#and then after that it was ... what? slice of life? romance drama?

[cigaretteparfum]

thinking about beast/ars and how much it disappointed me.

[mononijikayu]

just one day — nanami kento.

Do you think, my darling,” he asked after a moment, his voice thoughtful, “that we’ll look back on this day and remember it as one of those rare, perfect moments?” You nuzzled against him, feeling his warmth envelop you. “I hope so. It feels perfect to me right now.” Kento’s smile grew, a look of contentment on his face. “Then it’s perfect. And it’s a memory I’ll cherish.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: NSFW, R-18+. Romance, Oral (f receiving), Masturbation (m receiving), Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Depiction of Sexual Acts, Depiction of Nudity, Mention of Sexual Acts, Mention of Nudity, Nanami Being A Great Husband;

WORDS: 9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: im back hello hello!!! its been a while since i did something for kento. but he won second place in the recent poll and this had to be published soon after. reader and nanami speak danish at home, because reader and kento are fluent. speaking danish at home together makes it easier for them to retain danish!!! anyway, enjoy this~ i love you all <3

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safe and sound | just one day

next: i love you so

HE DOESN’T THINK HE’S EVER BEEN USED TO REST. Nanami Kento wasn’t one for lazy days. His life was always defined by structure, order, and discipline—but today, he found himself yearning for something different.

He woke up to the sun pouring through the curtains, a rare warmth on his face, and instead of feeling the usual rush of urgency to start his day, he felt… content. He had a day off, a luxury in his line of work, and there was only one thing he wanted to do with it: spend it with you. In all ways he can. In all ways he wants. Even if they were a little greedy on his part. 

The thing that woke you up was a soft, feather-light sensation, and it took you a moment to realize it was the brush of Kento's lips. He was nestled between your thighs, his face nuzzling against the tender skin, his mouth moving with an almost reverent slowness. A gasp escaped your lips, your hand instinctively reaching out to tangle in his tousled hair as he continued, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent shivers up your spine.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, and a soft mewl slipped from your throat as his hands gripped your hips, guiding you closer. The sound of your voice, the way your body trembled beneath his touch—Kento could feel his heart swell with a quiet kind of happiness, a fulfillment that came from these rare, precious moments of intimacy.

He didn’t rush. There was no need. For once, time stretched luxuriously before him, each second an opportunity to savor the taste of you, to feel the softness of your skin, and to relish the way your body responded to his every movement. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, hear the quiet hum of pleasure in his throat as he lost himself in the moment.

Your breaths grew shallow, each exhale a soft sigh that filled the quiet room. Every touch of his lips against you sent another wave of heat rushing through your body, an intoxicating mix of pleasure and tenderness that made your mind go blank. You could feel the slow, deliberate rhythm of his mouth against you, the gentle yet insistent pressure building as he explored every sensitive inch.

Kento's fingers tightened around your thighs, his grip firm yet affectionate. His touch was both a request and a command, guiding you closer to the edge with a patience that bordered on worship. You could sense his focus, his devotion in the way he moved—completely immersed in you, in the sounds you made, in the way your body trembled under his care.

Your hands slid from the sheets to his shoulders, gripping onto him as if anchoring yourself to reality. He looked up at you for a moment, his warm, honeyed eyes catching yours, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The expression was so soft, so utterly different from the usual calm and composed mask he wore, that it sent your heart racing even faster.

"Kento..." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, the name falling from your lips like a prayer. “My love….O–oh—”

He didn't answer, not with words. Instead, he hummed against you, a deep, satisfied sound that sent vibrations through your core. The sensation made you arch against him, a shiver running down your spine as he continued his gentle assault. His hands, strong and steady, slid up to cradle your hips, pulling you even closer as he redoubled his efforts.

That sweet, delicious pleasure had continued to build, an unstoppable tide rising higher and higher, and your body responded in kind, moving against his talented mouth with increasing urgency. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, tight and insistent, drawing closer and closer to the breaking point. 

And just when you thought you couldn't hold on any longer, when every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, he pulled back ever so slightly, his breath hot against your skin as he murmured your name with a softness that melted into your very soul.

"I want to see you, darling." he whispered, his voice husky, a rare vulnerability lacing his words. "Let me see you."

Your eyes fluttered open, and immediately, you were met with Kento’s gaze. The intensity there was almost overwhelming, as if he was seeing straight into your soul, making you feel like the only person in the world. His eyes bore into yours with a kind of fervor that left you breathless, and in that moment, nothing else seemed to exist—only him, only you, and the deep connection that bound you together. 

You felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smile against you, a grin that was both mischievous and filled with a quiet, determined hunger. There was a glint in his eye, a challenge, almost, and before you could take another breath, he pulled you closer, his hands firm yet gentle on your thighs, anchoring you in place. You gasped as his mouth began to move more urgently, his tongue working against you with a renewed fervor, each movement precise, deliberate. 

He devoured you with a raw, animalistic hunger that sent a shockwave of pleasure rippling through your entire body. The rhythm of his tongue was relentless, his mouth eager and commanding, sending electric shivers up your spine. Every stroke, every flick, every swirl of his tongue against you was masterful, calculated to draw out the most sinful sounds from your lips. You could feel your body responding, arching toward him, giving in to the pleasure that he was so expertly creating.

Your head fell back against the pillow, a soft cry escaping your lips as you gripped the sheets tightly, your fingers curling around the fabric as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. The sounds of your pleasure filled the room, mingling with the soft rustle of the sheets and the rhythmic pulse of your heartbeat in your ears. The heat of his mouth, the way his lips moved with purpose and confidence, sent you spiraling higher and higher, your mind going hazy, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of what you were feeling.

His hands pressed into the soft flesh of your thighs, fingers digging in just enough to hold you in place, to keep you from escaping the onslaught of pleasure he was determined to give you. The slight sting of his grip only heightened the sensations, drawing a strangled moan from your throat. You could feel the tension building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring wound to its limit, ready to snap.

He continued, undeterred, his mouth moving faster, harder, as if he could sense how close you were, as if he wanted to push you over that edge and watch you fall apart for him. His eyes never left yours, locked in a gaze so intense it was almost too much to bear. It was as if he was silently demanding you to give in, to surrender completely to the pleasure he was giving you, and you found yourself unable to resist.

The sunlight poured over the bed, bathing you both in a warm, golden glow, and you felt it—felt the rush building, cresting like a wave about to break. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure almost too much, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. And then, with a cry that was both raw and helpless, you shattered, your body trembling, your back arching off the bed as you came, waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless succession.

For a moment, there was nothing but white-hot sensation, your body convulsing with the force of your release, every nerve alive, every muscle taut. You could hear your own voice, your cries mingling with the sound of his name, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis, time itself pausing in the wake of your climax.

Kento didn’t stop, didn’t slow, his tongue continuing its relentless rhythm, prolonging your pleasure, drawing out every last shiver, every last gasp, until you were nothing more than a trembling, breathless mess beneath him. When he finally eased back, his lips were swollen, glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smile on his face. His hands moved up to your hips, fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as if to soothe the raw edges of your pleasure.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and adoration, his breathing heavy, his face flushed with desire. “Beautiful, darling.” he murmured, his voice low and thick with satisfaction, as if he’d just discovered a new truth about you, about both of you. "Absolutely beautiful."

You tried to catch your breath, your heart still racing, your skin tingling with the aftershocks of your climax. You could feel a flush spreading across your cheeks, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you reached down, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips in a deep, grateful kiss.

And in that moment, with the sunlight spilling over the bed, with his mouth still tasting of you, you felt an overwhelming sense of completeness, of being entirely, perfectly alive.

This was the truest, the rawest of your husband. This is the side of Nanami Kento that was reserved only for you—a side that didn’t know the meaning of restraint, that didn’t care for the rigid lines of routine. Today, he allowed himself to be utterly devoted to the simple, intoxicating pleasure of you. He was going to enjoy you, worship you, love you; even if it was just for one day.

Nanami Kento hovered over you, your warmth still shining against his lips. He huffed a breath, watching you as you recovered. Your hair was tousled against the pillow, your breathing slow and even, and he felt a rare sense of peace wash over him. He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, his touch feather-light so as not to wake you just yet. He wanted this — this quiet, stolen moment — for just a little while longer.

When your eyes met his, shining in golden sunlight, a small sleepy smile spread across your lips, and Kento felt his chest tighten with affection. He licked his lips, drowning in the traces of you against his tongue.

“Good morning, my love.” you whispered, your voice still laced with sleep. “You’re too….. ravenous today.”

“Good morning, darling.” he replied, his voice a low rumble. He didn’t move, just continued to look at you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush. “You just looked so good, you know? I couldn’t help myself.”

You felt your face turn even more flustered. “You flatter me too much.”

He smiled at you. “I said nothing that was untrue. Especially not about my beloved wife.” His fingers trace against the loose echoes of your tousled hair. “I have the day off today.” he added, as if it were a secret he was letting you in on. “I’m all yours, my darling.”

You blinked, surprised, then your smile grew wider. “Really? No exercising curses or dealing with Satoru’s antics?”

“None. None at all.” he confirmed. “And I intend to do absolutely nothing. ‘ust wanna be with you today, hm?”

You laughed softly, a sound he always found soothing. “Nothing, huh? That’s new for you.”

“Don’t get used to it, my darling.” he warned, but there was a rare softness in his tone, a hint of amusement that only you could bring out. He slid closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “But today… I just want to stay here with you. No obligations. No responsibilities. Just us.”

You snuggled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the day.”

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that you didn’t see often enough. “Neither can I.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked at Kento, your lips curling into a lazy smile that made his breath hitch. Your eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep, but there was a mischievous glint in them that sent a rush of heat straight through him.

You moved slowly, deliberately, your fingers trailing down to the waistband of his pajama pants. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the gentle, teasing pressure of your fingers tracing the outline of him through the fabric, feeling the stiffness grow beneath your touch.

“Kento…” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with intent. You could feel his body tense beneath your hand, his eyes darkening with a mix of surprise and desire as he watched you. Slowly, you began to rub him, your fingers moving with a deliberate slowness, enjoying the way his breath became uneven, a low groan slipping from his lips.

He muttered your name, his voice strained, barely able to contain the sound of his pleasure. “D-darling…”

You grinned wider, a playful expression that only heightened his longing. You slipped your hand beneath the hem of his pajamas, fingers brushing against his heated skin, and his body responded instantly, hips lifting slightly as if seeking more of your touch.

“I want it, my love.” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive sweetness that made his heart race.

Kento’s breath came in ragged bursts now, his composure crumbling with every stroke of your hand. He watched you, utterly captivated, as you gripped him more firmly, palming his growing erection, feeling the way it throbbed under your fingers. You took your time with Kento, savoring the feel of him, the way his body seemed to tremble with anticipation.

“Please, my love…” you whispered, leaning closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “I wanna make you feel good too… Please? Let me do it, my love.”

Kento's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip with a tenderness that seemed almost at odds with the raw hunger in his gaze. "

Y-yes, darling.” he managed, his voice husky, barely more than a breath. "God, yes…"

Your hand moved with more confidence now, your touch firmer, more assured, as you began to stroke him with purpose. The sounds he made were intoxicating, each moan and gasp made it clear how much your husband wanted you, how much he needed this—needed you to make love to him like this.

He was losing himself to you, the sensations overwhelming, his control slipping with every passing second. His hands gripped the sheets, his head falling back against the pillow as he let out a shuddering breath, surrendering to the waves of pleasure building within him. And you, watching him, feeling the power in this moment, couldn’t help but smile, knowing that today was just for the two of you.

You felt a surge of satisfaction as Kento's breath drastically quickened, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale. The way his body reacted to your touch was a language all its own—one of trust, of need, of a desire so deep it seemed to consume the very air around you.

His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, his thumb brushing against your lips as if seeking some form of grounding, but even that small movement betrayed his growing desperation. He likes intimacy, your husband. He loves keeping you close. Touching you. You were as enthralled with the warmth of affection that was born from the touch of someone you loved.

Slowly, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his palm, and then another to the inside of his wrist. Your lips trailed gentle, teasing kisses up his arm as your hand continued its steady rhythm, squeezing and stroking him with a tenderness that left him breathless. Each kiss felt like a promise, a whispered assurance that you were there with him, fully, completely, in this moment.

“Kento, my love…..” you breathed against his skin, your voice barely a whisper. “You feel so good in my hands…”

He groaned at your words, his head turning to the side, eyes squeezing shut as if trying to hold on to his composure, but he was losing that battle with every touch, every caress. "I—" he began, his voice hoarse. "I don't… know how much longer I can…"

His sentence dissolved into another low moan as your thumb swept over the tip of his length, spreading the bead of moisture that had formed there, your fingers wrapping around him tighter.

You could see the conflict in his eyes when he opened them again, a mix of desire and restraint, but that restraint was crumbling, fraying at the edges as you continued to stroke him, your movements steady, determined. He bit his lip, trying to hold back, trying to keep some semblance of control, but the way his hips bucked against your hand betrayed him.

“Let go, Kento.” you whispered, your lips now hovering just above his. “Let me see you fall apart for me… Let me feel you, my love.”

His breath hitched, a shiver running down his spine at your words. He let out a shuddering sigh, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if he needed to anchor himself to you.

“I… I can’t… hold back, darling.” he muttered, his voice rough, filled with a kind of raw honesty that made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile, and pressed your lips against his, capturing his mouth in a slow, heated kiss. Your hand continued its work, stroking him with purpose, with a rhythm that matched the racing of his heart. You felt him tense beneath you, his entire body coiling like a spring, ready to snap.

Then, with a deep, guttural groan, he finally let go. His body shuddered, a wave of pleasure crashing over him as he came, hot and thick, into your hand. His grip tightened in your hair, his kiss turning desperate, needy, as he rode out the intense waves of his release. 

You felt his body relax under your touch, his breathing gradually slowing, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, a faint, lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a mix of contentment and disbelief in his gaze.

"You… you always know how to make me feel alive, darling." he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a warmth that made your heart swell. 

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him against you. “I love you, Kento. My dearest love.” you whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “And I love seeing you like this, with me.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was rare, precious. "And I love you." he replied, pulling you closer, wrapping his arms around you. "More than I could ever say."

For hours after your little rendezvous, the two of you stayed tangled in each other’s arms, sharing quiet conversations, soft kisses, and long silences filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing. Nanami Kento held you like you were the most precious thing in the world, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your back, his gaze never leaving your face for long.

Eventually, you coaxed him out of bed with the promise of a simple breakfast. Kento resisted at first, his limbs still heavy with the sweet exhaustion of your shared intimacy, but the sound of your voice, so light and teasing, and the allure of spending a quiet morning together drew him from the warm confines of the sheets.

He followed you into the kitchen, still half-dressed, the waistband of his pajama pants hanging low on his hips, his hair more tousled than usual, the remnants of sleep and desire still lingering in his eyes.

He leaned against the doorway, watching you move with a quiet grace, your silhouette bathed in the soft morning light. You hummed a familiar tune under your breath, your hands deftly preparing the coffee with a practiced ease.

The scent of freshly ground beans filled the air, mingling with the warm rays of sunlight streaming through the window, and Kento found himself mesmerized by the sight of you. It was a simple, domestic scene, yet there was something about it that felt incredibly intimate, as if he was seeing a side of you reserved only for these quiet, stolen moments.

His heart swelled with a feeling he couldn’t quite name, a gentle ache in his chest that felt like contentment, like peace, but also something deeper, something he wasn’t used to allowing himself to feel.

His life had always been one of discipline, of carefully constructed routines meant to keep him grounded, focused. But watching you now, he realized how much he craved this—these mornings with you, the ease of your presence, the way you moved with such purpose yet without hurry.

He pushed himself off the doorway and crossed the room, coming up behind you. He slipped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"You always look so beautiful," he murmured, his voice still rough from sleep, his breath warm against your ear.

You laughed softly, leaning back into his embrace, your hands stilling for a moment as you savored the feel of him so close, so tender. "Kento, you're still half asleep," you teased, but your voice was gentle, affectionate.

He hummed in agreement, his lips brushing against your temple. "Maybe," he admitted, "but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s true."

You smiled, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. You turned slightly in his arms, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The world outside, with all its demands and expectations, seemed so distant, so unimportant. Here, in this small, sunlit kitchen, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet bubble of contentment.

"You know, my love...." you said softly, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead, "I love seeing you like this, too. Relaxed. Happy."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "I never thought I could have this, you know?" he confessed, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "I never thought I could find this kind of peace… with someone."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over the stubble on his jaw. "You deserve it, Kento. You deserve every bit of happiness."

He sighed, a deep, contented sound, and kissed you softly, a lingering kiss that spoke of gratitude, of affection, of a love that was growing, deepening with every moment you spent together. When he finally pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes, a lightness in his expression that you rarely saw but cherished whenever it appeared.

“Now, about that breakfast,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small smile. “What can I do to help?”

You grinned, handing him a spoon and pointing toward the eggs on the counter. “Start with those, chef. We’re in this together.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and unguarded, and with a playful roll of his eyes, he moved to the stove, taking his place beside you. As he cracked the eggs into the pan, his movements careful yet practiced, he glanced over at you, and that unnamed feeling in his chest blossomed into something undeniably clear—he was falling for you, deeper than he ever thought he could, in the simplest and most unexpected ways.

Kento watched you with endeared eyes for a moment longer, then finally allowed himself to relax, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. For the first time in a long time, Nanami Kento felt like he could truly breathe. And as he sipped his coffee, he decided that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this kind of day off — as long as it was with you.

Kento listened to you as you spoke about expanding the gardens, your voice animated with excitement as you described your vision. You wanted to add a new section for herbs and perhaps a small patch for wildflowers to attract bees and butterflies. The way your eyes lit up with each idea, each possibility, brought a soft smile to his face. He found it soothing, the way you talked about something so simple and yet so full of life.

"I’ve been thinking, my love." you continued in your sweet voice. "We could plant some lavender along the path leading up to the porch. The scent would be wonderful in the evenings. And maybe a few rose bushes along the fence — I’ve always loved roses."

Kento took another sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving your face. "Lavender, hm?" he mused, his voice thoughtful. "That would be nice. The smell is calming. And roses… they would suit you."

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, the unexpected compliment catching you off guard. "Do you think so?" you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

He nodded, setting his coffee down. "Yes. Roses are resilient, elegant… and they add beauty to their surroundings. Much like you."

Your smile grew, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Kento, my love, you’re making me blush."

"Good." he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I like seeing you like this. Happy."

You reached out, covering his hand with yours on the table. "I’m happy when I’m with you, my love." you said softly, and he felt something in his chest loosen, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Always, my love.”

Kento glanced out the window, his gaze drifting to the backyard—a blank canvas of green that stretched out before him, the morning light casting soft shadows across the lawn. He remembered the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your plans, your hands gesturing excitedly as you described the flowerbeds you wanted to plant, the small herbs you would grow, and the cozy corner where you’d place a bench for reading.

The idea had seemed whimsical to him at first—another project, another commitment in a life already filled with so many—but now, as he stood there, imagining it, he felt a strange warmth blooming in his chest. Nanami Kento thinks that he could almost taste the color, the texture. Everything.

He could almost see it: the vibrant hues of lavender and roses mingling in the sunlight, their colors bright against the backdrop of deep green leaves. The delicate petals swayed gently in a soft breeze, the air filled with their fragrant scent.

He could picture the lavender—its soft purple flowers nodding gracefully in the wind, releasing that soothing, calming fragrance he knew you loved. The roses, rich and full, would add bursts of color—reds, pinks, yellows—each bloom a testament to life, to beauty, to growth.

The thought of it was unexpectedly comforting. He imagined himself coming home after a long day, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the world, only to be greeted by the sight of your garden, a small oasis of tranquility and life. The idea of it, of having a place that was alive, that was growing—just like the two of you—appealed to him more than he’d expected.

He pictured you there, kneeling in the dirt, your hands stained with soil, a soft smile on your face as you carefully tended to the plants. He imagined the way you’d look up at him, a smudge of dirt on your cheek, your eyes bright with joy and purpose.

The image made his heart swell with a tenderness that surprised him. He saw himself joining you, hands working beside yours, digging into the earth, feeling the cool, damp soil under his fingers, the two of you creating something beautiful together.

And it wasn’t just the visual that drew him in; it was the sound—the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft hum of bees flitting from flower to flower, the occasional chirp of a bird perched nearby. He could almost hear the faint trickle of a small fountain you’d mentioned wanting to install, its soothing babble mixing with the sounds of nature. It all seemed so… peaceful, so different from the noise and chaos of his daily life.

He hadn’t realized how much he craved that peace until now, standing there, imagining the garden you would build together. A place where time slowed down, where the worries and stresses of the outside world couldn’t reach him. A place that felt like home, in every sense of the word.

Kento’s hand absently brushed against the windowsill, his fingers tracing the worn wood as he allowed himself to linger in that vision a little longer. He could almost smell the herbs you talked about planting—basil, rosemary, thyme—their aromas mingling with the fresh air, bringing a sense of calm, of warmth, of life. He imagined plucking fresh sprigs for dinner, the scent of rosemary clinging to his fingers, the earthy, familiar smell of thyme infusing the kitchen as you cooked together.

And as he stood there, he realized that it wasn’t just the idea of the garden itself that appealed to him—it was what it represented. Growth, nurturing, care. It was a symbol of the life you were building together, the way you were slowly, carefully cultivating something beautiful out of the ordinary. 

Kento’s lips curved into a small, thoughtful smile. He turned to you, watching as you moved around the kitchen, your expression content, your presence filling the room with warmth. Yes, he thought, he could almost see it—the garden, the life, the future you were both creating, one moment at a time.

And for once, the future didn’t feel daunting to him; it felt… a little bit hopeful. He felt a quiet sense of purpose settle within him, a sense that this was exactly where he was meant to be, with you, dreaming of lavender and roses.

"I could help you with it, darling." he offered, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "On weekends or when I have time. I know you like gardening, but some of the work might be too much for one person."

You beamed at him, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. "I’d love that, my love." you replied. "It would be fun, wouldn’t it? Working on it together?"

"Fun…." Nanami repeated, considering the word. "Yes… I suppose it would be. Life is fun with you."

You blinked at his words. And then you burst into warm giggles, your cheeks rosy red. He realized then that this was what he’d been missing — not just a break from work, but a sense of purpose beyond his duties as a sorcerer. A chance to build something with you, to create a space where you both could feel at peace. The idea of nurturing something, watching it grow, appealed to him in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

"And, oh! My love, maybe…." you added with a playful grin. "Maybe we can add a bench under the oak tree, so you have a spot to read while I fuss over the flowers."

Nanami chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. "A bench sounds good, my darling." he agreed. "And I’d like to see you fuss over the flowers."

Your laughter filled the kitchen, light and joyful, and he found himself smiling, genuinely smiling, more than he had in weeks. As you continued to share your ideas over breakfast, Nanami Kento felt something shift within him — a gentle, comforting realization that these moments, these simple, quiet days spent with you, were what he truly needed.

He didn’t need excitement or adventure. He didn’t need a life filled with constant battles and endless challenges. He needed this: mornings filled with coffee and conversation, afternoons spent planning gardens, evenings under the stars. He needed you.

"Alright, alright…." he said finally, setting his mug down with a decisive nod. "Let's expand the garden. Lavender, roses, herbs… all of it."

Your face lit up with joy, and you leaned across the table to kiss him, your lips soft against his. "Thank you, my love." you whispered, your smile bright and warm. "I think it’s going to be beautiful."

He kissed you back, his hand cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. "It already is." he replied softly, knowing that as long as you were there, it always would be.

YOU WERE EXHAUSTED BY THE END OF IT. After washing up together, enjoying a little more romance in each other’s arms in the bathroom — you finally gently persuaded Nanami to join you on the couch.

You draped a soft, cozy blanket over both of you, and he settled in beside you, his arm naturally finding its place around your shoulders. The morning light filtering through the curtains added a warm glow to the room, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly calm and serene.

You nestled into his side, feeling his steady heartbeat against you, and began to talk about something that had been on your mind lately. “You know, my love….” you started, your voice filled with excitement, “I’ve been thinking about my recent book and my agent said that there’s a possibility that it might be adapted into a television show.”

Nanami turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression curious but attentive. “A television show?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with a small grin on his lips. “That’s great, darling. Though, I have to say — isn’t this quite a leap from a book. How did that come about?”

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I was told to keep quiet for a while, but now that things are going on, it’s something I can spoil.”

He grinned deeper. “Oh? You’re willing to let someone hear a very, very important secret?”

“Uh–uh. Don’t tell my agent though. She’ll kill me!”

“Alright, my darling. I promise.” He whispers against your tender skin. “Tell me.”

“So, I’ve been in touch with a producer who’s interested in the story. They think it has potential and want to explore it further. It’s still in the early stages, but the idea of seeing my characters and world come to life on screen is so thrilling.”

“That’s incredible, my darling.” Nanami said, a genuine smile touching his lips. “You must be very excited.”

“I am, my love.” you admitted, leaning closer to him. “But I’m also a little nervous. It’s one thing to write a book and have people imagine it, seeing it visualized… Like you said, that’s a whole different thing. I’m worried about how it will turn out, if it will capture the essence of the story.”

Nanami’s hand gently rubbed your arm, his touch soothing. “I understand, my darling,” he said softly. “But remember, the essence of the story is in your writing. No matter how it’s adapted, that core will come through as long as it stays true to what you wrote. And from what I’ve read of your new work, I do believe it will be quite huge if it happens.”

Your smile widened at his reassurance. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” he replied with conviction. “And if it’s something you’re passionate about, I’m sure it will resonate with others too. You’ve always had a way with words, and that won’t change just because it’s on screen. You’re such a great writer, after all.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you, comforted by his unwavering support. “Thank you, My love. It means a lot to hear that.”

He looked at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “I’m proud of you, you know. Not just for your book, but for taking this step. It’s a big deal, and you’re handling it amazingly. You’re just brilliant, my love.”

You snuggled closer, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Your cheeks turn brighter, as though a scarlet sunrise appeared before Kento. He smiles at how beautiful you look like this in front of him. But in truth, you always were. You always will be. 

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you, though. Your encouragement and belief in me have made a huge difference, my love.”

Nanami’s arm tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “I’m always here for you. And I can’t wait to see where this journey takes you.”

You sighed contentedly, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m glad to have you by my side, my love. Even with all the uncertainties, having you here makes everything feel more manageable.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll face whatever comes together always, my darling.” he said softly. “And I’m looking forward to seeing your blossoming in what you love to do, hm?”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. Wrapped in the blanket, with Nanami’s steady presence beside you, you felt a profound sense of peace. As you continued to discuss your book and the exciting possibilities ahead, you realized that this moment, this calm and cozy morning together, was just as significant as any big event.

For now, you were content to savor the simple joy of being with him, sharing your dreams and plans, and feeling grateful for the love and support that made everything seem just a little brighter.

After all, there was still that warm morning sun filtering through the windows, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. As though this is where the sun was. This was the center of the world. Just the two of you. The light seemed to weave through the sheer curtains, bathing everything in a warm, almost ethereal hue. It was the kind of light that made ordinary moments feel magical, turning the mundane into something beautifully serene.

As Nanami Kento leaned back into the cushions of the couch, he pulled you closer, and you felt the comforting weight of his arm around you. Your head naturally found its place against his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt warm and soft beneath your cheek. It felt almost like a dream — this rare, quiet intimacy with him, where the usual world of responsibilities and chaos seemed to dissolve into the background.

The stillness of the peaceful life, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the house and the distant chirping of birds outside, created a cocoon of peace around you both. Kento’s own steady breathing was rhythmic and soothing, like a comforting lullaby that made you feel utterly secure. His presence, so close and protective, wrapped you in a sense of calm that you seldom experienced.

In this tranquil moment, you could almost forget the outside world. The usual pressures and expectations faded away, leaving just the two of you and the simple pleasure of being together. The sun’s soft light created patterns on the walls and floors, dancing with the shadows in a way that made everything feel tender and intimate.

Nanami’s body radiates warmth, his heartbeat a steady and reassuring rhythm against you. His fingers lightly traced patterns on your arm, a gesture so gentle it felt like a silent promise of his unwavering support and affection. You could feel his heart beating steadily, a constant reminder that, in this moment, everything was right.

This rare, quiet intimacy with him was a sanctuary from the world outside. It was a space where time seemed to slow down, allowing you both to savor the closeness and the simple joy of each other’s company. Kento’s presence was and always will be your grounding force, anchoring you in this serene bubble where nothing else mattered but the connection you shared.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the comfort of his embrace. The soft glow of the morning sun, the warmth of his body, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest created a sense of contentment that was both profound and delicate. It was a reminder that amidst the chaos of life, there were these precious moments of calm and connection that made everything else seem secondary.

In the quiet of the room, the warmth of your bodies began enveloping you both. And for a moment, you pray to any god out there. Because this life you’d built with Kento, it was everything. And all you had in you was this feeling of overwhelming gratitude. That you found each other. That you had each other. That you belong to each other for the rest of time. 

You like to think that one of these moments was worth living for. In these moments, so simple yet so significant, that you found true happiness. This is what your mother meant when she said that true love exists, that happiness was so simple and yet was boundless as the seas. Kento was your love, and he was your happiness. 

And you would be happy to be nothing but with him. You’d gladly stay in this bubble, this little planet of your own, this never–ending galaxy of love. The world outside could wait; for now, you were content to bask in the peaceful intimacy of the morning, savoring the rare and precious gift of being together.

You shifted slightly, feeling the soft, steady rise and fall of Nanami’s chest as you nestled closer. The warmth of his presence was soothing, and you took a deep breath, enjoying the tranquility of the moment. There was a brief pause, filled only with the soft sounds of the house and the gentle hum of the morning. Nanami’s arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer.

“Do you think, my darling,” he asked after a moment, his voice thoughtful, “that we’ll look back on this day and remember it as one of those rare, perfect moments?”

You nuzzled against him, feeling his warmth envelop you. “I hope so. It feels perfect to me right now.”

Kento’s smile grew, a look of contentment on his face. “Then it’s perfect. And it’s a memory I’ll cherish.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence once more, savoring the peaceful intimacy of the moment. With Nanami’s arm around you and the morning sun casting its gentle glow over the room, you felt a profound sense of contentment, knowing that these shared moments were the true treasures of life.

"Are you sure you don’t have somewhere you’d rather be?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, still trying to process the calm of the moment. 

Nanami turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a gentle intensity. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be," he said firmly. "And no one else I’d rather be with."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, the sincerity behind them so very Nanami — direct and without pretense. It wasn’t often that he voiced his emotions so openly, but today felt different. Today, it was as if he was allowing himself to be just a man, rather than a jujutsu sorcerer bound by duty. 

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his fingers drawing small circles on your arm. “Tell me, darling…” he murmured after a while. “What would you do on a day like this if you had no obligations?”

You smiled, tilting your head to look up at him. “Hmm, I’d probably spend it just like this… with you. Maybe we could go for a walk later or cook dinner together. Nothing extravagant, just… simple things.”

Nanami’s lips curved into the smallest smile. “Simple things, huh?” he echoed. “I like the sound of that.”

You felt a warm, comforting sense of happiness settle over you. “We could read a book, or just stay here and talk. We don’t get to do that often enough, I think. We’re just both busy most of the time.”

Nanami hummed in agreement, his hand gently stroking your hair. “Talking with you is easy, darling.” he confessed quietly. “Not a dull conversation with you. Everything’s just….extraordinary even in the ordinary.”

His words made your heart swell with affection. “I’m glad, my love.” you whispered, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt. “You make everything feel like that too, you know? Even the quiet feels meaningful when I’m with you.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your skin. “Then let’s stay like this more often, hm?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Let’s stay here and let the world move around us for a change.”

You nodded, settling into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, letting it lull you into a calm you rarely felt. For hours, you stayed wrapped up together, sharing thoughts, stories, and soft laughter that came naturally in the stillness of the day. 

Eventually, the light began to change, the afternoon sun casting longer shadows across the room. You felt Nanami shift slightly, his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin, a small smile on his lips. 

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” he asked, his tone contemplative. 

“What’s that?”

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should take days like this more often. Days where I don’t think about anything but being with you. I think I’ve forgotten how important that is.”

Your heart swelled at his admission, and you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. “You deserve that, Kento. You deserve to rest, to enjoy life outside of work.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment. “And I think I’ve finally realized that, dearest darling.” he whispered. “You make me realize it. I’m grateful for you.”

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his lips, feeling the gentle press of his hand against your back as he deepened the kiss. It was slow, languid, like the day itself — a promise that you both had all the time in the world.

When you pulled back, you saw something in his eyes that made your breath catch — a deep, abiding love that went beyond words. He didn’t need to say anything else. He just held you a little tighter, as if anchoring himself to this moment, to you.

“Let’s make dinner together, my love.” you suggested softly, breaking the silence.

Nanami nodded, his expression softening. “I’d like that, darling.” he replied. “And after that… maybe we can sit on the porch and watch the stars come out.”

You grinned. “I’d like that, too.”

As the day turned into evening, you and Kento moved to the kitchen together, the transition from a tranquil morning to a lively afternoon marking a subtle change in the atmosphere.

The kitchen was filled with the sounds of cooking — the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables, the bubbling of boiling pasta, and the occasional sizzle from the stovetop. The air was rich with the aroma of garlic and herbs, mingling with the comforting scent of fresh pasta.

You laughed over small things: a particularly stubborn piece of garlic that wouldn’t mince properly, a splash of water that nearly escaped from the pot, and the playful banter that came naturally as you worked side by side.

Your Kento's laughter, light and genuine, was a sound you cherished. It was a rare and beautiful contrast to the usual seriousness of his days. Seeing him so relaxed, so free from the weight of his responsibilities, made your heart swell with happiness.

Amidst the perpetual chaos in your kitchen, Kento walked over to the record player that sat in the corner of the kitchen. With a practiced hand, he carefully selected a vinyl and set it spinning.

The entire facet of the room was soon filled with the smooth, nostalgic tones of Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head on My Shoulder.” You gasp, knowing what this means. Almsot immediately, the soft, romantic melody seemed to wrap around the room, adding a layer of intimacy to the evening.

As the first notes of the song drifted through the air, your husband glanced over at you with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He approached you, a playful smile on his lips. You couldn't help but shake your head bashfully as you smile back at him.

“I think this song calls for a dance, dearest darling.” he said, his voice gentle but insistent.

You looked at him, momentarily distracted from the task at hand. “A dance?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. “While we’re cooking?”

Kento nodded, extending his hand toward you. “Why not? We can take a break. Besides, it’s a perfect song for it.”

With a laugh, you wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and allowed him to pull you gently away from the sink. The soft, inviting melody seemed to dissolve any lingering tension in the room, and you found yourself happily giving in to the spontaneous moment.

Your husband guided you to the center of the kitchen, the vinyl's music creating a romantic backdrop to the simple joy of dancing. He took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. You rested your head against his shoulder, your body swaying gently to the rhythm of the song. His other hand rested comfortably on your waist, guiding your movements with a gentle precision that spoke of both affection and ease.

You felt a rush of giggles bubble up as Nanami’s hand found your back, pulling you closer. The softness of his embrace, combined with the slow, tender rhythm of the song, made you feel like you were the only two people in the world. The kitchen, with its cluttered countertops and simmering pots, seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the simple joy of being in his arms.

Your Kento's laughter joined yours, a warm, melodic sound that perfectly matched the mood of the evening. He spun you around gently, his gaze never leaving yours, and you felt a sense of pure contentment. The day had transformed from a series of routine tasks into a memorable, heartwarming experience.

As the song continued, you both danced slowly, savoring the moment. The gentle sway, the closeness, and the music created a cocoon of happiness that enveloped you both. It was a reminder that even in the midst of everyday chores, there could be magic and joy — a simple dance, a shared smile, and the warmth of each other’s company.

When the song finally ended, Nanami held you close for a moment longer, his hands resting lightly on your back. He looked down at you with a smile that spoke of deep affection and satisfaction.

“That was nice, wasn't it?” he said softly, his voice filled with warmth.

“It was perfect, my love.” you replied, your heart full. “Thank you for making this evening special.”

Kento's smile widened, and he gave you a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Anytime, my darling.” he said. “It’s these little moments that make everything worthwhile.”

You both returned to the kitchen, the mood light and cheerful, ready to finish preparing dinner with renewed energy. The dance, though brief, had added a touch of magic to your day, a reminder that the simplest of moments could bring the greatest joy.

Later, as evening gently gave way to night, you found yourselves on the porch, wrapped in a soft, cozy blanket that covered you both from shoulders to toes. The air had cooled, carrying with it the faint scents of twilight and the promise of a peaceful night. The porch, usually a simple space, felt transformed into a haven of comfort and tranquility.

The sky was gradually darkening, and you could see the first stars beginning to appear, twinkling faintly against the deepening blue canvas. It was a stunning sight, the stars emerging one by one, like tiny, distant fires illuminating the vast expanse of the universe. The beauty of it was mesmerizing, and it added a sense of magic to the evening.

You leaned into your husband's own body. feeling his warmth and presence next to you. His arm was draped around your shoulders, holding you close in a way that felt both protective and tender. His hand clasped yours, fingers intertwined in a gentle embrace that spoke volumes without the need for words. The connection between you was palpable, a shared sense of contentment and peace.

As you both gazed up at the sky, the stars slowly becoming more prominent, a comfortable silence enveloped you. The occasional rustle of the wind through the trees, the distant chirping of crickets, and the soft hum of nighttime created a serene backdrop, enhancing the feeling of closeness and intimacy.

You turned your head slightly, catching Nanami’s profile illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light. His face was relaxed, his eyes reflecting the starlight, and there was a contented smile on his lips. It was in these quiet moments that you could see a side of him that was often hidden behind his usual composure — a side that was just as relaxed and at ease as you felt.

“It’s beautiful out here.” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the evening. “It’s just so clear tonight.”

Nanami nodded, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “It is. I’ve always enjoyed moments like these. The simplicity of it, the quiet.”

You sighed contentedly, the comfort of the blanket, the warmth of his embrace, and the beauty of the night sky all coming together to create a perfect sense of peace. “It’s perfect, isn’t it?” you said, your voice filled with heartfelt emotion. “It feels like everything is just as it should be.”

He turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours with a softness that made your heart flutter. “I feel the same way, my darling.” he replied, his voice tender. “It’s everything.”

As you both continued to watch the stars, you felt a profound sense of gratitude. It was in these quiet, shared moments that you found a deep connection, a shared understanding that transcended words. The stars above seemed to mirror the feelings in your heart — a sense of wonder, love, and perfect contentment.

The world outside, with all its complexities and challenges, felt distant and irrelevant in the face of this serene, intimate evening. Here, on the porch with your beloved husband by your side, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket and the comfort of each other’s presence, everything seemed to align perfectly.

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped, allowing you to savor the simplicity and beauty of the moment. With your beloved Kento’s hand in yours and the night sky stretching out above, you felt that everything was exactly as it was meant to be, and it was perfect. Nothing could ever get better than being with him. Nothing.

“Thank you, my darling.” he whispered suddenly, his voice barely more than a breath against the night.

“For what, my love?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.

“For reminding me that there’s more to life than just work, even if it’s just one day.” Kento replied, face tender with a smile. “For reminding me that… this is enough. You are enough.”

You leaned into him, your heart full. “You’re enough for me too, my love. My dearest beloved Kento.”

[wonupatootie]

전원우 // Jeon Wonwoo Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

우리였기에 아름다웠고 작은 미움 하나 없는 사랑이라~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“Meet Cute of the Century” by @lovelyhan

Fem!reader || Idol au, strangers to lovers, meet cute, mild angst, smut || W.C: 25.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“First Snow” by @onlymingyus

Fem!reader || CEO x Single mom assistant, fluff, angst, smut || W.C: 33k

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“In Front Of Me” by @wonustars

Fem!reader || best friends to (?), angst, smut || Parts: 2 || Total W.C: 40.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･jeon wonwoo has spent most of his adolesence and early adult hood unable to understand why he can't seem to stay in a relationship for more than a few months. as his best friend, you allowed him to vent about his worries without judgment. so what if you're in love with him? your friendship with wonwoo meant more to you than having your feelings reciprocated. that is until you hit your breaking point, while wonwoo finally realizes what has been in front of him this whole time.

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“Bucket of Happiness” by @thedensworld (Part 3 of Falling Flowers series)

Fem!reader || Friends to lovers, angst, fluff || W.C: 10k+

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･After the divorce settled, you immediately moved to Canada for your treatment. Meanwhile, Wonwoo has to run away from his parents who couldn't stop forcing him to get married.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Sucker (For You)” by @vitaminkyeom

Fem!reader || College au, best friends to lovers, humour, fluff || W.C: 14.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･First year in college was always known to be stressful with all the assignments to complete, parties to enjoy and lectures to attend. But for you, it was a whole different type of stress: the conflicting (and growing) feelings of affection towards your best friend. Falling for him isn’t an option, but neither is avoiding him. So what do you do when you are down bad for the one and only Jeon Wonwoo? Or, in which, one drunk party sends you hurtling down a rollercoaster of love for your best friend.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“A Winter Interlude” by @wondernus

Romance, coworkers to lovers, drama, light angst || W.C: 11.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･maybe this is meant to be an interlude – an unforeseen passing moment in each other’s timelines. but with the stroke of a conductor’s baton, the symphony lands on the fermata hovering above the note. do we allow this interlude to become something longer than a short period in our lives, or do we end it after all of it is over?

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“I Found Love in Your Smile” by @wonlouvre

[Series] || Modern royalty au, arranged marriage, fluff, angst || Parts: 10 (+epilogue) || Status: Completed

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Daylight” by @moonscriptsx

Fem!reader || Coworkers to friends to lovers, slowburn, fluff, smut || Parts: 2 || Total W.C: 27.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Between the endless flirty banter or secret looks of longing, the line between you and your boss had always been slightly blurred. But when a night out with friends has you and your boss meeting for the first time outside of the workplace, that line starts to become nonexistent as mutual feelings are brought to light.

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“Right Where You Left Me” by @tonicandjins

Exes to lovers, smut || W.C: 8.9k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which wonwoo leaves and takes your heart with him. three years later, you're in another city, but tragically, right where he left you.

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“Catnaps” by @wheeboo

Gn!reader || High school au, classmates to lovers, fluff, angst, humour || W.C: 8.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you volunteer at the local cat shelter with your crush.

⤷“Catnaps (with you)” (Part 2 of Catnaps)

Gn!reader || college au, est.relationship, slice of life, fluff, hurt/comfort, humour || W.C: 10.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you revisit the cat shelter with wonwoo during autumn break.

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“Overset” by @drunk-on-dk

Sci-fi au, fluff, angst, smut || W.C: 9.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Increasingly becoming cognizant of the worlds surrounding him, W0NW00, an AI so carefully wired and generated with the purest intentions even has the potential to become jaded. How can such a consumeristic world be so cruel when all he once knew was the joys of 53V3NT33N? This new understanding makes him unfamiliar to fans; his creator sending him to you, a trusted developer of LEVEL 1 robots, in hopes that you can reverse the sudden changes in W0NW00’s conscious. Are you part of the system W0NW00 is learning to become adverse to? Or will your presence help remind him of the world he once only had knowledge of?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Closer” by @hannieehaee

Afab!reader || Friends to lovers, smut || W.C: 12.9k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･after making it all the way to your final year of uni still having not experienced a single orgasm, you decided to take matters into your hands. your solution? asking your best friend wonwoo to teach you all he knew.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“April Shower” by @sluttywoozi

Fem!reader || Romance, meet cute, love at first sight, smut || W.C: 12k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Wonwoo meets a lot of people through his career as a travel photographer. Not one of them has ever made him want to stay in one place, until he met you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“The Shattered Camera” by @puppetwritings

[Series] || Fem!reader || paparazzi x celebrity au, comedy, fluff, angst || Parts: 11 || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Wonwoo already had enough on his plate as it is—proving his parents wrong, making a living, fighting his just conscience—and with you in the picture, nothing could possibly go more wrong. Or could you be his ticket to the good life that he wanted?

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“Amour-Haine & Co.” by @wonwoosthetic

[Series] || Fem!reader || Office au, enemies to lovers, smut, angst || Parts: 18(as of now) || Current W.C: 166.3k || Status: Incomplete

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Six years. Six long years have you been working side-by-side with your father. Balancing studying at university while playing his right hand throughout it all without ever complaining about how hard it was, but rather always putting 200% into everything you did. You helped him grow the company to where it now was. And now, after the many ups and downs you have shared, he retires only to let the company get bought by some young wannabe Jeff Bezos, who thinks money and looks is everything he needs to get him through life. If someone thought you’d just let this pass and work as Jeon Wonwoo’s side chick… they would be wrong. So, let the games begin.

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[unscripted-if]

DEMO || PINTEREST

Lights…

Camera…

Action!

Those three words, along with the flashing of cameras and screaming of thousands of people, had made up your life for over a decade. Following your rising star into the stratosphere where you could look at where you’ve been upon your lofty perch in the sky. You were the ruler of your universe and there was nothing that’d bring you down…

… Until, of course, there was…

Suddenly in a free fall, without any chance of catching yourself in sight, you’re hurtling back to the ground with only one thought, one goal, in your mind: Find your way back up.

When a new project comes your way, new opportunities arrive with it, but nothing is ever cut and dry within Hollywood. You’ll have to put your all into this movie if you want any chance at salvaging your career.

Try to stay on script…

Unscripted is a slice-of-life interactive fiction where romance, drama, and the trivialities of life intertwine to create your story. Rated 18+ for explicit language, optional sexual content, drug/alcohol use, and violence.

Features

✰ Customizable MC: Name, gender (male, female, non-binary), sexuality, appearance, some of your past projects, and history with a few of the characters.

✰ Maintain your fan base and make sure that they haven’t forgotten about you. Will you earn more as your journey progresses?

✰ Be interviewed from sidewalk reporters to one of the biggest Late Night Shows within America. Just make sure that you make a good impression— there is such a thing as bad publicity after all.

✰ Romance one of the characters that’ll either have the crowd roaring or scratching their heads. Will you find common ground with your sworn rival? Take a chance at love with someone from your past? Give your hot-and-cold manager a shot? Time will tell…

✰ Adopt a new friend that will hopefully make your lonely nights less so.

✰ Rise back to the ranks of Super Stardom and take back your throne.

Romances

The Rival: Angel Sinclair [M/F] — Ever since you arrived in Hollywood, Angel Sinclair has been there. You’re not quite sure when, or where, your rivalry even began, only that it’s made a ton of tabloids rich with the stories they’d print due to it, and you’re even less sure why you keep running into them on the same lot you’re shooting your newest movie. Is it another twisted form of punishment? With an icy exterior that puts the Arctic to shame, you don’t think you’ve ever seen them smile— at least when they’re not in front of the camera or interacting with fans. Will you uncover more as your random run-ins start losing some of their randomness?

Route: Rivals to Lovers.

The Manager: Kieran/Kiera Walker [M/F] — Probably one of the few reasons you’re still where you are. With a keen mind, a sharp eye for detail, and an even sharper tongue, K has never taken it easy on you, and they’re definitely not doing so now. While pragmatic about their approach, they’re not afraid to tell you what they think, when the time calls for it, which is something that’s definitely caused some tension in the past. Still, you don’t know what you’d do without them; as they’ve stayed steadily by your side through it all. And you don’t think they’re going anywhere anytime soon.

Route: Slow Burn.

The Director: Spencer Hale [M/F] — Last Laugh, the title of the movie you’re now part of, is the passion project that Spencer has been working on for years; trying tirelessly to get it to the silver screen. You would know— after all you were there when they began to write it back in college. Despite not having seen them in years, the gentle look in their eyes hasn’t shifted in the slightest; even if it is a bit more wary now, they don’t hesitate in offering you the same level of kindness as before. Though, even that, still feels different, wrong somehow. Can you recover what’s been lost between you? Or will you forever be two ships passing in the night?

Route: Ex-Best Friend/Lover (can choose if they were your lover or not) || Second Chances

The Newcomer: Cameron/Carmen Rivera [M/F] — An up-and-coming star within Hollywood from the music scene. Having wanted to take a shot at the silver screen for years it’s only with this project that they’ve finally been given the chance— cast as your love interest, no less. You’re not too sure what to make of them. From everything you’ve read they’re sunshine incarnate, with a beaming smile always on their lips, that completely contradicts the darker colors that they typically wear. Something tells you, an almost bone deep intuition, that they’re an array of contradictions all rolled up into one package. Will you ever be able to uncover any of them?

Route: First Love (to them) || Age Gap

The Bodyguard: Roman Locke [M/F] — With a penchant to wear nothing but black, sometimes with muted tones of gray thrown in, you don’t know much about the individual that’s been guarding you with their life for the last five years. Only their stellar history in the Navy, coupled with a possible connection to being a CIA Agent, though that’s never been confirmed, and the other rudimentary facets of their past that any employer needs to know. However, even if they rarely speak, you know that you’re in more than capable hands and that they take their job seriously. But what happens when that professional facade begins to crack?

Route: Bodyguard Romance.

The Assistant: Harley Park [M/F] — Someone who’s very good at their job while also being everywhere and nowhere all at once. You don’t know if they’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your first meeting— with them being in a fandom shirt from a project you had done a couple of years before, with you at center stage on it. With an undeniable charm, if a bit awkward in their approach, Harley is definitely someone that’d you miss interacting with once you got the chance to do so. You just have to get them to actually interact with you first.

Route: Oblivious Love.

[whitecreekvalley-if]

[ Demo TBA ] • Character descriptions • Pinterest •

Genres: Slice of life, drama, mystery, romance

WCV is rated 18+ for explicit language, violence, alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content.

Life's taken a nosedive—no apartment, no job, no friends. Desperation pushes you to cling to a chance from a kindly stranger offering a ticket to a town hidden beyond mountains and plains, a place people don't seek but always seem to need.

Welcome to Whitecreek Valley, where the Brass Pine Ranch needs your unique skills to mend a crumbling homestead, and a crumbling family. As you tackle the decay of the ranch and the town alongside the rancher's son, deeper troubles emerge—livestock falling ill sparks fears of a town on the brink of extinction. Can you navigate this community, help them rejuvenate, or will it become another link in the list of ghost towns of America's Wikipedia page?

FEATURES

Customization: Appearance, personality, gender & sexuality, what job they had before, their hobbies, etc. Choose how they feel about being a farmhand, how they're adjusting to the rural life, and - with your choices - how the town as a whole sees them. Are they part of the community or an perpetual outsider?

Skills: Depending on your previous job, you'll have a unique set of skills to help the community. Choose to learn new skills, like woodworking, bronc riding, or sheep shearing, to mention a few.

Animal husbandry: The distances around Whitecreek Valley are hefty, so it's necessary to have at least a horse to get around. Choose your favorite out of a cast of individual equines, each with their own personalities. Also, help a calf into this world and realize how fun it is to raise a baby cow! As long as you're in good standing with the rest of the herd, of course.

Rebuilding: Try your best to rebuild the Brass Pine ranch, and the town adjacent. The better job you manage, the more opportunities (and challenges) come your way.

Community outreach: A dying town is still home, and there are stories to be heard, problems to solve. Lend a helping hand to your new community and see how one kindness can pay itself back.

Romance: Not everyone in town is adverse to strangers, and if your heart yearns romance, there is a chance for a spark along the way. Just be careful as to who you're trying to woo in front of whom. Small town gossips, we've all seen it.

Mystery: There's something hanging over the valley, like a rot in the air. Why are people moving out? Why are exports not moving out? And who's behind the animals getting sick? Don you detective hat and lend a hand to the entire four local police officers working the bizarre case.

THE LOCALS (RO'S)

THE RANCHER'S SON

Mason "Mace" Gannon - 27 - he/him

He used to be so much fun. I miss hanging out with him, out by the bonfires. He'd always make everyone feel so included and happy, and oh, that homemade cider he'd bring? Warmed us up on those chilly late fall nights, when we had nothing else to do. Did I tell you about the time he got us all to go skinny dipping? He was such a charmer, I wonder --

Imagine Mace as your human golden retriever – the guy who's a blast to be around, a bit mischievous, and the first to rush to your aid whenever you need it. After being gone for five years to live his rodeo dreams, he's back, now the sole caretaker of the family ranch in his hometown. He goes to great lengths to keep his personal issues personal, and it's the butt of many jokes how he's always there to help others but has the worst time asking for help himself.

He's you boss, and probably one of the best you'll ever get. Just don't pay mind to the spats between him and his dad.

THE BARTENDER

Alice Marks - 25 - she/her

Alice, she's a feisty one! Like her poppa, rest his soul. How I love the drinks she comes up with at the bar, and that horse of hers! She could go into rodeo, but I don't think after what happened with her pa... Oh, but she's a wonder! Always there with a quip, how they drive her suitors mad. Good thing she stopped with the talk about moving away, the town would be so dull without her!

Alice is the town's most known inhabitant, running the show from the only bar in town, which she just happens to own. Her mind is like a machine for fun, and she's the brain behind all the pop-up events and happenings around town. Sure, she can be a bit like a hurricane of enthusiasm, but hey, that's Alice for you. If the town had a social heartbeat, it'd be Alice – the vibrant, smartass soul making everyday life feel like a blessing.

THE DEPUTY

Word of the wise: Never challenge Alice to a drinking game. You will lose, spectacularly, and it'll all be on film.

Judge Gannon - 34 - he/him

Judge is a bit strange, don't you think? He just vanished as soon as he turned eighteen and popped back out of nowhere! That must've been, let's see... Five years ago? He doesn't spend much time with us commoners though, but I think I've seen him at the bar once or twice. I don't actually think he knows how to make nice with people, he always has that glower on. Gets it from his dad, let me tell you --

Bold and straight to the point, Judge isn't out here trying to be intimidating – it just kinda happens. If his brother is a golden retriever, he's definitely the doberman of the family. He's got this brash, no-nonsense vibe that some folks mistake for arrogance, especially when they try laying on the charm and he's not having it. He steers clear of small talk unless it involves his job, and when duty calls, he's more than ready to throw down to protect his town and county.

There's this local urban legend that he cracked a smile once, but it's like spotting a unicorn – not everyone's buying it.

THE LAWYER

Mercedes "Sadie" Diáz - 32 - she/her

The new girl, yes! Oh, a beauty! And so curious. I do love sitting down with her though, oh the stories she brings from the big city, so intriguing! I hear she finds our town intriguing too, the mayor once - don't tell anyone I told you this - the mayor once said he caught her breaking into the city hall archives! I know, scandalous, but good on her, maybe now someone will argue that my neighbors fence post --

Sadie, the big-shot lawyer from the city, doing her solo act in town. When she's not in court, folks are lining up just to get a piece of the urban tales she's got. A trailblazer and truth-seeker, she's got this knack for poking her nose where it probably shouldn't be, and surprise, she knows more local secrets than the town gossip. Sure, she's all passionate and calculated, a bit out of sync with the town's warmth, but hey, that logical mind of hers might just shake things up and get the town back on track.

It's a well known fact that she could get access to places with the right documents, but she herself has said it's more fun to pick locks. Go figure.

LIST OF MAJOR NPCs

LIST OF MINOR NPCs

[devotedlypinkpeanut]

Make Me Lose Control — Part 1

SUMMARY: Park Sunghoon, a boxer with a difficult career, devotes his life to fights that leave marks on his body as well as his soul. His neighbor, Y/n, a nurse with a big heart, then becomes a pillar in his existence. After each match, she welcomes him to heal his wounds and lighten, even briefly, the weight of his solitude. Over the course of the care, a discreet bond develops between them, hinting at the possibility of a relationship that could turn their lives upside down.

PAIRING : Park Sunghoon x Neighbor Nurse! Reader.

GENRE : Romance, Drama, Psychological Darkness, Slice of Life, Erotica.

WARNING: Contains melancholy, intense physical pain, emotional distress, oppressive atmosphere, psychological manipulation, domination and submission, possession, extreme vulnerability, emotional dependence and hidden suffering. Scenes of dehumanization, control, physical and emotional tension, inner struggle, intense desire mixed with pain and ecstasy, as well as implied violence are present. The passage explores deep anguish, fear of abandonment, power dynamics and emotional dependence, acts of tenderness linked to suffering, the anguish of obsessive and destructive love, emotional exhaustion, betrayal, inner rage, frustration, denial of pain, guilt, self-rejection and internal conflict. This content addresses emotional tension, deep loss, betrayal and painful introspection, which may offend some sensibilities due to the emotional violence and the depiction of psychological and physical suffering.

‼️FINAL WARNING : This story contains explicit sex scenes, as well as potentially disturbing themes. It is intended for mature audiences. If you are sensitive to topics such as physical violence, emotional abuse, or self-destructive behavior, it is best not to continue reading. The content explores dark aspects of human psychology and may shock or disturb some readers. Please use discretion before engaging in this reading.

Number of words : ~48k

Author’s Note: I would like to clarify that I don’t have much knowledge about nursing, medicine, or boxing, and I’m not familiar with what really happens in the ring. I mainly relied on my imagination and Google research to write this story. I apologize if there are any inaccuracies.

Happy reading! Not proofread, sorry for the mistakes! If you enjoyed the story, don’t hesitate to comment, reblog, or like!

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ⇢

The darkness slowly invades the living room, every corner of the room melting into shadow, as if the night itself has infiltrated the most intimate corners of your mind. Lying on the couch, your body half relaxed, half still trapped in sleep, you let yourself be drawn in by the distant murmur of Gossip Girl , the voices mixing with the loneliness that weighs on you. It is not really attention that you pay to the screen, but rather a background noise, a distraction that tries to fill this heavy emptiness that invades you. Yet, deep down, you know that it is not the silence that weighs on you, but rather the oppression of your own thoughts, which, at this late hour, have no other company than the blackness of the night. Each moment seems suspended, frozen in the wait for a breakup, like a calm sea, ready to welcome the storm.

Your thoughts then wander, float, get lost in the immensity of silence, like waves of despair breaking on a deserted beach, without noise. Melancholy seeps into you, soft and insidious, enveloping you like a blanket too heavy, too dark, that you don't want to take off, despite the heat that struggles to pierce the night. The heaviness of the moment, of solitude, sucks you in and slowly engulfs you.

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the front door tears the silence with a brutal blow. Your heart skips a beat. A shiver of surprise runs through you before a start shakes your body still numb with sleep. Your eyes barely open, as if your body doesn't want to come back to reality. For a moment, you remain frozen, like a bird trapped by a noise it shouldn't have heard. The seconds stretch, stretch to infinity, and your mind begins to go round in circles. Who could it be, at this late hour, to come and disturb your peace? The television continues to stir its empty words in the background, but your mind is elsewhere, prisoner of this sudden noise, this sound that has brutally brought you back to reality, pulling you out of your torpor and leaving you in an icy uncertainty.

Still half asleep, your bare feet touch the cold floor, a shiver running up your spine. You don't hesitate, or maybe you just don't have the strength to think. Your actions are automatic, as if a part of you already knows what to do. You remove the safety chain and open the door. The moment you turn the handle, a strange feeling passes through you, something heavy, worrying. The door opens slowly, with a creak that seems endless, and there he is in front of you. Park Sunghoon. Your neighbor. But he's not the Sunghoon you know anymore.

He is no longer the charming, smiling young man whose presence always seemed shrouded in mystery. Tonight, he is another man, a man you never imagined seeing in this light. He sways slightly, his dark eyes drowned in pain. One eye is closed, a purplish bruise marking his face from a violent blow. His features, usually so clear, are distorted by pain, a too intense blue that veils the depth of his gaze. The marks of blows streak his face, visible scratches appear along his jaw and neck. Every movement he makes seems to require considerable effort. And yet, despite the state he is in, he tries to smile, a weak and distorted smile, a desperate attempt to mask the pain he struggles to hide.

A shiver runs through you, heavier this time, a mixture of shock, fear, confusion. You don't have the words. You can't even move, so much does the strangeness of the scene nail you to the spot. Then, finally, instinctively, your legs move. Your arms reach out to him, and your hands rest on his shoulders, without thinking, to help him stabilize. You feel his warmth, his skin that, under your fingers, seems burning. The tension in his muscles jumps out at you, the way he fights not to collapse. You bring him inside, gently, but he weighs heavy, too heavy, like a weight you hadn't planned to carry. He lets himself go against you, his weight seeming almost unbearable to you, but he has no other choice. He leans weakly on you, and at the same time you feel the dampness of his blood, still fresh, soaking his clothes, which touches you and freezes your skin.

And in the dim light of the living room, each second stretches, each movement seems to be in slow motion. You gently lead him to the couch, taking care with each step. His body tenses with each effort, with each movement you make him make, as if the slightest change in position were torture. And yet, he says nothing. He doesn't even make a sound. But you see his muscles tense, you see the effort he's making. It breaks you. You feel his body struggling against yours, his broken soul seeking comfort, support, in your closeness.

When he finally sits on the couch, you lean over him, every detail of his face etched in your memory. His eyes are closed, his jaw clenched, as if he is trying to contain the pain that overwhelms him. You scan his face, detailing the marks of violence, the wounds that testify to the brutality to which he has been subjected. His lips, split, pale, as if he has forgotten how to smile other than through a mask of pain. There is something frightening in this vulnerability. Something tragic and beautiful at the same time, a dark beauty, a reflection of injustice. The bruises, the contusions, the cuts… all of it makes your throat tighten. Yet, in a strange way, you remain calm, almost icy calm, as if you are no longer there, like a nurse caught in the coldness of professionalism, facing a seriously injured patient. But deep down, your heart beats hard, too hard. You hold back, ignoring the pain that rises inside you with every second, with every breath. The pain of seeing him like this. But you know you can't break down now. Not yet.

“What happened, Sunghoon?” Your voice, trembling but driven by uncontrollable worry, breaks the oppressive silence that reigns in the room. Each word seems to slip between your lips, fragile and frightened, caught in a throat that is too tight. It is a silent cry, a desperate attempt to reach the other side of this abyss that separates you. The pain of each syllable burns your tongue, like a flame, and your heart races, beating frantically in your chest. You feel that he is the only thing that still ties you to this unbearable reality. Anguish squeezes your stomach, an icy and implacable vice. You lack air, each breath seems to take your breath away, stuck by everything that has not been said, everything that weighs, heavy and unbearable, in this room.

You scan his face, your eyes clinging to it like a lost soul searching for a glimmer of light in the darkness. His features are marked, hollowed by fatigue and a suffering that can no longer hide itself. But he hides everything. His eyes, drowned in a whirlwind of exhaustion and pain, slowly turn away from yours, as if he fears that the truth will escape too quickly. It is as if the light in his gaze has been extinguished, swallowed up by an abyss that he refuses to let appear. And yet, in those broken pupils, you perceive something. A raw vulnerability, but also something inaccessible, terribly distant. It pierces you, a shiver shakes you, like a shock that makes you waver under the violence of his gaze.

Then slowly, he raises his head. His gestures are slow, cautious, as if he had to draw immense energy for each movement. His gaze wavers between a broken, fragile pride, and a pain that seems to want to destroy him instantly. His dark eyes, drowned in fatigue, seek to hide behind a facade of pride, this last vestige of a strength that he wants to hide at all costs. He tries to sketch what could resemble a smile, but it is a distorted, bitter, almost grotesque grin. A grimace of pain that he no longer even tries to hide. This smile trembles under the weight of the truth that he does not want to free, but which haunts each of his gestures, his thoughts. The cracks are there, visible in his facade, and something deeply human shines through in his pain. He wants to preserve his pride, but you know that it is nothing more than a fragile illusion.

“A fight,” he finally whispers. His voice is hoarse, raspy, like a worn rope, each word seeming to tear more of himself away. It’s a whispered confession, almost torn from his throat, the pain palpable in every word, every breath he lets out. “It was a fight… The other guy was… like a beast. He wouldn’t back down from anything.” His voice breaks on those last words, and he tries to laugh, but it’s only a broken breath, a desperate attempt that turns into a shudder of pain. The laughter isn’t a burst of joy, but a bright pain, a wrench, and his features tense with the pain of his wounds. While every word he speaks is a dagger piercing you, every syllable digging the blade deeper into your heart.

You close your eyes for a moment, as if to contain this pain that threatens to engulf you. You try to breathe, but everything seems unbreathable. The anguish rises, tightens around your lungs, invades your mind. You nod, even if everything in you breaks, fades into an abyss of silence and despair. You want to believe that he won, that in this fight, he found a little of this pride that seems to be all he has left. But a part of you refuses to believe it, refuses to accept it. It is too heavy, too much pain in his words, in his gaze. "And you won, I suppose?" Your voice trembles as you whisper this question, your smile almost absent, forced, a desperate attempt to lighten this moment. Even the laughter that you let cross the barrier of your lips seems bitter, like a burst of light that goes out as soon as it lights up. It's not a laugh, it's a crack, a burst of sadness. Your smile fades like a flower under a sky that's too heavy, and what's left is an emptiness, a dull pain that swallows you up.

The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. It stretches between you like a menacing shadow, laden with everything you haven't said, everything you can't say. The air around you becomes denser and denser, almost suffocating, as if the space itself were heavy with tension, with the unsaid. A cold shiver runs through you, but you can't even tell if it comes from the air or from yourself, from this helplessness, this pain that eats away at you. You know he's there, broken in front of you, and you feel so small, so fragile, in the face of this reality that crushes you.

Sunghoon nods slowly, without saying a word. His eyes, usually filled with that quiet strength you had admired so much, are now drowned in an ocean of suffering. He is a shadow of himself. Yet, despite everything, he holds on. His posture wavers, but he seems to refuse to let himself be defeated. In his pain, there is still that silent stubbornness, that refusal to let himself be consumed. But the cracks are there. Invisible, but very real. And you see them, you feel them in every fiber of his being, the ones he can no longer hide, the ones that mark his soul forever.

You sit up abruptly, unable to remain still in front of him, in front of this being you love, this bruised body that hurts you more than you would like to admit. Your legs tremble under the weight of your despair and confusion, but you force yourself to move, not to give in to this paralysis. The urgency to heal him, to protect him, to do something, anything, overwhelms you. Your trembling hands grab the first aid kit, but everything seems unreal, as if you were living in a nightmare from which you cannot escape. As if this bleeding, suffering body in front of you could not be his. It is too real, too alive, for you to accept this violence.

When you come back to him, a strange serenity invades you, like a new strength, a determination that you had never felt. But as you get closer, reality hits you hard. The marks on his face, the deep, violent wounds, scream at you the brutality of the fight he must have fought, remind you of every moment of suffering he endured. And this reality takes your breath away, paralyzes you for a moment. You can't believe what your eyes are showing you. You can't accept the violence of this situation.

Slowly, almost timidly, you approach him. Your now gloved hands brush his jaw with infinite caution, as if you fear breaking something that might never be repaired. You know that the slightest pressure could revive an unbearable pain, so you try to be as gentle as possible, even if every fiber of your being trembles. Sunghoon doesn't move, his half-closed eyes remain fixed on you. In his gaze, you see a strange glow, a raw fragility, but also this strength that still inhabits him. It's an internal battle, between pain and the will to survive.

He's looking for something in your eyes, you know it. A silent promise, a comfort, an answer to this pain he can't share. But you know it too. Nothing is right. Not now. Not in this suspended moment, where every breath seems a challenge. Maybe never.

“It’s not broken,” you whisper hesitantly, your fingers gently resting on his bruised jaw, the crook of your thumb brushing the warm, swollen skin. Your voice, firm at first, almost breaks into a sigh, betraying the inner struggle that’s tearing you apart. Each word seems to cost you an energy you no longer have, as if by touching his bruised skin you’re absorbing a bit of his pain. He tries to smile, but it’s not a comforting smile, quite the opposite. It’s too fragile, too uncertain, like a cracked vase that threatens to shatter at any moment under the slightest pressure. It’s a smile laden with all the pain he refuses to show, and yet, you see this weakness he hides, this fragility he doesn’t dare reveal.

His gaze, however, strikes you more than anything else. It is dark, almost burning, like an ember ready to explode, and you feel that, behind this intense glow, he lets you glimpse an ocean of unspoken things, of buried wounds. He looks at you as if he were trying to transmit something to you, a weight too heavy to bear alone. It is a gaze that penetrates you, that passes through you, and for a moment, you have the impression that everything around you disappears. There is only the two of you, suspended in a frozen space where time seems to have stopped. His features relax a little, but even in this relaxation, you see this wounded pride that fights against the vulnerability that he tries to ignore.

You shake your head slightly, as if to chase away this heaviness, but the words you seek to say are almost inaccessible to you, drowned under the wave of tenderness and pain that invades you. "Congratulations on... the victory," you finally breathe, your voice almost inaudible, drowned by emotion. These words, although spoken, have nothing joyful, nothing triumphant. They are charged with sadness, a deep pain for him, for what he has just been through, for what he continues to hide under this facade of an invincible fighter. Your hands, hesitant, move instinctively to his hair, brushing his locks, looking for something to hold on to, a simple gesture to show him that he is not alone in this moment. The grip of your fingers on his hair is almost timid, but there is in it a silent love, an implicit support.

He closes his eyes under your touch, as if he’s finally allowing himself to feel this moment of peace, this rare moment where he can let go. A shiver runs down his shoulders, and for a moment, you feel his muscles relax, a part of him surrendering to the pain, to the exhaustion. Then, a low moan escapes his lips, interrupted by a broken breath. This moan, this simple sound, is both a confession and a cry of pain, but also a breath of relief, an acceptance of what is inevitable. He’s no longer a fighter, he’s a man, simply a broken, tired man, trying to hold on to this last bit of dignity.

You look at his face, and something even heavier settles inside you. The scene changes, as if the world around you dissolves, giving way to this suspended moment. “But… I don’t like seeing you like this,” you whisper, your voice fading into the air, broken by a pain you can’t contain. Each word comes out with a force that surprises you. There is anger in your voice, yes, but also a pain that he may not perceive, or that he refuses to see. You don’t like what he becomes in pain, what he hides under this fighter’s armor. “You don’t deserve this, Sunghoon. Not for… a fight.” Your words, heavy with frustration, with sorrow, come out with more force than you had imagined. They echo in the room, carrying a pain that you can no longer contain. You see it's not just a fight he lost. It's a part of himself he sacrificed, and it all upsets you.

He looks down at those words, as if you’ve just put your finger on a gaping wound that he’s trying to hide. His wounded fists slowly clench, with the slowness of a man struggling to face his own humanity. A drop of blood trickles from one of his wounds, slowly descending onto his skin, like a silent testimony to the battle he’s just fought. “I know…” His voice is barely a whisper, strangled, trembling. The words are heavy with shame, with regret, as if he’s betrayed something in you, something he can’t fix. “I… I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’m sorry, Y/n. So sorry…” He repeats the words with heartbreaking gentleness, as if he’s trying to convince himself that he’s still worthy of your compassion.

A lone tear slowly rolls down his cheek, that lone tear that seems to carry a part of his soul with it, and it breaks everything that remains in you. It is a confession, a silent admission of everything he doesn't know how to say. He sniffles, grimaces, and you can see that his nose, now swollen, inflicts a new unbearable pain on him. But what pierces you, what tears you apart deep down, is this vulnerability that he no longer hides, this raw humanity that is finally revealed. In that moment, Sunghoon is no longer the invincible fighter you know, he is just a man, broken, wounded, and you suddenly feel helpless in the face of this transformation.

You approach him again, with that slowness full of precautions, as if each gesture could break something between you. Your hands tremble slightly as you place your palm against his cheek, the softness of your gesture contrasting with the brutality of the situation. Then, without thinking, you brush his nose with your fingertips, your heart heavy with fear and tenderness. He looks at you, and in his gaze, there is a whole world of trust, of suffering, but also this silent acceptance. He seems to tell you that, no matter what you are going to make him go through, he will be there, by your side. Everything he endures, everything he suffers, it is in the hope that you will lift him up, that you will be the one who gives him back his dignity, even in pain.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper, your breath short and shaky. The heat of his body against yours is unbearable, thick with sweat and the metallic smell of blood. You can feel the intensity of his pain, it cuts through you like a stab. The air is heavy, saturated with unspoken tension, and you focus on his eyes, those eyes that seem to beg you not to break him. “Sorry…” you breathe, your words barely audible, but filled with a sincerity that pierces you.

Then you press your thumb and index finger gently but firmly on either side of his nose, feeling the resistance of his bones beneath your skin, and the pain he tries to hide. The crack echoes, dry and sinister, in the room, and you feel like the noise is swallowing you up, suffocating you. Sunghoon grits his teeth, his lips already swollen and bruised from the blows, bitten to stifle the moans rising in his throat. His features tense, distorted by pain, and you see beads of sweat beading on his forehead, testifying to the intensity of the effort he is making to hold himself back. And yet, even in this pure pain, you perceive a glint in his eyes, a glint of defiance, of strength. It is as if he is telling you: “I am stronger than this.”

You release the pressure, and in that moment, you see a spark flicker in his eyes, a silent promise that he will hold on, that he will not let you down. But what upsets you, what tears you apart, is that lone tear that still rolls, a painful path down his cheek. “I’m… so sorry, Sunghoon,” you breathe, your voice cracking with the weight of the emotions choking you. You didn’t want this. But in this moment, everything seems to have changed, and you know that nothing will ever be the same between you again.

“Hey… I’m tough, I can handle it,” he whispers, his voice cracked by a wavering bravado, a silent cry of resistance to the truth he refuses to admit. He speaks with a conviction he tries to force upon himself, but everything in his posture, in his gaze, betrays the pain he can no longer contain. Each word seems like an unbearable burden, a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But deep down, he knows his efforts are futile. His lips tremble slightly, and in the intensity of his gaze, one can see the cracks in a mask that is slowly crumbling. A flicker of doubt, fleeting but burning, creeps into his eyes. The humanity of his pain bursts, fragile and broken, into the pride he tries to preserve. That flickering light, however tiny, is the only thing he cannot hide.

He tries to raise his hand to wipe away the cold sweat that beads on his forehead, but it is his right hand, bloody and trembling, that rises awkwardly towards his face. Each gesture seems like a superhuman effort, a fight against the weakness that he refuses to admit. He touches his cheek, where tears slide without restraint, and his gesture, completely involuntary, is as heavy as a confession. His fingers are red, covered in blood, but he no longer even pays attention to it. He tries to erase the humiliation, to repress this vulnerability that seems to sneak up on him despite himself. His gaze wavers, seeking an anchor, but he ends up letting his hand fall, unable to get rid of the pain weighing on his shoulders.

“It’s just a scratch,” he says then, louder this time, as if to convince himself that reality is what he wants it to be. He shakes his head, that desperate little movement that seeks to push back the horror of his own weaknesses. But his voice trembles with the effort of keeping up appearances, each syllable shattering like glass under the pressure of his own denial. “I’m a boxer… not a weak man.” He repeats the words like a mantra, but they ring hollow, like one more sentence in the echo of his own defeat. The pain of his physical injuries, of his broken ribs, only scratches the surface. What chokes him, what grinds him silently, is the collapse of everything he’s built.

Everything about him speaks of a pain far greater than that of his broken bones or his tense muscles. This pain has no name, it has no face. It is an invisible presence, an all-consuming void. Every breath is an effort, every movement a challenge. His hands tremble, his eyes are shifty, and his heart, terribly fast, resonates like a drum, an irregular cadence that even physical pain cannot conceal.

You see his body tense, freeze under the effort of maintaining this facade of an invincible hero. He tries to convince himself that he is strong, that he can bear anything, but everything inside him screams the opposite. His gestures, clumsy and desperate, are a futile attempt to prove that he does not need pity, that he can face everything alone. Yet his soul is in ruins. His pride and bravery, once powerful, are now manifestly fragile. His eyes seek yours, but they are empty of the assurance he would like to find there. They seek a comfort that he dares not hope for, a pity that he refuses to accept.

The tears continue to fall, each drop seeming heavier than the last, more painful to hold back. They are proof that he can no longer control what is happening inside him, a whirlwind that he tries to escape but that engulfs him little by little. He does not show it, he hides it behind his trembling smile and his pride, but he is broken, and each tear that slides on his skin is a victory of this pain that he tries to escape.

