you, aiding your journey until your mind is back down to earth.

He slips his softening cock out of you and slips it off, immediately passing out on the empty spot next to you. Both you and Sicheng lay in silence to regain each other’s breaths. It is almost impossible to believe the moment that has just happened: you two had sex with each other.

You roll by his side and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer to his chest like a loving embrace. His body is sticky like yours from the accumulated sweat, and the heat that circulates in the room withers into a bearable warmth.

There is something about being in Sicheng’s embrace that makes your heart flutter. You do not react out of disgust from the mere sight of him, but act in a way no one thought you would. You tilt your head up to look at him and he notices, locking eyes with yours.

“What is it?” he asks you with a smile.

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you respond.

You cannot help but think more about what has happened—the journey to build where you are with him.

The rumours that went around about Sicheng, constructing the belief that he is a bad boy—a partier that does nothing but fool girls and drink, party and try drugs—are definitely false. There is something about him that has you hooked, but you do not need to pinpoint the reason why. Admiration has worked in mysterious ways and being by Sicheng’s side is enough for you. Whether the immature fighting would pursue or if it is to turn into a loving, tawdry relationship, you would not mind.

Because Sicheng’s existence as a whole has you hooked, and this moment right now with him by your side is enough for nothing to matter.

Sicheng clears his throat, preparing to ask a question as he pulls you in closer to his chest. “So, uh.” He hesitates. “Do you still want to go out on that date?”

Smiling foolishly, you tighten your hold around his torso. “Maybe later. I want to stay here a little longer.”

Your response makes Sicheng’s heart skip a beat. A hand rests on his chest as you slowly close your eyes, the fatigue waving over your body to pull you into a serene sleep.

Rather than responding with words, Sicheng places a kiss on your forehead before shutting his eyes as well.

Time after time Sicheng has faced countless girls trying to score with him, and over a series of events you have witnessed many men willing to spend a night. The thought of a decent relationship and meeting on the mutual field of love has always been out of the question. However, after both abundances and unpleasant situations cascading one after another, it led you to cross paths. Two polar opposites coming together is almost surreal, unfathomable for everyone else to believe—but it has happened.

Sicheng truly was never one for attachment, and love never was a word in his dictionary—not until he met you.

Fairly enough, you are able to say the same.

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inkstainedfanfics · 7 years ago

Text

A New Boy

Request: angst anon here!! i would love a yule ball imagine (although its a rare occasion) where the reader turns down all the "popular guys" for newt, but he ends up having a ball (hah) with leta instead? and she like ends up going with a popular guy and dances with him and actually has fun and newt is lowkey hurt?? hopefully that made sense haha. please and thank you 💗 btw i saw the tag on "i do... not" and you are just the sweetest little thing!! i will never stop giving you these random ideas 😊

Word Count: 6,887

Pairing: Reader x OC, Newt x Leta

Requested by: @aurrorgoldstein

Tag List: @dont-give-a-bother @red-roses-and-stories @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope @studyforthreehands @whatinbenaddiction @benniesgalaxy @thosefantasticbeast2

WARNING: Language

I know the world seems cold and empty, but I promise you, if you search for the light, you will one day find it.

The corridors of Hogwarts are empty, chilly, a quick breeze somehow bursting through them. A ghost, you figure, digging your nails into your palm and praying they leave you alone. On a night like this, with such a mission in your head, you do not want to be bothered.

Night is quickly dropping her blanket over the sky outside, and most students have already scurried to bed, their voices whispering of the night upcoming, of the dance, the ball, the evening you’re dreading. With quick steps, you find yourself climbing to the Gryffindor common room, muttering the password, and clambering through.

It’s hot inside, the fireplace roaring up with a loud orchestra of clicks and pops and even a few snaps. Few students linger, but the ones that do, that are also dateless for the ball tomorrow, are draped over the maroon couches and royal red chairs, heads popping up to view your intrusion.

“Sorry,” you murmur, cheeks heating up, “but has anyone seen Michael Rodgers?”

One boy, a fifth year you recognize vaguely from classes, lazily raises his head and eyes you once over. “You’re here to talk to him?”

“I don’t see why I would ask for him otherwise.” The words earn a snicker from the others in the room, who drop their heads but leave their ears pointing in your direction.

“I suppose,” the boy sighs, shoving himself to his feet, “I could go see if he’s up, but no promises.”

You nod, biting your cheek. That’s all you can ask for, someone to check.