He closes his eyes briefly, as if hoping the pain would suddenly disappear, as if wishing it all to end. But when he opens them again, it is to look at you, a new fragility in his gaze, an abyss of suffering that he tries to hide with a forced smile. His hands tighten against his arms, as if to hold back what might escape. But he knows that all is already lost, that the battle is already won by pain, and that his mind is a field of ruins.

“Don’t say that…” Your voice breaks under the weight of emotion, a wave of sadness, helplessness, and frustration overwhelms you. You want to help him, save him, tell him that he doesn’t have to carry all this alone, but the words get stuck in your throat. It’s not the words that matter, you know that. It’s this silent truth that creeps between the two of you, this truth that he can’t accept. “You’re much more than that. You… you’re human.” The words escape in a breath, a whisper of confession that you hadn’t planned. But they are the truth. And even if this truth breaks him even more, you know that he has to hear it. Because, despite everything he tries to hide, you see deep in his eyes this part of humanity that he wants to run away from, this fragility that he hates and that he can’t accept.

He turns away slightly, as if those words had struck him with a violence he cannot counter. Anger flares in his gaze, pride rises, but it is weak, hesitant, wavering. He tries to defend himself, but he is too exhausted, too broken. He knows that what he feels, this shame, this pain he carries, is stronger than his pride. His eyes, full of defiance and resentment, meet yours, wet with tears, but he finds none of the answers he seeks there. On the contrary, the flame of his pride flickers for a moment, hesitates, then hides, no longer finding refuge in his own heart as he sees your tears flow down your cheeks, without any restraint.

He closes his eyes again, a shiver running through his body. This shiver is not due to physical pain, but to the emotion that runs through him, an emotion that he can no longer hold back. He whispers, almost inaudible, as if each word is a burden too heavy to bear. “Y/n, please don’t cry… I’m not worth it.” These words are knives in the air, a confession that he has repeated a thousand times in his head, but never with this fragility. Never with this pain. His voice trembles, breaks, and you see the shame invade his features, almost unbearable to watch. “Your tears… they are too precious to be wasted on me.” He seems to be punishing himself, inflicting a torture on himself that he has not deserved, as if his own suffering is a fault, a fault that he must atone for.

He tries to detach himself from you, to push away this tenderness that you offer him, but something inside him draws him back to you. He leans slightly, as if the gravity of his pain irresistibly draws him to you. And, in an almost trembling gesture, his hands come to your face to wipe away your tears, spreading his blood on your skin. It is not only a gesture of comfort, but a desperate attempt to hold on to something, to you, to the only thing that still seems real in this world that is collapsing around him.

He fights back his own tears that well up in the apple of his eye, but they persist, making his face even more painful to look at. His sobs are faint, but persistent, and you can hear them mixing with the sounds of his wheezing. “I’m so not worth it… Princess…” His voice grows a little hoarse, as if each word lays him bare, and his eyes close, as if he can run away from the truth he’s carried inside for so long. “I’m done for.” His words echo in the air, heavy, laden with regret and abandonment. He lets himself go against you, as if he hopes your body can hold him before he finally sinks into the night of his own thoughts. “That’s why no one stays with me for too long… I know I’ll end up losing you… too.”

Those words strike like an iron bell in your mind, and a new, more violent pain creeps into you. He condemns himself before he even has the chance to see what he could be with you. The stones he throws are heavy and cold, and you feel them as if they are crushing your heart. You want to scream, to tell him that none of this matters, that you will be there, no matter what. But your words die in your throat, because you know that he would have told you: he does not believe in love, not in the one you offer him. He believes himself unworthy of all this, and he offers it to you as a burden that he does not want you to carry. But you are not afraid. You know that what he is experiencing is not what you are ready to let go of.

“Don’t say that, Sunghoon.” Your voice is firmer this time, an anchor in the storm that consumes him. “I’m here… and I plan to stay, even if it hurts.” Your words aren’t just words of comfort, but a challenge to his fears. The truth, simple but powerful, escapes from you like a ray of light in a dark room. He stares at you then, his eyes filled with incomprehension, as if he’s about to push you away again, but he can’t. He searches for you in the chaos of his mind, searching for meaning in what you’re saying, but deep down, he knows it’s the truth.

He shuts down again, shaking his head, fighting the torrent of emotions that overwhelms him. His breathing becomes faster, more erratic, each breath seems to cost him energy he no longer has. You see his throat tighten, the muscles in his neck tense with the effort. He begins to panic, the crisis that is eating away at him is taking him faster and faster. You see the terror in his eyes, this irrational but devouring anguish, which makes his hands tremble, which squeezes his heart. He seeks to flee, to hide in a comfort zone that his demons refuse to offer him.

Without even thinking, you step closer, fighting the distance he tries to create, taking his bloodied hands in yours. You feel the heat of his skin, the erratic beating of his heart through his palms. “Look at me, Sunghoon. Breathe with me,” you say softly, but with a calm authority that cuts through the air. You want him to focus, to stay with you, to not fall into this downward spiral. You make eye contact, each glance an anchor, each heartbeat a promise. And you see the hesitation, the fear in his eyes, but also that little spark of recognition. He struggles, but he’s willing to try. He closes his eyes, trying to cling to your voice, to your presence, like a castaway clinging to a buoy.

“Breathe in… and breathe out,” you say softly, your voice filled with a tenderness that contrasts with the gravity of the moment. You struggle to synchronize your breathing with his, like an anchor in a rough sea, hoping to offer him some stability as the world around you seems to fall apart. Each breath you take seems to hang in the air, as you seek to convey a calm determination. He follows you, hesitantly at first, his ragged breaths betraying the panic inside him. Then, gradually, a sort of synchronization is created, each breath becoming more assured, more grounded. He fights against himself, against the pain, against the fear, but with each exhalation, something inside him relaxes, slowly, imperceptibly.

“That’s good, Sunghoon… you’re getting there,” you murmur, the words sliding out softly, like an invisible caress. You see his face relax, his features tense with the effort of maintaining control gradually unraveling. The weight of his thoughts seems to dissipate, a little with each breath. His hands, which were tense, almost painfully clenched around you, become less rigid. They still shake, but this shaking becomes less frantic, less desperate. He hasn’t completely abandoned this facade of resistance yet, but he’s starting to accept that in this moment, maybe, he can allow himself to let go, even if it’s only a little.

“I’m here…” you say, and those words, which you repeat almost mechanically, are more than just a promise. They are a silent oath, an anchor in the storm he has been going through alone for too long. They float in the air between you, heavy with meaning. Your voice, soft but firm, penetrates the pain, the fear and the silence that surround you. You see his eyes lock on yours, searching for answers, a stability he hasn’t known for too long. In this suspended moment, you are the only thing he can still lean on. And that’s all you can offer him. “We’re going to get through this together.” Those words, spoken like a promise he’s not used to receiving, nevertheless seem to soothe something broken inside him.

His eyes close for a moment, as if the weight of those words hit him hard. His lips part slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing comes out. A heavy silence, saturated with everything he can't express, settles between you. Then he sighs, deeply, a breath that seems to hold back a lifetime of suffering. It's not a sigh of resignation, but a sigh of relief, very small, fragile, but terribly real. His hands, still trembling, find your skin and, with a gentleness you didn't think possible, he rests his forehead against yours. This gesture, seemingly innocuous, is a form of abandonment, a silent act that says it all. You are there, together, in this suspended moment where pain, suffering and hope merge, mix.

In this silence, you barely hold back a sob, the emotion rising in you, uncontrollable. This simple contact, this closeness, tears you as much as it comforts you. The pain of seeing him like this, broken, vulnerable, takes you by the throat. But there is also this warmth, this spark of hope in his eyes, a fragile glow that tells you that he has not given up everything. This moment, you know that it will remain engraved in you forever: an instant where you saw Sunghoon's soul in its purest, most real form.

When you slowly pull away, it's as if a part of you wants to stay there, suspended in this contact, as if breaking this fragile balance could break something in both of you. The smile that sketches itself on your lips is almost imperceptible, but it is there, despite the pain that invades you. A dull, indefinable pain, but which intensifies when you see the weariness and exhaustion in his eyes. He looks at you, this strange look, marked by helplessness and despair, but also a bit of hope, however fragile it may be. He no longer knows how to read you, or how to accept what he feels, but he still searches for you in the darkness of his soul. And in the way his eyes fix on you, you know that there is something that has changed in him.

Kneeling before Sunghoon, an unbearable heaviness descends upon you, a whirlwind of emotions colliding in your mind, nearly stealing your breath. Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it resonating in your temples, in every fiber of your body. There is a palpable tension between you, a power dynamic that is silent but very real. Your fingers tremble slightly, hesitant, as you gently lift his t-shirt. The contact of your hand with his bare skin is a shock that sends shivers down your spine. What you discover pierces you. Under the dim light of the room, his torso is marked, almost disfigured, with scars, bruises and purple. Each blow, each wound that adorns his skin is a silent image of violence, a story of pain and struggle. You can’t look away.

A wave of conflicting emotions overwhelms you. On one side, the visual shock twists your insides, a pain that seems to be yours, an echo of solidarity. On the other, a disturbing admiration for this broken but still standing body, a resilience that moves you, forces you to recognize a strength you would never have imagined. The bruises are shards of a macabre painting, an arrangement of blue, black and purple that overlap, creating a mosaic of pain. Each mark seems to have its own story, and you are irremediably drawn to explore them with your eyes, trying to understand where they come from, what they mean. But it's more than that, isn't it? It's a silent call, a manifestation of a suffering that he didn't ask for, but that he carries in spite of himself. He never wanted all this, but it's there, imprinted on his skin like an indelible mark.

Your fingers slide timidly over his chest, caressing his quivering skin, brushing his bruises with an unreal softness, as if you were afraid that too much pressure would shatter the reality around you. You know that the pain he feels is far more intense than anything you can imagine, and yet, you can't help but search for answers in the tension of his muscles under your hand. A shiver runs over his skin, and you realize that your touch affects him more than he wants to show. You see his body react, a subtle tensing, a shudder that escapes your senses. It's not just the coolness of the air that makes him react, it's your touch, your touch. As if a part of him, the one he tries to hide, awakens at your touch.

When you linger on his ribs, you see his face contort with pain. Sunghoon's features tense, his eyes close for a moment, and you know that every movement, every pressure you apply is torment for him. A shiver of excitement runs through you, taking you by surprise, disturbing you. Maybe it's this confrontation with his pain, this strange beauty of seeing him suffer while remaining there, while resisting. But there's something else too, something more intimate. His body is an enigma, and you want to understand, you want to be the one to decipher this mystery. When you press a little harder, he growls, a guttural, almost animal noise, that makes you stop for a moment, frozen. The sound resonates in space, heavy, desperate, but also of a singular beauty in its vulnerability.

You try to reassure him, but you know it’s not easy. “It’s just swelling, nothing serious, but I’m going to give you antibiotics to help with the pain. You have to take it all, Mr. Park!” Your voice is authoritative, almost amused, a strange contrast to the situation. You speak to fill the void, to break the tension a little, but a part of you knows that these words are more for you than for him. Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that everything will be okay. But you see his reaction. He grimaces, his face tightening, and a pout of disgust forms on his lips. It’s not just a rejection of the medication, it’s a rejection of the very idea of ​​depending on something or someone, even in this situation.

A light, almost nervous laugh escapes from your mouth, breaking the weight of the atmosphere for a moment. This laugh is strange, inappropriate even, but necessary, like a way to bring a little lightness into this too heavy moment. But, even if you laugh, your eyes can't help but capture every detail of his suffering, every movement that betrays a little more of what he wants to hide. Inside, a struggle tears you apart, a tug. You want to protect him, but this desire to touch him, to see him suffer and fight against the pain, troubles you in a way you don't understand. It's a strange mixture of care and morbid fascination, an attraction that unsettles you.

“But first, I’m going to disinfect your bruises and scrapes,” you say, your tone becoming more serious, a gesture that goes far beyond simple medical care. There’s an intimacy to it, an intrusion into his personal space, a moment of painful sharing, a connection that goes far beyond what words can express.

You grab a gauze, soak it in alcohol, and the strong smell of disinfectant invades your nostrils. It’s a pungent, familiar scent, that of treatment rooms, of moments when pain becomes omnipresent. The smell almost makes you sway, plunging you further into the intensity of what’s playing out between you. You stand up slightly, leaning towards him, your gaze meeting his, that silent challenge burning in his eyes. Each beat of his heart is a palpable vibration in the air, a rhythm that captivates you. As you bring the gauze to his wounds, you give him a smile, almost cruel in its sweetness. You know the pain is inevitable, but there’s nothing you can do to avoid it. The muscles in his body tense, every fiber ready to react.

“This is going to hurt,” you whisper, your voice soft, tinged with an almost disturbing intimacy. Looking into his eyes, you see the storm raging inside him. The physical pain, yes, but also this inner struggle, this humiliation of being in this position, this unspoken desire for connection. A cry for help disguised as a challenge. The look becomes a silent exchange, an unspoken promise of what could be born between you, of this chaos you create together.

The first touches are both gentle and violent, a strange dance between gentleness and brutality. Sunghoon winces at every touch, his face twisting in pain, but there is also this glimmer of defiance, this fierce will not to give in, not to show himself vulnerable. In his eyes, you see a mixture of frustration and desire, an inner struggle that absorbs you. Each harder pressure on a bruise fills you with a shiver, a palpable tension between you, a macabre dance of conflicting emotions that seems to transcend words. It is as if each pain he suffers allows you to delve further into his world, to understand his limits, his fears, and in a strange way, it binds you to him.

You continue to gently apply the disinfectant to his wounds, each small tap on his skin resonating like a percussion, an echo that crosses your heart and creates waves of intense emotions within you. The fragility of this moment hits you hard, as if each gesture, however trivial, carried an immense weight. Each movement becomes a fragile dance between gentleness and violence, between the tenderness with which you treat his wounds and the pain he suffers without a word. With each contact with his skin, a shiver runs through your body, as if the simple act of touching him awakens in you an alchemy that you had not anticipated.

Sunghoon's face is tense, his features drawn with effort. You see his jaw clench, his teeth almost cracking with the strain. He keeps his eyes closed, probably to keep any evidence of his pain from slipping out, but in every fiber of his body, you feel that the intensity of the moment is affecting him as much as it is you. His muscles are tense, his breathing deep and irregular, but there is something in the way he presses his lips together that betrays an inner struggle. A silent duel between the pain coursing through his body and the fierce desire not to falter, not to let it get to him.

The cotton soaked in disinfectant brushes the damaged skin of his torso, and you can almost feel, in every shiver that escapes him, in every small movement, the magnitude of what he is enduring. The pain intrudes into the air like an invisible presence, a shadow that floats between you, a palpable tension that you feel almost as if it is passing through you too. Every blow, every scar, every bruise, it is like a weight crushing your heart. The violence he has suffered seems to have been imprinted on your own flesh, like a shared wound. You feel like an extension of him, a part of his being, as if you were one, linked by this silent suffering and, paradoxically, a strange desire. A desire that emerges slowly, imperceptibly, like a gentle but inescapable breeze.

Your gaze doesn't leave his wounds. The skin still red, marked by the imprint of the blows, the persistent blue of the bruises, all this under the subdued light that floods the room. But he says nothing, doesn't moan, he just endures. And you can't help but feel a silent admiration for him. A raw, inexplicable, almost painful respect. There is something fascinating, magnetic in his resistance, but also an infinite sadness, a pain that seems to want to invade you, overwhelm you.

The disinfectant slowly slides between your fingers, but each gesture becomes heavier, more difficult. Not because of the sight of his wounds, but because each small movement brings you closer to him, makes you feel his warmth, the tension of his muscles under your hand, each shiver that runs through his skin. The sound of the cotton soaked in alcohol coming into contact with his skin seems to amplify the distance between you, and at the same time, reduce it, almost dissolve it. It's strange, almost unreal. An insidious need to get even closer, but you know that certain limits cannot be crossed, certain spaces must be respected.

When you finish, the room seems to freeze in an even more oppressive silence. The only sound that remains is that of your breaths, broken, heavy, charged with contradictory emotions. Your heart beats faster, irregularly, as if each beat seeks to escape the intensity of the moment. You feel as if you have done much more than heal his wounds. Something deeper has taken place between the two of you, something that neither he nor you can quite name. You know it in every fiber of your being, in every tense muscle of your body. But there is no time to think further. The moment is still too fresh, too intense.

You know it's not over. You still have to wrap it up, dress it in bandages, even more closeness, even more contact, even more intimacy. The bandages are there, in the box, waiting to be used. Each gesture becomes heavier, more thoughtful, as if the moment were stretching out, hanging in the air. You open the box slowly, as if each movement were a conquest, as if you were preparing to appropriate the space, to penetrate a little more into its universe.

Your hands shiver at the thought of touching him again, but it's not nervousness. It's something much more complex, an excitement that tightens your throat, an unexpected emotion that grabs you by the throat. You slowly unroll the bandage, the rough texture of the fabric slipping under your fingers, each meter you unroll bringing you closer to him. As you wrap the bandage around his right shoulder, your body moves even closer to his. You can feel the heat of his skin, marked by the brutality of the blows, and yet, you have no desire to move away. On the contrary, you want to be there, close to him, to feel each shiver running through his skin, each vibration that seems to spring from the contact between you. You wrap the bandage slowly, your hand brushing his arm, his rough skin, marked by violence. His body tenses under your gestures, but it's not only the pain he feels. It's this closeness, this tension between you, this strange alchemy that you can't ignore.

And with each pass of the bandage, you get closer. Your body brushes against his, you feel the warmth of his chest against your arms, the muscles contracting under your fingers, each breath deepening. You see his muscles tense with pain, but also with the power of this moment. Every inch of skin you cover brings you closer to him, and to that fragile boundary between pain and desire, between suffering and shared intimacy.

You prepare to slowly descend towards his torso, a new strip of bandage in hand. The first turn of the bandage is simple, almost mechanical. But with each movement of your wrist, your fingers brush his marked skin, and you perceive, with painful acuity, the shivers that cross his muscles. Sunghoon's jaw tightens, his gaze becomes more distant, almost frozen, like a mask that he weaves around himself. Yet, you know, you feel this slight tremor under his skin, this invisible tension that hides in his arms, in the rigidity of his body. It is a pain that he hides, a silent suffering that your touch manages to awaken, and you feel it deeply, like an echo of this inner struggle that boils inside him. His torso, red and swollen, is a painful map of the violence he has suffered. Each bruise is a memory, a battle that he will never be able to erase. The bandage you apply becomes more pressing as you continue, each movement more sustained, as if you were seeking to soothe what cannot be soothed.

Your body is tense, your mind both focused and nervous, as you continue to wrap the bandage around his ribs, your fingers brushing every curve, every line of his body. There is in each brush a silent call, an invitation to go deeper, to discover areas of his skin that no one else touches. There, in this proximity, you intrude into a space that he jealously guards, protected from any outside gaze. But his muscles, despite his implacable air, react to each gesture, trembling under the pressure of your touch. This is not simply a care, it is a transgression, an imposed intimacy, a gentle but irreversible invasion.

Sunghoon says nothing. Not a word. Not a gesture. But his eyes… His eyes don’t leave you. They stare at you, with that strange, contradictory glow, wavering between defiance and submission. A hard and cold look, but beneath which you can guess a fragility that he tries to hide. You know it’s an inner struggle, a silent war, a fight not to give in, not to let his flaws show. He wants to be unwavering, but you perceive this tiny crack in his gaze. A vulnerability that he’s not used to exposing.

Your gaze slowly descends, your body moving closer to his, every inch of you sinking into the intimacy of his space. The bandage continues to slide beneath your hands, each brush an almost imperceptible touch, but charged with a palpable energy. The rhythm of his breathing becomes heavier, deeper, as if each movement of your finger on his skin exacerbates the pain, but also the intensity of the moment. There is something heavy, inexpressible in the air between you two. A thick silence, almost tangible. The slightest breath you let escape seems to resonate in the room, and yet it makes no sound. He endures, as he always has, gritting his teeth to stifle the grunts of pain.

Then you wrap the bandages around his wrists. His hands… His hands, wounded, deeply scarred. The moment becomes heavier, almost charged with meaning. A shudder of recoil when your hand brushes his skin, a movement so subtle it could go unnoticed. But you know he feels it. He clenches his fists, as if to repress any manifestation of pain. Yet he submits to the pressure, to the imposed intimacy, and you continue to wrap the fabric, carefully, patiently. With each turn, your fingers brush his. The contact is weak, almost imperceptible, but still heavy, as insidious as a promise. It is more than simple care, it is a connection. A silent bond woven in the gentleness and intensity of your gestures. A contact that takes charge of everything he hides, everything he does not want to say, everything he does not dare to show.

And each wrap becomes heavier. It carries within it a strange intensity, a tension that you cannot ignore. As if this bandage, a simple object of care, becomes the invisible thread that binds you, the only authentic bond, more powerful than anything you can say or keep silent. When you finish tightening the last turn around his wrists, a strange silence settles. He looks at you. This time, he does not flee. His eyes meet yours, and in this look hides an acceptance, a silent confession that he does not have the words to express. A fragile moment, where he allows himself, finally, to be vulnerable, to give himself to what you do to him, even if he does not show it entirely.

You stand in front of Sunghoon, so close you can feel the heat of his skin, the air between you as thick as the heavy atmosphere of an impending storm. Even the slightest breath seems to resonate. A slight, almost imperceptible shudder makes the air around you shiver, as if the silence itself were holding its breath, hanging on this precise moment to see what you’re going to do or say. There’s a palpable tension between you of a substance that could be cut with a knife. The shadows in the room lengthen, stretching across the walls, dancing in the dim light, accentuating the eerie softness of this shared intimacy.

Your hand, hesitant at first, gently rests on the part of his torso that is not bandaged, following the contours of his tense muscles. You feel the warmth of his body through your fingers, and the more you touch him, the more you feel enchanted by this strange connection, this dark alchemy that is born between you. The scars that mark his skin, these indelible marks left by past battles, are silent memories that you explore with your fingertips. Each line, each curve tells a story that you guess without really wanting to know it, but that you feel in the intensity of this contact.

Your breathing becomes more irregular, heavier, as you feel each rough scar on his flesh under your fingers. Each tension of his muscles under your hand pushes you to come even closer, to pierce what he hides, what he does not want to show you. You are aware of each movement of his body, of each tiny shift. Your fingers descend slowly, lower, following the lines of his abs, brushing his skin marked by violence. Your heart accelerates with each gesture, each brush. This is not a simple contact, not an act of care. It is a dance, an exploration, a test. A test of his limits, but also of your own capacity to lose yourself in this connection between pain and desire. And you feel that this bond, as fragile and ephemeral as it is, brings you closer to him in a strange, irresistible way.

“Does it still hurt?” you whisper, the words floating between you, heavy with meaning. It’s not simply a question of whether he’s still hurting. It’s not just a concern for his well-being. Beneath those words, there’s something more complex, darker: a desire to test his reactions, to understand what he’s feeling through this touch, to discover what he’s hiding in the dark recesses of himself. There’s no worry in your voice, just curiosity, almost clinical, almost pitiless.

He doesn't answer immediately, but you feel his body react, almost imperceptibly. A subtle shudder under your fingers, a slight movement of the muscles in his torso, like a response to this pressure, to this attention. And then, slowly, his lips curve into an ironic smile, a grimace that betrays a form of defiance, of provocation. His eyes, still fixed on yours, are burning, intense, but also calculating. He's playing with you, he knows perfectly well what impact his words will have, and he doesn't waste a second in delivering them to you, weighing each syllable with cold precision.

“Pain is nothing. But you… you are more dangerous than any wound.”

These words hit you like a punch. They hit you, slip into your mind, disrupt your thinking. It’s a game, a trap he’s setting, and you know you’re falling for it, but you can’t seem to break away. Sunghoon has perfectly understood the effect he’s having on you. He’s playing with you, manipulating you without you being fully aware of it, testing your limits, pushing them to force you to go further. The dynamic between you has changed in that moment. It’s no longer a simple interaction between two individuals. It’s a silent war, a fight of looks, gestures, touches, where every movement becomes a declaration of power, a quest for a fragile and unstable balance.

Unable to help yourself, your hand moves lower, your fingers tracing invisible lines on his stomach, lingering where the scars intersect, where the pain has accumulated. Each movement becomes more sensual, more intimate, and you feel it, you know that he feels every tiny gesture, every pressure you exert. His breath quickens beneath you, his muscles tense, and you see a shiver run down his body, betraying this complex mixture of pain and pleasure that he seems to be experiencing. He is both vulnerable and dangerous, all at once, and this paradox brushes against you, bewitches you, captivates you.

“Maybe you like it, the pain,” you breathe, your smile turning into a provocative glint that slides between you like a poisonous caress, soft and captivating. Your voice, though fluid and light, carries an intensity he can’t ignore. It rises like a silent invitation, the explosion of an unbearable desire hidden beneath seemingly innocent words. But these are not harmless words. They are the conflagration of a challenge, the spark of a question that you know will make him react. You want to test his limits, to plumb the depths of his soul, to feel how far he is willing to go, how much his control can withstand before everything collapses under the weight of the storm raging between you.

Your gaze fixes on him, incisive, penetrating. He can no longer look away, can no longer pretend not to understand what you are implying, what you expect from him. Sunghoon's eyes are no longer the same. A wild flame burns in his pupils, like a fire he can no longer contain. He stares at you, his gaze more intense than ever, as if he were trying to read your thoughts, to decipher every nuance of what you just said. But he knows. He knows exactly where you are going with this. And he knows, too, that if he crosses that line, there will be no going back.

There’s palpable tension in the air, a hold on his breath. You see his muscles tense, every fiber of his body reacting to the intensity of the moment. A silent war is playing out in his mind. And yet he doesn’t move. Not yet. He waits, like a predator stalking its prey, but doesn’t want to strike yet. He holds back, because he understands that this game is dangerous. But this inner struggle only intensifies the atmosphere. The room itself seems to hold its breath, suspended between control and imminent collapse.

He finally moves, and that simple gesture breaks everything. His hand rises, and in an instant, he grabs yours, taking it with such force that you almost feel the pain. His fingers close around your hand, heavy and powerful, like a burden, but also a promise. The heat of his skin burns against yours, and you feel every beat of his heart resonate in the space between you. This is not a simple touch. This is the hold of a man on a woman, of a will on the other. A touch that leaves an indelible mark, an invisible but deep mark, on your mind, on your body. Pain mixes with sweetness, submission turns into desire, and you feel lost in this intoxicating duality.

And you don't move. You let him do it, because you know that this gesture, although it is brutal, is part of the game. You move closer, so close to him that your breaths mingle, the outside world disappears. You are alone now, the two inhabitants of a bubble of pure electricity. The heat of his breath against your skin is so close to your lips that you could almost touch them. Your heart races, each beat resonating like a drum in your chest, like an echo of the tension that connects you.

The silence becomes almost unbearable, each second stretching like an eternity. Each movement, however small, seems loaded with meaning. He is there, very close, but you do not dare to move. His eyes, anchored in yours, burn with this flame that he tries to hide, a flame that he does not want to admit, but which bursts in his pupils, a truth that he can no longer hide. Their sparks collide with yours, fight in a silent exchange. You see him. You know what he feels. You know that he is about to give in.

Then his lips part just a little. A low, hoarse whisper escapes his throat. “Maybe so,” he says, but it’s not a simple answer. It’s an admission. A confession, almost a prayer whispered into the void. His words carry a heavy weight of unspoken meanings, charged with the same tension that floats between you. He’s just given you a part of himself he’s always hidden, a part of fragility he’s never shown to anyone. It’s not submission, but a raw, naked truth that vibrates in the air. He says nothing else, but it’s enough. He’s told you the essential. And you know now that everything between you has changed, that the boundary has been crossed forever.

His fingers tighten around your hand. You feel the pressure grow stronger, more urgent, almost desperate, as if he wants to make sure you’re here, present, that this tension, this connection, is real. He wants you here, he wants you now, but not just in a physical way. Sunghoon wants you to be anchored in this moment, to be engraved in you as much as you are in him. You feel the warmth of his hand against yours, but also the pain of his grip. It’s a bittersweet pressure, like a warning.

At that moment, everything changes. Time seems to stand still, the sounds of the outside world fade away, and there's only the two of you left, trapped in this silent dance. You realize then that this is no longer a simple game. It's not just a provocation, an exploration of desire. It's a test, a test of its limits, a test of your own ability to lose yourself in this strange connection, this fascination that mixes pain and pleasure. It's a point of no return. And you have no desire to go back.

Your heart, like a frantic drum, is pounding so hard in your chest that you feel like it’s going to burst, each beat faster, more disordered, than it’s ever been. Adrenaline pulses through your veins, but it’s a strange feeling, a mixture of excitement and tension unlike anything you’ve ever felt, as if every fiber of your being is stretched by an invisible thread. The air around you seems to be charged with a palpable energy, a gentle but piercing electricity that electrifies the space between you, drawing you in with a magnetic force that you can neither ignore nor suppress.

Sunghoon stands there, so close, and yet every movement of his body seems torn by a pain he tries to hide, a suffering that goes beyond physical pain, something deeper, anchored in every gesture, every breath he takes. You see his tense features, the stiffness in his shoulders, as if every second spent with you is an internal struggle, and yet, something inside him pushes him to stay, not to turn away. His wounds, visible and invisible, resonate like an echo of a war he wages within himself, a silent battle, and you know it will not have an easy end. Against all odds, you feel drawn to this darkness that consumes him. It is an unhealthy curiosity, but also an irrepressible need to understand the part of him that he hides, to reach this depth that he hides so skillfully under an icy surface.

A part of you feels hopelessly captivated by his defenselessness, this raw vulnerability that he only lets glimpse on rare occasions, but these moments… these moments, they are the ones that plunge you into a whirlwind of conflicting feelings. You want to touch him, to cross this distance he tries to maintain, to show him that you know, that you feel, that you understand this pain that boils inside him. It is like a chain that twists around your heart, forcing you to move forward despite the fear, despite the doubts.

The invisible boundary between you becomes harder and harder to bear, an invisible pressure that crushes everything around you. You feel it, this tension between you two, more tangible than any words. The moment seems to stretch out in exquisite slowness, and you know that you no longer have a choice, you must move forward. Each breath seems suspended in time, and you let yourself be guided by an inexplicable force, an irresistible attraction that pushes you to cross this threshold.

Your body leans towards him slowly, as if each movement is a struggle against the inevitable. You hear his breath, becoming more panting now, heavier, and each second becomes an eternity, each beat of your heart an echo that reminds you how close Sunghoon is, how he occupies the center of everything you feel. You brush your face against his neck, your lips brushing the tender, smooth skin, yet marked by his inner struggle. The smell of sweat, of dried blood, a raw and intoxicating scent, rises between you, and everything that exists around you seems to evaporate. Nothing else matters. Only this proximity, this strange connection that binds you in this suspended moment. The outside world slowly disappears, as if everything is paused, frozen in a silent dance.

You feel yourself shivering, a heat that invades your body as you brush against him. Each sensation becomes more intense, more vivid. Your breath becomes deeper, slower, as you smell his scent more and more present, invasive. The mixture of sweat, pain, adrenaline and raw virility that emanates from him consumes you, envelops you. The brightness of his eyes, dark, but also full of something more… heavier, more elusive, hits you, and you know he feels the same way. Every part of you awakens, every desire buried in the recesses of your mind awakens with the force of a wild fire. This is no longer a simple physical attraction. It is as if your emotions are mixed with his, drawing you into a whirlwind of sensations that you can no longer ignore.

Your heart races even faster as you say the words, each syllable escaping your mouth slowly, your voice softer, more husky, like a whisper, an invitation: “Maybe you need this… maybe you need someone to make you feel something real, something raw, something painful.” Your words slide between you like a caress, but a sharp caress, one that tears at the last bulwarks of his control. They’re charged with this murky, dangerous promise, and you know they’re hitting him hard, hitting him where he’s vulnerable.

You watch his reactions, fascinated by the way his body tenses more, like a rope ready to break. He closes his eyes for a moment, and in that silence, you know he's letting your words sink into his mind, accepting this idea, accepting what you're offering him and what you expect in return. When he opens his eyes again, everything has changed. There's no more restraint, no more facade. His gaze is darker, almost bestial, but also torn, broken. In his eyes, there's a wild desire, an urgency he can no longer hide. The walls he's built are starting to crack, and something inside you burns even brighter at the sight of this fragility that's revealed.

Sunghoon whispers, his voice hoarse, thick with desire and desperation, “I don’t need someone… I need you.” The words hit you like a hammer blow. They resonate in your bones, in your mind. They’re both a promise and a confession, a raw truth he throws in your face. There’s no turning back, no escape. The reality between you becomes hotter, more present, each moment suspended in a tension that’s both heavy and exquisite.

In the silence that follows, everything collapses, everything transforms into a suspended moment, where your own emotions ignite. Your mind drowns in this intense heat, and you move forward again, this time without any more restraint, your nose brushing the warm skin of his neck, your breath burning his skin. The smell of him intoxicates you. It sucks you in, consumes you, and you lose yourself in this moment where everything, absolutely everything, seems possible. This desire that you feel, this irrepressible need for him, overwhelms you. It is no longer a simple attraction, it is a call. A call towards an abyss that you had never considered, but which, now, seems inevitable.

The touch of his hand in yours, barely perceptible at first, gradually becomes an anchor. A light grip, but so firm at the same time. His fingers slowly wrap around your palm, and a soft, almost bewitching warmth spreads through your veins. There is no rush in this gesture, but each second that his fingers remain suspended on the surface of your skin seems to prolong an instant already frozen in time. A breath escapes your lips, too light for him to notice, but enough to make you understand that a part of you is already beginning to tense, to tense in spite of yourself.

You’ve never felt this. A feeling of being suspended, of floating between two worlds. On one side, there’s you, the person you’ve always been: cautious, reserved, whole in your ability to protect yourself, to keep your heart safe from any intrusion. On the other, there’s Sunghoon. He’s looking at you, touching you, making a tangle of feelings arise in you that you can’t quite grasp. A shiver runs through you as you feel his fingers, but it’s not simply physical. No, it’s something that passes through you from the inside, a strange warmth, a sudden wave that makes you sway slightly.

It’s not a moment of gentle caress. It’s not a simple gesture of comfort. It’s much more than that. His fingers on your skin act like a key in a mechanism you hadn’t even suspected. An invisible lock opens inside you, and everything you had carefully hidden behind walls of ice begins to melt under the warmth of his hold. It’s as simple as that: he touches you, and you feel vulnerable. Every fiber of your body reacts to this contact as if a firework had just exploded inside you. You shudder, an electric shock runs through you, but it’s a delicious shiver, almost agonizing in its sweetness.

And yet, you don’t want to move. You don’t want to break this fragile balance. Your breathing quickens for no apparent reason, as if your body is starting to get ahead of your will. You feel his thumb slide lightly over the skin of your hand, in an almost hypnotic dance. There are no words, no promises. Just this gesture, this silent contact. Yet, it’s as if your whole being is screaming at you that there is much more than this simple touch. This is not a simple contact. This is a connection. A tension. An invitation.

Around you, there is no noise. No whispers, no distractions. The world seems to have frozen, as if it is waiting for you to react, to respond to what is happening between the two of you. You try to pull yourself together, to regain control of your thoughts, but it is as if you are drowning in the depth of his gaze. His eyes, black and deep, do not leave you. They scrutinize you, but not in the way you expect. No, it is as if he is trying to decipher every thought, every emotion that you try to hide. Sunghoon does not let you escape. He holds you in this silent embrace, that of his gaze and his gesture. And you cannot escape. Sunghoon is there, and he sees you. He sees you, really.

You try to look away, to look for an escape in the space around you, but you are drawn to Sunghoon like a magnet. You feel like prey, but in a strange way, it doesn't scare you. On the contrary, it is a call. A challenge. He stares at you, without blinking, without letting the slightest emotion show, except for the gleam that shines in his eyes. And you, you feel destabilized, lost in this gaze like in a calm and yet devouring ocean. It is almost unbearable. But you don't want him to let you go. No, deep down, you know that this vulnerability, this exposure, is what you want. What you seek, without really knowing why.

A heavy silence falls. The sound of your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Sunghoon is there, very close, and you can't escape his hold. And suddenly, without warning, he whispers. His voice is hoarse, as if each word is a burden he can no longer keep to himself. "I need you." Three words. Simple. Precise. But they fall on you like a shock. You try to push them away, but they slip into you, infiltrate your most secret thoughts. Need . This word vibrates in you, it resonates in your mind, then in your body. It invades you, takes you by surprise. The weight of his statement almost makes you falter. And yet, deep down, you know that he is telling the truth. It is not a question. It is not a plea. It is a certainty. A truth he doesn't even need to justify. And you know he expects something from you.

A spark of defiance lights your gaze. You have no intention of giving him this satisfaction, this ease. You want to resist, you want to keep some control, some semblance of power in this situation where everything seems to be collapsing around you. But the words that pass your lips, although spoken in an almost imperceptible breath, only succeed in betraying your own uncertainty. "Do you really think you need me?" The question hangs in the air, but it is tinged with doubt. A doubt that you do not want to acknowledge, but which is there, implacable.

His eyes harden, but he doesn't answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, like a tight rope ready to snap. You see him clench his jaw slightly, a muscle twitching with the effort of holding something back. He fights the urge to answer right away.

“I know what I’m saying,” he whispers, his voice low and gravelly, almost echoing in the air like a growl from the depths of his soul. His words seem to slither around you, slide over your skin, infiltrate every corner of your being. It’s not a simple affirmation. No. It’s a promise, a silent and threatening certainty, which seems to mark the beginning of a game whose full extent you have yet to grasp. “But you… are you ready to hear it?”

At that moment, you feel your chest tighten. The question hits your heart like an invisible punch, each syllable colliding with the walls of your resistance. A wave of heat floods your cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment, not at all. It’s much more complex than that. It’s as if something inside you is starting to move, as if an invisible thread is stretching and snapping at the same time. The heat rising inside you is like a fire, burning and uncontrollable. It’s not a simple physical reaction, a discomfort in the face of a strange or uncomfortable situation. No, it’s much deeper. It’s the feeling of losing your footing, of finding yourself on the edge between temptation and danger.

His eyes bore into yours, relentless, and you knew there was more than defiance in his gaze. There was a silent promise, a promise to shake everything. You felt it deeply, this conviction that he was ready to take you to the end of this path. All that was left between you was a question of power. And you knew, deep down, that that power belonged to Sunghoon. Not you. But maybe that power wasn’t what you expected.

You want to answer, to challenge him in turn, to prove to him that you are not weak. But just as you prepare to open your mouth, another realization dawns on you. It is obvious, a truth that flashes through you: you do not want to answer. You do not want to fight. What burns inside you is not a simple desire for control. No, what consumes you is the desire to dive, to lose yourself in this embrace of power, to no longer be the one who must always control everything, but the one who lets herself go with the wave, the one who lets herself be swallowed up.

A spark of defiance shines in your eyes, but it is veiled by a heavy realization: this is no longer about winning, about proving anything. No. This is about succumbing. And in that moment, you realize that you are ready to do it. Ready to lose everything, ready to accept what he offers you, even if you know the fall will be brutal. The thought hits you in the heart, like a bullet shot in the chest, but it is a bullet that you want to receive. Because you know, deep down, that this is all part of the challenge. And you want to play it.

The heat intensifies. It’s almost a pain, a burning in your veins. “What if I bring you more than you can bear?” The words come out of your mouth, as low and soft as the wind, but with a surprising clarity. They float in the air, heavy with meaning, full of that fragile and inevitable promise. Like a call into the void, a challenge you know he won’t be able to ignore. You see it in his eyes, the glimmer of curiosity and desire that’s born there. You see that glow transform, take on a darker, more intriguing hue. He’s only one step behind you now. He’s already following you, without knowing it, into this whirlwind you’ve just released.

The change in Sunghoon’s eyes is immediate. You see it. You feel it. It’s no longer a mere provocation, a threat. No, it’s a pact. He’s already in it, ready to lose himself just as much as you are. And you know, with a frightening certainty, that nothing will ever go back to the way it was before. You’ve seen that look change, darken. The sparkle that used to shine in his eyes is gone. Instead, there’s a kind of heartbreak, an inner struggle playing out inside him. He knows you’ve just crossed the line. And he wants to follow you down that path.

“I yearn for this,” he whispers, his voice raspy, a growl that shakes the air. The words vibrate against your chest, resonate through every fiber of your body, and you know, in that moment, that everything has changed. This is no longer a battle of wills. You’re already losing control together, falling into this madness that neither of you can stop. What you’ve feared all this time, what you’ve avoided, is now inevitable. You’ve crossed the line.

You don't hesitate anymore. Your body moves instinctively, moving closer to him, like a magnet attracting hot metal. Your breath brushes his face, a shared warmth, so close, so intimate, that you can almost taste his skin. Everything becomes blurred. The space between you no longer exists. You are there, so close to him, so vulnerable, but so eager. Your lips brush his skin. It's soft at first, almost shy, but the desire grows inside you. You want more. You want this feeling of contact to intensify, for this moment to widen, for you to come to madness. The kiss, almost imperceptible at first, becomes more pressing, more urgent, more insatiable.

His hands reach out to you, grabbing you with a wild fervor, as if he were afraid of losing you. You feel him twitch beneath your fingers, his muscles reacting to every gesture, every brush. The heat rises again, almost unbearable, a fever that you share with him. His lips find yours, and the sweetness turns into a devouring need, an urgency that you can no longer ignore. He responds to your kiss with such intensity that you are out of breath. His arms tighten around you, pressing you against him, and you feel the moment becoming more pressing, more raw, as if you were one entity.

He groans, a low, guttural sound, a silent cry of ecstasy and pain, as his hands slide into your hair, pulling you a little closer to him. Everything becomes a blur. Every sensation increases tenfold, every touch, every movement becomes a burn that consumes you. His body against yours, every breath that intertwines with yours, the kiss that becomes crazier, more desperate. The outside world disappears. There is only him, only this need that invades you, only this desire to lose you together in the unknown.

“You’re already breaking me,” Sunghoon finally says, his voice weak, cracked between pleasure and pain. It’s not a complaint. No, it’s an observation, a truth you share. And then you know that you have power. A power that no words could truly express. A power over him, over you, over this moment. You are the one who guides the dance, the one who leads this abyss with a new certainty. He is there, ready to do anything to follow you, trembling under your control. And you know it. There is no going back. You are both already engulfed in this moment. And you have no more doubts. You are ready to dive.

You pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, to observe what he feels, to see in his eyes that silent submission. “Then show me,” you breathe, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with impatience, an insatiable eagerness. It’s a challenge, but it’s also an invitation. A call. And you know he’s going to answer. He has no other choice. Because deep down, Sunghoon is as lost as you are.

Sunghoon leans towards you slowly, his gaze piercing and determined. Every inch he fills seems to stretch the air around you, an invisible but palpable pressure forming and encircling you, a vice of intensity. The space between you tightens with each breath, and you feel the tension growing, invading every part of your being, making you almost immobile under his grip. There is no more room for any thought, any distraction; there is only him, you, and this irresistible attraction that intensifies with each moment. His gaze, burning, insistent, does not leave your lips, and the air between you seems to charge with an almost tangible electricity, an energy that brushes the line between the possible and the forbidden. It is as if the whole world has suddenly evaporated, leaving only the two of you, alone, linked in this inescapable attraction, as if nothing else matters anymore. You are aware of the weight of his gaze, heavy, searching, each movement of your body becoming an enigma that he prepares to solve, a silent challenge that he wants to understand, to decipher.

The space between you seems to shrink with every breath, with every movement he makes, slowly, with that calculated slowness that makes your heart beat faster. When his lips finally brush yours, it’s an electric shock that sets you ablaze. It’s not a simple touch, no, it’s an invitation, an instinctive act, almost wild. The first few seconds are soft, almost shy, but in that softness lies an intensity that you feel immediately, like a repressed desire ready to burst. The heat of his skin burns you, and suddenly, you feel more alive than ever, every cell in your body responding to that kiss, as if your entire being were waking up.

Your heart races, each beat resonating in your chest, each quiver passing through your lips makes you shiver. His hands rest on the back of your neck, a light but firm pressure that pulls you a little closer to him, as if each centimeter of distance is torture. He guides you without a word, his hand sliding into your hair with an unexpected softness, but each gesture is also a subtle affirmation of his power. He wants to mark you, to anchor you in this moment, to make you understand without a word that he is there, that he already controls you, all the while always searching for something deeper, more intimate.

He gently tilts your head, a natural but meaningful movement. Your body follows, subjected to this invisible but powerful pressure. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but also excited by this strange sensation that rises in you, a nervous shiver running through your skin. Sunghoon takes his time, each gesture is measured, each caress unbearably slow. And it is precisely this slowness that makes the heat rise between you. You know what he is looking for, you know what he wants, but you also feel that you are losing control.

His lips find yours again, and this time there is no hesitation. His kiss becomes more urgent, more insistent. Sunghoon tastes you, explores you, your mouth mingling with his in an intoxicating dance. He pushes his tongue between your lips, discovering the softness of your mouth, but with a palpable determination, as if he intends to devour you, to make you his own. It is a shock, a shiver of desire that passes through your body in an instant, and you find yourself responding, letting your own tongue slide against his in a silent but explosive exchange. Each movement becomes more urgent, more desperate, as if the two of you are rushing to fill an unbearable void, as if this moment is your last chance to seize it all.

You feel like the space between you no longer exists, like the world around you has disappeared. There is only his lips, his tongue, his skin against yours. The sensation is devouring, you feel engulfed by it. Each touch gives rise to a shiver, each movement generates a wave of heat that spreads through your body. Sunghoon pushes you even more against him, his arms squeezing your waist, and you feel captured, a slave to this desire that invades you. You don't even want to resist, you don't want to. You let yourself go, letting yourself be overwhelmed by this kiss that consumes you. His hands slide over your skin, caressing your neck, your shoulders, a gentle but firm pressure that makes you feel both vulnerable and intensely desired.

Your breath quickens with each caress, each press of his lips against yours. You feel a growing heat inside you, an irresistible desire that makes your heart beat faster and faster. His hands move slowly, exploring every inch of your skin, drawing you into this whirlwind of sensations, passion and pleasure. His fingers brush your back, your waist, and you feel shivers run through your body. Each movement, each touch, each breath is amplified, each sensation increasing tenfold. You are aware of the proximity of his body, of the heat emanating from him, of the scent of his skin, and you feel that you are no longer in control, that you are slowly losing yourself in this flood of sensations that invades you.

Sunghoon becomes bolder, more pressing, his lips moving over your skin with an urgency that makes you shudder. He wants you, and you know it. But this isn’t mere possession, no. This is a shared desire, a fusion of bodies and souls that consumes you, makes you forget yourself. Sunghoon explores every corner of your mouth, every part of you, sucking you into this spiral of growing desire. And you respond to every touch, every pressure of his lips, every movement of his tongue. Your body responds instinctively, letting you be guided in this dance where he takes up more and more space, where he makes you his with every movement, every gesture, every caress.

The dynamic between you intensifies, intertwining in a captivating ballet of power and desire, a dance where you feel both the object of his appetite and the source of his torment. Each glance exchanged is a silent promise, an invisible thread that connects you in a dangerous game. His presence is irresistible, like a constant heat that grows more and more pressing. You know, deep down, that you have never been so close to sinking, to giving in to the inexorable attraction that unites you, but a part of you, a primal instinct, still resists. You feel that this moment could overwhelm you, leave you broken, lost in the shadow of his hold. And yet, you draw closer, drawn like prey, without really knowing who is hunting who.

The kiss he offers you is a hold, a demand that shakes you to your core. There is no more tenderness in his gesture, just an insatiable thirst to merge, to possess you. His tongue, insistent and searching your mouth with a savagery that is both brutal and exquisite, explores every corner as if he were trying to unearth something deeply buried inside you. Each shiver that runs through your body seems to awaken a part of you that you had forgotten, a devouring pleasure that mixes with the pain of your helplessness. Each gesture, each pressure of his lips becomes a declaration of domination and desire. It is not just a kiss, it is a fight, a war and a reconciliation at the same time, where each breath, each movement draws you further into this spiral.

Your heart, trapped in this senseless kiss, races in your chest, beating so hard that you feel like it's going to explode. It beats to the frantic rhythm of the dance, as if your bodies were one and the same being, guided by a tempo that escapes all logic, an intoxicating and merciless melody. You cling to him, instinctively, feeling your legs wobble beneath you, as if you were floating, suspended between ecstasy and falling. You feel both out of control and irresistibly drawn, trapped between the dizziness of desire and the fear of losing everything.

When his lips finally pull away from yours, you are left panting, an abysmal emptiness invading your being. An uncontrollable shiver runs through your body. The anticipation, burning and unbearable, devours you, every fiber of your being calling for his return, seeking that warmth, that intensity that consumes you. It is as if you are a flickering flame, ready to go out without him, but he does not give in right away. His hand finds your waist again, exerting a gentle but assured pressure, and his hot breath becomes more intimate, closer. Then Sunghoon returns to you, his tongue finding yours with an insatiable hunger. He leaves you no choice but to abandon yourself, to give in to him. You have become an extension of himself, your will erased by the power of his desire. Each shiver that runs through you marks you, an indelible signature that he inscribes in you with each contact.

The world around you dissolves in this heat, carried away by the intensity of this bond you share. A dizziness invades you, and you are no longer sure who you are in this fiery dance. Are you the mistress or the victim of this union? It is a new sensation, a perverse pleasure of being both desired and possessed, loved and broken. This mixture of intensity, ecstasy and vulnerability makes you lose all bearings. You feel powerful and fragile at the same time, bewitched by the web of his desire.

Sunghoon becomes a reassuring and devastating force at the same time. His kiss is not a simple exchange, but a bond that unites you in a new, frightening and fascinating way. His hands, greedy, rest on your skin as if he were exploring you, seeking to understand you, to conquer you. You lose yourself in this whirlwind of sensations, in the complex alchemy of pleasure and pain, desire and anguish. His breath panting against your skin, his lips pressing against you, each gesture is an exquisite torture, a complete abandonment, a total commitment to this journey of no return.

When he finally pulls away slightly, you barely realize how much time has passed. His face is marked by the passion that binds you, his lips still swollen, shiny with the echo of your kisses. His dark eyes stare at you with such intensity that you have the impression that he is tearing apart the last layers of your soul, seeking to pierce all your secrets, to discover each of your desires. The silence that settles between you is heavy, almost palpable, each breath, each shudder creating a spark in the air, charged with this invisible but obvious electricity.

Sunghoon places a possessive hand on your waist, holding you close to him in a way that is both protective and assertive, as if to remind you how much you belong to him. His heart beats hard, irregular, synchronizing with yours in a wild dance that vibrates the space around you. Each shudder, each breath that escapes your lips seems to excite him more. And in this whirlwind of emotions, you lose yourself, carried away by this burning desire. You know that you abandon yourself to him, body and soul, with no way back.

Your hand slides slowly along his shoulder, desperate to catch your breath. Each touch seems to amplify the tension between you, each movement becomes a delicate dance, a game of seduction where the line between control and loss of self becomes more and more blurred. He stares at you intensely, his eyes deep into yours, an almost animalistic glow illuminating his gaze, a glow that makes you shiver, overwhelms you with a sudden warmth. “You are so pretty, princess,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, almost a growl, “but I need more… so much more.” His words resonate in you like a haunting melody that you can no longer ignore. They awaken an intense desire in you, a desire to abandon yourself entirely, to offer everything to him, to lose yourself in this devouring passion that seems to want to encompass every part of your being.

His fingers brush your skin with an almost calculated slowness, as if he wanted to mark you, to imbue you with his presence. They slide along your waist, going lower, resting on your hips, and the warmth of his palm against your skin makes you shiver. He grabs you firmly, a gesture that is not gentle, but which makes you feel, deeply, that he wants to associate you with him, that he wants to possess every fiber of your being. He pushes you gently, but with a possessive determination, onto the couch, installing you in the position he desires, forcing you to look at him, to feel him, to understand that you can no longer escape him. He kneels in front of you, and in this suspended moment, everything seems to dissipate. There is only the two of you left, drowned in an intimate bubble, saturated with desire, where each movement, each breath creates an intensity that invades you. The pressure of his hands, the warmth of his gaze... All this reminds you that you are no longer mistress of anything, that everything, absolutely everything, depends on him.

You want to resist him, to regain some semblance of control, but something inside you urges you to stay there, to submit to the electric sensation that invades you. Your breathing becomes more irregular, each breath more gasping, as his words, almost a plea, echo in your mind: “Be my medicine… I need you so much.” His gaze doesn’t leave yours, and you know he’s talking about more than just your body. It’s not simply a physical attraction, but a desperate quest. He’s looking for an escape, a refuge in the sea of ​​his own torment, and you are that light in his darkness, the one he desires more than anything. A part of you feels irremediably linked to him, as if his desire has inscribed an indelible mark on you.

His fingers now play with the elastic of your pajamas, lifting them gently, as if to test your limits, his gestures full of tenderness but also of a palpable provocation. Each brush of his skin against yours makes you shiver, each movement seems to increase the desire in you, a wave of heat that overwhelms you. Your heart beats faster, a jerky breath, as the heat rises in you, uncontrollable. You sigh, a bittersweet sensation invading your being, as you find yourself at his mercy. You instinctively lift your hips to help him remove your garment, and the moment becomes unreal, almost suspended in time. The touch of his hands on your skin makes you lose all sense of yourself, and your body reacts without you being able to control it. The thrill of anticipation overwhelms you, as you lose yourself in the warmth of this shared moment.

When he removes your panties, his eyes shine with a devouring greed, a possessive glow that makes a wave of vulnerability rise in you. You see the raw passion that drives him, this sweet madness that drives him to want everything about you, to know everything, to see everything. “Don’t hide my view, Y/n, I want to see everything… of you.” His voice is a hungry whisper, almost a prayer, and as he gently spreads your thigh, he discovers your nudity with an almost obsessive intensity. His eyes rest on every curve of your body, searching for every detail like a painter admiring his work. He seems to swallow every inch of you, and this attention, this fixation, makes you feel vulnerable, but in a way you’ve never known, as if this moment, this look, will mark you forever.

“She’s the prettiest cat I’ve ever seen, princess,” Sunghoon whispers, his raspy voice slipping through the oppressive silence of the room like a gentle, yet relentless blade. He doesn’t speak, he slides each word, each syllable, as if he’s trying to mark you, to sink that sentence into your skin. His dark, abysmal black eyes don’t just stare at you, they devour you. You feel your soul shrink under that intense gaze, every part of you swallowed up in that obsession, that insatiable desire.

Your whole body reacts to his presence, but it’s not the simple discomfort of being observed. No, it’s something more primal, more visceral. You are nothing more than an offered silhouette, stripped not only of your clothes, but also of all your protections, all your barriers. He hasn’t simply made you take off your pants, he’s stripped you of your dignity, of your independence. In this room, you are nothing more than a body, a prey, a thing laid bare down to your soul, under the relentless force of his gaze. Every inch of your skin seems to burn under the bite of his attention, every fiber of your being screams at you to flee, but he is there, he is everywhere, and you have nowhere to go.

Sunghoon doesn’t just look at you, he devours you, scanning you from top to bottom, every detail of your being subject to his judgment. The heat emanating from you becomes more burning, a diffuse wave that seems to radiate from your belly, rising in you like a raging sea. And yet, you can’t help but shudder under his gaze, to tense in spite of yourself, like a taut thread ready to break. Your breathing becomes shorter, more panting, the air thickening under the intensity of his gaze and his presence. Each inhalation seems to burn your throat, and each exhalation is an effort, as if the simple act of breathing became a fight against this irrepressible desire that grows within you.

His warm breath brushes your skin, sliding over your thigh, then over your private parts, that area you would like to keep secret, but which offers itself to him without resistance. He doesn't need to touch you to create this burning sensation. The simple touch of his breath is enough to awaken a destabilizing reaction in you. An uncontrollable shiver runs through your body, a shiver of pleasure and terror, leaving you vulnerable, exposed in a position you had never imagined occupying. It is a gentle burn, almost unbearable in its insistence. Each second seems to stretch under this intangible caress, pulling you little by little towards an abyss from which you don't know whether you want to escape or throw yourself headlong into it.

His hand then slides over your knee, light, almost undetectable. But you feel it, you feel it, each movement of his fingers against your skin is like an electric shock. His fingers are slightly rough, but it is this roughness that makes the contact even more intense, more sensual. He traces a lazy line on the inside of your thigh, and each centimeter traveled makes you shiver more. He is in no hurry, he savors each moment, each gesture, as if you were just an object that he could manipulate as he pleases. The contact is so delicate, so subtle, that it becomes torture, a gentle, insidious torture, which slowly builds up inside you. A dull tension is born deep in your stomach, unbearable, like a rope stretched to the limit, ready to break under the pressure.

But Sunghoon doesn't hurry. He finally moves, but so slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. As if your impatience is just a game, a game that he takes cruel pleasure in. He feels that you are burning, that he is consuming you little by little, and he feeds on this impatience that devours you from the inside. His lips, finally, land on the inside of your thigh, and it is as if the whole world disappears in this burning caress. The kiss is heavy with meaning, almost too intense to be simply a kiss. It leaves behind a trail of heat, an indelible mark on your skin, but also on your mind. It is not an innocent kiss, it is a promise. A promise that you already know is dangerous, but that you wait for in spite of yourself. It is a disguised threat, a threat that you feel in every fiber of your being. You know what is coming, you feel the storm rising in your belly, but it is too late to back down.

You want to twist, to run away, to escape this unbearable tension, but his hands, firm and possessive, rest on your hips, pinning you to the spot. He holds you there, keeping you in this imposed immobility, as if you no longer had the right to move, as if your freedom no longer had any meaning. He dominates you with his gaze, his gestures, and you are powerless, trapped by the force of his desire and by the invisible web that he weaves around you.

And time seems to have frozen, but the heat continues to rise, invading every part of your being, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. And you're not even sure if you want to jump, or if you want it to slowly push you into the abyss.

When his tongue finally leaves his lips and rests on your skin, brushing the soft surface of your thigh, you feel as if time has stopped. Your breath catches in a stifled moan, as if this simple contact has just broken the invisible barrier between desire and reality. This is not a simple kiss; it is an explosion of pure pleasure, a shiver that runs down your body, insinuating itself into every fiber of your skin, leaving you both troubled and exhilarated. This contact is both gentle and brutal, a caress that gives birth to a delicious pain, an explosive mix of pleasure and malice. He does not rush, on the contrary, he takes his time. Each movement of his tongue is an invisible drawing traced on your skin, slowly exploring every inch of your flesh with an exquisite slowness, almost cruel.

Every lick he gives is perfectly controlled, calculated, but no less sensual. His pauses are deliberate, a heavy silence that makes you languish. And yet, these suspended moments themselves become a form of domination, a silent but undeniable power. He holds you there, between pleasure and expectation, forcing you to submit to his total mastery, at this moment when you are nothing more than a body, a sensation, a response to his gestures.

His gaze fixed on you, unwavering, is almost more powerful than his gestures. It’s not just a look, it’s a sharp weapon that infiltrates you, capturing every shudder of your body, every reaction, every uncontrolled breath that escapes your lips. He scrutinizes you with an almost possessive intensity, analyzing every tremor, every movement, as if your body were a riddle that he’s trying to solve. He sees everything: the way you arch your back, instinctively seeking to offer your skin more to his lips, the muffled sounds, the moans that escape in spite of yourself, like music that only he can direct. There’s nothing in you that he doesn’t control, nothing that he doesn’t silently claim.

Finally, his lips reach the place where you are most vulnerable. The softness that envelops them at first deceives you, because beneath this apparent tenderness hides an inflexible determination. Sunghoon explores the contours of your intimacy with an unreal slowness, an almost inhuman patience. Your head tilts back under the intensity of what he provokes. You feel yourself writhing under him, but it is not pain - it is the effect of an unbearable tension that rises in you, stronger and stronger. His tongue slides against you, at first with an almost timid lightness, before asserting itself, with such precision that it creates waves of pleasure in you that overwhelm you, opening you up a little more with each movement. He traces slow and measured circles, each gesture a challenge, each passage of his tongue a promise of deeper ecstasy. And you, your body reacts before you are even aware of it, each muscle tense, each breath becoming a silent cry that transforms into a broken, almost animal melody.

“Look at me, princess,” he whispers suddenly, his voice deep and commanding. A whisper that vibrates your soul and resonates in your insides, a demand that is both demanding and possessive. Your eyelids, heavy with the weight of pleasure, open slowly, your eyes seeking to meet his. And when they meet, you see this glint that takes your breath away. There is a dark satisfaction in his gaze, an almost unhealthy pride that brushes against you, penetrates you. This glint of triumph in his eyes gives birth to an even rawer vulnerability in you, a feeling of absolute submission that you had not expected to feel.

Sunghoon's movements become bolder, more assertive. His tongue delves deeper, seeking to explore you even further, while his thumb, firm, joins in the game, brushing your clitoris with a light but determined movement. A shiver runs through your body, your legs tense under the assault of raw pleasure that invades every cell of your skin. You feel yourself wavering, on the edge of the abyss, but unable to turn away from it. Each new wave that rises within you is more intense, more devastating, and yet, Sunghoon does not give you the respite of a break. He always pushes, with a gentle but irresistible insistence, digging a little deeper into this delicious pain that you cannot escape. 

Your breath becomes more and more erratic, your breathing broken, each moan echoing the intensity of what he makes you feel. You try to grab onto something, your hands reaching out to find an anchor, and it is in his hair that you end up clinging, your fingers digging into the hold like a last hope of regaining some illusion of control. But you know, deep down, that it is only an illusion. You are already at his mercy, your movements dictated by his gestures, your will erased by his power.

“You want more, princess?” Sunghoon’s voice, hot and mocking, caresses your skin like a promise of forbidden pleasure. He doesn’t even wait for your answer, he immediately resumes, his mouth closing over your pussy, his tongue delving deeper, more furiously, while his thumb presses more firmly, playing with your body like an instrument he knows better than anyone. A devastating wave of pleasure washes over you, completely overwhelming you, leaving you trembling, helpless, unable to control the uncontrollable moans that escape your lips.

You are nothing more than an object in his hands, a puppet, every thread of your being tense under his gestures. The heat takes hold of you, becomes unbearable, devouring, and yet, you have only one desire: for him to continue. Each pressure, each lick of his tongue brings you a little closer to ecstasy, but also to the breaking point, that moment when you are nothing more than a cry, a sigh, a total surrender.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, your voice cracking, almost strangled by the tension of the moment. It’s a silent plea, a plea for him to stop playing with your nerves, to finally let you give in. But he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t just not answer, he intensifies the assault on your senses. He redoubles his attention, his warm tongue finally curling around your most sensitive spot, exploring that intimate fold with an almost inhuman precision. A scream escapes your throat, a pure, primal, raw sound that you don’t recognize as your own. You feel like you’re being suffocated by pleasure, completely consumed.

He devours you. Literally. His lips, soft but full of undeniable possessiveness, close around you. He sucks gently, with perfect pressure, then releases, in a hypnotic rhythm. Each movement, each aspiration makes you gradually lose all sense of time and space. It's as if the whole world only exists in the moment he touches you, when he makes you his. His licks are silent promises, mute declarations of his domination, of his power. His mouth explores, savors, consumes, as if it were trying to engrave each sensation in your skin, in your memory, in his.

You try to hold yourself back, to stem the rising tide of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm you. But it’s futile. Your legs start to shake, your breaths become erratic, jerky, as a burning heat builds in your belly, radiating, spreading through every fiber of your body. Your mind wanders in a haze of desire, but you’re still fully aware of every movement of his tongue, every pressure of his hands that hold you in place, firm but delicate. His thumbs trace lazy circles on the inside of your thighs, skimming your skin with exquisite slowness, as if he’s trying to quell the fire he’s lighting inside you, while also exacerbating the heat that’s already burning beneath your skin.

“You taste amazing,” he suddenly murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by your pussy. The simple admission makes you lose your footing. It’s like every word, every breath he lets out against you, adds a layer of shivers to your spine. A wave of pure pleasure courses through you, wrenching a moan from you, a sound that speaks to the way he’s breaking you, the way he’s making you succumb to his will.

Sunghoon's movements become bolder, more urgent. His tongue sinks deeper, exploring every fold, every curve of your flesh with an almost animalistic greed, an urgent need to discover you, to apprehend you entirely. Sunghoon is both tender and insatiable, seeking to make you lose all rationality. His eyes then rise to you, seeking your gaze. When your eyes finally meet, you see in his eyes an intensity that makes you waver, a raw, deep, inextinguishable desire. He wants to see every tremor, every shudder, every sigh that betrays your pleasure. He wants to seize everything, savor everything, as if each reaction were a personal victory.

Your body reacts without you having to think, arching instinctively, pressing your pelvis against his face, desperate to finally find that climax he makes you wait for, that he makes you desire with every movement of his tongue. Your hand tightens in his hair, your fingers gripping his thick locks tighter, tugging them lightly, but not to pull him away, no, to anchor him even deeper against you. He groans in response, a low, raspy, almost animalistic sound that vibrates against your flesh, a sound that resonates within you, sending even stronger waves of pleasure through your body.

“Yes… there… don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice trembling, almost unrecognizable, full of pleading and need. But he has no intention of stopping. On the contrary, he redoubles his efforts, his tongue dancing with inhuman precision. He alternates between slow, pressed movements, deep, sustained caresses, and faster, almost frantic strokes that make you see stars, make you lose all bearings, all sense of reality.

The room disappears around you. There is nothing else. No more walls, no more noise, no more thoughts. There is only him: his hot lips, his expert tongue, his hands possessive and assertive. You are suspended in this state of altered consciousness, each caress propelling you higher, each vibration of his moan against you sending waves of pleasure through your entire being. He is all you feel, all you experience, and you let yourself be carried away, entirely, by the force of his desire, by the force of his control.

The pressure builds inside you, inexorable, a hot and overwhelming wave that you can no longer contain. It’s a feeling of urgency, of intensity, that squeezes your chest and gently suffocates you, forcing you to fight against the irrepressible urge to let go. You know that you are about to lose everything, to abandon everything to this overwhelming wave of pleasure that is preparing to surge over you. “Sunghoon… I… I’m going to…” You want to finish your sentence, to tell him everything that crosses your mind, but the words escape you. Your breath catches, your breath becomes short and panting, and before you can even finish your thought, an explosion of sensations hits you full force.

The orgasm overwhelms you in a raw explosion, every fiber of your body tensing in a wave of pure pleasure. You scream his name, a voice strangled by the intensity, echoing through the room like a desperate, almost uncontrollable echo. It's like the world has frozen around you, all you can feel, all you can understand, is him. It's his tongue, his hands, his body against you, that prolong this dizzying whirlwind until you can no longer distinguish where you end and where he begins. Your body arches violently, trying to escape the intensity, but at the same time, it tenses, tenses even more, demanding this infinite sensation that he grants you with such mastery. He holds you firmly, his hands pressed against your body, forcing you to remain present in this moment where everything else no longer exists.

Sunghoon continues, unwavering, prolonging your pleasure to the extreme. Each movement of his tongue, each friction of his mouth against you seems like a thunderclap in your mind, each new surge of pleasure a bittersweet torture. Your breath becomes erratic, jerky, and you feel your heart beating at a frantic pace, as if your whole body has decided to melt into this irresistible sensation, to make it an integral part of it.

Finally, after this whirlwind of emotions and sensations, when the wave of pleasure slowly begins to fade, you let yourself fall back, your body heavy, but in a deeply fulfilled way. A soft and exhausting heat runs through your veins, like a fire that is slowly dying out, but whose ashes continue to spread a comforting warmth. Each breath becomes slower, deeper, and the world around you seems to dissolve in a veil of softness, as if the air itself were becoming muffled to better give way to this fragile serenity. You are exhausted, but in a strange, almost euphoric state, where every fiber of your being seems to vibrate to the rhythm of what has just happened. Sunghoon, however, does not rush. He straightens up slowly, with that almost supernatural grace that is unique to him, a satisfied and quiet smile on his lips. His eyes, dark and piercing, shine with an almost animal satisfaction, as if a part of him has just been sated. You feel an indefinable connection, a palpable tension between you, a breath hanging in the air, marking the silence after the storm.

And you know that what you shared is unique. It is a silent communion, but also dark and obscure, a dance between light and shadow, where desire and domination intertwine with a force both brutal and gentle. It is not simply attraction; it is much more complex. It is a bond marked by devotion, a form of submission, an inextinguishable desire that seems to have anchored itself in your bodies, in your souls.

Sunghoon approaches then, slowly, each calculated movement resonating like a heartbeat in the heavy silence of the room. His body gives off an almost tangible, imposing presence. You can't help but shiver under the intensity of his attention, an attention that envelops you and squeezes you in its invisible grip. When he sits down next to you on the couch, this simple gesture becomes heavy with meaning. He moves closer still, slightly, but enough for you to feel his weight on you, like a burden you can't escape. His eyes, deep black, fix on you, piercing you with a gaze that seems to want to penetrate every corner of your soul. This fixation, this almost palpable obsession, freezes you in place. You feel trapped, totally vulnerable under his scrutiny, your body and soul exposed like prey under the gaze of a predator.

Without a word, he takes you in his arms. This gesture is not a simple caress. It is a complex embrace, a tangle of tenderness and strength. The warmth of his hands mixes with the possessive, almost brutal embrace. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to him, as if to impregnate your body with his presence. Every inch of your skin must feel his touch, his domination. You feel an intense heat, but also a sweet pain, a sensation both exquisite and overwhelming. Each movement of his hands seems to be a silent claim, an affirmation of his desire. It is as if he wants to mark your body, to impregnate you with him, to possess you irrevocably.

He slowly slides his hand under your t-shirt, his fingers cold at first, but quickly warming up as they touch your skin. The contact is of a rare intimacy, of such intensity that it seems to graze not only your body, but also every corner of your mind, starting a fire with each brush. His gestures are measured, no haste. He savors every second, every reaction of your body, every shiver that crosses your skin. His fingers move with a controlled slowness, tracing invisible lines on your stomach, before slowly going back up, brushing your skin, his nails delicately caressing your epidermis. He gives you a glimpse of the promise of a sweet pain, a sensation that makes you sway, that overwhelms you with pleasure mixed with a hint of fear. The shiver that takes you, light at first, becomes more and more insistent, your breathing quickening, like a natural response to the intensity of his gestures. Every tremor of your body is a response to him alone, a dance between desire and fear, a sensation that grips you from the inside, a mixture of overwhelming desire and intoxicating terror. This thrill, this thrilling sense of danger, you know can only be caused by him, and him alone.

While holding you like this, captive in his arms, he leans down slowly. You feel his breath settle near your hair, warm and deep. He places a kiss there, but it is not a trivial kiss. It is a kiss loaded with meaning, as if he wanted to soak up you, your scent, your presence. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply the scent of your hair, as if he wanted every fiber of his being to gorge itself on your essence. It is no longer just your body that he seeks to possess, it is your soul, your spirit, everything that you are. He wants everything about you, and he takes it from you with a calculated gentleness, a form of almost religious devotion. A satisfied smile slowly forms on his lips. A smile that you do not see, but that you feel in each movement of his body against yours. He is proud, almost triumphant, as if he has just conquered a territory. In this sweet tension, you feel more submissive, more vulnerable than ever.

You slowly turn your head towards him, your body trembling under the intensity of his gaze. You feel the heat of his presence invade every inch of your space, a heat that seems to burn your skin, crossing the thin barrier of your short breath. You slowly lift your face, and when your eyes meet his, you are struck by a glow of almost frightening intensity. His eyes, black with desire and determination, shine with a wild glow, a glow that makes a hint of apprehension grow in you, but also an irresistible attraction. It is as if this gaze is an abyss, an unfathomable depth into which you feel ready to plunge, even if you know that you could lose all control there.

“You’re so handsome…” you whisper, your voice soft, fragile, almost strangled by the emotion bubbling inside you. Each word seems hesitant to come out, as if it were too heavy to bear. A wave of heartbreaking tenderness invades you, but it is quickly caught up in the storm of anguish rumbling inside you. 

How can a man so broken, so intense, be such a source of both light and darkness in your heart?

He doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, and in his eyes, you see things you can’t name. It’s both consuming and destabilizing. You feel naked under his gaze, vulnerable in a way you’ve never known. And yet, part of you wants nothing more than to lose yourself in this vulnerability, to abandon your defenses, to let him dominate you. But another part of you screams to protect yourself, to run away, to keep a safe distance.

Slowly, as if each movement was calculated, you detach yourself from him, just enough to observe his face. His features are marked by violence, by pain, and yet, there is an undeniable beauty in this broken face. The scars that adorn his skin are the silent witnesses of internal and external battles. There is a brutality in his beauty, a raw tension that captivates you, fascinates you. You gently run your fingers over his cheek, brushing a purple bruise that makes you shiver. You know that he has suffered, that each mark on his face is a memory of a fight he did not choose. But all of this makes him even more human, even closer to you, and you want to repair this suffering.

You step closer to him, pressing a kiss to his skin, a kiss so delicate it seems almost unreal, as if you fear it will disappear under your touch. But more than that, you fear the way that simple yet charged gesture resonates within you. It’s a kiss of admiration, a kiss of devotion, a kiss that carries within it a promise of care that you know you may never be able to keep. But you try, again and again, as if each kiss can erase the pain, as if each brush of your lips is an attempt to ease what he carries deep inside. You kiss each mark, each scar, with an almost obsessive gentleness, as if you can erase it all, as if you can repair what he’s lost.

With each kiss, you feel the air between you fill with a palpable tension, more and more suffocating. His breaths come faster, deeper, almost desperate. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him, until you are almost against him. His body gives off a raw heat, a heat that makes you forget everything else, that erases everything except him and you, in this suspended moment. You lean down gently to kiss his black eye, a light kiss, almost invisible, but loaded with everything you can't say. It's a silent caress, a way of telling him that you know, that you see what he is wearing, that you accept all of this without judgment.

Sunghoon's fingers dig into your flesh, forcing you to lie further against him. His warmth overwhelms you, and you don't even dare to move, because each movement brings you a little closer to this irreversibility, to this point of no return. He pulls you even closer, and you feel his body press against yours, as if he wants to merge with you, as if he needs you to exist. His gaze, still so intense, plunges into yours, and you can see the depth of what lies behind it, the raw possessiveness, the need to never let you go.

His words, heavy with certainty, hit your heart like a punch. “Don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you go. I’m not ready to lose you, Y/n. Not now, not ever.” The strength of his voice grabs you, and you feel a pressure on your chest, as if his desperation is suffocating you. His arms around you force you to feel him stronger and stronger, as if every gesture, every word, every breath only intensifies this pressure between you.

The room becomes an enclosed space, reduced to the two of you and the intensity of the moment. You almost feel like you can't breathe anymore, as if the air itself is thickening, saturated with the electricity of your emotions. Before you can even react, he leans over you, his lips brushing your ear, his hot breath caressing your skin. "I've fallen in love with you, and I can't go back. It's an obsession, a need... You're everything to me." These words resonate in your skull, and you feel them making their way into your insides. A mixture of euphoria and fear invades you, and you feel something breaking inside you. You're afraid, but there's this part of you, this dark part that pushes you to let go, to lose yourself completely in this devouring passion.

“Sunghoon, I…” you begin, but you’re interrupted before you can even finish your sentence. He cuts you off, this time with a desperate impatience that resonates in the air, permanently breaking any distance between you.

“Let me show you how serious I am. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a date, and you’ll see… I want you to feel what I feel. I’ll do anything for you.” His words, heavy with dark promises and unspoken passion, hit the air around you like a hypnotic melody, a melody you can no longer ignore. Every word, every glance you exchange, becomes a promise of pleasure and pain, a promise of dark delights that only you can understand.

He lays down on the couch, pulling you with him, your resistance crumbling under the force of his desire and your own need for comfort. Your head falls to his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a second skin, holding you against him with an almost desperate intensity. His warmth envelops you, his scent of musk and leather invading your senses, forcing you to cling to him like an anchor, as if his presence is all you need to breathe.

His fingers slide slowly along your shoulder blade, tracing invisible lines on your skin. Each gesture seems imbued with a desire to hold on to this moment, to engrave it within him, like an invisible but indelible imprint.