The common room grows silent save for the fire and the occasional grumble of a student studying their textbook. You wait in silence, back burning from the heat of the flames though you’re quite a few feet away. Your hands begin to sweat as you imagine the look you’ll receive when you deliver the news tomorrow, but you shove it from your mind, focusing instead on breathing deep. Newt told you first, remember, so he has no right to be upset.

You’d kept your ear to the ground, listening for some sort of sign that Michael had found himself another girl. The most popular Gryffindor, constantly joking and laughing and goofing around as the boys in your year are prone to doing, should have another girl to take with him to the ball, but after you’d told him no, your own heart set on another, he’d told you he’d wait forever, teasing you with a grin and a hand clutched over his heart. You hadn’t believed him, had expected him to ask another, but he never had. You’re certain you would have heard of that.

The stairs groan, and down stumbles a weary eyed boy, his brown hair a mess and sticking up on one side while the other’s patted flat. He rubs his eyes, but bursts into a smile when he sees you, instantly making a beeline for your side.

“Sorry I don’t look the best right now. I can’t say I was expecting a beautiful visitor so late at night.”

“It’s not even curfew.” You mumble, cheeks heating up. Oh Merlin, why does he have such an effect on you? You’re not even that attracted to him.

But maybe it has something to do with the adorable way he covers his mouth when he yawns or how he offers his elbow to you like a gentleman even while in his black, ratty Holyhead Harpies t-shirt and a pair of flannel sweatpants. “If that’s the case, we have plenty of time for a walk, then, right?”

You hesitate. Taking his elbow could mean agreeing to be his date, but that’s the entire reason you came, isn’t it? To find yourself a Yule ball date?

Biting your lip, you decide that this is right, and rest a hand on his arm, allowing him to lead you to the portrait and out into the darkening hall.

“So, how have you been? I didn’t see you in classes today.” His brows furrow in concern. “Are you all right? Were you sick?”

He noticed your absence in transfiguration? You’re touched, especially since Newt hardly commented on it over all of lunch. “I’m all right, thank you.”

He smiles down. “That’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want you to not feel well.”

“Thanks.” You murmur, eyes darting over the paintings on the wall. Not many paintings fill this part of the castle, but the ones that do are portraits.

“You like them?”

“The portraits?” You shrug, hand tightening the slightest around his arm. “They’re okay.”

“Okay? You’re coming to my tower and calling the portraits just okay? I must say, I’m a bit insulted.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, too used to it after years of classes together. “Yes, well, I guess Gryffindors just don’t know how to decorate.”

He raises his eyebrows, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “We don’t, huh?”

“Nope.” You enjoy it, this ease of banter between the two of you.

“Then obviously you weren’t in the common room long enough. I’m sorry, but does any other house have an obnoxious amount of lions’ heads carved into bookshelves, window sills, couches, chairs, steps, ceilings, cupboards, doorframes, baskets, benches, doors, bedposts, curtains…”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You interrupt, but he keeps going, leading you down the corridor and starting down a stairway.

“Book covers, and candle holders? Hell, even some of our bricks have lions’ heads engraved on them. Tell me, does your house have anything so ornate and insufferably vain?”

You can’t help the soft laugh that breaks out from between your lips. “No. We try to be a little subtler about our house pride.”

He beams. “See? I’m right, then. Gryffindors are obviously the best interior decorators in this entire castle. I’d even argue we’re better than Professor Merrythought and her billions of tanks of ‘scary’ and ‘dangerous’ creatures.”

“Michael,” you say with a giggle, “they can actually kill you if you aren’t careful.”

“Psh, nothing can kill me. I’m invincible, you know.”

“Oh really? So it wasn’t you I heard scream like a first year when the beast latched onto your arm?”

“Me? Scream? No. No, if it did bite me, you would’ve hear a manly shout and then the beast would’ve been right back in its tank. Of course, that’s all dependent on whether I chose to let it grab me or not.”

“Oh, it wasn’t at all in any way a surprise attack?”

“Are you kidding me? I planned the entire thing. I figured it’d be best if I showed the class how dangerous the creature is, you know, to keep anyone else from embarrassing themselves by screaming.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes as you step onto the third-floor landing. “Whatever.”

“It’s true, I’m serious.”

“Oh no, I completely believe you.”

He narrows his eyes at you, making a weird face to make you laugh. “I don’t think you do.”

“No, I do. Promise.”

He smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling and only enhancing the charm of his boyish features. “I guess I have to trust a lady means what she says.”

You glance around, cheeks suddenly heating up from the way he’s looking at you: so sweet, a warmth in his eyes and a smile on his mouth just from knowing you’re around him. It’s so kind, so natural, that you feel you’re intruding on his thoughts just by noticing it.

He swallows, then interrupts the quiet that had fallen between the two of you for a few feet. “So, the place I wanted to take you is just around the corner, here.”

“You had a plan this entire time?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not a complete imbecile.”

“Just a small one?”

He smiles slightly, but there’s no sign of the usual joking or teasing there. “Only around you.”

Your heart stumbles forward at his gaze, and you find yourself suddenly very aware of the grip you still have on his arm and how near the two of you are, alone save for a few Ravenclaw students peering curiously down the hall, watching the two of you. “Well,” you manage to mumble out, “where are you bringing me?”

He steps around the corner. “Here.”

You follow his gaze, mouth dropping at the sight. Painting upon painting fills the wall, some moving, others not, but all just beautiful as the next.

Michael runs his free hand through his hair. “I guess I was right. You haven’t been down here before, have you?”

Shaking your head, you step away from his side to get a closer look at a row of paintings.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“They’re gorgeous.” You say, the words breathless. One in particular, a painting of the sea and a sunset, captures your eye. It’s a mix of brilliant blues and solemn purples, its simplicity its most beautiful factor. A tiny sailboat, hardly visible at first, bobs up and down, a speck of white in a sea of cerulean and violet.

Michael notices your gaze. “The sailboat one? That’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s amazing.” You mumble, stepping back to view the others on the wall.

You’re not sure how long you look at all the paintings, hyper aware of Michael’s arm every time it brushes yours, but you wish it didn’t have to end so soon. The loud booms of bells, a warning that curfew is but a few minutes away, bounce through the corridor, marking the end of your… well, you aren’t sure what exactly to call it. It certainly feels like more than a simple outing now.

“And that, my lady, signals that our time together is ending.” He says it with a smile, but there’s a sort of disappointment lurking in his expression.

You ignore the flutter of nerves at the sight. “Wait, Michael, before you go…”

“Yes?”

Oh Merlin, are you really going to do this? Ask someone to a ball? It had seemed like it would be so simple earlier, before he took you on a walk, before he showed you this beautiful artwork and asked how you are and just made himself so damn adorable.

You open your mouth, working up the nerve to spit the words out, when you notice a person in the shadows behind Michael, halfway down the corridor, tall and slouching, watching the two of you. Anger and hurt flare up inside you at the sight of someone you’d avoided thus far.

“So, Newt, do you have an idea of who you’re going to ask?” You lean back against the couch, letting your textbook fall shut on the table, waiting for the question. He must have something special planned, but you just wish he’d go ahead and ask already. You’ve had to turn down four other boys, and seeing Michael Rodger’s expression today in transfiguration was painful.

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tips of his ears turning a bright red.

Fine, you’ll bite. “To the Yule ball.”

He clears his throat and mumbles something.

“What?”

“I already did.”

You freeze, that confidence in your best friend slowly fading. “You… you asked someone?”

He stops writing but doesn’t look up at you. “Yes. Leta Lestrange and I are going together.”

“Oh.” You feel like a complete and utter fool. He isn’t planning on asking you, never was. All those other people just expect you and Newt to attend together, but now he’s going to show up with another girl on his arm and, thanks to your assumptions, you’ll be alone.

“Sorry.” He flashes an apologetic grin at you. “I thought you already had a date.”

You scowl at the words, suddenly angry. No, he didn’t, because you’d told him the day before that you had no one to go with, that you were alone so far. He’s lying to you, and he knows it.

Gritting your teeth, you shove yourself to your feet, fighting back tears of anger and humiliation. “Great. Good for you, Newt. I’m glad you’re going with someone.” Then, before he can do anything, you storm off to the dormitories, hoping to forget about the moment.

Summoning that resentment, you focus on Michael again. “I was wondering if you’d go to the Yule ball with me. I, um, I would love to go with you.” You’d rehearsed the final sentence before, but it surprises you now that you find you mean it: going with Michael would be fun.

His smile warms your chest, and eases the terror squeezing your heart. “I’d be honored to go with you.”

You let out your held breath. “Good. I mean, okay, awesome. I, um, I’m glad, you know. I think we’ll have fun together and –“ Merlin’s beard, why can’t you stop rambling?

Michael laughs, but it’s not mean-spirited. No, it’s a laugh more similar to the laugh a person has when they see a puppy doing something cute. “You can take a moment to breathe.”

You snap your mouth shut, wondering the whole while how boys manage to do this. It’s utterly terrifying.

Michael holds his smile for a moment longer before letting it fade, looking at his slippers – how had you not noticed them before – and kicking one against the stone floor. “Listen, I guess I’m just wondering, you know, if I’m… if you’re…” he shakes his head, “Sorry, I don’t know how to word this.”