Yet a moment of lucidity strikes you. You try to straighten up, gently placing your hands against his chest, exerting a measured pressure so as not to awaken the pain of his injuries further. But he refuses to let you go. His arms, firm and unwavering, tighten around you with a force that surprises you, as if letting go means losing much more than a simple contact. No matter the pain that seems to run through him, nothing seems more important to him than keeping you there, right against him.

You feel the tension in his body, almost palpable. His muscles contract under your fingers, his jaw clenched, betraying the effort he's making to hide the pain that's cutting into his nerves. Despite everything, he doesn't release his grip. His arms, firm but desperate, hold you with an almost disconcerting intensity, as if letting go meant losing much more than this moment.

His breath, slightly irregular, brushes your forehead, warm and disturbing. You feel his head tilt gently. His eyelids close slowly, as if he were trying to capture every second of this fragile and precious moment. It's not just a simple physical contact: it's a deeper need, almost visceral, a dull and almost animal fear of seeing you escape.

The silence thickens in the room. It becomes heavy, oppressive, amplified by the rhythm of your breaths that begin to match each other, in a strange synchronicity. Each breath you take seems to take root in him, as if your presence alone manages to soothe something in him, much deeper than the pain in his body. Yet, you feel it, this internal struggle he is waging: between the suffering he endures and this irrepressible need to keep you close to him, as if you were the only thing that could still keep him standing.

“You’re like a drug, Y/n,” Sunghoon suddenly whispers, breaking the silence with an unsettling sweetness. His voice, husky and slightly raspy, insinuates itself into the air like a white-hot caress. The words hit you hard, carrying a raw, almost terrifying truth. “Every time I touch you, I lose control a little more.”

There’s something electric in his voice, an almost tangible vibration, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and desire so raw that your breath catches. You look up at him, captivated, unable to look away. His face, marked by pain, is lit up with an intensity that’s almost unbearable. Those words, so simple in appearance, seep into you, resonating deeply, as if they carry the weight of a secret he’s told no one.

You feel an intense heat rising inside you. It starts in your chest, spreading like a wave until it invades every part of your being. Your fingers tremble slightly, and your heart races, unable to ignore what he has just said. It is not a simple declaration of desire. It is a confession, an admission of dependence, almost an obsession. And you, at the heart of it all, find yourself torn between a visceral fear and an irrepressible attraction.

Because this intensity, this darkness that burns within him, attracts you as much as it terrifies you.

You want to answer, but no words come out. You are frozen, prisoner of his gaze. That dark, piercing eye pierces you, lays you bare. It seems to read you, decipher every corner of your soul, every thought you try to hide. That look, loaded with desire and possessiveness, exposes you in a way you can't control. You feel vulnerable, helpless, unable to hide.

He leans in slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, and the air between you becomes thick, almost suffocating. “Promise me you’ll never leave,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, but trembling with an emotion he can barely contain.

His words resonate like a plea. A crack opens in the armor he wears so proudly, revealing a fragility he shows to no one. He is no longer the strong, unwavering man you have before you. He is someone human, someone who is afraid. A visceral, almost painful fear of losing you, of finding himself alone. This fragility that he offers you, almost against his will, upsets you.

Your heart tightens, a wave of tenderness and pain overwhelms you. Everything he is, all this intensity, this flickering light in the depths of his gaze, calls to you irresistibly. You know that this bond that unites you is as powerful as it is dangerous. A magnetic force that could elevate you as much as destroy you. But backing down is not an option.

“I’m not leaving,” you finally whisper, your voice soft but firm, carried by a certainty you didn’t know you possessed. You stare into his eyes, determined for him to understand the sincerity of your words. “I want to see how far this can take us.”

A shadow crosses his face, quickly replaced by something else. His lips slowly stretch into a smile, but it’s not a light smile. It’s a smile charged with complex emotions: relief, gratitude, and maybe even a hint of triumph. He nods slowly, as if finally accepting that he won’t have to fight alone.

His grip loosens slightly, just enough to allow you to breathe, but he pulls you even closer. His forehead gently rests against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by the warmth of this moment. His fingers, light and hesitant, brush the skin of your back, drawing imperceptible circles. Each gesture seems imbued with a fierce desire to engrave this moment in his memory, like a souvenir to which he can cling.

His breathing, warm and soothing, mixes with yours. You feel his heart beating, slowly, echoing yours. This moment, this connection, goes beyond simple physical contact. It’s a silent pact, a shared promise: no matter the darkness that surrounds you, you will no longer face it alone.

The darkness thickens around you, soft and enveloping. But this time, it doesn't scare you. You are certain of one thing, inexplicable and yet unshakable: no matter what happens, you are linked.

The glass walls of the aquarium seemed suspended in a sea of ​​blue light, a soft, mystical glow that bathed the space like an invisible caress. With each heartbeat of this translucent ocean, the fish glided silently around you, their shiny, iridescent bodies drawing delicate arabesques in the water. The air itself seemed to grow heavy, as if time had chosen to slow down here, in this other world, where every movement, every breath seemed suspended in a fragile balance. Everything seemed like a waking dream, a perfect illusion, where reality melted into a hypnotic dance of light and shadow.

You and Sunghoon walked side by side, your hands intertwined, your fingers brushing and searching for each other. Each of your steps was imbued with gentleness, but also with an invisible tension, like a taut rope ready to give way. The silence between you was not heavy, but loaded with a thousand unsaid things. An electric tension floated between you, palpable, as if you were suspended between two worlds. Around you, the fish danced, indifferent to this human tension, but between you, there was something more, something that neither water nor glass could filter. Each gesture, each breath was like a silent challenge, a call for intimacy, but also for the space that each of you seemed to seek while never wanting to move away.

Sunghoon looked at you, not with curiosity, but with a kind of devouring intensity, as if he were trying to read you down to the smallest corner of your soul. His eyes, dark and deep, scrutinized you with an almost inquisitive interest, seeking to decipher the secrets that you tried to hide behind your smile. He loved this part of you that revealed itself to the world, when you lost yourself in the wonders of the aquarium. He loved seeing the spark of fascination on your face, this spark of purity that shone each time you discovered a rare shell or a brightly colored fish. But he also loved seeing you abandon yourself for a moment to this wonder, only to return to yourself, to him, in the blink of an eye. "You are so fascinated by these little things," he said, his voice soft, almost caressing, but sharp as a blade. A mischievous smile played on his lips, a smile that said more than words. It was both a compliment and a mockery, a way of reminding you that he knew you well, maybe even too well.

At these words, you answered him immediately, your expression hardening into a mock-indignant pout. You frowned, feigning anger, but your eyes betrayed the malice bubbling inside you. “I don’t see why that makes you laugh,” you said, a spark of humor in your voice, like a promise of complicity. And yet, with each glance he gave you, you felt the heat of his gaze cross your skin, the pressure of a barely restrained desire, of an infinite attention that made you shiver. There was something in the way he looked at you, a mixture of possessiveness and unsatisfied desire, as if he saw you through every expression, every gesture you made. It wasn’t just a look. It was an exploration.

“I’m really glad you brought me here,” you finally whispered, your breath light, your heart beating faster with each moment you spent together in this suspended world. You squeezed his hand in yours, feeling the warmth of his skin, this warmth that seemed to comfort you while reminding you of the presence of an invisible danger. There was a strange and almost hypnotic beauty in this moment, as if everything around you was frozen, and only your bond really existed. But at this precise moment, a movement in the water caught your attention. A shark, majestic and disturbing, was slowly approaching, its mouth wide open, ready to show its frightening teeth. A shiver of fear mixed with curiosity ran through you. You instinctively backed away, seeking refuge, without really thinking about it, behind Sunghoon. Fear, as light as a breath, mixed with fascination. It was just a water creature, and yet it seemed so close, so threatening.

But Sunghoon laughed, a rich, warm, deep laugh that vibrated through you, resonating in your bones. The laugh, both mocking and protective, made you feel vulnerable and safe at the same time. He turned to you, a bright smile on his lips, and cupped your face in his hands. The softness of his gestures contrasted strangely with the underlying strength of his movements. His fingers brushed your skin, his palms warm against your cheeks. “It’s just a shark,” he joked, but his tone was charged with something more, a mixture of amusement and defiance. There was an unspoken promise in his words, a sort of silent complicity that said: It’s okay, I’m here. But at the same time, his gaze didn’t leave you. He scrutinized every part of your face, perhaps trying to understand what you were feeling, what you didn’t necessarily want to tell him.

“Why are you hiding? You seem so happy to be here,” he whispered, his eyes burning with an almost dangerous intensity. It wasn’t just a question. It was a silent challenge, an unspoken plea to pierce the barrier you had erected around yourself. His gaze was piercing, searching you, trying to tear through your mask, to reveal what you had carefully concealed. He didn’t want your words, he wanted to understand, everything, down to the depths of your soul, as if this truth was his by right.

A sudden heat filled your cheeks, like a fire rekindling under the pressure of his burning gaze. But you wouldn’t give in. Not now. No, not yet. You pulled yourself together almost instantly, holding your breath, and sought to maintain a subtle distance between you and Sunghoon, a part of yourself well-kept in the shadows. “I’m not hiding, I’m just protecting myself with the attractive body of my… boxer boyfriend,” you said, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, as if to mask the deeper truth that lurked behind those words. Sure, it was a game. But it was also a way of pushing back against the pressure he was putting on you. A dangerous game, where you pretended to give in while keeping a secret control over yourself. You wanted to show him that you weren’t easy prey, that his understanding of you wasn’t something that was going to be handed to him on a platter.

You placed your hand on his arm that held your cheek firmly, your gesture both protective and bold. His gaze intensified, searching for an answer in your eyes, but he pulled back slightly, as if to observe you better. His eyes did not detach themselves from yours, diving into your pupils with an almost palpable intensity, searching, scrutinizing, tearing your mask to understand what was hidden behind. He hoped to find a truth there, a sign, a breach in your defense, but you were not yet ready to offer him that. Not so easily.

“W… What? Your boyfriend?” The surprise in his voice quickly mixed with an almost possessive satisfaction, as if your words revealed more than you thought. A strange, almost possessive smile played on his lips, a satisfaction that bordered on control. He wasn’t even trying to hide what he felt anymore. What he wanted. What he was waiting for. It had all become so obvious, and he was just waiting for an opportunity to make it happen.

Your heart raced at his words, and you slipped your hand into his. The touch of his warm skin against yours sent a shiver of anticipation through you, an electric thrill that seemed to run through every fiber of your being. His fingers closed gently around yours, firm but not painful, just enough to keep you from escaping. Their movements were slow, measured, but each one carried a palpable tension, a promise of what might come. You were caught in that invisible circle between desire and resistance, and you knew the line was getting thinner with each passing moment.

“You don’t want to be anymore?” you asked, feigning an innocence that lacked the credibility or purity you were trying to convey. With a nonchalant gesture, you pointed at a random man in the crowd, as if to test the situation. But you knew full well that this gesture was calculated. This was not a man like the others, it was a provocation, an attempt to provoke him, to challenge the hold he already seemed to have over you. “Maybe I should ask this man then.” No sooner had your words been spoken than he let out a growl, a low, rumbling sound that made every fiber of your body vibrate. This sound was a warning, a signal. He was not going to let you go so easily. He was not going to tolerate such a suggestion.

Without warning, Sunghoon reacted with unsettling speed. He pulled you by the hand and pinned you against him, his controlled strength making you a puppet in his arms. You gasped in surprise, your breath hitching as the pressure of his torso made itself felt against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, resonating against his body, and a wave of excitement immediately washed over you, shivering along your nerves. It was a suspended moment, as if time itself had stopped to observe what was to come next. The atmosphere seemed heavy, almost too tense to be real, as if the air was holding its breath, waiting for the next move, the next word.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his power almost palpable, and it gave you a strange feeling: vulnerable, but at the same time protected, as if in this embrace you were not only a victim, but also a willing ally. His arms around you were both reassuring and threatening, so close, and yet capable of breaking you if you weren't careful. But what unsettled you the most was this spark of desire that shone between you. It was palpable, with every breath, with every look. It was an irresistible and captivating attraction, as frightening as it was exciting.

Sunghoon’s lips found yours in a devouring kiss, an unleashed passion that poured into you like an uncontrollable torrent. The contact was raw, imperious, a wild mix of desire and heat. Every movement of his lips against yours carried with it an almost animal urgency, an insatiable thirst. His hand, now on your back, slid slowly down your waist, settling on your body with a possessiveness that simultaneously troubled and attracted you. He pulled you closer to him, pressing you against him, as if he were trying to erase all distance between you. His gestures were almost too violent to be gentle, but there was something deeply intimate about this violence, a silent cry that escaped from his gestures.

The taste of his lips, both sweet and slightly salty, invaded your senses, crushing you under the heat of his touch. He gently nibbled your lower lip, a gesture both tender and devouring, as if he were asking for permission that you were already ready to grant him without restraint. The heat of his mouth spread inside you, his tongue brushing yours timidly at first, before gaining confidence, venturing further, deeper, in a dance that became more and more daring with each moment. His movements were hypnotic, a slow and deep wave that seemed to overwhelm you, each caress of his tongue provoking an immediate and instinctive response from your own body. Each brush of his lips against your skin lit a spark, a shiver of anticipation that spread through you, invading your entire being.

The world around you seemed to dissolve in that suspended moment, and all that mattered was him, you, and this shared warmth. You slid your hand to the back of his neck, fingers digging into his thick, soft hair, feeling the tension of his body against yours beneath your palms. The way Sunghoon touched you was an intoxicating mix of roughness and tenderness, each movement revealing the complexity of what drove him. It was as if, with each second, he was rediscovering you, each brush of his hands, each press of his fingers on your skin, was a new way of possessing you, of exploring you.

The air around you seemed to vibrate with a palpable, almost electric energy. Every sigh, every moan that escaped your lips mingled with his, creating a kind of music that resonated in your heart. The feeling of his hands sliding gently over your waist, brushing every curve, every contour of your body, was both pure pleasure and delicious torture. His lips became more pressing, his kisses more insatiable, as you let yourself be carried away by this storm that made your heart beat faster, harder. The taste of his desire mixed with the thrill of fear, creating an intoxicating cocktail, a feverish dance of pleasure and anguish that set you ablaze in a way you could neither understand nor control.

You felt lost, overwhelmed by Sunghoon, by the intensity of what was happening between you. Every movement, every shudder of his body against yours seemed to lead him to one goal: to make you his, to mark you in some way. A moan escaped your mouth, a silent cry of pure desire, as his breath grew heavier, more panting. Every beat of your heart seemed to resonate in your ears, drowning out any other sound. The heat of his skin against yours, the way he pressed you even closer to him, almost drove you crazy with desire. Sunghoon kissed you with such fervor, with such a need to possess you, that you felt like you were losing yourself in this moment, disappearing completely in the depth of this kiss.

His hands slid along your waist, following the contours of your body with exquisite slowness, caressing each curve, exploring every part of you. With each touch, a shiver ran down your spine, a wave of heat and pleasure that made you quiver from head to toe. His lips moved slightly away from your mouth to rest on your neck, then on your shoulder, and each kiss, each touch, was more intimate, more intense than the last. You shuddered under his caresses, unable to resist the temptation to ask for more, to be even closer, even more fusional.

The air seemed to grow heavy around you, each breath more panting than the last, each gesture more urgent. You let Sunghoon guide you, lose yourself in this dance of bodies and souls, while you felt your limits melt under his hands, under his lips. A tear silently rolled down his cheek, a drop of vulnerability that contrasted with the intensity of this moment. The salty taste of his emotions mingled with your kisses, intensifying each contact, each sigh. It was as if, in this closed world, you merged, forgetting everything that was not part of you two. Nothing else mattered. Only the intensity of this bond that united you mattered.

Sunghoon pulled back slightly, but not without resting his forehead against yours. The contact, almost imperceptible at first, suddenly became heavy with meaning, a shiver running through the perfect alignment of your faces, as if every pore of your skin was awakening at the same moment. The heat of his skin against yours, already burning, seemed to increase the intensity of the moment tenfold. The air, laden with this heat, grew heavy around you. His warm breath caressed your face, each breath mingling with yours in a silent exchange, a subtle fusion between two beings with hearts beating in unison, like a whisper of ecstasy suspended in the air.

You could feel your heartbeat against your chest, racing faster and faster, following a frantic rhythm that seemed no longer yours. It synchronized with his, a beat that became palpable, a vibration that resonated to the depths of your being. His eyes, plunged into yours, were dark and hypnotic, imprisoning your gaze with an incredible intensity. In his burning pupils, you could see the passion unfolding, a fragile but devouring flame, ready to engulf everything in its path. It was as if he were reading you, revealing you in this fragile bubble, as if he knew that this moment was more than a simple stolen moment, that it marked the beginning of a transformation, of an irreversible change.

“What are you doing to me, Y/n?” Sunghoon’s voice was husky and emotional, vibrating through the air, each word betraying a tension that was both sweet and exquisite. He seemed on the verge of losing himself, as if the control, the fragile barrier he had maintained until then, was cracking under the force of what he was feeling. His gaze darkened further, a glimmer of uncontrollable desire mixing with the anguish, as if the intensity of the moment was becoming too strong, too overwhelming. Sunghoon had this way of scrutinizing you, of searching for answers in your gaze, as if he hoped to find permission to give in completely. A sigh escaped his lips, vibrating with desire. Your skin, every cell of your body, seemed to merge with his, like an irresistible magnetic field.

You could feel his hand slowly slide over your waist, brushing your skin with a delicacy that contrasted so intensely with the firmness of his fingers. Each movement was precise, measured, like a delicate dance between desire and possession. He brushed the curve of your body with a sensuality that destabilized you, filling you with a heat that was difficult to control. Shiver after shiver, your body reacted in spite of yourself, drawn to this touch that was both soft and possessive. A tornado of contradictory emotions surged through you: the desire to get closer, to merge in this warmth, but also the fear, visceral, of what it could mean, of what you risked losing.

With a voice trembling with emotion, you almost whispered against his skin, your breath brushing his lips. “I want you to let go… with me.” Those words, weak but powerful, escaped your throat like a throbbing invitation, a promise that would be impossible to take back in return. You leaned down slightly, an impulse, an irrepressible need, and you placed a light but desire-laden kiss against his lips. Your lips brushed his warm and tender skin, a shiver of ecstasy running through Sunghoon. He shivered, as if your gesture had opened a lever of desire buried inside him, a desire that he could no longer ignore. A moan, almost inaudible, made its way from his lips, a sound that inflamed you even more. This simple kiss awakened an inner fury in him, a strength that he struggled to contain. And you let yourself be overwhelmed, the fire that was born in you had no intention of going out.

The warmth of his hand slid slowly, his touch becoming more daring, more determined. His hand wrapped around your waist before slowly, with deliberate slowness, descending towards your buttock. There, he gripped you tightly, an act both tender and dominant, a hold that left no room for escape. An electrifying shiver ran through you, and a moan escaped your mouth, vibrating against his lips. The sound, mixing desire and vulnerability, resonated deeply in Sunghoon, reverberating in every fiber of his being. You felt the tension rising between you, palpable, electrifying, like a storm ready to burst, to destroy the barriers you had imposed on yourselves. The world around you was gradually disappearing, giving way to this suspended moment, to this intensity that neither of you could ignore anymore.

Then, Sunghoon pulled back slightly, his eyes still fixed on yours. A playful smile played on his lips, but this smile did not mask the intensity of what was hidden in his gaze. There was this spark, this disturbing depth that had just lit up in his pupils. His smile was both amused and provocative, like a call to exceed the limits, to cross borders still invisible. The pressure of his hand on your buttock remained, marked, a reminder of this unfulfilled desire, like one more promise. "I don't want to go to jail for exhibitionism," he joked, his laughter resonating in the space, light and captivating. Yet, even in the lightness of this joke, you could feel the depth of the tension that emerged. Behind the words, there was a dark truth, a truth that he did not want to admit, that you could no longer ignore. Between duty and desire there was an invisible chasm, and you could almost feel the rope that was going to give way at any moment, a thread stretched to the limit, ready to snap under the pressure of your emotions.

Sunghoon's fingers intertwined with yours, a touch laden with silent promises. The gentleness with which he squeezed your hand warmed you, each caress sending waves of heat that reverberated all along your arm, creating a feeling of ecstasy that was both sweet and violent at the same time. Yet, beyond this tenderness, there was a shadow, an unspoken desire, a tension that grew with each second, ready to burst in an uncontrollable explosion. A fire burned within him, and you knew he was hiding it from you, but you could feel it in every movement, every look. This desire, so powerful, so unspoken, floated between you like a specter, ready to engulf you.

You continue to advance in the dark corridors of the aquarium, where the subdued light of the pools of water projected by the blue flashes draws moving shadows on your faces. The atmosphere is heavy, almost mystical, as if each ray of water captured a part of your thoughts, diluted them in the icy clarity of the deep waters, and enveloped you in a heavy silence. The sound of your footsteps resonates faintly, like a distant echo in this aquatic labyrinth. With each step, the lights flash and briefly illuminate your skin, projecting fleeting and strange shadows that transform you into ethereal silhouettes, lost in another world. The cold light caresses your faces, accentuating the feeling of isolation, of intimacy in this enclosed place. A feeling of oblivion, as if everything that existed outside of this moment was nothing more than mist.

The warmth of Sunghoon’s hand, wrapping around yours, contrasts sharply with the cool, humid air here. His grip is gentle but firm, a reassuring bond, an anchor in this floating universe. Each movement of your intertwined fingers seems suspended in space, each contact deeper, more intimate than the last. The outside world becomes blurred, a vague shadow on the periphery of your consciousness. It’s as if there were only the two of you, a fragile bubble, a closed space between two beings. A feeling of security invades you, but also of fragility, as if everything could shatter in an instant. You are there, together, in a soothing silence.

Then, a dull thud erupts from down the hallway, an impact sound that seems to tear the air. It sounds like a detonation, or the echo of an inner world breaking. The sound roars through the enclosed space, abruptly interrupting the balance you had found. Sunghoon’s hand tenses slightly, like a rope that tightens before giving way. The tension, subtle at first, spreads through his fingers, slowly invading his entire body. It’s almost imperceptible, a tiny shiver that rises in his grip, but everything inside you tenses at that moment. Something heavier settles in, a dark energy, a threat that he can’t shake off. He’s there, next to you, but he’s no longer the Sunghoon you know.

His eyes, so fixed on you until then, turn away, get lost in infinity. His gaze becomes like a chasm, a bottomless abyss in which you lose yourself without knowing if you can bring him back. A shadow crosses his pupils, a darkness that engulfs everything around him, and you see his face distort, like a painting that twists under the effect of an invisible pain. His features tense, harden, as if an invisible puppet were pulling the strings of his expressions. A mask of terror slowly spreads over him, and the tenderness that characterized him gives way to a raw, almost frightening vulnerability.

Slowly, Sunghoon releases your hand, but it's only for a moment. In a quick, desperate movement, he grabs it again, his fingers closing around yours with a dull violence, as if this contact were the only thing that could keep him balanced. The pain is immediate, sharp, like an electric shock. His fingers squeeze so hard that you feel every bone, every joint in your fingers rebel under this pressure. Yet, you don't dare move. You are frozen, caught in this visceral fear of seeing this bond break. And somewhere, deep down, you know that this brutal gesture is not a simple cry of pain, but a silent request, a call for help. Sunghoon is looking for you, he needs you to not collapse.

His lips part, but no sound comes out. The breath he takes is jerky, each inhalation seems to cut him off, as if the air around him is no longer enough to nourish his body. His lungs fight against him, each breath a struggle. You hear his heart beat faster and harder, hammering in his temples, in his throat, in the tension that fills the space between you. It is an almost unbearable pain.

Sunghoon places a trembling hand on his chest, as if trying to push away this invisible pain that hides there, under his skin, will be enough to make it disappear. He tenses up more, each movement of his fingers on his own flesh a gesture of fighting against a pain that he cannot fight. It is brutal, it is desperate. A solitary tear, a silent pearl of suffering, slowly forms at the corner of his eye, sliding down his cheek in a slow movement, like a river that flows without being able to stop. It traces a bright line on his skin, carrying with it the fragments of a pain that he hides from others, but which now bursts inside him.

It is a suffering that he keeps quiet about, an evil that he hides under his mask of indifference, but which invades him, eats away at him, crushes him. And seeing him like this, broken, vulnerable, your heart tightens in your chest, a heavy and painful weight that nails you to the spot. He is no longer the Sunghoon from the outside, the one who keeps control, the one who protects you. He is a man lost in his demons, a man who needs comfort but who does not know how to accept it.

You approach him, each step like a challenge, a crossing of an internal battlefield where you face your own fear. With a lump in your throat, you feel an icy fear creeping into you. It's the second time you've seen him in this state, in this fragility that seems to crush him from the inside. It's the second time you've become aware of the extent of the storm he hides inside him, a silent storm, a wave of distress that overwhelms him. And you have only one desire, only one: to be his refuge, to be the one who welcomes him in his pain, who helps him breathe through this turmoil.

Slowly, you tighten your grip on his hand, your palm pressing against his, with a firmness full of gentleness, a gesture as tender as it is necessary. You slide gently in front of him, your eyes plunged into his, seeking to capture this chaos, to understand this torment that agitates his dilated pupils. "Sunghoon..." you murmur, your voice breaking in this soft supplication, this infinite sweetness that escapes from your throat, like a caress.

Your free hand slides slowly over his cheek, brushing his skin with infinite softness. You feel the warmth of his skin, the moisture of the tear that shakes you more than you would have thought. This tear is not simply a sign of sadness, it is a cry, a silent call. Your forehead rests against his, in an incredibly intimate gesture, creating an invisible barrier around you, a cocoon in which he can let himself go, break without fear of being rejected. In this contact, you want him to feel the depth of your love, this love that accepts everything, even his darkness. You want him to understand that he is not alone, that he can let himself go to his suffering without having to carry the weight of the world.

Your breaths mingle in a shared breath, soft and fragile. It is a breath full of hope, despite the anguish, despite the fear. And in this breath, you murmur softly, your voice filled with this infinite tenderness: "Breathe with me, Sunghoon... just with me."

He hesitates, his eyes get lost in yours, collide with the invisible, as if he were trying to hold on to something, but couldn't distinguish the present from the past. Little by little, his fingers that tighten around yours loosen, slowly, like a shy flower that opens under the first ray of sunlight. You continue to slide your fingers on his cheek, tracing tender circles, letting your warmth penetrate his skin, penetrate his heart. With each movement, you try to soothe him, to free him, until he lets himself go completely, his head leaning further against yours, a last barrier falling between you.

When he finally lets out a deep, almost broken breath, you know he’s freeing himself of an invisible weight, a burden he’s carried in silence for so long. His shoulders relax imperceptibly, as if the invisible thread that held them taut has just snapped, and a palpable tension leaves his body. His lips part, trembling, and with an almost furtive gesture, he whispers, his voice cracking with pain: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to show you this, not here, not now.” Each word seems to tear away a fragment of his soul, a piece of this impenetrable façade he’s built around himself. You can almost feel the gravity of his shame, like a crushing weight he’s struggling to cast off.

At these words, a wave of raw and intense tenderness invades you, submerging your heart. Sunghoon no longer hides, he shows you all his fragility, all the pain he hides under his apparent strength. For the first time, you glimpse this part of him that he usually keeps buried, this vulnerability that he tries to hide behind his mask of assurance. It is a silent call, a truth that he offers you without abandoning himself to it completely. Without answering, you gently slide your hand into his hair, your fingers brushing his locks with infinite tenderness. With each caress, you erase a little more of the world around you, weaving a bubble of intimacy where there is nothing else but this moment. Your breaths synchronize in a peaceful rhythm, as if, suddenly, the whole world stopped turning. The touch of your fingers in his hair is both soothing and electrifying, soft and powerful, like a silent promise, an offering of comfort in a sea of ​​torment.

You don't say anything, you just let your gestures do the talking. You don't want to force anything, just be there, present for him, for who he is in this new fragility. "You have nothing to hide, Sunghoon," you say, your voice low, like a secret whisper between the two of you. "I'm here, for all of that. For every part of you, even the ones you think you have to hide." You say these words like an oath, a promise engraved in every fiber of your being. He shivers under the warmth of this truth, as if your gaze directly touched what he hid deep inside him. His fingers intertwine more firmly with yours, seeking the warmth of your hand, and his thumb slowly brushes your skin, a fragile caress, almost unconscious, but so powerful in its simplicity. It's as if he's trying to anchor your presence in his flesh, as if to make sure that you're really there, that you won't leave.

Time seems to stand still, each second expanding in this silent embrace. It’s as if the outside world, the gazes of others, no longer exist. There is only Sunghoon, and you, and the vulnerability you share. You are bound in a silent truth, an exchange of emotions that words cannot capture. You share buried pains, flaws, a vulnerability that you had never dared to reveal, to either of you. It is a wordless confession, a silent dialogue where your hearts dance together in a deep intimacy. 

Every beat of his heart resonates with yours, and you feel torn between the anguish of seeing him sink into his darkness and the burning desire to keep him close to you, to be this light that illuminates him in the darkness. His gaze, now clouded with tears, captures your light like a castaway who finally sees a lighthouse in the darkness. He stares at you intensely, as if you were his last hope, his last anchor in this chaotic world. In this silence heavy with meaning, a fragility is woven between you, but also a silent promise: that of staying there, one for the other, of never failing, of always standing by the other's side.

Sunghoon, in the throes of inner turmoil, looks at you with an intensity that pierces you. His eyes, full of confusion and pain, seek a little peace, a little comfort in your gaze. His lips approach yours with an almost hypnotic slowness, and you feel the irresistible urge to kiss him, to seal this moment, to erase the space that separates you. When your lips finally brush, it is like a burst of truth, a mixture of sweetness, tenderness and despair. You can almost taste the salt of his tears on your lips, an imprint of his suffering, his fragility. It is a kiss loaded with everything he has not been able to say, a kiss that reveals a shared vulnerability, a common suffering.

“Let me be your strength,” you whisper, barely audible, your lips brushing his, your breath trembling with emotion.

Sunghoon leans slightly towards you, and in an instant, the space between you seems to dissolve, as if the whole world around you is fading away. Your lips meet again, at first a soft, almost timid contact, but enough to unite your breaths, your fears and your hopes, thus creating a silent and deep bond between the two of you. The kiss is hesitant at first, as if your souls were still looking for their place, timidly brushing against each other, like two strangers discovering each other. Then, little by little, the intensity increases. The gestures become more sure, more pressing, each movement of the lips a promise, a form of shared consolation. This kiss carries everything that remains unsaid, all this accumulated pain, this silent exchange where your souls speak to each other without a word. His breath mixes with yours, warm and light at the same time. Every sigh that escapes his lips is a silent confession, an inner cry that he offers to you without restraint.

His hands slide gently over your body, as if every inch of your skin were a discovery, a meticulous exploration of you. He traces invisible lines, each touch electrifying your skin, a shiver running down your spine with each gesture. He takes his time, savoring each moment, as if time were suspended around you. In his kisses, you feel his pain, his suffering mixed with a burning desire, both obscure and intoxicating. It is a whirlwind of contradictions, a strange fusion between suffering and desire. The pressure of his tongue on yours is hesitant at first, timid, then it becomes more and more assured, more demanding, like a silent request, an invitation to open your heart.

You answer him, letting yourself be carried away by the rhythm of the dance he initiates. Your tongue slides against his, in a slow and sensual movement. It is a hesitant dance, as if each gesture, each brush, had the power to erase everything, to repair everything. The warmth of his lips touches you, this burning tenderness that hides under the insistence of his kisses. You are linked in a heavy silence, this silence loaded with everything that you have never dared to say, but that you share in this communion of bodies. Each movement becomes a silent cry, a mute imploration to forget the outside world, to abandon yourselves to this moment, you lose yourselves in each other, in the warmth of your bodies that unite against the coldness of the world.

Sunghoon finally pulls away from you slowly, his lips pulling away with an unsettling slowness, creating a void that squeezes your heart. The heat of his body seems to still hang in the air around you, and the space between you suddenly becomes heavy with a palpable tension, a persistent heat but of a completely different nature. His eyes plunge into yours, dark and penetrating, as if he were trying to read every thought, every emotion that crosses your mind. He seems to see fragments of you that he had never noticed before, and in his gaze, you feel the intensity of this discovery. 

Then Sunghoon begins a sensual journey on your face, his lips brushing your skin with an almost unreal delicacy, making you shiver almost uncontrollably. He gently caresses your eyelids, kisses them tenderly, as if he wanted to seal a secret between you, a secret that nothing will ever be able to break. His kisses are light at first, almost shy, but beneath this softness hides a growing intensity, a tension that never stops rising, an insatiable desire more and more present, invasive. He then moves on to your nose, tracing a hot, humid path, a silent promise of something more, before lingering on your cheeks, his kisses become more insistent, deeper, as if he wanted to mark every inch of your skin, leave an indelible imprint of his desire, of his presence.

But it’s to your lips that he returns, again and again, as if everything resides there. When he settles on you again, a shiver of desire runs through you. The kiss is torrid, burning, filled with an electric tension that seems to make everything more real. His lips move with a new urgency, as if they’re searching for something, as if they’re begging for more. His tongue advances slowly, brushing yours with a possessive softness, a silent demand, and you feel a shiver of pleasure run through you, like an electric shock going through every fiber of your being. He pulls back slightly, just enough for you to feel his warm breath caress your skin, and you feel the world stop around you, time stretch out, the air become heavy with passion and tension.

“Don’t go away from me, Y/n,” he whispers, his voice low and husky, slipping through the air like a hot caress, gentle and threatening at the same time. His words, heavy with meaning and charged with a silent urgency, are not a simple request, but an imperious demand, an order hidden under the air of tender supplication. It is as if each syllable marks your mind with an invisible imprint, anchoring you to him in an irremediable way. He is not joking. You know it, deep down, in this palpable tension that settles between you. His voice leaves no room for doubt: he wants you close to him, here, right now, and nothing will be able to detach you from him without a storm breaking out.

A shiver runs down your spine. The proximity of his body, the warmth of his skin that seems to burn you without touching him, brings up a wave of contradictory emotions. The desire bubbling inside you collides with the fear of the unknown, the danger hidden in this attraction. He is there, right against you, and every fiber of your being screams at you to flee, but another part of you, deeper, more secret, pushes you to abandon yourself to this irresistible wave that rises within you, to this force that subjugates you.

In an almost instinctive gesture, your hand moves towards his waist, brushing the softness of his top, seeking contact, a connection. But, at the last second, a wave of lucidity invades you, reminding you of his injury. A burst of doubt stops you, and you hesitate, a suspended moment where the reality of the gesture becomes clearer. His fragility, his pain… An icy reality that makes you shiver. However, another sensation quickly rises, even stronger: the desire to touch him, to feel the warmth of his body against you, to reduce this distance that separates you. The tension that grips you is sweet and devastating at the same time. There is no more room for hesitation. The moment is too heavy, too intense. You press gently, just enough to brush his skin, and he reacts without the slightest hesitation.

His fingers close around yours with such force, such certainty, that you almost feel like you’ve trapped yourself in his arms. The softness of his grip hides a muted power, a quiet dominance that leaves no room for rebellion. It’s a reminder of his power, of how Sunghoon can encompass you in a single gesture. But it’s also a reminder of his vulnerability, a strange and destabilizing contrast. His gaze, deep into yours, is insistent, almost desperate, as if he’s trying to convince you to stay here, in this suspended moment, even if everything around you seems to be falling apart. Sunghoon wants you there, by his side, and the gravity of that desire squeezes your heart. He doesn’t tell you with words, but in the depth of his gaze, in every tense muscle of his body, you know that nothing else matters to you two, right here, right now.

Suddenly, without warning, he takes you by the hand and leads you to a small waffle shop in the aquarium. The ground beneath your feet feels harder, heavier, each step weighing you down like a stone. The atmosphere around you becomes thicker, denser, as if the air itself were charged with electricity. An almost palpable energy vibrates between you, weaving itself around you like an invisible thread, a bond you can neither understand nor break. It's like walking on a tightrope stretched between two worlds, that of passion and threat, and you don't know which one attracts you more. It's a fragile dance, a precarious balance between temptation and danger, and each step brings you closer to the abyss.

The dim lights through the store windows cast blurry, dancing shadows across your faces. These shadows seem to bloom in the space between you, feeding the intensity of the moment, making it even more overwhelming. Every movement becomes heavier, every look more charged with meaning. The connection between you grows stronger, almost unbearable, every gesture, every breath becoming an affirmation of this irresistible attraction, this insatiable need that binds you.

As you walk through the door of the store, the sweet air of waffles hits you, a sweet smell that surprises you in this atmosphere heavy with tension. It's almost cruel, this contrast, a brutal reminder that not everything is as intense as what you share. And yet, even this sweetness seems tinged by the heat of his body so close to yours. He has not stopped looking at you. His gaze does not look away for a second, and in his pupils shine flashes of wild, merciless desire. His impassive face barely hides the burn he feels, and every muscle in his body seems tense, ready to explode.

The salesman calls you, but his voice seems distant, almost inaudible in this bubble of intensity that you two form. Everything seems unreal, as if time itself had stopped to observe you. You are absorbed, swallowed up by Sunghoon's gaze, in which unconfessed desires, promises and hidden threats mix. This gaze is an abyss, a trap into which you could easily fall. And a part of you is terrified at the idea of ​​discovering what he really expects from you. A dull anguish mixes with the growing desire, creating an unbearable tension that makes your heart beat harder, faster.

Sunghoon finally orders a waffle for the two of you, without taking his eyes off yours. And then you feel a shiver of adrenaline run through you. The intimacy of this moment is overwhelming. It's as if everything around you is becoming a blur, as if the world no longer exists. Every second that passes is a mixture of pleasure and fear, a whirlwind of contradictory sensations that leaves you speechless, defenseless. When the waffle arrives, he takes it in his hand, but he keeps looking at you, as if he wants you to be aware of every gesture, every movement. You can see the tension in his muscles, his self-control, and yet there is this glint of desperation in his eyes, as if he is waiting for something from you, something you have not yet understood.