“You can take a moment to breathe.” You tease, your own heart pounding.

He breaks into an easy grin. “Using my own words against me? Harsh.”

“You’d do the same to me.”

“I would.” His wicked grin is back, lighting up his eyes with a mischievous glint.

“Listen, I just wanted to know if you’re asking so you don’t go alone, or because you honestly want to go with me.”

You don’t have to consider the question, already know that it’s because of him. “I want to go with you.”

He lights up, straightening and taking a deep breath. “Cool. That’s what I was hoping.”

The second set of bells wind through the corridor. Shoot.

“I have to go.” You murmur, but Michael reaches for your hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”

“Sure.” A thrill shoots through your chest. It’s a combination of the late hour and the nerves and the fact that you have a date now that’s causing this excitement, you remind yourself. It has absolutely nothing to do with how cute Michael might be right now. Then he proves you totally wrong.

He grins, wavering for a moment before suddenly leaning in and pecking a kiss against your cheek. “I’ll meet you outside your common room at seven tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You mumble, breathless. The sweet smell of his cologne lingers in the air around you as he smiles, nods, and turns away, disappearing down the corridor with a final wave over his shoulder.

You’re weak-kneed, eyes wide. Holy niffler, you’re going to the Yule ball with Michael Rodgers, the most popular boy in your year, and you may even like him.

You wander away from the art, mind still stuck on the cute gleam in his eyes and the way he took a deep breath, as though calming nerves, after you told him you wanted to go with him, not just anybody. Oh Merlin, how? How did this happen?

“There you are.”

You jump, wrenching your arm away from the touch that lands on it, reaching for your wand before you realize the person at your side. You’d completely forgotten Newt was in the hall. “Sweet occamy eggs, Newt, what are you doing creeping up on a person like that?”

“I was worried about you.” He murmurs, mouth turned down in a frown. “You didn’t stop by tonight to exchange notes.”

Shoot. The experiment. You hadn’t stopped by to examine the subject. “I had something else to do.”

He shoves his hands into his pocket, eyes focused on the glow of the candlelight on the stone floor. “Out with Michael Rodgers?”

“Yes.” You mutter.

“Why?” Newt asks, trying, you assume, to sound casual, but there’s a tinge to it, some emotion you can’t quite pinpoint.

“I had a question for him.” You eye Newt from the corner of your eye, trying to read his expression.

“About the transfiguration homework?”

“No.” You pause, unsure about continuing, but deciding that you may as well; he’ll find out eventually. “About the Yule ball.”

He whips his head around. “Sorry?”

You don’t stop walking through he stops in his tracks. “I said that it was about the Yule ball.”

He hurries to your side. “Did you find out who he’s going with?”

“Of course.” You try to keep your patience. He was there in the hall. He must have drawn the proper conclusion, so why is he questioning you?

“Who?”

“Me.”

“You?”

You whirl on him. “Me, Newt. He’s going with me. Is that so hard to believe?”

“You’re going with Rodgers? Aren’t you a little late to finding a date?”

You grit your teeth. “I have everything I need.”

“You had a gown shipped in?”

“Yes. And shoes. Because I thought,” you say, coating every word in venom, “that someone else was going to ask me.”

“If you’re at the ball with Rodgers,” he says the name with the slightest hint of malice, “who’s going to check on Bertha?”

You shrug, turning and starting back down the corridor. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have to go a day without an update.”

Newt shakes his head. “We can’t. That could ruin the credibility of our results.”

You cross your arms over your chest, making your way to a staircase. “I doubt that.”

“You need to check on her.”

“And why can’t you, Newt?”

He steps back when you turn on him, furious. “I’m going to the ball with Leta. I can’t leave her.”

“And I’m going with Michael.”

Newt – damn the boy – actually stifles a smile, like there’s something funny about your claim, like you going with Michael is somehow less important than him going with Leta. “You can’t just check on her for five minutes?”

“Newt,” you growl, “I am not leaving the ball to check on Bertha. If you want the results, do it yourself.”

His expression becomes stony, the hint of a smile vanishing. “Sorry for bothering you, I didn’t realize one single kiss would cause you to throw away a month’s worth of research.”

You could scream. He’s ruining the night, ruining the wonderful time you had with Michael, ruining everything. “And I didn’t realize one flip of Leta’s hair could turn you into such a jackass,” you hiss, “but look where we are.”

He blushes furiously. “Leta and I are different.”

“Oh why? Because you think you love her?”

The nail of Newt’s thumb lands in his mouth. “Don’t use that against me. She isn’t faking who she is.”

“Neither is Michael.” You wrap your hands around the banister, trying to squash the urge to strangle Newt. He can be so damn infuriating sometimes.

“You hardly know him.”

“And you think Leta’s honest with you? You don’t think she isn’t lying or using you or acting suspicious by forcing you to do her research for her, Newt?” He doesn’t reply, so you roll your eyes. He can love a snake all he wants. You storm up the steps, ignoring Newt’s shouts for you. “If you want the data, you collect it yourself, Newt. I’m done.”

Tears pinch the bottoms of your eyes, but they’re easy enough to chase away. You’ll both apologize tomorrow, you know, but for now you’re more than willing to remain pissed. He ruined your night, insulted your date, and implied that you would throw what you care away for a boy. He deserved his new nickname, the jackass.

Huffing, you make your way to the common room just as the final curfew bells begin their chorus.

You head to your room, changing and falling into bed, shoving thoughts of Newt out of your head, focusing only on running over the dance steps Professor Dumbledore taught and running a finger over the spot where Michael kissed you.

“You know it’s shit that he asked someone else.”

You smooth the front of your gown. “It’s not a big deal anymore.”

Marlene, your roommate, rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Not now that you got yourself a boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You protest, chewing on a nail absentmindedly as your thoughts race. What if Michael really does like you? Newt hasn’t said a thing to you today, is he still mad? How does the waltz go again?

“Quit that!” Marlene reaches up from where she’s sitting on the bed and swats your hand from your mouth. “You’re going to ruin all the work I put into that manicure.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all?” If you’re honest, your nerves have you frayed at the edges, coming apart at the seams. It’s all you can do to take deep breaths and hold yourself together. There’s a faint nausea tumbling through your stomach, and your hands shake.

“Not a bit.” Marlene fluffs the skirt of her cotton candy pink dress, grinning and twirling to send gleams of light from the beads she sewed in the skirt herself. “I look great, just like you do. Charles and Michael are going to be speechless.”

“Okay, but –“

“No, no buts. That’s enough. It’s nearly seven. Come over here so I can put your necklace on and we’ll go find our dates for the night. Hey, what do you think Charles wore? I hope it’s not maroon. I told him to stick with black, but you know how he can be.”

You tune out her rambling. There’s so much to worry about: dance steps, walking in these heels, not tripping over your dress, actually talking to Michael, waiting for Newt’s apology… Too much. “I can’t go.”

“What?”

“I can’t go. I’m not – this is too much.”

Marlene rolls her eyes, latching the clasp of your necklace around your neck and grabbing your wrist. “You’re not avoiding this. I won’t let you.”

You yank your arm from her grip, shaking your head and backing toward the bed. “No. You don’t understand. I can’t. There’s too much.”

“Too much what?”

“Pressure. I have to dance and walk and talk to Michael.”

Marlene covers a giddy smile with her hand. “Oh my goodness.”

“What?” You wait, but she just laughs. Irritated, you let an edge creep into your voice. “Merlin’s sake, Marlene, what’s so funny?”

“You actually like him. All this time I thought it was joke, but you like him.”

“I don’t like anyone.” You say, scowling.

“You like Michael. Oh my gosh, this is too cute. You two would be so cute together. You’d be like a power couple! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t see this before.”

“You didn’t see anything because there was nothing to see.”

“Nope.” She grabs your hand, and you let her pull you to your feet, her excitement rubbing off on yourself. “Just remember what you told me this morning about Michael. How nice he is, and smart, and funny, and whatever other gross lovey dovey stuff you said.”

You make a face at her. “None of it was lovey dovey.”

“Oh, honey,” she looks over her shoulder as she leads you into the common room, “it was all lovely dovey.”

“Could you keep it down? We’re around other people now.”

“You don’t want them to know about your newfound love?”

“Marlene, please.”

“Fine, fine.” She pushes her way through the crowd of excited classmates, all dressed up in some way, making final fixes to their hair or dresses or makeup, nudging each other and pointing out boys and girls, practicing waltzing, some in the corner practicing other talents. The room’s in an uproar, and it’s boiling. People bump into you on other sides. You draw your skirt up in your hands, careful not to step on and rip any other girl’s gown.

You gulp down your terror, raising a hand to the place where Michael kissed you yesterday. He’s a nice guy.

Marlene reaches the way out of the common room and filters through it with a host of other girls in their gowns, all giggling and craning their necks to search for their dates.

“Do I look all right?” You murmur to Marlene’s back.