“Do you want to taste?” His low voice, almost a whisper, slides over your skin like an intimate caress, loaded with something much more than mere words. Each syllable seems suspended in the air, heavy with meaning, like a silent and dangerous promise. He slowly brings the waffle to you, but his eyes do not leave yours, piercing, analyzing each movement, each reaction. It is a power play, a silent challenge, where each gesture seems calculated, each breath, a declaration. It is no longer a simple question of dessert; there is a palpable tension between you, a magnetic attraction that binds you to him, preventing you from escaping. Everything seems suspended in this moment, and you realize that it is not only a question of gluttony, but something deeper, darker, an irresistible desire.

When you finally take a bite, the sweetness of the waffle explodes in your mouth, but you can't ignore Sunghoon's imposing presence, so close to you. It's like he's everywhere at once, in the air, in the heat emanating from him, in the intensity of his gaze, a predator's gaze scrutinizing his prey. He watches you, he analyzes you, waiting to see how you'll react, what each movement of your body will mean to him. His eyes, deep and insatiable, seem to want to decipher each of your thoughts, each breath. He must know that you belong to him, that you are his in this suspended moment. And, against all logic, you feel fragile, vulnerable under this gaze that consumes you, as if you were nothing more than a puzzle that he is determined to solve.

When you finally release the waffle, the sweet sweetness mixes with a much more complex taste. The creamy texture of the whipped cream melts into Sunghoon's scent, which surrounds you with every breath. He is so close, each movement of your tongue to wipe your lips makes you aware of his presence, of his insistent and scrutinizing gaze, of the pressure of his body close to yours. You are aware of every gesture, every movement becomes a silent invitation, a call. You know that he is watching you, that every micro-movement of your body is scrutinized, that you no longer have the right to look away. He seeks to read you, to decode your slightest reaction.

You finally bring your hand to your lips to wipe the corner of your mouth, a small gesture that is almost automatic, but you suddenly feel lost. The softness of your fingers on your skin is abruptly interrupted. A shiver runs through you when you feel a firm but gentle grip on your wrist. Sunghoon holds you back, pulling you towards him with a quiet but strong authority. He takes you in his arms, preventing you from running away. His burning gaze pierces you, and the silent pressure he exerts on you clearly tells you to stay there, not to resist. He owns you in this moment, even without a word.

“Let me do it,” he whispers, his voice soft as velvet, but filled with danger. He leans in then, his face moving closer to yours, close enough that you can feel his breath, the heat of his body brushing against you. His eyes, dark as night, stare at you with such intensity that you feel destabilized, as if he could read you, devour you, know everything about you. There is no more room for words. There is only this look, this tension floating around you, and the feeling that the outside world no longer exists. Everything has been reduced to this moment, to this suspended moment where there is only the two of you.

Without a word, he moves closer, his mouth moving to the corner of your lips. His tongue, warm and wet, gently brushes the delicate skin of your lips, removing the rest of the whipped cream that you haven't wiped away. The contact is electric, a brutal shock that vibrates every fiber of your being. It is both intimate and invasive, a gentle but irreversible intrusion. The shiver that runs through you is more intense than anything you have felt before, a mixture of desire, shame and pure pleasure. A moan escapes your throat, involuntary, a silent cry betraying your response to this burning contact. Everything around you disappears, the noises of the room, the whispers, fade into the background, leaving only this sensual dance, this indefinable bond that unites you in this suspended moment.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, savoring every second, and every second seems to last an eternity. He is in control, every movement calculated, precise. You feel even more lost, wrapped in this whirlwind of contradictory sensations. With a sure gesture, Sunghoon brings your finger to his lips. A simple gesture, but in his hands, it takes on a whole new dimension. The innocence of the act becomes disturbing as he slowly sucks your finger, his warm and soft mouth enveloping your skin in a disconcerting, almost invasive way. Each movement, each aspiration seems to steal a little of your control, pushing you to abandon yourself to this intensity, to this silent domination. He slowly removes the slightest trace of whipped cream, his eyes deep in yours, satisfied, full of a quiet arrogance. And you, you feel your heart accelerate, beating faster, harder. The sparkle in his eyes tells you that this was only the beginning, that what he wants from you is much more than this simple gesture.

“Sunghoon… we’re in public,” you whisper, your voice trembling, torn between disapproval and excitement. Each word struggles to escape your lips, infused with obvious hesitation, but the intensity of his burning gaze unsettles you, making you doubt your own will to stop. The heat in your skin spikes, every movement of your body seeming to risk betraying a truth you’re not ready to face. Around you, the hustle and bustle of the room fades to a distant whisper as you become aware of the furtive glances of the customers. A few of them watch you, curious, embarrassed, or incredulous. You suddenly feel vulnerable, as if every breath, every beat of your heart echoes in the silence that has settled around you. A wave of excitement invades your mind, an intoxicating whirlwind that makes you oscillate between shame and a devouring desire. You are there, in this enclosed space, caught in a bubble of palpable tension, but aware of the foreign glances gliding over you.

Relentless, Sunghoon removes your finger from his mouth with an almost insolent ease, as if he were playing with you at every moment. He is neither in a hurry nor embarrassed, and in this gesture, he places a light kiss on the palm of your hand, a kiss so subtle, so intimate, that it freezes you on the spot. This simple contact, yet fleeting, triggers a discharge of contradictory emotions. The heat of his skin against yours causes a shiver that runs through you, shaking all your senses. The fear of excess, the excitement of risk, and a raw, insatiable desire, mix in your belly, turning you over. His smile is an enigma, a combination of apparent innocence and obscene promises, a veil that hides the increasingly heavy tension between you. His gaze, always fixed on you, gives off an implacable energy, as if he sees beyond your appearance, as if he knows exactly what you feel, without you needing to utter a single word.

“As long as we don’t fuck in front of them, princess, I don’t care,” he suddenly blurts out, his voice as smooth as satin but hiding an underlying iron blade. His words seep into the air, light but heavy with meaning, and the atmosphere is instantly charged with palpable electricity. Each syllable he utters seems to resonate in your bones, and you swallow, feeling a mixture of shame, arousal, and fascination grow within you. He looks at you with such intensity that you have no choice but to defy him with your gaze, all the while knowing that you are already lost. There is no longer any room for ambiguity in what you feel. He knows exactly what he is doing, and he is fully aware of the effect it has on you. But he enjoys it, because this game, this challenge between you, is a terrain of power that he controls to perfection.

With calculated slowness, Sunghoon brings the waffle to his lips, biting exactly where you left the imprint of your teeth. This gesture, which might seem innocuous in another context, suddenly takes on an unsuspected meaning. He does it with an almost perverse reverence, as if he were trying to appropriate a little of you through this simple gesture. His gaze does not leave you, penetrating and deep, a gaze that seems to read each of your reactions, each thought that crosses your mind. It is a silent promise, a promise that you are not sure whether you want to keep or break. Your heart races, your breath becomes shorter, the air around you becomes heavier. A dull tension settles, an anticipation that hangs in the air like a soft threat, ready to explode. He has captured something in you, a small spark of submission that you had not seen coming, but which grows each time he stares at you in this way.

His gaze locks with yours, unwavering, and a serious, almost predatory smile plays on his lips as he whispers softly, “It’s delicious.” His words float between you, a caress that makes you shiver, exposing you in a way no other man has ever managed. He holds the waffle out to you, but it’s no longer a simple offer. It’s a silent challenge, an unspoken invitation to respond to his gesture, to become a part of this game he plays with such skill. He forces you to accept this offering, and though your body hesitates, your mind betrays you and you bite exactly where he left his mark. Your eyes meet again, colliding in a silent dance of possession and vulnerability. Each gesture becomes a hold, an act of power and submission, and you feel trapped in this invisible web he weaves around you.

Your heart beats hard in your chest, heavy, panting, and an oppressive heat invades your body. You are aware of every movement, every breath, and each gesture seems to trigger a chain reaction, a wave of emotions that overwhelms you. A mischievous wink escapes your eyes, and, against all expectations, you see a slight blush tint his cheeks. This reaction, so rare in him, almost makes you smile. You bite your lip, trying to stifle a laugh, amused by this vulnerability that he hides so clumsily, this side of him that you begin to see, a little more with each moment.

“You’re so adorable, Sunghoon,” you tell him in a breath, your words sliding slowly, like an almost invisible caress that brushes the air. They slip between you, light, but heavy with meaning, loaded with that subtle irony that always floats in the air when emotions are too strong to be simply said. These words, yet tender, seem to split the space between you in a way that you had not anticipated. The moment you say them, you see a slight shiver run through his features, an imperceptible tension that crosses his body, like a shock wave that he tries to hide, but that you perceive nevertheless, clearly.

Sunghoon's face, usually as implacable as steel, then betrays a moment of vulnerability. A deeper blush invades his cheeks, tinting his skin with an unexpected warmth. His eyes avert almost by reflex, and a hand rises, running through his hair in a sudden, almost defensive gesture, as if he wanted to erase the impact of your words. But this gesture, far from masking what he feels, only reinforces the impression you have of seeing him shirk, even slightly, this truth that you are holding out to him. You had not anticipated that a simple compliment could destabilize him to this point, and yet, in this split second, you perceive a crack in his armor.

Despite this moment of fragility, something deeper, more chilling, awakens in him. A flash of darkness in his gaze, an unfathomable depth that you have never perceived before, an ocean of pain and desire mixed, where you feel that behind this facade of control, a storm is raging. Sunghoon stares at you again, his eyes burning with an almost bestial intensity, as if he is seeing you for the first time, as if he is devouring you with his gaze, each second a fight not to sink. As if you are all that keeps him here, in this reality, in this moment suspended between you.

Sunghoon leans forward slightly, almost imperceptibly, a subtle movement, but charged with the promise of a closeness that makes your heart beat faster. His hand, hesitant at first, slides towards your face, his finger brushing the outline of your lips, as if he were trying to understand this smile that has brushed your face. The contact is so soft, almost fragile, but at the same time, heartbreakingly tender, as if this gesture could be a last memory that he would take with him. This simple touch seems to suspend time, and you feel your heart racing, your body reacting to this softness, but also to the urgency that there is in this gesture, a desire to capture a moment before it disappears, to immobilize it forever.

Unable to resist the momentum that runs through you, the whirlwind of sensations that overwhelm you, you place a light kiss on the tip of his finger. This gesture, almost innocuous, resonates in the air like a shard of broken glass. Sunghoon slowly closes his eyes, as if he needed to be away from this contact for a moment, to absorb the heat of your kiss, to stifle the explosion of emotions that tears him apart. When he reopens his eyes, his gaze seems darker, veiled, as if he were trying to hide a torment that he cannot control. A fragile smile forms on his lips, but it is almost as fleeting as the pain he seeks to hide. It is a broken smile, like a shard of glass that cannot be repaired.

“I love your smile,” he says, and his voice trembles slightly, betraying an imperceptible shiver, a tremor that he tries to hide under the softness of his words. His fingers, now more assured, slide slowly from your lips to your cheek, brushing your skin like a caress. But in his gestures there is also hidden a form of silent possession, as if he wanted to soak up you, to keep you close to him in a last gesture of tenderness. But behind this touch, you also feel the pain, palpable, that he cannot hide. He looks at you as if each second spent with you costs him a little more of himself, as if each movement you make, each breath you let out, is a tearing for him.

His hand moves down further, sliding along the back of your neck with calculated slowness. You feel the gentle but firm pressure of his fingers on your skin, almost an anchor that keeps you close to him. This gesture is at once a gesture of control, a way of binding you to him, and yet, it is also tender, like a silent request to stay, not to leave, even if it must be done in pain. Your breath catches for a moment, strangled by the feeling of being both vulnerable and desired, as if everything you were was concentrated in this single moment, in this hand that keeps you close to him.

“I want you to be like this forever… happy,” he whispers, and the words, infinitely sweet but broken, insinuate themselves into you like an icy breath. His voice, low, brushes you gently, mixing tenderness and unspeakable pain. There is something fragile in his words, as if they are too weak to contain the pain they carry. He speaks as if he is confiding a part of himself to you, but you know that what he hides in his gaze is heavier than what he dares to say. Behind this tenderness, you perceive a fear that he tries to hide—a visceral fear that shines in his eyes, threatening and fragile.

You see that this fear is eating him up, that he hides it under a mask of love and devotion, but it is there, lurking in every corner of his gaze. It is a deep anguish that he cannot fight, that he does not dare to face. He desires with all his heart to see you happy, but with a desperate urgency, as if he knew, deep down, that this happiness does not belong to him. Sunghoon is not the one who will be able to offer you lasting tranquility, and it is eating away at him. Even if he tries to offer you what he believes to be the most beautiful gift of all—your joy—he knows that it is only an illusion. Because, deep down, he is not the one who will fill your heart.

The violence of this thought hits him like a stab. He then contemplates you, his eyes drowned in a suffering that he can no longer hide. This gaze that you meet is an abyss, an endless chasm where he seems to lose himself little by little, as if each moment spent with you was only an ephemeral illusion. Sunghoon looks at you with the certainty that what you share is only a passage, a parenthesis. He knows that he will end up losing you, that one day you will move away, and he already sees you as a shooting star that he believes he will never be able to hold on to. Sunghoon admires you, he loves you with a pure but desperate love, to the point of suffering. This suffering is part of him, a wound that he has learned to hide, but which, at this precise moment, is revealed. It is this irrational fear of seeing you disappear that slowly breaks him, piece by piece.

What he doesn't tell you, what he can't say, is that every moment spent with you is an inner struggle for him. A struggle against his own demons, against the certainty that he will never be able to fill your heart completely. He wants to be the one who makes you happy, with all his being, but Sunghoon knows that he is not up to it. This doubt eats away at him more and more every day. His thoughts sometimes escape towards an uncertain future, where you will no longer be there, where you will inexorably move away, and where he will be forced to see you go. In this vision, he already feels the pain of your disappearance, the immense void that it will leave in his life.

He knows this thought of loss well, he has learned to live with it, to accept it, but it is destroying him little by little. Every moment spent with you becomes a struggle against the evidence of what seems inevitable: your disappearance. He carries this fear within him like a curse, an open wound that never closes, and that deepens with each moment. He is afraid of loving you too much, afraid that this love — so pure, so unaltered — will destroy him too, that it will make him sink into an abyss from which he will never be able to escape.

“I’m going to smile so much for you that it’s going to annoy you,” you say, your voice soft, almost whispered, as you gently squeeze his hand. You feel a slight vibration under your touch, and you know that this sentence, so light in appearance, is only a mask, an attempt to dissipate the tension. But the storm raging inside Sunghoon cannot be appeased by mere words. Even your gaze, full of tenderness and kindness, does not mask this silent struggle that hides in his eyes. And in this suspended moment, the storm becomes more violent, each heartbeat he feels seeming to suck you a little more towards the abyss where he finds himself.

Your smile, almost naively innocent, briefly lights up his face, but it especially accentuates the depth of the pain he hides. Behind this smile, too fragile, hides an unfathomable emptiness, a sadness anchored in his being, a loneliness that he has carried within him for years, perhaps forever. Since his childhood, Sunghoon has learned to hide this suffering, to erect walls around himself, a fortress that he never dared to let fall, for fear of being swallowed up by the outside world. But you, your presence, your gaze, are slowly, inexorably breaking down this barrier. It is not a brutal burst, but a slow and deep crack. A silent internal struggle, because he knows, deep down, that these emotions that he has kept inside him for so long will eventually overflow.

Sunghoon knows, deep down, that this happiness, this warmth he feels by your side, is only a mirage. A fragile flame in an icy night, ready to go out at the slightest breeze. He looks at you with an almost painful intensity, a despair that he cannot hide. He watches you like a man watches a dream whose contours he knows he will never be able to grasp, a dream that dissipates as soon as he touches it. Every smile you offer him, every gentle gesture from you, pierces his heart like an invisible blade. He would like to lose himself in this happiness, to take refuge in this sweetness that you give him, but he knows that, sooner or later, you will move away. That distance, oblivion, will make you leave. The fear of abandonment, visceral and constant, is anchored in every fiber of his being. And yet, with every moment spent with you, he lets himself be carried away by a devouring love, a devouring passion that consumes him, slowly eats away at him, but which, he knows, will never fill the void he carries within him.

In an almost desperate burst, Sunghoon holds you close. He grabs you, not gently, but with an almost violent urgency, as if you were the last lifeline in a raging ocean. As if he could hold you back, prevent you from moving away, from escaping, simply by holding you closer to him. His hands dig into your skin with a pressure that hurts you, but which, strangely, also seems to seek to mark every part of you, to anchor you in his memory. He seeks to make you inseparable from him, to possess you not only with his body, but with his soul. His eyes capture you, scrutinize you with an almost sickly intensity, seeking to imprison your silhouette in a gaze where desire and suffering mingle. Each movement, each breath, seems calculated to hold you back, to anchor you in him, as if he knew that losing you would be his own end.

But at the same time, every moment he spends by your side is a sweet agony. A sublimated, intense pain, which mixes with the beauty of the moment. Every kiss, every smile, every shared breath is a treasure that he reluctantly accepts, all the while knowing that it leaves a gaping wound in his heart. This pain, Sunghoon accepts it, he even cherishes it, because for him, loving you is accepting to slowly destroy himself. It is embracing the burn of passion while being perfectly aware that he will end up burning himself, that this fire will devour him, that he will not come out of it unscathed.

Sunghoon holds you even tighter, as if the sheer force of his will could keep you there, close to him, by his side. He would like time to stop, for this suspended moment to last forever, but he knows that it is only a mirage. Because deep down, he feels this inevitable truth: everything he experiences with you is temporary. It is a daydream that will fade away at the slightest movement, at the slightest change. And yet, even while consumed by the fear of losing you, Sunghoon does not hesitate. He lets himself go in this whirlwind of feelings, ready to sacrifice everything, even if it destroys him. Because to him, to love is to agree to give everything, to burn everything, to lose everything, in the insane hope that you will stay, even if only a little longer.

In the boxing gym, the air was oppressive, saturated with the smell of sweat and metal. The dull sound of punches hitting the punching bag mingled with the faint flashing of neon lights above Sunghoon, like echoes of an ever-growing inner turmoil. The cold light of the neon lights cast strange shadows on his face, emphasizing every line of fatigue and pain that marked his features. His eyes, usually intense, were now a little dull, as if all his energy was directed into his fists that he threw with an almost frantic violence. With each impact, his gloves were lost in the bag with a sharp thud, one more blow to silence what was rumbling inside him, an uncontrollable rage that was bubbling beneath the surface.

Across from him, Jay remained stoic, his posture impeccable, like a silhouette frozen in time. He didn't move an inch, his arms stretched around the punching bag he held tightly, resisting the powerful blows that struck him at every moment. He absorbed each shock with calculated patience, as if nothing that happened around him could touch him. Yet, in the silence that reigned between each blow, it was impossible not to feel the intensity of the exchange. Jay, although motionless, was totally focused, his piercing gaze observing every detail of Sunghoon's movements. He knew that each blow his friend threw was not simply an attempt to defeat a punching bag, but a fight against inner demons far more powerful than anything he could face in this ring.

Sunghoon’s gloves danced violently, each strike followed by a new explosion of force. He struck, again and again, as if each blow freed him a little more, or at least, that’s what he hoped. His fists were cannonballs, relentlessly raging against the worn surface of the bag, which almost seemed to respond with equal hardness. The pain in his arms, the muscles tensed, each impact resonating down to his bones, was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside. Rage filled him. Sunghoon didn’t strike to win, he struck to exist, to make something tangible exist in this whirlwind of frustration and despair. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he paid it no mind. Sunghoon was lost in this struggle, far from reality, far from the invisible spectators who might judge.

His movements had become mechanical, like an automatic repetition of gestures that he no longer controlled. The violence of each blow seemed to come from a deep place, a place he did not dare to look at. His breathing, irregular, derailed with each exhalation. A hoarse breath, almost whistling, escaped his lips with each new attack. It was not the physical pain that he was trying to evacuate, but something much greater, something that he could not formulate, but which, with each inspiration, seemed to gnaw at his insides.

And then Jay broke the silence, his voice cold as a sharp blade cutting through the air. “So, are you ready to face Heeseung in a month?” His tone was dry, direct, straightforward, like an invitation to the truth, or perhaps a challenge. The question hung in the air, heavy with innuendo, expectations, and hopes they dared not name. Sunghoon froze for a moment. A particularly violent blow crashed against the bag, but he didn’t have the strength to strike again. A shudder, an invisible vibration, was felt in his body. He knew that the question was much more than a simple interrogation of his physical abilities; it opened a breach into something much more intimate.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, trying to put his mind back in place, but the thought of Heeseung, of this betrayal that was devouring him, immediately invaded his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the image of his former friend forced itself into his mind, again and again. The betrayal, the lies, the anger, everything intertwined. Sunghoon had been there for Heeseung, always, and yet… Everything had shattered. Heeseung's face, that of a friend he believed to be sincere, haunted his thoughts. It was a shadow that stuck to his skin, that distorted his own reflection. He gritted his teeth and struck again, harder, faster. He struck with the force of pain, with the violence of bitterness.

“Heeseung is nothing but another man,” he spat through his teeth, his voice shaking with fury. His gaze fixed on the bag, but in his mind, it was Heeseung’s face he saw, the face of the lost friend, the man who had betrayed him. Sunghoon paused, his breath caught, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if it was the rage that kept him alive or the pain that wouldn’t let go. He stared at the bag for a moment, as if he saw the features of his former friend there, each blow he threw an attempt to bring justice to this broken friendship. Sunghoon needed to strike, again and again, until this pain, this betrayal, finally stopped consuming him.

Jay, watching every move with a keenness that did not escape him, did not utter a word. He knew. He knew that this was not just a fight against a man. This was not just a rivalry. This was an inner war, a battle between what had been lost and what still remained to be preserved. Sunghoon's hatred was not only directed at Heeseung; it was also directed at himself. It was not the strength of a rival that he was facing, but the shadow of a friend he had loved. And Jay understood, perhaps better than anyone, that this scar was much deeper than any blow he had struck.

In the echo of the last blows, a palpable tension, like a thread suspended between the past and the future, hung in the air. Jay knew he could only watch, observe without intervening. What was playing out in this room was not a simple physical training. It was a silent catharsis, a silent battle that Sunghoon had to fight alone.

“Is that really what you want to believe?” Jay’s voice cut through the silence with the softness of a sharp blade, calm but relentless. He slowly loosened his grip on the punching bag, forcing Sunghoon to stop. The air in the room, already saturated with heat and sweat, seemed to freeze around them, heavy with that palpable tension. Sunghoon froze, his arm hanging in the air, his palm still open as if he were ready to strike again, but his muscles tensed under the unexpected impact of those words. Jay hadn’t shouted, he hadn’t even raised his voice. Yet he had managed to break Sunghoon’s rhythm, to disturb the balance that the latter had so desperately tried to maintain.

Jay's gaze was a finely honed instrument, a gaze that penetrated appearances and saw beyond the surface. It was a gaze that discerned hidden truths, those that Sunghoon himself did not dare to face, those that hid in the dark corners of his soul, where he hoped no one would come to disturb them. Jay knew that Sunghoon was fighting against something much bigger than Heeseung, against an inner monster, a visceral pain that he did not have the courage to acknowledge.

“You can convince yourself all you want, but it’s not Heeseung you’re fighting. It’s yourself, that part of you that refuses to accept what he did to you.” Jay’s words sank into Sunghoon’s heart like a blade cutting through his ribs. They were precise, sharp, and far more painful than any punch he could have received. They struck directly where he had buried his pain: in that gaping wound that bled endlessly, the one that had opened in his heart the day Heeseung had betrayed him.

Sunghoon's breathing quickened. He froze for a moment, his eyes fixed on the punching bag, but he couldn't see anything anymore. His thoughts were lost in the tumult of memories, in that precise moment when everything had changed. Heeseung's face floated before him, that of the friend he had known, the one he had trusted, and now... now, he was an enemy. A traitor. A ghost. Jay's gaze forced him to relive that scene over and over again, to revisit the moment when betrayal had slipped like poison into his life. He had lost everything that day, and the pain was still raw, stinging.

Sunghoon's fists slowly unclenched, almost against his will. He felt the sweaty gloves slip slightly from his trembling hands, but he didn't put them back on. He couldn't hold on tight anymore, couldn't push back the flood of pain that was intensifying with each passing moment. Sweat was now streaming down his face, but it wasn't just fatigue anymore. It was emotional exhaustion, a weight he had been carrying for too long that was starting to crush him. It was this pain he was trying to escape, but it caught up with him with every blow he landed, every mechanical movement he made to let out his anger and frustration.

“It doesn’t matter anymore…” Sunghoon’s voice trailed off almost to a whisper, a choked gasp of pain. The words struggled to come out, stuck in his throat, unable to find their way out. He tried to smile, a bitter smile, devoid of joy, but it only served to deepen the sadness in his eyes. “He’s just another opponent to beat.” No matter how hard he tried to hide the truth, to impose a mask of bravado, he knew he didn’t believe it himself. The truth was there, buried deep in his chest, a truth he could no longer ignore.

Jay shook his head slowly, wordlessly, his gaze unwavering. He knew Sunghoon wasn’t ready to accept this truth, that what he was saying was just a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control. But Jay was used to reading people, sensing the cracks in their façade, and he knew Sunghoon was about to snap. He could see the fragility that lurked beneath that anger, that hurt buried deep inside him that he had tried to repress for so long. Jay could see that, despite his efforts to convince himself that everything was under control, Sunghoon was drowning in an ocean of pain he refused to acknowledge.

Sunghoon finally looked down, avoiding Jay's insistent gaze. He grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around his bloodied hands, but he didn't have the strength to do it properly. His fingers were shaking, each movement an automatic mechanism, an unconscious action. He tightened the bandage around his wrists with an almost feverish determination, as if by tightening the bonds he could hold back the pain that threatened to engulf everything.

Jay approached slowly, quietly, and placed a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder. The gesture was simple, but it carried the full weight of friendship, of silent understanding, of deep compassion that needed no words. There was no rush in his touch, just a steady, reassuring presence. “You know, Sunghoon, facing Heeseung won’t change anything if you’re not willing to face what he’s awakened in you. It’s not hatred that will make you stronger, but what you choose to do with it.”

Sunghoon stood there for a long moment, his eyes blank, staring into the nothingness before him. The silence of the boxing gym was oppressive, heavy like a cloud of tension hanging in the air, but inside him, it was something else entirely. Jay's words echoed in his head, seeping into his mind like a slowly spreading poison, leaving a burning trace behind. 

Every sentence, every syllable, struck sensitive chords within him, wounds he thought were closed but that, with each touch, reopened. Jay was right. It was a truth he could no longer ignore, as painful as it was. But accepting it, facing it, was a chasm he did not dare cross yet. It was an abyss too deep, too frightening. If he acknowledged it, he would lose everything he had built, all this facade he tried to maintain.

His heart beat in a staccato rhythm, each beat marking a break from what he had always thought he knew. He let out a shaky sigh, almost inaudible, like a weight breaking in his soul, loud in his mind, though his body remained frozen. The heat of the room seemed to transform into a suffocating heat around him. Sunghoon tried to swallow this pain, to push it back, but it was there, it would not go away. 

Sunghoon straightened up slowly, his movements were mechanical, as if he were forcing his body to obey a will that was no longer his own. He searched for the mask he had worn for so long, this mask of coldness and disdain, the one that had protected him from the truth, from his own feelings. But he knew deep down that Jay had seen him, that he had broken through this shell with disconcerting ease. And that, more than anything, was unbearable.

“Why are you doing this, Jay?” The question came out of his lips with difficulty, each word carrying an almost unbearable weight. His voice was low, hoarse, trembling with anger and confusion. Sunghoon felt his fists clench again, but he didn’t have the strength to keep them closed. “Why do you insist on bringing me back to this, on reminding me… of what I want to forget?” He looked away, as if he could erase Jay’s words, as if running away could ease the torment that was eating away at him. But he knew he couldn’t run away, not this time. This emptiness, this pain, was inside him, ingrained in his flesh, and running away from Jay’s gaze would only make it stronger.

Jay stared at him in silence, his gaze heavy with understanding, calm, and deep gravity. His eyes seemed to probe every corner of Sunghoon's soul, every crack, every piece of his broken being, without any reluctance. He didn't turn away, he didn't run away from the intensity of this confrontation. He knew that Sunghoon needed this space, this confrontation, even if he wasn't ready to accept it. Jay gave Sunghoon all the space for his anger, for his need to flee, for his inner struggle. He waited, without rushing, as if he knew that at some point, the truth would finally come out.

Then, finally, he answered, in a low voice, but full of that simple wisdom that knew how to touch where it hurt.

“Because you deserve to be free from all of this, Sunghoon.” The words echoed in the air, their weight landing heavily on Sunghoon’s shoulders. “Because as long as you remain trapped in this hatred, this pain, Heeseung will continue to have power over you, even if he’s not there. And that’s worse than any defeat.”

Jay's words crashed down on Sunghoon like a wave of truth. It washed over him, not with the violence of a storm, but with the cold sweetness of a reality he could no longer escape. Sunghoon felt his heart tighten, a wave of pain that slowly spread throughout his body. It was as if something inside him was finally breaking, as if the lock he had taken care to seal for years had just given way, letting everything escape. He felt a strange combination of anger and relief. The rage was still there, burning, but it was now mixed with a feeling of emptiness, of weakness. This pain that he had locked away so tenaciously, this suffering that he thought he could control, was beginning to fail in his hands. Sunghoon was no longer in control. He could no longer run from this truth.

A silence settled then, heavy, palpable. The room seemed to tighten around him, the walls closing in, the air becoming more stifling. Sunghoon turned his head, avoiding Jay's gaze, as if to protect himself. He stared at an invisible point on the ground, but the truth remained there, inside him, deeply inked. He felt his breath catch, the anger still present, but more desperate, more disarming. The violence that inhabited him clashed with this reality, and he no longer knew how to contain it. He took a deep breath, his shoulders shrugging under the effort of holding back everything he felt boiling inside him.

Eventually, Sunghoon's voice grew quieter, almost a whisper, a confession that didn't ask for an answer, but simply sought to come out.

"He should never have betrayed me."

The words escaped like a breach in a dam, fragile, broken. It was an admission heavy with regret, disappointment, raw, naked pain. It wasn’t just the betrayal that consumed him, but everything that came with it: the broken friendship, the shattered trust, the certainty that he wasn’t worthy of being loved, of being respected. He felt vulnerable, almost naked under Jay’s gaze, as if every word he spoke revealed a little more of himself, a little more of what he’d always wanted to hide.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable, heavy with everything he didn't say, with what he couldn't yet face. Memories of Heeseung, of their friendship, of the betrayal that had destroyed everything, jostled in his mind, chaotic, unfinished. Anger, pain, abandonment... all of it mixed in a silent, endless storm that continued to torment him. And even if Sunghoon had said those words, even if he had said what he didn't allow himself to feel, he knew that he wasn't ready to fully face them yet. He wasn't ready to face what was deep inside him. But maybe, just maybe, one day he would be.

And maybe, on that day, Sunghoon could finally leave the pain behind.

Jay approached him slowly, without a sound, his hand placed on his shoulder with apparent gentleness, but this gentleness hid a firm determination. He knew that Sunghoon, in this state, would not easily allow someone to approach, much less lay a hand on him. But Jay was not the type to back down in the face of a challenge, and this proximity, far from disturbing him, seemed rather to give him a calm, almost soothing authority.

Jay’s voice cut through the silence of the room like a cleaver, measured but heavy with meaning. “We don’t always choose who hurts us, or how they hurt us,” he said quietly, the words falling like stones into a silent pond. “But we can choose how to rebuild ourselves afterward. This fight against Heeseung… It’s not just revenge. It’s a chance to show that you’re stronger than this betrayal, that you won’t let it define who you are.”

Sunghoon froze, his eyes glazed over, as if he had tried to swallow Jay's words while refusing to let them sink in too deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his fists, feeling every word Jay said sink into his veins like a sweet, sneaky poison. Everything inside him screamed to resist, to not accept this truth, but deep down he knew Jay was right. He hadn't chosen Heeseung's betrayal, or the pain that had come with it. But now, in this moment, Sunghoon was still choosing to fight. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Sunghoon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He tried to calm himself, to control the tide of conflicting emotions that were surging through him. But each breath seemed to feed an inner fire that he hadn’t been able to extinguish. Their faces overlapped in his mind, Heeseung’s, Jay’s. The tension that held him, the pain that gnawed at him… it all kept looping. He gritted his teeth, feeling a dull frustration bubbling inside him. He wasn’t ready to face the truth. He wasn’t ready to look deep inside himself.

When he finally opened his eyes, he met Jay's gaze, and this time, he didn't look away. For the first time in a long time, he didn't try to hide his vulnerability. There was something deeply human about this encounter, something broken, something irreparable. His eyes shone with a light that betrayed more than pain; there was also this crack, this old fatigue, this endless struggle against what he felt. He felt like a stranger within himself, lost in an internal war that never seemed to end.

“I tried to rebuild myself,” he whispered, his words barely audible, almost drowned out by the weight of his own exhaustion. “I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter anymore, that I could move on without him… but this rage, this hatred… it’s all I have left.”

Sunghoon's words were laden with such raw truth that they seemed to hang in the air, heavy and painful. Jay felt a pang in his heart as he heard them, not out of pity, but because he understood, perhaps better than anyone, the inner vortex that was consuming Sunghoon. He knew that this anger was not simply a reaction to an act of betrayal, but a response to a deep pain that he had never known how to treat except with rage. But Jay, with infinite gentleness, answered in his calm, implacable voice.

“Then let her go,” he whispered, almost like a caress. “Let that rage go and find who you really are, Sunghoon. Not the fighter consumed by hatred, but the man who deserves to live without being haunted by the past.”

There was no judgment in his words. No blame. Just a silent invitation to let go of the chains that held him back. Jay knew it wasn’t easy. He knew the road would be long, fraught with pitfalls, but he believed in himself. He believed in the possibility of healing, even if Sunghoon didn’t see it yet.

Jay's words fell on Sunghoon like a warm rain, soft but painful. It was a balm on a wound he had ignored for too long. Sunghoon felt his fists unclench imperceptibly, as if the weight of the hatred that had kept him alive for so many years was suddenly lighter. His arms trembled slightly, and he had to concentrate to control the tremors that threatened to overwhelm him. It was as if all his strength, his energy, were dissipating, carried away by a flood he no longer controlled.

He slowly turned his head to Jay, his eyes filled with silent gratitude, deep and sincere. Words were useless. He didn't need to speak. Jay knew. And somehow, Sunghoon also knew that he had found someone who, for the first time, wouldn't ask him to be stronger, more impassive. Someone who saw him, with all his flaws, all his wounds. And who, despite everything, remained there.

A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched Sunghoon's lips. It wasn't a triumphant smile, but a smile filled with gratitude, with fragility. He wasn't ready to forget yet. Nor to forgive. But he knew he wasn't alone in this quest anymore. He didn't have to fight his own demons alone anymore.

And in that dark, cold, and almost silent room, Sunghoon felt, for the first time in far too long, a little peace. Not the peace of forgiveness or forgetting, but that of a man who, little by little, was beginning to free himself from his chains.

The door had barely closed behind Sunghoon, and immediately the air in the room seemed to take on a pressure, heavy and palpable. The silence that followed became as dense as a storm cloud ready to burst. You looked at him, but he was no longer the distant man you knew, nor the one you had learned to love despite his flaws, his silences, his outbursts. Tonight, he was nothing more than a silhouette, a flickering shadow, almost unreal. His features were marked by something deeper, darker, a torment that he had taken care to hide until then but which now seemed to overflow, to explode to the surface. Sunghoon was like a broken man, and yet, he still struggled, with this silent violence that inhabited his body. The void that had formed between you was loaded with invisible tensions, with unspoken but intense presences.

Your heart clenched in your chest, beating too hard, too fast. Each beat seemed to echo the growing worry that was taking over you. You wanted to break this silence, but nothing seemed to be able to lighten the air between you. Sunghoon stared at you, without looking away, his dark, unfathomable eyes burning with an almost unbearable intensity. He pierced you, probed you as if he were trying to read the depths of your soul, to discover something you weren't even ready to reveal to him. Every movement of his body seemed tense, on the verge of tearing itself apart. It was as if you could feel his desire to act, an uncontrollable impulse that he was holding back, but for how much longer? The energy between you was electrifying, wild, and you could feel it coursing through you, running through your skin like a shiver that awakened every fiber of your being.

A mixture of fear and desire, reluctance and attraction, overwhelmed you. You knew this feeling, but tonight it was different, more violent. It was like an inner tug that tore you apart, an incessant struggle between fleeing and giving in. You had always known that there was something between you, a complicated bond, made of frustrations, unspoken things, repressed passions, but there, in this suspended moment, it was as if the outside world no longer existed. Everything was just him, this brute force and this growing tension that accumulated between your bodies, ready to spill out.

You wanted to speak, to say something to break the heaviness of waiting, but as soon as you whispered his name, "Sunghoon," everything changed. He moved so suddenly that you were barely aware of it. In a split second, he was in front of you, his massive presence enveloping you. There was no more distance between you. He was there, so close that you could feel the heat of his body, intense, burning, radiating through the air, penetrating you like a wild fire. His breath brushed your skin, short and jerky, as if he was struggling to find his rhythm, to tame what he was feeling. You could almost feel every beat of his heart, that tension that inhabited every fiber of his being, that inner tremor contained in every movement, every gesture.

You tensed under the pressure of his proximity. Your heart clenched again, but this time, it was fear that dominated, a visceral fear that you couldn't shake. He stared at you, his gaze as dark and unfathomable as the abyss. A part of you wanted to back away, to flee this intensity, but another part, more secret, more buried, burned with the same fire as him. It was a dangerous fire, a flame that risked engulfing everything it touched if you gave in to it. You were no longer in control of your body, or your thoughts. Every fiber of your being was caught in this spiral, swallowed up by him, by everything he gave off.

His hands rested on your arms, at first unreal softly. But you felt the strength behind this contact, each finger brushing you with a delicacy that barely concealed an urgency, a restrained violence. It was as if you were a rope stretched to the limit, ready to give way under this pressure. Sunghoon's fingers closed slightly on your skin, making you shiver, like a warning. Each touch electrified you, but also frightened you, because you knew that what he was holding back could explode at any moment.