“Honey, I don’t even need to turn around to know you’re stunning. Now quit worrying, it’ll ruin your hair.”

Biting your cheek, you try to trust her and let peace settle over your fears.

It’s worthless; the nerves are worse than ever.

You step into the hall, sighing in relief at the sudden break in heat. The crowd’s lesser out here. A few other students still hang around the entrance, talking, fixing their makeup, or lamenting the sudden loss of a date.

Marlene whirls away from you, tugged by a hand. “There you are. I was wondering if you were ever going to show up.”

“Charles! Be careful, you could’ve ripped my dress.”

Marlene’s boyfriend of two years grins and tugs her against his chest. “You don’t think that was my plan? You do like to be fashionably late, don’t you?”

She swats at his arm. “Shush and help find Michael.”

“Michael?”

Marlene just stares at you with raised eyebrows, offering you the chance to tell Charles. You sigh. She’s not going to let this go for a while. “Rodgers.”

“You’re his date?”

You nod.

“Shit, man, I’d heard he got a date last minute. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“How’d you hear?”

“Word spreads fast around here.”

So the entire school knows. Wonderful. “Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, he was around here somewhere. Off by the statues, I think. Girls kept mobbing him. You know, I always assumed you’d go with that Scamander guy you’re stuck at the hip with.”

Marlene smacks him again, watching you worriedly. “Charles, learn when to stop talking, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What did I say?”

You shake your head, stepping away. “No, it’s fine, Marlene. Don’t worry about it. Thanks, Charles. Have fun at the dance.”

“I’ll see you there, honey!” Marlene calls as you head off to find Michael.

You wander further into the castle, enjoying the cool air and calming breaths the space gives you. Newt’s on your mind. There’s no doubt you’ll see him soon, dancing with Leta in his arms, smiling down at her the way you’d always thought he would smile at you. It’s hard to picture. How the hell will you manage to not fall apart seeing it in person?

You reach a hand up to run it over your face when you remember your makeup. You’re about to rub your eyes anyway when a voice sounds from behind you.

“Wow, you look… amazing.”

You spin, letting out a breath when you see Michael in front of you. He’s done his best to tame and comb down his messy brown hair – you’re actually not sure if you’ve seen it so flat before. He’s in a black tux, his tie somehow matching the color of your gown, dress shoes pointed and shined.

But what knocks the breath from your chest is the way he’s looking at you: eyes wide, lips curled into a small smile, shoulders relaxing. “I mean, I knew you would look great, but you look… I’m honestly… you’re just… stunning. Sorry.”

“I got you tongue-tied?” The words sound confident, almost shadowed in bravado, but you have to clasp your hands behind your back to hide the shaking.

“Somehow, someway, you’ve got me speechless.” He stares at you for another moment before blinking, shaking himself, and extending a hand. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot my manners: ready to go, my lady?”

He leads you down the hall and the stairways, talking all the while about how he’d debated finding you flowers for hours before finally deciding you wouldn’t have a place to put them. “I did, though, pick some. They’re back in my dorm. I can bring you them tomorrow if you’d like.”

“You didn’t have to buy me flowers.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I want to.”

You blush, squeezing his hand the slightest, though every bit of your brain is on high alert, eyes subtly scanning for Newt.

You don’t spot him before reaching the main landing, nor by the time you can hear strains of the orchestra floating past, nor before stepping into the redesigned Great Hall.

The moon’s in the ceiling, surrounded by stars blinking lazily, and a few comets streaking through the near black sky. Professors have hung stars on the walls and floating through the air are plates of food and drink. The music’s soft and sweet, the perfect accompaniment to the elegant setting. You can smell the pastries the elves must have spent hours baking, and your mouth waters in response.

Michael squeezes your hand when another girl in a lush green dress stops to speak to him, her eyes glazing over when he mentions you.

You take the moment to look around, but you have little time to find Newt among the faces of those present before Michael’s tugging you back into reality.

“So,” he stammers, cheeks adorably red as he stubs his foot against the ground, “may I have this dance?”

The fear you’d fought earlier begins burning in your chest again. “Um…”

But he gives you an easy, albeit somewhat nervous, smile. “If you step on my foot, I’ll promise not to scream like a first year. But only,” he says, holding up a finger as he laughs through his own words, “if you promise not to tell everyone when I accidentally step on yours.”

You can’t help your grin. “Fine. But what do I get if you do scream like a first-year?”

He contemplates the question, dark eyes shimmering in mischief. “You can draw a mustache on my face and I’ll leave it there for a full day.”

“Are you serious?”