You couldn't escape him. He paralyzed you, from head to toe, like an invisible embrace but more powerful than any physical force. Every word, every gesture, dug a chasm between you, pushing you further and further into this night of uncertainties and possibilities. And yet, a part of you felt surprisingly calm. But this inner calm was only a fragile facade, which would last only a few seconds before the storm broke. And in that suspended moment, as he held you there, so close, you understood that the storm had already begun.

Sunghoon was no longer the same man you knew. He was no longer the man you thought you understood. Tonight, he was a rougher, wilder, more desperate version of himself. And you weren't the same either. You found yourself caught in this whirlwind, a spectator and an actress in this moment, unable to detach yourself from it, unable to escape this tension that was devouring you. The air was heavy, saturated with desire, frustration and need, and at that precise moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

“I… I don’t know who I am anymore,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, broken by an emotion he never wanted to show you again. His words seemed to tear themselves away from him, painful, like a confession he had never dared to make. He was there, in front of you, completely immersed in a vulnerability that made him almost unreal. Yet, every gesture, every movement he made betrayed an urgency, a desire to find himself in your arms. He approached slowly, his forehead brushing yours, an almost timid contact, as if he needed this proximity to breathe, as if your lips were the only thing that could save him.

You felt his hands slide, gently at first, then with a slight firmness, from your arms to your waist. When he finally pulled you against him, it was with such intensity, such urgency, that you almost lost your breath. An electric shock spread through your body, soft and brutal at the same time, a shiver that was born in the pit of your stomach, mixing desire and an unspeakable fear. Sunghoon pulled you towards him, as if you were the only thing capable of filling this void in which he was drowning. The world around you seemed to disappear, like a mist dissipated by the heat of your bodies, and there was only the two of you, alone, suspended in a space saturated with tension. The air seemed too heavy, too charged with this shared emotion, and you could almost hear the electric hum of the tension that floated between your bodies.

His hands slid slowly along your waist, brushing your skin with an almost unbearable slowness. Each movement was an exploration, an intimate search, as if he wanted to imprint every curve, every detail of your body in his memory, to mark his possession. It was not just a physical contact. It was a path of fire that ran through your skin, a soft but penetrating burn, awakening in you an incandescent, irresistible desire. And yet, in this burning fever, a dull fear invaded you. What would happen if you gave in to this call? If you abandoned yourself to him in this fragility, in this confusion? Doubt crept into you, but it was drowned under the wave of heat that rose in your veins.

“I see you… I feel you,” he whispered, his voice trembling, each word infused with an intense heat, almost a plea. He leaned down then, his lips brushing your ear, a hot, almost possessive breath that made an uncontrollable shiver run through your skin. “Don’t leave me… Don’t push me away.”

Those words, loaded with desire and desperation, hit you right in the heart. You knew he needed you, but did you know what you could offer him in this state? Was it even possible to bear such intensity? Sunghoon came closer, so close that you could feel the weight of his body against yours, like an unbearable heat that invaded the space around you. His hands slid down your back, his fingers tracing burning lines on your skin, marking the air between you with each movement. It wasn't just a caress, it was a silent claim, an act of possession, a way of reminding you that you were his. All his. In that suspended moment, you felt torn between two opposing forces. A part of you, drowned in fear, tensed, ready to flee, while another, darker, deeper, let itself be swallowed up by this intensity. That all-consuming, almost destructive force that emanated from him seemed to arouse an insane desire in you, an urgency you would never have imagined.

The danger in his eyes, in his gestures, paralyzed you, but in a strange way, you let yourself be enveloped by this proximity. You knew that you should be afraid, that this excessive heat, this too powerful desire were warning signs, but instead of fleeing, you let yourself be overwhelmed by it. Each movement of his body against yours, each breath, each brush rekindled a fire in you, a fire that you did not want, but that you could no longer extinguish.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading, vulnerability cutting through his words like a blade. His hands tightened on your skin then, his fingers digging into your flesh with an almost painful force, but you didn’t struggle. You didn’t move. You didn’t want to run. Not now. Not when he looked so broken, so lost. “Tell me you’re here. That you’re not leaving.”

His hands, which had become invisible chains, encircled you more and more, each movement making him more present, more indispensable. The warmth of his body, the strength of his desire, the pressure of his hands paralyzed you, but at the same time, a strange peace invaded you. A gentle resignation, as if you were agreeing to let yourself be engulfed by the inner storm that raged inside him, inside you. It was a fragile moment, suspended between two worlds, where you stopped fighting against the intensity of the moment.

“I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling, a breath almost inaudible, but infinitely sincere. “I’m not leaving, Sunghoon.”

At these words, you felt his body relax slightly against yours, as if, for a fleeting moment, he had found a semblance of peace in the warmth of your embrace. But this peace, you knew, was only a fragile illusion, ready to dissipate at the slightest tension. He held you against him with such force that it was almost suffocating, as if his body was trying to merge with yours, to erase all the distances between you. Sunghoon needed you, more than you could imagine, and this urgency in his gestures struck you right in the heart. He feared, you saw it in every movement, that you would disappear, that all this was only an ephemeral dream ready to shatter in an instant. His lips, until now barely brushing your skin, finally slid against your neck, slowly, like a burning caress, tracing a fiery line from your ear to your shoulder. It wasn't a simple kiss or a touch: it was a mark. A silent but definitive marking.

“You belong to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice husky, haunting, filled with an icy certainty that sent shivers down your spine. Every word was heavy with meaning, every syllable filled with a consuming conviction. “And I won’t let you go. Ever.”

There was a force in his words that almost crushed you. The finality, the inflexibility of what he was saying, held you in an invisible grip. It was a statement, a promise. And you knew that he wasn't just talking about you as a person, but about this obsession that consumed him, this need to keep you close to him, against him. A part of you, probably the most lucid, rebelled against the idea of ​​this bond so implacable, so possessive. But another part of you, deeper, more vulnerable, was fascinated by the raw force of his desire, by the intensity with which he seemed to implore you without a word, without the slightest confession. It was terrifying, you knew it. But it captivated you just as much.

His hands moved up your back, caressing the skin of your body with an unbearable slowness. Each movement seemed both calm and desperate, as if he was trying not to lose everything every second. You felt the warmth of his palms, the urgency in his gestures that nevertheless lingered on each curve, on each small detail of your skin. When he buried his face in the hollow of your neck, you shuddered under the intensity of his hot breath that brushed your skin with an almost painful tenderness. The smell of his perfume, mixed with that of sweat, desire and adrenaline, invaded the air around you, intoxicating each of your senses, making you insensitive to the rest of the world. The air was thick, charged with this palpable energy that seemed to surround you, to impregnate you. You could feel the tension in his muscles, his inner struggle not to give in to the madness that devoured him.

You knew that his desire, his need for you, was not simple. It was not only fueled by attraction, by a shared passion. No, it was more complex, more terrifying. His desire was fueled by anger, by a pain that he could not tame. He carried within him a dull rage, an inner violence that he tried to control, but which, with each contact, seemed to intensify, to burst with a devastating force. It was this internal fight, this struggle between pain and passion, between light and darkness, that paralyzed you and fascinated you at the same time. It was this part of Sunghoon, this dark part that he could not control, that left you breathless.

Sunghoon pulled you even closer, if that was possible, his body pressed against yours with such force that you could feel every beat of his heart, every gasping breath he took, as if his lungs and yours were trying to intertwine, to merge into one rhythm. The intensity of this moment was almost unbearable, overwhelming, each second stretching out, weighing on you like a metal bell, forcing you to feel every movement, every breath. You could feel the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, urging you to answer his call, to surrender to this heat, to this irresistible desire that was rising inside you, relentless.

In this whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a part of you felt guilty, frightened by the way you gave yourself over to him, by the ease with which you let yourself be carried away in this whirlwind. The guilt rose in you like a swell ready to submerge you. But it quickly drowned under the immensity of desire, under the passion that united you. His hands slid along your body with a devastating certainty, as if he needed to possess you, to mark every inch of your skin so that there would be no more doubt: you were his. Not only physically, but also spiritually. Each shiver he caused in you was delicious and disturbing at the same time. It was a mixture of pleasure and fear, an unstable balance that you were content to live, blinded by the intensity of the moment.

Sunghoon, you knew, was a broken man, and that came at a price. You had seen it, you had felt it in every gesture, in every word. He was not whole, he was fractured, torn apart by something bigger than him. And you were there, caught in this tornado, unable to detach yourself from it. But in his eyes, in this glow that cut through the mist of his suffering, you also perceived something else. A glimmer of hope, a quest for redemption that he could not even recognize, even to himself. It was this glow, fragile, uncertain, that still held you back. Because despite everything that was chaotic and broken between you, you perceived this part of him that was looking for something more, something better. And in this inner struggle, you could not help but lose yourself a little more each day.

The beating of his heart echoed against your chest, and in this strange suspension of time, you felt a tremor of apprehension that mixed with a burning desire. This was no longer simply a moment between you, but a boundary crossed, a point of no return that changed everything. The future stretched out before you, uncertain and threatening, but the reality of what you shared there, in this unsettling proximity, was undeniable, brutal and strangely beautiful in its dark depth.

“Let me use you, Y/n… I need it.” His voice rose, soft but charged with an unfathomable urgency, each word vibrating with that irrepressible need. There was a gravity in his whisper, as if his voice itself carried the weight of his darkest desires. Sunghoon’s lips brushed your delicate skin, sliding with a burning slowness, each brush sending electric shocks through your body. The heat of his breath against your neck made you shiver, a visceral desire that rose, more and more insistent, more and more relentless. He nipped at your skin with a possessive gentleness, leaving hot and marked marks, each touch igniting a flame in your belly, a flame that seemed to engulf everything else.

Your heart raced, your breath shortened as you slid a hand around his back, pressing him against you with an irresistible force. Your body reacted uncontrollably to this call, to this shared desire that made everything around you waver. Nodding slowly, you felt the tension in his gaze, this gleam that lit up in his pupils, as wild as it was possessive, promising a night without restraint, an unbridled pleasure where you were both the object and the center of everything he desired. His eyes, inflamed by an older, deeper thirst, shone with a primal need that you could not ignore, an emotion that went far beyond physical attraction.

In a fluid but determined movement, he lifted you up, as if you were nothing but a breath, suspended for a moment, his powerful body tightening around yours with an authority that made you shiver. His arms closed around you with the firmness of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, what he needed. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself against him, and you felt the warmth of his skin against yours, every muscle tense, every heartbeat like an echo of your own. The anticipation rose with every step he took towards your room, every movement of his body bringing you closer to irreversibility, as if everything that was about to happen was written in the air between you. The air was saturated with desire, with that palpable energy, every second pushing you to want even more of him.

When he laid you down on the bed, the mattress felt like both a refuge and an invitation to lose yourself. The feel of the blanket under your back was comforting and electrifying at the same time, a promise to release all resistance, to dive into this sea of ​​confused but irresistible emotions. Sunghoon, above you, positioned himself with a quiet dominance, and you couldn't help but be struck by the intensity of his presence, both intoxicating and terrifying. It was a force that stunned and attracted you, a magnetism that left you vulnerable, but at the same time, ready to give yourself entirely. You could feel your entire body tense under him, the warmth of his body close to yours as a constant reminder of what was happening here.

Your gaze locked with his, a storm of conflicting thoughts. There was a burning passion in his eyes that pierced you, as if he were trying to pierce the deepest layers of your being. Every beat of your heart resonated within you, every breath shorter than the last. When he kissed your cheek, his lips brushed your skin with a burning heat, a sensation that traced a shiver down your spine. It was a possessive sweetness, a gesture both tender and full of promise, but also of an implacable certainty. He was marking you, not just physically, but in everything you felt, everything you were.

You could feel the struggle inside him, that strange mix of desire, anger, and an overwhelming need to keep you close. His gestures were both urgent and disconcertingly gentle, as if he wanted to reassure himself that you were there, that you weren't going to disappear. But in that tension, you could also sense something even deeper, a fragility he was hiding, an old wound he didn't know how to heal. And despite the confusion, despite the fear that was growing deep inside you, you let yourself be carried away by this storm.

His hands moved forward slowly, almost with palpable impatience, searching for the fabric of your top as if he couldn’t wait to discover what was hidden underneath. When he touched the fabric, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, enjoying the contact before slowly sliding it over your skin. His fingers were cold, but the shiver they triggered wasn’t due to the coldness. Sunghoon brushed your skin delicately, and with each touch, a soft sigh of desire mingled with the growing tension between you. When he removed your top, he did so with calculated slowness, taking his time to reveal your bare skin to the dim light of the room, each movement imbued with power and control. His gaze intensified, scrutinizing every curve of your body with an almost palpable obsession. He kept devouring you with his eyes, as if the sight of your bare skin was the only thing that existed anymore. Every inch of your body seemed to attract him even more, like prey that he was slowly savoring.

Sunghoon pulled away from you for a moment, but it was only to get closer, sliding slowly down. His tongue, hot and wet, grazed your skin, tracing burning lines on your stomach, each gesture gentle but determined. The feeling of his tongue sliding over you made you shiver, a wave of heat took hold of your body, a quivering anticipation overwhelmed you. He seemed to taste every moment, every bit of your skin, as if he wanted to lose himself in this sensation for eternity. He went even lower, and the slowness of his movements drove you crazy with impatience, each movement stretching, accentuating the unbearable desire that was rising in you.

When he pulled off your sweatpants, his slowness was almost unbearable. You were completely exposed to him now, every inch of your body offered to his hungry gaze. The tension in the air was palpable, almost electric, as if every breath, every movement, was charged with a desire that was just waiting to explode. He didn't take his eyes off you, his dark pupils fixed on you, and you could feel an almost possessive devotion emanating from him. He looked at you as if he was marking you, as if you were becoming his definitively with each passing second.

Sunghoon pulled away briefly before positioning himself behind you. A shiver of anticipation ran through your body as he turned you around abruptly, forcing you onto all fours, your hands quivering against the bed. This position, more vulnerable than ever, brought out in you a total submission, but also a strange feeling of control, as if you were offering everything you were, and he was the one who decided the moment, the pace. He placed a firm hand on your hips, immobilizing you for a moment before hitting your buttocks with a sharp blow. The sound of the impact resonated in the room, powerful, like a signature of authority. The pain was sharp, but it immediately mixed with an intense pleasure, a heat that invaded every part of your body. A cry escaped your lips, almost involuntary, a sound of pain and pleasure mixed together, a symphony of sensations that you could no longer distinguish.

He struck again, and this time, you lost yourself in the sweet pain, each impact a shock that made your senses vibrate. His nails dug into your skin, marking your flesh with a deep imprint, as if he were claiming you in the most primal way. There was no more room for thought, just a whirlwind of raw sensations that invaded your mind. His blows were more intense, deeper, each gesture a proof of his total control, but also an invitation to abandon yourself to him. You felt your body tense under him, ready to respond to every impulse, every gesture from him.

An involuntary moan escaped your throat, and he followed it with a low, almost mocking laugh before whispering, his voice husky and full of desire, “You’re so wet for me, princess… you’ve wanted my cock for a long time, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, almost bittersweet, and every word he spoke seemed to penetrate your mind, slipping into your deepest thoughts. His eyes never left your body, he watched with almost clinical attention the way your arousal slowly slid down your thigh, the liquid becoming an obvious mark of your desire. 

“Sunghoon… take me, don’t keep me waiting,” you whispered, your voice broken, trembling, an almost desperate plea escaping your lips. Each syllable was a torture of impatience and uncontrollable desire. You heard his laughter echo through the room, a promise of imminent pleasure, a warning too, a signal that the moment had finally come. The sound of his clothes being torn made you shiver, each movement increasing the anticipation that consumed you. When he finally placed the tip of his desire against your intimacy, a shiver of excitement ran through you, making you aware of every sensation, every moment that preceded the explosion of desire.

“I’m not going to be gentle, princess,” he growled, and in one brutal motion, he thrust into you, letting his cock sink deep, like a devastating wave. The pain was intense, a brutal shock that left you speechless for a moment. But it quickly transformed into a searing ecstasy, a pleasure that unfolded with every movement, every thrust. The world seemed to shrink at the sensation, your body tensing, folding around him, struggling to match his relentless pace. You felt your stomach and your innermost core buckle under the impact, each thrust pushing him deeper into you, until you were one with him, a single entity. 

You moaned, lost in the fusion of sensations, a cry escaping from your throat with each movement, with each thrust. Sunghoon held on tightly to you, his hands digging into your skin, the rhythm of his movements becoming more powerful, more relentless, until you lost all sense of time, letting yourself be carried away by this wave of ecstasy and pain. 

His nails dug into your flesh as you desperately clung to the sheets of the bed, your breathing erratic, almost desperate. Every movement of his body against yours caused a whirlwind of emotions, and you felt yourself losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace. His pace was relentless, almost wild, each thrust making you cry out in pleasure, each impact bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The room was filled with the sounds of skin against skin, moans and panting breaths, a chaotic melody of unquenchable desire that consumed you both.

Sunghoon leaned down, his tongue grazing your skin, tracing hot lines on your back, each movement both gentle and devastating. His breath was hot and heavy against your skin, each moan you let out giving him more power over you, intensifying his already voracious desire. He pushed even deeper, each thrust piercing you, making you lose all sense of reality, almost making you drunk. The room became a world of its own, a sanctuary of passion where every shudder of his body against yours became a declaration of his desire.

Each thrust seemed to resonate through every fiber of your being, sending you into a spiral of ecstasy. You felt like you were burning from the inside out, eager to explode, to reach that apotheosis that seemed so close and yet so far away. His pace became frantic, a wild dance between pain and pleasure as you clutched at the sheets, your voice echoing in the darkness, a mixture of pleas and cries of pleasure.

“I want more of you, princess.” Sunghoon moaned, his voice husky and eager, vibrating through the air thick with palpable tension. The way he said the words consumed you, each syllable resonating like a drum to the frantic rhythm of your heart. There was a promise of all-consuming pleasure in his tone, one you yearned for. His burning gaze lingered on you, a flame in his eyes that stirred buried instincts.

He grabbed your hair in a firm grip, his fingers digging into your locks with a force that was both sweet pain and delectable submission. The back of your skull flexed slightly under the pressure, plunging you into a state of exhilarating vulnerability. The pain on your scalp stirred a delicious resonance within you, an anticipation that made you shiver with desire. The sensations mingled, and you knew you were about to be swept away into his world.

A strangled cry escapes your lips, a sound you can’t control as he arches your back, lifting your body to offer you entirely to him. The tension in the air is electrifying, a static charge that makes you feel alive. You feel the overwhelming heat of his body close to yours, his firm, powerful muscles pressed against your skin, making you aware of every inch of his surface. He leans closer, his hot breath caressing your neck, sending shivers through your being. “Moan louder for me,” he whispers, each word stimulating your soul, a command you’re ready to follow.

His voice, soft and commanding, envelops you, awakening a primal need in you, a need to abandon all barriers. “I want to hear everything… I want to know how good I make you feel.” His demand, both possessive and greedy, resonates in your mind like an intoxicating melody. The way he looks at you, with a mixture of pain and love, makes you shiver, aware of your role and your place in this obscene exchange.

You are overwhelmed by this need to please him, to be his object of desire. He lets his tongue slide slowly over the sweat that beads on your skin, each caress causing a shiver of pleasure. His delicate gestures contrast with the brutality of his intentions, a dance between gentleness and violence that slowly consumes you. The sensation of his tongue on your skin is both soothing and exhilarating, like a burning fire that spreads through your body, burning every fiber of your being. Each movement is loaded with obscene promises, and you feel your heart beating wildly, excitement and fear merging into a unique melody of ecstasy.

He begins to suckle at your skin, nibbling gently but with an intensity that makes you shudder in anticipation. His lips, hot and eager, slide down your body, awakening torrid sensations that spread from your neck to your spine. With each movement, he sinks deeper into you, your heat enveloping him, making you moan louder. Those moans, an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain, turn into a primal scream, a scream that testifies to your total surrender to his unbridled desires. It’s an instinctive reaction, a response to the wild nature of what’s unfolding between you.

His fingers grip your hair, tugging harder to pull your face towards him, forcing your gaze to meet his. You’re at his mercy, completely submissive to his desire, and that vulnerability excites you in a way you’ve never experienced before. Every breath feels heavier, every beat of your heart echoing like a war drum in the tense air. Sunghoon’s lips slide down to your neck, nibbling with delicious precision, and you swallow slowly, shivering under his touch. A mixture of excitement and fear pulses through your veins, like a sweet, addictive drug.

He intensifies his movements, spreading your walls, reaching depths you didn't even know were possible. The feeling of his manhood swelling inside you is breathtaking, an explosion of sensations that plunges you into a world where only his body exists. The stars dance before your eyes, a dazzling glow, accompanying your moans of pleasure and anguish. Each blow resonates inside you like a shockwave, pushing you further into the abyss of ecstasy, each impact vibrating the strings of your desire.

“Sunghoon… oh my God! You fuck me so good!” You cry out, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation, each syllable a confession of your total surrender. Tears stream down your cheeks, testifying to the intensity of your sensations, a mixture of delicious pain and immeasurable pleasure. You feel both freed and trapped in this whirlwind of emotions, a contradiction within you that you cannot ignore. He pushes you roughly onto the bed, withdrawing from you for a moment, leaving a painful void that makes you moan at the loss of this essential connection. This withdrawal, far from being a punishment, reminds you of the depth of your desire for him, a depth that you had never dared to imagine.

“Don’t stop… please.” Your voice trembles, weak and cracked, the plea evident in every word. You lean into him, desperate to regain his touch, pressing your ass against his hardness. But he pushes you back slightly, a defiant smile on his lips, a smirk that expresses the complete control he exerts over you. This power play, this dynamic between you, excites you in ways you never thought possible, a dangerous dance on the edge of the abyss.

“You’re such a slut to me, Y/n.” His voice is full of delight, each word sliding over your skin like a caress, as the smack of your ass echoes through the room as he hits you. The blow, though painful, is tinged with a voluptuousness that you can’t ignore. The burning pleasure of this humiliation makes you moan, and when his manhood enters you again, a cry of bliss passes your lips. Your body arches, welcoming this intrusion with greed, every fiber of your being resonating in unison with his desire, a desire that consumes you.

He presses your head into the pillows with one hand, pinning your face, while the other slides under your stomach, pulling you up slightly. The movements start slowly, each stroke a mixture of gentle and brutal, a hypnotic rhythm that seems to resonate in every fiber of your being. Your moans are muffled by the mattress as he pushes your head deeper and deeper into the bed, making you lose all sense of time and reality. The outside world disappears, leaving only the intensity of this shared moment, the fusion of your bodies like a sacred dance, a communion in pain and pleasure.

“I’ll never stop,” he declares with a savage determination, a promise of submission and power. The blows grow more powerful, each impact resonating in your flesh like a violent melody, a symphony of pain and pleasure. His nails dig into the tender flesh of your stomach, marking your body with his imprint, each pressure making you moan louder, like a war chant. The pain becomes a caress, and you know you’re at his mercy, each sensation intensifying the obscene bond between you.

You tighten around him, your body pulsing with every movement, each thrust making him sink deeper into you. “Fuck, you’re clenching tighter around me, princess,” he says, increasing his pressure on your stomach, making you feel every inch of his manhood. The thrusts become more intense, each movement pushing you to the edge of ecstasy.

The pace becomes frantic, every movement of his body against yours a declaration of power and possession. You feel your body react, contorting around him, and a cry of pleasure escapes your lips as you reach the limits of your own pain and pleasure, lost in an ocean of sensations. Each wave overwhelms you until you can no longer distinguish where pleasure begins and pain ends. In this trance, you are both the witness and the protagonist of this torrid encounter, aware of the ecstasy that builds with each second.

Your mind drifts, each blow transporting you further into oblivion, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain that drags you to a point of no return. The walls of the room blur, the outside world fades away, leaving only him and you, bound by this obscene and passionate bond. Each second becomes an eternity, a dance where you are both the dancer and the puppet, entirely at his mercy.

Breathless, you feel the orgasm looming on the horizon, a storm of sensations that threatens to engulf you. Every movement, every thrust brings you a little closer to this explosive denouement, a release of all the accumulated tensions. Your body is on fire, consumed by desire, and as the orgasm approaches, you know you are ready to let yourself be carried away, to dive into this abyss of pleasure and pain that he has created for you.

In a final thrust, as the pressure reaches its peak, your body arches, and you scream his name, a cry that mixes pain and bliss. It's a primal scream, a total release, and in that moment, you know you are truly his, entirely, without reserve. The wave of pleasure carries you away, submerges you, and in this sea of ​​sensations, you finally find peace, a fragile balance between love, pain, and pleasure.

Sunghoon doesn’t slow his pace, even after the orgasm has rocked your body, leaving you panting, your breathing erratic and panting. His movements are brutal, filled with a savage intensity that vibrates every fiber of your being. He continues to bury your head into the pillows, plunging you into a damp darkness where only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass resonates. This sound is the echo of his power, a primal rhythm that resonates in your flesh, awakening an animal desire that engulfs you.

His fingers, large and powerful, explore your stomach, slowly descending towards your waist which he grips with force, as if he wanted to anchor you in this carnal reality that he imposes. The heat of his hand on your skin is both a caress and a threat. You feel the fire spreading under his fingers, an insatiable desire that consumes you. Your stomach contracts under his hand, each movement of his body reminding you that you are completely his, that you belong to him absolutely.

A guttural growl escapes his throat, an expression of bestial pleasure that intensifies with each thrust. He thrusts into you with such vigor that pain mixes with pleasure, each stroke making you gasp, your body arching involuntarily to accommodate him deeper. Each thrust is a mix of force and sensuality, a wild dance between submission and power. You are aware of every fiber of your body, the tingles that run through your skin, the adrenaline that pulses through your veins. The sheets of the bed are pulled back in a chaotic mess, testifying to the intensity of his assaults, and you feel yourself sucked into the mattress with each impact, as if you become an integral part of this space, an extension of his desire.

When his come washes over you, it’s like a surge of heat and dominance. His heavy body collapses onto yours, his muscles pressing against your back, holding you firmly against him. You feel the heat of his breath sliding down your neck, mingling with the sweat that beads on your skin. The contact makes you shiver, each breath punctuated by moans of satisfaction. You realize that you’re seeking this warmth, this connection, this feeling of fullness that only he can give you.

Sunghoon pulls out slowly, his manhood sliding out of you with a wet sound, before turning you around with disconcerting speed, placing you in front of him like a puppet at his mercy. The intimacy of this position makes you feel a mixture of vulnerability and arousal, a palpable tension vibrating in the air between you. You feel the mixture of your fluids escaping your body, a tangible reminder of the heat of your embrace. Sunghoon grips your jaw in his hands, his fingers squeezing your skin with undeniable possessiveness. He wants to make sure you belong to him, that you are fully aware of his hold on you.

His eyes bore into yours, brimming with a darkness that made you tremble. Their depth was both hypnotic and threatening, an abyss where you could lose yourself. He stepped closer, his mouth brushing yours, his warm, luscious lips promising you something intense, something delicious. When his warm, wet tongue slid over your lips, a wave of desire washed over you, a promise of what was to come.

You open your mouth, inviting him in, thirsty for what he has to offer. His tongue wraps around yours with delicious fervor, exploring every corner of your mouth. The movements of his tongue are both dominating and tender, creating a perfect blend of power and sensuality. He explores your mouth with expert mastery, his gestures becoming more and more demanding, as if he wants to take you into a hypnotic dance.

His tongue slides against yours, finding its way into every nook and cranny, creating a connection that transcends a simple kiss. He begins to suck tenderly at your flesh, his teeth delicately grazing your lips, adding a new dimension to what he’s doing to you. The sensations intensify; each pull, each squeeze makes you moan quietly, a melody of need and pleasure rising between you. The taste of him and the two of you mingled explodes on your tongue, a fusion that awakens deeply buried instincts.

His lips are warm and soft, but also possessive, marking their territory on your flesh. With each movement, you feel the desire intensify, making you capsize in an ocean of sensations. His kisses become a clash, a dance between softness and brutality. He deepens his hold on you, encouraging you to submit to this shared desire, to embrace this connection both tender and wild.

Your breaths sync up, clash and mingle, as the passion intensifies. You are trapped in this kiss, aware of how its power consumes you. You know you are his, body and soul, ready to explore the limits of this all-consuming desire. Every movement, every exchange of breath between you seems to create a stronger bond, as if every caress, every sigh, attaches you a little more to him.

Sunghoon pulls away from your lips, gently tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, a gesture that is both possessive and hungry. The moment is charged with tension, a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes you moan under your breath, your breath hitching under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re making me lose control,” he murmurs, his voice husky and eager, like a predator intoxicated by its prey. As he lies on his back, he pulls you against him, and you let him, bending to his authority.

Your body presses against his, his warmth enveloping you. His hands slide down your back, tracing familiar patterns on your damp skin, and each touch sends shivers down your spine. You moan softly, breath coming out of your chest as you sink into the crook of his neck, feeling his musky scent mix with the sweat that beads on his skin. He shudders beneath your lips, his muscles contracting as your soft, wet kisses trail over his flesh.

“Then let yourself go,” you whisper, your voice almost a breath, kissing the pulse throbbing against his neck. The softness of your lips against his marble-hard skin contrasts with the rawness of his desire. He tightens his hold on you, his hand sliding authoritatively along your waist, moving to your hips, an insistent pressure that makes you feel his burning need. His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving a visible mark of his possessive hold, an affirmation of your submission to his desire.

“What if you can’t handle it?” he asks, his voice soft, but there’s an underlying intensity in his words. He’s worried, and that vulnerability touches you. You can see the internal struggle in his eyes, that irrational fear that you’ll one day pull away, that you’ll discover the depth of his inner demons and no longer be able to handle the truth of who he is. He’s broken, and despite his strong exterior, he’s walking a fine line between passion and despair.

You’re here, in his arms, and you know that you’re not just a simple object of desire for him. You’re his anchor, the one that ties him to reality. “I’m here,” you assure him, your hand slipping into his hair, tugging lightly to get his attention. Your gaze sinks into his, and in this silent exchange, you transmit the strength he needs. Sunghoon must know that you won’t leave him, even when his fears take shape in the darkness.

His hand, soft but firm, slides along your body, getting lost in the curve of your hips, then slowly rising to brush your waist. Each touch is electrifying, awakening sensations in your heart. Sunghoon approaches, his lips brushing the skin of your neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more urgent. He consumes you, and you let yourself go to this euphoria, intoxicated by his tongue on your skin.

“You’re all I need,” he says with heartbreaking intensity, his breath hot against your skin. His voice echoes like a desperate plea, a heartfelt cry that carries through the dark room. He begins to explore your body, his hands running over your skin, discovering every inch with a thoroughness that leaves you panting. His caresses become more urgent, and you can feel the tension rising between you, a fragile thread ready to snap.

As you let yourself be lulled by the warmth of his caresses, a new wave of desire blossoms deep within you, spreading through every fiber of your body. Sunghoon's fingers travel down your spine, tracing a line of fire across your sensitive skin. Every pressure of his hands, every movement of his fingers, is a silent promise, a whisper through your body. You arch your back instinctively, offering yourself fully to him, as if your body already understands that it exists only to belong to him.

Sunghoon descends slowly, his lips brushing every inch of your skin, tracing a burning path that makes you shiver. Each kiss is a soft burn, an invisible mark he places on you to remind you that you belong to him. His teeth graze the skin of your stomach, creating a light bite that makes you gasp, and he watches each of your shudders, each of your sighs, with an almost animal intensity, as if he savors each reaction, each emotion that bursts within you.

When he reaches your pelvis, he pauses for a moment, his fingers firmly on your hips, preventing you from moving. You feel vulnerable, offered, but there is in this vulnerability a promise of safety, as if, in this moment, he is ready to devour you while protecting you in the same breath. His lips brush your stomach one last time before he looks up at you, and in that dark gaze, you perceive a passion that takes your breath away.

Sunghoon begins to kiss you with an almost unsettling gentleness, his lips exploring your skin with a thoroughness that makes you shudder. His kisses are deep and passionate, each movement of his mouth on you resonating like an intimate caress, a gesture of pure possession. You feel your body react, your muscles tensing under the effect of this intense desire that consumes you. He murmurs inaudible words against your skin, as if he wanted to anchor himself in you, to engrave himself in your soul.

His hands slide along your thighs, and you feel his warm breath descend slowly. Each caress is calculated, controlled, as if he took pleasure in prolonging each second, in savoring each shiver that runs through your body. And while he explores your flesh with this intoxicating thoroughness, you lose all control, abandoning yourself completely to this whirlwind of sensations that overwhelms you.

As he holds you tightly, his hand tightens on your thigh with intense possessiveness. “You know you belong to me, right?” His voice, low and raspy, resonates in the thick air of the room, seeping into every corner of your being. You nod, unable to respond otherwise, captivated by this declaration that seems to seal your bond.

“Say it,” he demands, his fingers digging into your flesh, marking his presence, asserting his hold.

“I belong to you,” you whisper in a wavering voice, each word carrying the brutal truth. “Body and soul, I am yours.”

Taglist : @heeknow @moonpri

©️devotedlypinkpeanut, do not copy, translate or repost any of my works.

[luvknow]

sanguine satellite | lee minho

Summary: The last time you saw Minho was five years ago when you rejected him to live out the rest of your twenties in the city. The next time you see him is on your birthday with another woman in his arms, and it sparked everything that was good, bad, and ugly. Now, after years of not being in each other’s lives, Minho tries to repair the friendship he broke while you fight your changing feelings. As you struggle navigating your friendship with him, you struggle more to navigate being single in this next stage of your life. Characters: Lee Minho x fem!Reader, feat. other idols Genre: friends-to-strangers-to-lovers, romance, angst, emotional hurt with comfort, happy ending, slice of life Additional warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, food, aged up a bit and in turn age insecurity, a lot of mentions of a best friend with another idol WC: 18.1k

Today was a pivotal day in the office. Quarter two earnings were released to the public and other divisions of the company and, well, let’s just say with the increasing rise in inflation and the impending recession that everyone refuses to acknowledge, no one wants to buy anything. As a result, the earnings reported negative and stocks dipped, morale was low, and to top it off, it was only Monday.

In a way, this was a metaphor for your life; a tumbleweed of all things that could go wrong did go wrong and formed into an amalgamation of nothing to show for. Some people found value in the mundane, but this was supposed to be the peak of your career, your magnum opus, before progress plateaued and you couldn’t stand the idea of not feeling enriched. To wake up, leave, work, and go home was the reason you wanted to leave your home in the first place for something richer in the heart of the city. But you felt defeated after clocking out at 8:30 PM and slumped on the seat in an empty train cart.

The view of the lively apartment high rises and the warm light of slow brick-and-mortars made the late night train rides worth the twenty minutes. Work wasn’t always this draining, but after climbing the corporate ladder, more money meant more responsibilities and it quickly drained the light from your eyes as it did with many of your peers and friends. Youth was fleeting and today you felt like Ponce de Leon searching for the fountain to no avail, but at least the train would take you as close to it as it possibly could.

After packing up your life from home five years ago to move with your friends, the only plans twenty-something-year-olds ever had in place were reservations at 9:00 PM because you called the hottest spot the day-of and drinks at the bar next door after clocking out at 5:00 PM. You were young, excited, and hungry for life, barely sober most days and experiencing what it meant to be young; but what must be given, something must also be taken. Now, rent was rising, salary increases were few and far in between, and instead of deciding what martini you should be ordering, you were stuck wondering if being a worker bee individual contributor was worth the lull schedule or if taking the path to management and telling whiny subordinates what to do was worth the salary bump.

You and your friends once joked that stuff like this was what people in their thirties worry about. Today is your thirtieth birthday.

You didn’t have time for dinner and once again thanked the real estate Gods who put a restaurant so greasy at the corner of your block that you practically slid on a snail trail to the front door of your loft. So, here you were; eating under-salted french fries, chugging a crispy diet cola, with oil stains on your white button-up, ready to spend the rest of your birthday and probably the rest of your life alone on your overpriced and uncomfortable couch watching the latest drama you’d sob your eyes out to. All you needed now was a pet as your companion and you’d be the whole single-in-your-thirties package. Maybe you’d use that as leverage in your dating apps: looking for a partner, a pet, or both.

After fumbling with the keys, you sighed into your dark, cavernous home and dropped your bag at the door. When you turned on the lights, you saw the ghost of your soul leave your mouth in a loud gasp.

“Surprise!!”

You were greeted with streamers, glitter, balloons, and your closest friends wearing little party hats with their beautiful smiles. You never doubted they remembered, and most wished you happy birthday at midnight, but you should have sensed something was wrong when Chaeryoung asked for your door passcode because she ‘forgot her chapstick on your coffee table.’

She was the first to tackle you in a tight hug. “Happy birthday, mi amor!”

“Let the woman take her shoes off first, damn,” Jisung scolded.

“Wow, there’s certainly a lot of you,” you giggled after prying her off. “You guys shouldn’t have. Really! It’s Monday.”

“All the more to celebrate something worthwhile,” Chan grinned, handing you a glass of wine. “Welcome to the club.”

“Ugh, thanks.” Chaeryoung yanked away the oily bag of fries while you were distracted with the happy juice. “Hey, I’m hungry!”

“Don’t fret! We are having a dinner party because that’s what thirty-year-olds do.”

“Except we ate already because we thought you were coming home well before 9:00 PM,” Hyunjin grinned sheepishly.

“No, yeah, I love when my friends watch me stuff my face.”

The dining table was decorated with burgundy candle sticks, red roses, and black bows. It was definitely a step-up from your twenty-first bubblegum pink and pastel confetti birthday, but this almost seemed… meek? Romantic, sure, but a little dark for a birthday. As Chaeryoung scrambled to fill your plate with take-out and prepare the cake, everyone took their place back at the table. The lights dimmed and out came a jet black cake with a toy knife and red frosting that read, ‘Happy Deathday to Your 20s!’

“A bit dark, but accurate,” you mused.

“Make a wish-!” A knock came at the door. “Shit.”

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. Chaeryoung, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were present and those were the only people you regularly hung out with. Who could be left?

“Are people still coming?” you asked.