“I would never lie to a lady.” He says it with a solemn voice, but the grin on his face only widens when you laugh.

“It’s a deal, then.”

He leads to the edge of the dance floor. “And what do I get if you tell someone?”

“What would you want?” You place a hand on his shoulder, leaving the other one in his grip.

His hand rests high on your waist. “A bouquet of flowers.”

You raise an eyebrow, hyper aware of his touch as you begin to sway to the rhythm. “That’s all?”

“Is that all I’m allowed to ask for?”

“It seems like very little.”

“Good, then I can add on candles, right?”

“I suppose.” Your heart’s slamming in your chest, racing from the closeness of Michael, the way his warm hand feels wrapped gently around yours, and the beauty of the song.

“And a homecooked dinner?”

“You want me to cook you a dinner?”

“Only if you tell someone if I step on your foot tonight which, with these clown shoes,” he peers down at his dress shoes, making a disgusted face before meeting your eyes again, “is a very high risk I’m taking.”

“You’re risking flowers, candles, and a homecooked dinner?”

“And one final ingredient, if that’s all right.”

“What is it? A chair?”

He laughs quietly, gaze softening. “No. You.”

“Me?” You squeak, eyes widening.

“Yeah, like… well, like a date, I guess.”

A date with Michael Rodgers, the boy you’ve known since first year, the boy that’s been nothing but a friend until recently, the boy that wants to take you out. You.

The boy that asked you to the Yule ball.

“I’d –“

A hand wraps around your shoulder, so tight you can feel the fingertips press against your bones. “May I cut in?”

You stifle a groan. “Sorry, but we were kind of busy talking.”

“It won’t be long. Just until the end of this song.”

“Newt.” You growl, praying Michael doesn’t hear.

“I won’t take more time than necessary, I promise.”

You don’t want to let go of Michael unanswered, but he steps back, forcing you to drop your arms as he heads out of reach. “I’ll get us some punch. Have fun, you two.” But his words seem strained and his eyes don’t leave Newt’s hands when they reach for you.

You face Newt, a storm brewing on your face, but he speaks before you can form a word.

“I’m not here to argue.”

“You want to apologize in the middle of the Yule ball?”

He drops his head. “I just wanted a dance with my best friend before she falls in love with another guy.”

You scowl. “I’m not in love with him.”

“You don’t see it, but I can. Marlene’s already said something about it, hasn’t she?”

“I don’t-“

“Exactly.” He smiles to himself. “I just wanted one final dance before I lose you to Rodgers’s world.”

You find your anger fading at the words. Newt thinks he’s going to lose you? That’s what this is all about? “Newt, I’m still your friend. I can have more than one close friend you know.”

“And boyfriends?”

“What?”

Newt sucks in a shaky breath, looking over your shoulder at someone before lowering his voice. “You shouldn’t go on a date with him.”

“I don’t see how who I go on a date with is any of your business.” Were it not for the dark lighting and the music weaving through the floor, you’re certain you and Newt would be the subject for all eavesdroppers.

“He’s not right for you.”

“And who is? You? Because if that were true, I don’t think I’d even be here with Michael.”

Newt’s face hardens. “I’m simply trying to help you. I don’t want you to be hurt. I know how you jump into things sometimes.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” You tighten your grip around his shoulders, praying he understands to stop talking, to just dance in silence until this song is over. He can apologize in the morning, you can go back to being friends in the morning, but for now, he needs to shut up.

He doesn’t take the hint. “You can be a bit naïve, love.”

A scream wiggles its way from your chest to the end of your voice, ready to explode if necessary. “Don’t call me love.”

“What, then? Friend?” The word’s icy, cruel coming from Newt. He says it like he’s mocking it, mocking your friendship.

“How about nothing, if that’s how you’re going to be?”

Newt’s hands ball up into fists against your sides. “You’re going to be mad at me for caring about you?”

“No, I’m mad at you for implying that Michael and I don’t have a chance together.”

He stares at you, expression unreadable. “You don’t.”

It’s all you can take from him, all you can stand to hear someone you loved say. You let go of his shoulders, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have fun with Leta. I hope she’s as good at remembering experiments as I am.”

Newt’s face pales even under the shadows in the room. “You’re going to give up on Bertha like that?”

“I’m giving up on all of them. Good riddance.” Your heart aches to think of never seeing Bertha again, but you dig the emotion a hole and toss it down, only letting anger guide you.

“You’re going to miss them.”

“Maybe, but I sure as hell won’t miss you, Newt.”

He steps back, a pained look flitting across his face, gone so quickly you wonder if it was truly there in the first place. “Then all the best. I hope Michael doesn’t break your heart too soon.”

“You’re just a jackass, Newt. That’s all you are.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but Leta appears at his side, instantly wrapping herself around his arm and whispering something in his ear. Newt’s still tense, staring at you, but he allows her to push him back a step. Leta’s hand wraps around his, leading him away, her eyes spitting venom at you even as they disappear into the crowd.

Tears waver on the edge of your eyelashes. Newt doesn’t love you, doesn’t care if you’re happy anymore. Those years of laughing, staying up late, spending lunch debating theories or working through homework mean nothing now. You stand alone on the dance floor, nearly crying, now best friendless. The calming breaths you take do nothing but inflate the anger quickly rising in your chest. It burns away the tears and your nerves. It chases away any doubts about Michael or tonight. Fuck him. If Newt thinks you’re going to have a horrible time with Michael, you’ll do just the opposite.

“Are you okay?”

You hastily wipe at your eyes, shoving a smile onto your face. “I’m fine.”

Michael peers closer as he steps toward you, both hands wrapped around cups of punch. “Are you sure? You look upset.”

“I’m sure.” You force yourself to laugh. “If I look miserable, don’t worry, it’s this music, not you.”

He watches you a moment longer before leaning back and grinning, offering you a glass. “I was worried you were crying just thinking about spending an hour and a half alone with me.”

The date, that’s right. You’d completely forgotten about his request. “As tragic as losing those ninety minutes of my life would be, I guess I could stand losing it with you.”

“Really?”

You nod, staring at the forming whirlpool as you swirl the punch. “Really. I think… I think it’d be fun.”

He runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “And here I thought I’d have to convince you more.”

You smile, staring behind him when you catch a glimpse of red hair lurking a few feet away, obviously listening. “No, no I think you’re great.”

“Great, huh? Not just pretty okay, but great?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

You grin, reaching out to grab his hand. “I’m glad we came together. I didn’t think the ball would be much fun, but, I think I was wrong.”

“If you’re up for it, Simon’s having a bit of a second ball in the Gryffindor common room after. We’ll have butterbeer, which I swear is much better than whatever this is that they’re serving us.”

Normally, you’d say no, head back to your room to gossip with Marlene or eat popcorn with Newt and sleep. Instead, you shrug your shoulders. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

“Hey, where’s Scamander? I wanted to talk to him about something.”

You glance in Newt’s direction, to where he’s leaning against the wall, eyes boring a hole into the floor. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter, really, does it? Let’s just dance.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He takes your glass from you, setting it on a tray zooming past. “May I?” He asks, offering you his elbow. You give Newt one final glance. He meets your gaze, lips pursed, eyes dark, and shakes his head.

Clenching your jaw, you glare at him before taking Michael’s arm with a smile. “Of course.”

He leads you further into the fray of couples. “Say, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“What?”

He takes your hand in his, readying to dance the end of the slow song. “I know it’s really none of my business, and I don’t mean to pry, but I can tell something happened between you and Scamander.” You open your mouth to tell him you’d rather not talk about it, that you want to just forget about it all, but he holds up a hand. “You don’t need to tell me. I get that I’m not exactly your closest friend right now, I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you do need someone.”

Your chest warms with the words. “Thanks, Michael.”

“Anytime. I really do care about you. Now, shall we dance?”

Your smile comes easily as you settle a hand on his shoulder as a waltz begins. “Let’s.”

Newt stares at you from a corner, from the outskirts of the dance floor, from beside the punch table, expression gloomy, smiles forced when Leta prods him and speaks with him. You only notice him a few times, uncomfortably shifting, when Michael notices and switches places with you, positioning his body to block you from Newt’s view.

The rest of the night passes too quickly, a blur of Michael’s smile and laughing over powder sugared pastries and song after song after song. Soon enough, you’ve forgotten about your fight with Newt, too intent on ducking behind the couch in the Gryffindor common room to avoid taking a pie to the face from Adam Oliver’s charming game. Michael’s hand hardly leaves yours, even then, and you fall asleep in your bed with a smile on your face, ready to describe the entire night to a snoring Marlene in the morning, heart only aching over Newt a fraction of what you’d expected. No, if he wants to be a jackass, he can. He just can’t expect you to stick around and deal with it.

#newt scamander #newt Scamander x reader #newt Scamander one shot #newt Scamander imagine #fbawtft #requested #holy heck this got so much longer than I expected #but I think i'm in love my oc lol #thanks to anyone that takes the time to read this whole thing :)#I hope there's enough Newt in it #have a lovely day everybody #lol I forgot to title it yikes

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