The boys collectively shot a look at a wide-eyed and frozen Chaeryoung, none of them willing to break the news or catch a stray. “Um…”

“What did you do?” you accused. “You didn’t invite that one guy I told you about last month, did you?”

“No, but I wish I had.” Another knock. “Coming!”

“It’s not a coworker, is it?”

“Worse,” Jisung mumbled. “For you, at least.”

“Minho!” Chaeryoung exclaimed happily. “You’re just in time!”

“What -” you hissed at the boys, “- the hell?!”

They all held their hands up in defense. Minho passed the threshold and your twenties flashed before your eyes. The once blondish short and styled middle part now hung loose in soft chocolate strands; eyes that once held the universe were dark and doe-like; and arms that once moved freely in his sleeves now tightened around them. He was a completely different man who you hadn’t seen in five years and here he was at a pivotal moment of your life, about to celebrate you and the life you’ve lived without him for the better half of the last decade. It took all your might to lift your sore legs to walk over to greet your guest and restrain from strangling your best friend. He wore clothes appropriate for a casual dinner party that didn’t spill into the blues of corporate-wear, clearly aware of this occasion, and a small gift bag. His appearance was intentional, not upon happenstance, which made this whole ordeal a lot weirder.

Following him in, hand-in-hand, was a woman. A stranger. Two strangers in your home.

He pulled away from Chaeryoung’s death grip and you locked eyes. It’s awkward, to put it politely; to put it rudely, it was horrifying. Your nervous system certainly felt nervous, firing fight-or-flight responses the way he drank you in like the first sip of a bitter negroni. How someone could evolve and change to the point of being unrecognizable should be studied by Darwin.

He’s the first to break with a small smile to ease the tension. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Happy birthday, _____.”

The bag is small and neatly wrapped with care in your favorite colors. The woman behind him smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have. And thank you…?”

“Oh, right. This is Karina, my girlfriend of two years.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you. And happy birthday!”

You brain buffered when she bowed. How awkward, because you haven’t heard anything about her other than her existence. You never thought he’d have someone so beautiful. Minho blocked you on social media a long time ago, so you wouldn’t have recognized her. Chaeryoung had to kick you back to life. “Ah, it’s nice to meet you, too! Welcome to my home.”

“There’s wax on the cake!” Jisung warned.

“Oh, hurry in! _____ was about to make a wish!” Chaeryoung pushed the three of you to the dining area.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue watching him dap up the boys and watching her hug them so warmly. You never faulted them for being neutral. They were just as much as his friends as they were yours but having him here created a thick glass wall on your side of the table, like he was icing you out in your own home; that you paid with your own hard-earned money, mind you! This was as close to a defense mechanism you could build.

Nine people were watching you, all of whom were paired with another in the room except Chaeryoung, in your home. There’s a heavy shroud of dread that’s draped over your makeshift invisible box you struggled to keep upright. This was supposed to feel like a celebration of you, but it quickly turned rotten when you realized you were the only single person on your own side of the table, being made a spectacle as the couples moved closer and watched more intently. It was like they were watching a ghost of singles-past, feeling more appreciative of the life they procured together as you watched their hold on each other tighten ever so slightly.

“Make a wish,” Jisung sang.

You stared blankly at the three sparkling candles. What was there to wish for? You had a good career, a warm home, food on the table, and loved ones who kept you up on your feet. You supposed a better work-life balance would be feasible, but that was something within reach and in your control. To wish is to pray and to pray is to beg, and you weren’t one to beg for anything except for the pickles Chaeryoung picked out of her sandwiches. What was something that even you couldn’t control, something you had to ask some spirit dwelling in the ether for?

A flash of Minho’s eyes boring into yours made your face hot. Maybe you’d just let this wish go to waste instead.

You blew out the candles and applause erupted with Chan eager to cut into the cake. It was your favorite flavor from your favorite local baker whom you trusted every birthday and holiday to deliver the finest treats. At least this part of your birthday was perfect.

“So, what does thirty feel like?” Hyunjin asked. “Do you want the number of the senior home down the street from me?”

“Ha ha,” you drawled. “Aren’t you next, Hwang?”

“Actually, Minho’s next – ow!”

Chaeryong didn’t hide how she elbowed his ribs. She then gave a wide smile and her fingers danced. “Do you feel more mature?”

“As mature as a dry-age steak.”

“Well, you pair well with red wine, at least.” Chan raised his glass. “Here’s to you and to all of us, our priceless friendship!”

Most of us, you wanted to correct, but decided against being uncouth. “Cheers!”

When you were all in the younger halves of the twenties, conversations were about memes, pop culture, and the new hottest bar that just opened. Now, as you were ranting about quarter one earnings and the Windows 11 update, the others doubled down on the corporate jargon. Even Karina, who revealed she was a consultant in tech, participated in the conversations. Minho was the only one who remained quiet, but he was simply enjoying the company, leaning back in the chair with his arm around his woman. For someone who had never visited or even wished well on past birthdays, he was making himself quite at home.

Your birthday dinner lasted long enough to finish off three bottles of wine between everyone and for all the food to disappear, making clean-up much easier. As everyone scrambled around your home clouded in buzzed-up nonsense, Jisung was the one to tour your apartment with Minho and Karina, telling the tale of every picture you hung on a wall or framed on a credenza.

“This was when we went to London one summer after my graduation,” he said. “I’m the youngest, so I was the last one and we decided to make it a big celebration. I think this was the day Minho and _____ got lost and almost hopped on a train to Edinburgh by accident. This one was from Chaeryoung’s twenty-fourth birthday. I think Minho took this picture, actually.”

“Where are you in these pictures, Minho?” Karina wondered innocently.

There’s a breath of silence in the loft aside from you who didn’t pay any mind to his girlfriend’s ignorance. Not like you expect your fallout to be a topic of conversation over a candle-lit dinner date, anyway. You also didn’t expect that look on Minho’s face when he realized that to be true.

“He’s usually the one behind the camera!” Jisung answered, not exactly lying. “You’ve seen his Instagram and how he composes his cat pictures.”

Minho didn’t try to correct him, and they quickly moved on.

As it was the first day of the working week, Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and their partners were the first to leave. For whatever reason, Minho and Karina decided to stay back. Karina’s motive was unclear; either she was really bad at reading the room or the effort to be friends was genuine, but even when Minho asked if she wanted to leave with everyone, she decided against it.

“Let me help you take the garbage out,” she offered Chaeryoung.

“I can do it,” you and Minho said in unison.

“Nonsense! It’s your birthday and this one had a little too much to drink before coming here and when we got here.”

Chaeryoung gave you a sympathetic look as they carried several bags out to the ground floor. What a convenient day for the chute to be broken! They’d take the five-to-ten minutes of traveling to the ground floor out to the back where the bins were.

And then there were two, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, unable to look each other in the eyes after five years of abandonment.

“Hi,” he greeted again, lips flat-lined and unsure of how to move this conversation forward.

You beat around the bush. “What are you doing here?”

His tongue poked his cheek. “I ran into Chaeryoung last weekend at the bar I work at and asked what she was doing for your birthday.”

“Why would you ask that?” you asked coldly.

“I… just knew she'd be doing something for you. Maybe she took it as me asking to get invited, but that wasn’t my intention. I think she panicked, invited me anyway, and here I am.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that asked, ‘but why would I?’

You looked away. “Isn’t this a far drive for you?”

“I live here now. Well, not here; on the other side, closer to downtown and near that bar.”

“Oh. How long have you been a city dweller?”

“About two years now.”

That lined up with his relationship status. It was a fact that it was easier to find partners in the metropolitan, yet somehow you were the only one to remain alone after being one of the first to move here. How was it that Minho managed that in under a month? And if he’s been here for two years, how have you not realized that?

You swallowed the rest of the wine in your glass. “How do you like it?”

“I love it.” He ran a hand through his tired head of hair, creating a split down the middle. The redness on his face had spread from his nose to his cheeks, as it always did when alcohol invaded his bloodstream. “I see why you wanted to move here.”

He, too, must have seen how time was of the essence, and with what little time you have in your young lives, the highest quality of life would be to live where your peers were thriving. If only he understood this years ago.

You nodded sourly, feeling the loneliness resurface after having to repress it for so long. “I’m happy for you.”

“Your mother once told us, ‘mean what you say and say what you mean.’ You don’t have to lie.”

“Don’t tell me what my mother says.”

Tension as thick as jell-o separated you from him. There’s a brief stare down after your threat, or what sounded like a threat, and you swear there’s hurt behind those big eyes of his, but he wouldn’t be the victim here; not when he was the one who left your life and blocked you out of his. He didn’t have the right to be offended by your unwelcoming attitude when he was never welcome to begin with. On your birthday, at that.

Chaeryoung saved the evening and rushed back inside, afraid of the damage you’d tell her later.

“Ready?” Karina asked, squeezing Minho’s bicep.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, being the first to break contact. You didn’t help him see his way out, but he said over his shoulder once more, “Happy birthday, _____.”

“Thank you for coming,” you called out sharply.

“It was nice meeting you!” Karina said cheerfully.

“You, too.”

Chaeryoung, the kind woman and hostess as she is, hugged them both and hastened to lock the door. She rushed back, clinging to you and holding your arms inside, likely afraid that you’d break something or chug the rest of the fourth bottle.

“I’m so~o sorry!”

“He told me how it happened. Tell me why I’m not surprised?”

“It was at the bar near your work that I told you about. You didn’t come because you had some reports to submit before midnight. And who do I see behind the bar? Minho, of all people! He was running that shit like the navy! It was hard to talk long over the music, but we said our hellos and he quickly brought up the fact you were turning thirty and asked what I was doing because he knows how much I love you and I’m the bestest friend ever – Anyway, I told him about the surprise, and he looked so damn sad! Jesus Christ, so you know me, an empath, I had to at least offer him an invite. I didn’t think he’d take it, nor did I think he’d ask to bring a plus one, like, yesterday!”

In the midst of her ramblings, you squirmed free from her grip and pulled the poor pouty girl into a tight hug. “I will not let him ruin what you’ve done for me. I love you and appreciate you.”

“It was so hard!” she whined. “The boys are so unreliable! I ask them to buy something for decorations, they don’t answer, and when I ask a few days later they’re like, ‘I got it a while ago,’ and I’m like, ‘why didn’t you say something?!’ and they’re like, ‘I didn’t think I’d need to as long as I brought it the day-of.’ Can you believe that?!”

“After over ten years of friendship, yes, yes I can.”

After cleaning up the remaining crumbs and dishes, Chaeryoung found the gift that Minho and Karina left on one of the chairs. “Did you open it?”

“No. What if it’s a bomb? Can you do it?”

She tossed out the tissue paper and peered inside fearlessly. “Oh!”

“What is it?”

“A gift card and a perfume bottle; a pricey one. Ooh, it smells good!”

The gift card was to a new bar that was opening on the same block as your office. Your boss was excited to finally have a happy hour location so close that you haven’t gone a day without hearing about it since its announcement. The name on the card said ‘DAHLIA’ and the amount it held was five hundred dollars.

“Huh,” Chaeryoung mused, “isn’t this address very close to where you work? And you like dahlias. Scary coincidence.”

“Do you think he’s stalking me?”

“Maybe it’s Karina.”

The perfume was in a sleek clear bottle with a white face and gold cap. It smelled of marshmallows, orange blossoms, and neroli. It would be the most expensive thing you’d own, cosmetics wise.

“They open on Friday,” she said giddily. “We should go!”

The projected menu on their social media did look really good… and they had variations of your favorite drink and ones you’ve never heard of.

“Think of it as a ‘celebration’ to the start of a new quarter! Since it’ll be slower now, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, accepting that poor-quality reasoning for a twenty dollar cocktail. “Ok, let’s go!”

Your best friend squealed happily and dug through your closet, plucking out the shortest skirt in your wardrobe.

--

On Thursday, Chaeryoung canceled on you to go on a third date with the guy she’s been seriously interested in. She was hoping to finally become an exclusive dating couple; not exactly boyfriend-and-girlfriend, but they’re not allowed to see other people since they’re exclusive, so it’s a label-without-the-label situation that you struggled too hard to grasp. If the majority of your peers thought that way about dating, maybe it was a good thing you remained single.

When you exited your office’s high-rise that day, on your way to the train, you passed by an alley in between the Italian place and the coffee shop you and your co-workers frequented. There was an inconspicuous red ‘OPEN’ light at the end above a black door that caught your attention. In a small serif font, the letters ‘DAHLIA’ was stamped on the door. Friday was supposed to be the official opening day according to their social media pages, but there was no mistake it was open as indicated by the bouncer standing guard.

You did have the gift card in your wallet, and you were craving that crispy green tea highball they had in one of their posts. It was only 6:00 PM, maybe they’d have some happy hour deals going on and you could report back to Chaeryoung with your findings.

You walked up to the doorman. “Hi, are you open –”

“I.D.”

Well, that answers that. He allowed you to pass into the low-lit glowing bar. It wasn’t busy like a Friday evening, but almost all of the tufted couches and chairs were filled, leaving a semi-vacant bar up for grabs. The aura of the bar is what one might describe as ‘vibey and chill’, as the low hum of the bass from the hip-hop song in the background vibrated your heart. This was as soft as a soft-opening could get.

On the menu, there was a special on the drink you were looking forward to and a snack pairing: rice paper and seaweed chips with a salt and togarashi seasoning. You knew all those words separately but couldn’t comprehend them together.

“I.D., please,” the bartender asked.

You fumbled for your wallet and mumbled, “Why bother carding at the door if you’re just –”

You dropped your wallet when you saw Minho at the other side of the bar in a white button-down that was buttoned barely half-way. His lips curled teasingly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you gasped, popping your head up after picking up your wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that the only way you’ll greet me from now on?”

You felt your face burn even before any alcohol entered your system. “Chaeryoung mentioned you worked at the other bar nearby.”

“I own that one, too. This one I just opened.”

“Oh, well, that makes more sense. Wait, ‘own’?” He nodded sheepishly. “But that bar has been there forever. I thought that old guy owned it?”

“He was looking to retire, so I jumped the gun and bought it. Kept it mostly the same, added some things I thought would pick up a trend, and it did so well that I was able to open ‘DAHLIA’.”

“That’s incredible,” you congratulated. “I guess I shouldn’t feel so bad that the gift card is so expensive.”

He smiled, but it didn’t translate to his eyes. “Do you work nearby?”

“At the tall building down the street.”

He’s just as taken back as you are. Maybe he wasn’t stalking you. “Crazy coincidence. But it’s late already. Long day?”

You sighed. “Most days are this long.”

“Yikes. Can I get you a drink?”

“The green tea highball looks good.”

“Coming right up.”

Minho rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and did his witchcraft. In a highball glass, a ludicrously elongated ice cube was placed. Then, two shots of Japanese whiskey from the mid-shelf (never mind the overpour), an ounce of cold brew jasmine green tea, and what little space was left was topped with club soda. Using a long bar spoon, Minho mixed its contents and offered it to you with a stainless steel straw.

You hummed happily. “Whoa.”

“I agree.”

“Where was this on my twenty-first?”

“I dare you to Google the whiskey I used and see if you think we could have afforded that at twenty-one.”

“I see your point.”

There’s a long pause of waiting for the other to say what they mean and to mean what they say. You thought about how coldly you displayed yourself to Minho and it ate up your thoughts the whole week. Even when he was the one who wanted you out of his life, he was the one to find you and it seemed he was here to stay, to be next to where you worked, and to be a part of your everyday life as you’d think about him every time you passed this alley between the office and the train. Was this a gift or a curse?

The wound was still fresh, but he was not the only one to blame.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I –”

“I think –”

You both paused again. After all these years, your wavelengths were still in sync.

“Go ahead,” you offered.

“I think…” …We shouldn’t talk when we see each other? I shouldn’t have given you a gift? We should unpack the trauma we gave each other over coffee some time? “You should try the snack pairing.”

Possibly the best words to leave his lips. “Please.”

“One sec,” he said before running to the kitchen.

Your palms were sweaty, but if anyone asked, you’d feign it was from the condensation on the glass. Your first real conversation with Minho in five years was more stressful than presenting to upper management. Any courage of apologizing had fizzled and the fear of being vulnerable was chilling. You hoped the rest of the drink would give you that push.

Minho came back slightly breathless with a bowl of curly seaweed and rice chips with red seasoning. He stared at the glass that was almost full just a second ago.

“Would you like another one?”

Your vision was already swirly. “No, thank you. But these look delicious.”

The crunch from the fried rice paper was loud enough to make some heads turn. It was salty and the seaweed flavor shined through. The punch from the togarashi made you wish you had taken up the offer on another drink.

You let out another happy hum, and your sinuses cleared. “Wasabi!”

“Really sobers you up, huh?”

“I can smell colors.”

He let out a genuine laugh and you got a glance of his little bunny teeth. You wondered if he’d still have them when he was sixty.

The shy bartender fiddled with the kitchen towel. “You were going to say something?”

“Right. I’m –”

“Excuse me!” a customer approached the bar. “Can I have an espresso martini?”

“Absolutely!” Minho said in his customer service voice.

Espresso martinis were all the craze these days, especially with the ladies. You understood why, they were delicious and reminded everyone of a sweet little treat before the work day. You watched as Minho threw in his Boston shaker ice, vodka, coffee liqueur, and cold brew, and shook with all his might. The muscles you noticed on your birthday shined through, as the veins on his forearms and biceps were put to work. Your eyes traveled shamefully to his open chest, focusing on the groove in between. He poured the creamy drink into a martini glass and added it to her tab.

You drank the complimentary ice-cold water before he returned.

“Sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m the one interrupting your work.” Despite drinking a multitude of fluids, your throat was dry and sharp, like the words were scraping skin on their way out. Just say it, dammit! “I’m sorry how I treated you on Monday.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that after so long.”

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t have.”

“For that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for attending.”

“You should have chosen another time to meet.”

“Your thirtieth birthday is important. It’s a huge milestone. I couldn’t dream of missing it.”

“I don’t think that’s for you to decide.”

He hung his head in a way that a puppy would when being punished. “I know.”

“You –” you choked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what or how to feel.”

“Maybe we could start over.”

“Start over?”

“Hi,” he held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Minho, I’m a bartender and chef, and we met when we were nineteen.”

“Minho –”

“Would you like to get coffee next door some time?”

“You are ridiculous.”

The rush of after-work over timers hit the bar like a thirsty school of fish. Two other bartenders jumped in, but they needed Minho to keep up a good speed. From his navy pants pocket, he pulled out his business card and slid it over.

“My number’s on the card.”

It was different from the one you had saved on your phone and he knew that. “Wait, I need to close out my tab.”

“It’s on me. Let me make up for Monday.”

He didn’t allow you to get a word in before taking the next customer. His mannerisms made every customer smile or blush. ‘Come closer’ he’d gesture with his finger, leaning in to hear their order, and winking after handing off the final product; rinse and repeat.

You left a hefty tip under your glass and slipped away from the crowd. At home, you spent half an hour rubbing your cheeks, unaware of how sore they were after the train ride.

--

The business card hung on your fridge under a London magnet. Every day, you’d wake up, stare at it while filling your water bottle, leave for work, come home, and stare at it some more as you prepared dinner. In the same serif font in black ink, in the center of the card was his full name. Under it said ‘Restauranteur’, followed by ‘DAHLIA’, the Japanese flavors-inspired bar, and ‘RED LIGHT’, the one with American flavors. His phone number and email were in small print, all information embossed on an off-white business card. ‘Classy’ was the most appropriate description of such a card, while yours was so plain in comparison. Technology products didn’t need that kind of pizazz, to be fair.

The next time you saw Chaeryoung was for a girls’ night-in on a Wednesday to gush about her new exclusive not-boyfriend. She noticed the business card while putting the dishes in the sink and plucked it from the fridge, already aware of what transpired on Thursday before.

“‘Restauranteur’,” she scoffed. “Ok, Minho.”

“I know, right? Can you believe he bought out that sleazy old man?”

“I always wondered why the quality went up all of a sudden. I can’t believe he hid that from everyone else, too! We’ve all been meeting around that area for months! Why did he give you this, though?”

“I guess he changed his number.”

“What? He’s had this number for a while now.” You shot her a deadpanned look. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t have known whether he changed it or not. Did you hit him up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I? It feels… too soon.”

“Five years feels too soon?”

“No,” you sighed, unable to form the words in the right sentence. “We’re already on awkward footing after my birthday. And seeing and talking to him made my blood pressure spike to an unhealthy degree.”

“So, you’re nervous?”

Nervous wasn’t right. It felt much deeper than that. “Afraid.”

If anyone knew the degree of pain and confusion you held for Minho, it was Chaeryoung. She always did her best to understand, but there are some things one must experience to understand, and this was one of them. She held you firm by the shoulders and knitted her brows.

“Give me your phone.”

“What?”

The music streaming on your phone paused as your best friend moved swiftly to the couch, already propping her feet up on the chaise before you could register what happened. The clicking of your phone keyboard over the bluetooth speaker snapped you back and you ran to join her.

“Wait, don’t!” you warned.

“‘Hey, bro’,” she said as she typed, “Too casual?”

“I’m thirty. I don’t say ‘bro’.”

“All right, jeez. ‘Hello, Minho. I hope this text finds you well. Per our last meeting – ’”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

“I’m kidding, relax! ‘Hi, it’s _____. It was nice seeing you on Thursday.’”

“I wouldn’t say it was a ‘nice’ meeting.”

“Oh, my God, shut up. ‘Good to see you on Thursday,’ happy? ‘Would you like to get coffee some time?’ And send. This is fun, it’s like when we used to project our dating app DMs on the TV! Oh, wow he’s typing already. Asshole, he never answers any of us in the group chats until the next day.”

Texting a boy and sweating, waiting for his response… Were you thirteen again? The notification ding made your heart jump.

Your brows furrowed, matching Chaeryoung’s. “‘Hey! Of course I would. Just tell me when.’ Um. Tell him sometime next week?”

“‘Tomorrow at 11:00AM?’”

“Chaer!”

“‘See you then.’ You’re welcome!” she cheered, tossing your phone on your lap.

“Now he’ll think I’m excited…”

“Whether you are nervous, excited, or afraid, shouldn’t that mean something? That maybe you still have him in your cold, dead heart somewhere?”

“It took years of therapy to heal what was wounded. I don’t know if this will feel like closure or if I’m opening up my stitches.”

“And I’ll be here to help suture if it comes to it; again and again!” she encouraged, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I just want our friend group back together, you know? This is a start, sort of.”

“I know. Don’t get your hopes up, though.”

“Too late.”

--

The day it happened, the clouds were grey, and they cried and cried, pouring down the heaviest rain of the year. It rattled Minho’s windows like bullets made from hail, drowning the silence and filling the room with nothing but sorrow.

Tonight, you were celebrating your new job and the big move. After the plates were emptied, the music that played over his speakers slowed, and filled with wine and tenderness, you two swayed to the rhythm in each other’s arms. First, he had your hand in his and lightly hovered over your waist, leading the waltz across the living room with ease. As the songs progressed, his hold on you tightened. He laced his fingers with yours, traveled his hand to your lower back, then placed the other there, too, after wrapping your arm around his neck. He pressed his forehead to yours, the tips of your noses touching and nuzzling so sweetly it made your heart soar.

He sighed happily, shoulders relaxing under your arms. “Should we be doing this?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you replied light heartedly, “you are just a friend, after all.”

“Do friends do this? Should we ask Chaeryoung and Jisung?”

“Not if you want to hear them gagging all night.”

His breathy laughs hit your lips and his eyes fluttered closed. “I want to kiss you.”

You’ve wanted to kiss him for five years. “Then kiss me.”

“And I want you to stay.”

“Stay?” You took a step back, hating the cold air that replaced his space. “What do you mean ‘stay’?”

“Don’t leave,” he begged.

“Minho –”

“Stay here with me.”

“No,” you said firmly. “This is the biggest thing to happen to my career, and I’m not throwing away this grand opportunity. Won’t you come with me instead?”

“You know I can’t leave my family right now.”

“Then,” you sighed, “do I wait for you?”

“Wait? We have options; what about long distance?”

“You know how vigorous my career is. I work long days and long nights. I can’t call you or text you the way that other people do.”

“So what?” he argued, throwing his hands up in frustration.

This was the first time you were having this talk. Never before had either of you revealed the feelings that mingled in the air whenever you were in the same room together. For years, you repressed them, too scared to cross the thin line that separated friendship from lovers and unwilling to feel vulnerable and reveal the true feelings of your heart. Because truthfully, you wouldn’t have time. You wouldn’t have time to drain and pour your heart into something – someone – that wasn’t the projects that laid out on your office desk, and how was that fair to someone you loved so dearly? As much as you wanted to love and to give, you couldn’t.

“I can’t,” you repeated. “That’s not fair to either of us. We deserve one hundred percent of each other, not fifty, or even ninety.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” he mumbled.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “How could you spring this on me the weekend before I leave?”

“This was my only chance –”

“No, it wasn’t. You had five years. Five years! And you know how important my career is to me!”

“What about me? Aren’t I important to you, too?”

“Don’t,” you stuttered.

“No, it’s not that I’m not important, it’s that your career is more important. Is that it?” When you couldn’t answer, he nodded his head, accepting the poor answer. “All I wanted was for us to try.”

“I can’t give you one hundred percent of me.”

“Then I’ll give more! One hundred ten percent; one hundred fifty!”

“How long can you last like that when you don’t know when we’ll be together again?”

“I won’t know unless we try.”

“I don’t want to try. Trying means uncertainty. For five years, I have been certain about you. But I’m certain it won’t work when we are not present.”

“We’re going in circles.” Minho turned and ran a hand through his fluffy, light bronze hair. This color on him, you remembered, made him look so young.

“I can wait,” you whispered. “We can be friends still, and –”

“I don’t want to be friends.”

You couldn’t decide if your mouth should hang open or sew it shut forever. Still, you managed to slip out, “What?”

“It’s all or nothing for me, _____.” His eyes mirrored your glossy ones and the tip of his nose that was just on yours a second ago was reddening. “I don’t want friendship with you. I want love and passion, and I want you to tell me you want it, too. We aren’t friends; we never were really just friends, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

He closed the gap and his hands found yours, squeezing so tightly it was almost painful. “Then show me that you know! Tell me you want this! Tell me you don’t want to be just friends! Tell me you want me, desire me, that you can’t go a day without having me, the way I would for you!”

You shook your head. Long distance relationships never worked. You witnessed it through your coworkers, through friends, and bosses, and even old classmates who had deleted every existence of their past love and left no digital footprint on their timeline. Every relationship you ever knew to be long distance had never worked out, and you knew this one wouldn’t be any different.

He let go and stepped away. “I wish you a fulfilling life in the city –”

“Don’t do this.”

“– and I’m sorry, but I can’t be friends with you –”

“Minho, please…”

“– I can’t be just friends with someone who has my heart and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Instead of rescinding, instead of apologizing and taking the leap of faith, taking the risk that came with being vulnerable and open and raw so you could see what it meant to be loved and cherished by someone who wanted to love and cherish, you decided to lock your heart away and to never reveal it to anyone ever again.

That was the last time you saw Minho. On your thirtieth birthday, he broke every layer you built to protect yourself in a matter of seconds.

--

“Earth to _____!”

In between ‘DAHLIA’ and your office, there was a coffee shop with outside seating. As you waited at one of the tables, the record player in your head had recalled that night, and once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it finished. Just as you finished, Minho arrived and waved a hand in front of your face and you wondered how long it took for you to notice.

“Sorry! Daydreaming.”

“About work?”

Did he truly think your mind was entirely consumed about work? “Yeah. Work.”

“Well, you keep daydreaming, and I’ll get us coffee. What would you like?”

“No, it’s my turn to get you something!”

“Nonsense! You also tipped me way too much. You still order the usual?”

If you were one thing, you were consistent. “The usual.”

Minho would do this finger-gun thing when he was feeling awkward, and he did so as he walked to the counter. His outfit wasn’t as formal as the night you saw him at the bar. His jeans were black and his sweater a bright cobalt; a color that allowed him to be the center of attention when he wasn’t asking for it.

You were the one to ask him to meet - or rather Chaeryoung was - but you didn’t consider what you’d talk about.

He came back with your usual and his usual, which was an iced americano. At least he, too, was consistent, and that hadn’t changed.

“Busy at work?” he asked, clearly not sure what to talk about, either.

“Yeah. Always busy, sadly.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your hours would be long.”

“No,” you confirmed, “I wasn’t. What about you? What’s your work day like as the city’s coolest restaurateur?”

“You flatter me. I work at ‘RED LIGHT’ during the day, and head to ‘DAHLIA’ at night.”

You tried to estimate his work hours in your head. “Back-to-back?”

“Yup.”

“Everyday?”

“Kind of. If it’s slow on like, a Monday or Tuesday, I’ll head out early and let the closers handle it. Otherwise, my day off is whenever I feel like it, but it’s not a real day-off. I use those days to answer emails and organize the budget or the inventory. Takes every waking moment to run a restaurant or bar, you know?”

“I don’t know. How do you balance everything?”

“Well, I love my job. It’s hard, but I don’t find it draining. I guess that helps. I don’t mind waking up at five in the morning, working, and going to sleep, at least not yet. I’m sure I’ll hit a wall someday, but I’m doing my best to not let that happen.”

You’re afraid to ask the next question. “How do you balance your relationship with Karina when you’re so busy?”

“Phone calls, Facetime, designated nights for dates, surprise visits, little gifts and flowers here and there,” he nodded, looking at the table. “It’s hard, but we’re trying. That’s what’s important.”

Your coffee’s bitter and you didn’t want to bother with it after a couple of sips, but you keep at it to keep your lips occupied and to hide the way your teeth grit at the underlying accusation. “That takes a lot of patience. Some people struggle with that.”

He caught your drift and it appeared he realized he deserved that. “And you? Seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Not even casually?”

“No. Some dates here and there, but they never stick.”

“Why is that?”

“Either they’re boring, too intimidated by a strong female corporate supplicant, or I’m the problem.”

“Isn’t it -” he began but stopped himself. “Never mind.”

“Say what you mean,” you pushed light heartedly.

“Isn’t it lonely?”

It’s true that it seemed like Cupid made his way around your friend group and you were the last to get hit. When your friends came home at night, they’d be welcomed into open arms and warm bodies. You came home to snacks and warmth was in the form of a fuzzy blanket you kept on the couch. At the height of your career, you once believed that love could wait, that it would find you at the right time and you’d know right then you were ready. As Minho sat across from you picking your brain about the emptiness that came with climbing the corporate ladder, the fear of feeling incomplete was imminent.

You wouldn’t let him see that part of you.

“I like my alone time.”

“But you have so much love in your heart.” He cleared his throat, regretting the arrangement of those words when he saw how your face twisted. What would he know about what’s in your heart? “Who do you give your affections to?”

“Must it be romantic?” you retorted. “My love is given to those you saw on my birthday.”

“I guess not. You’ve always been a romantic, though.”

“Five years is more than enough time to change who I was the last time you saw me.”

“Is that change good?” he asked nervously.

‘Is the result of feeling loveless from rejection and isolation a good change? Are you an idiot?’ you wanted to ask. But that would put the blame on him and blaming him meant acknowledging how much he affected you after all these years.

“Is that change good,” you repeated thoughtfully. “Neutral.”

“Neutral?”

“I think the decision we made five years ago put us where we are today; we’re both successful young adults thriving in a beautiful city. But I lost you as a result. So, the good must come with some bad. That’s neutral, no?”

His lips formed a smile, but again, it did not travel to his eyes. “You know, I was scared to come here today.”

“I’m not that terrifying, am I?”

“At first I thought, ‘wow, Chaeryoung did not try hard to pretend to be you at all.’”

You giggled. “No; no, she didn’t.”

“And then I thought, ‘we’ll be in public. She won’t kill me in front of people, right?’”

“Kill you!”

“But I know that wouldn’t have stopped you either way,” he grinned. “You haven’t killed me yet. Is it crazy of me to think of this as a good sign?”

“A sign! Is there something you’re looking to gain out of this meeting?” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted, “a friend.”

Your mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, but your face twisted in a way that mimicked your thoughts. “A friend?”

“I know you and I have said and done some unkind things back then that we may not be able to forgive each other for, but after seeing you on your birthday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. You may not believe me, but I miss you.”

Your head and your heart were in conflict. You had spent all this time trying not to miss him. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unwilling to say the truth. “I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have sprung that on you all of a sudden. But… do you think it’s possible? That we could be friends again?”

How quickly would you lose him a second time? “I think we shouldn’t force it.”

“Friendships bloom naturally, of course.”

A flash of pink blurred your peripherals before it became the center of your attention. Karina held a finger to her lips as she approached Minho from behind, covering his eyes with her slender fingers. He took her hand and kissed it, leaning back to look at his glittering diamond with hearts in his eyes. They were a beautiful couple and it was as clear as day how much they adored each other. Witnessing love was supposed to be like looking at a garden of roses, but as you sat across in a front-row seat, you thought to yourself how much you disliked the smell of roses, anyway.

“Hi!” she greeted happily. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have lunch plans.”

You shook your head, dismissing the tightness in your gut. “No, please interrupt. I’m sorry for keeping him.”

“Would you like to join?”

You would rather jump off the roof of your fifty-floor office building. “Thank you, but I made plans with my co-workers already.”

“Then, we’ll have to get dinner some time!”

It pained you how much you disliked her. She didn’t deserve it. “Dinner some time sounds great.”

As Minho got up to leave, he leaned over the table and in a hushed tone said, “I just want you to know that you still cannot hide your feelings on your face.”

“My boss thinks it’s my killing charm.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Minho’s wink was like a button that set off every alarm in your body. As he walked away, hand-in-hand with the love of his life, you tortured yourself watching them recede until they rounded the corner.

–

Unfortunately, it was common workplace etiquette to have drinks with your coworkers after hours now that your schedules had slowed down. How convenient it was that ‘DAHLIA’ was open and even more so that your coworkers were eager to go. Initially, you tried to wiggle out of going, but your close comrade Choi San wouldn’t allow it.

He slammed his veiny hand on your desk, and you jumped. “Jesus -”

“_____ _____,” he boomed, loudly announcing your government name.

“No.”

“Come on! You haven’t joined us in, like, forever!”

“Forever will continue.”

“And if I bribe you with free drinks?”

You paused typing. “I’m listening.”

“You, me, and the forty-fifth floor at ‘DAHLIA’ in ten minutes.”

“‘DAHLIA’?” you repeated. “Does it have to be that bar?”

“Mingi already called the place to reserve. Why, is it not good?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

“Then make haste, my lady!”

The whole way across the street, San had his arm around your shoulder in a tight grip, too afraid to let you slip at the slightest chance of hesitancy. The smooth skin of his forearms touched your neck and it was close enough to smell the cologne he dabbed just minutes before leaving the building, which you now realized to be on purpose.

Inside, a bunch of young corporate acolytes gathered all throughout the bar, all of whom you worked and were familiar with. Minho, though busy taking their orders, saw you and San come in. He did a double take, eyebrow twitching upwards at the arm suffocating your neck. Your lips formed the words, ‘kill me’, as San guided you forward to the line to order.

Small talk with San was never small when he easily filled you in on his latest interests and hobbies. The other women in the office who were nearby engaged with him enthusiastically. Admittedly, there were a multitude of reasons why San was popular around the office. He was intelligent, always willing to lend a helping hand, had a positive attitude even when days were long and tough, and most importantly, he was so hot that your boss had to jokingly warn him several times to tone it down. His argument was it wasn’t his fault that button-downs were tight on his back and arms.

Minho was the one to usher you forward with his index and middle fingers. 

San wrapped his arm around your shoulder again for no apparent reason. “Hello!” he greeted enthusiastically.

“Hi. _____,” he addressed to you informally.

“‘Sup, Minho,” you sighed.

“You two know each other?” San inquired. “Is that why you didn’t want to come?”

San’s only flaw was that he talked too much. Your jaw ticked. “Old friends. And no, that’s not why.”

“Oh!”

“What can I get you two?” You thought you heard ice in Minho’s voice, but you must be mistaken.

You needed something strong. “A negroni, please.”

“Double that,” San said.

Minho neither confirmed nor denied hearing the order before starting on it. Finally, you’re able to breathe easier when the weight of San’s muscly arm lets you go, confident that you wouldn’t book it out the bar. He instead turned his body to you, creating a wall and making you feel like you were under a microscope.

“Your presentation to the team yesterday was, um, amazing,” he stuttered.

Calling a weekly work presentation amazing was odd; he’s heard you lead them probably a hundred times by now. “Yeah? Thanks.”

“And the way you were able to answer all of the questions Boss Man fired at you? It’s no wonder you’re his favorite.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite.”

“Well, you’re my favorite.” As soon as those words left his lips, he pursed them together and shut his eyes. “I-I mean the team’s favorite.”

You nearly snorted, though your smile was hard to hide. “That’s… certainly an honor -”

“Two negronis,” Minho interrupted as he pushed the glasses forward.

“I got it,” San reiterated.

“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. I’ll meet you over in a bit; gonna talk to my good ol’ friend here,” you forced a grin. Like an obedient dog, San joined the others at the reserved tables.

“Wow, he’s…” Minho trailed off. “A lot.”

“Mother always said not to say mean things.”

“That was me being nice. Don’t tell me that’s your type.”

“Minho! That would be highly inappropriate workplace behavior,” you teased, though he didn’t seem amused. “Besides, what do you know about my type?”

He smirked. “I think I would know better than anyone.”

The twinge in your chest was crushing. Had Cupid returned with sturdier arrows? “Remember, things can change.”

“Did they, though?”

Why did that matter? “I’ll see you later, Minho.”

The whole night, San hovered over you like a shadow, more than he ever had before. Maybe he saw Minho as competition after your coworkers prodded for the story behind you and the hot bartender. He wouldn’t have to worry, though, as he was highly mistaken about both Minho and having interest in someone you worked with.

You would thank San in the morning for dragging you out that night because he reminded you the importance of camaraderie. It was nice to be surrounded by people who shared the same professional struggles as you and it was freeing for everyone to let their walls down. Many of your co-workers were also single and struggling, filling the bar with chatter about failed dates and competing to see who had the worst one as of late. This was the first night in a long while that you had fun, and even though the man that haunted your thoughts was less than twenty feet away, you wouldn’t let him ruin this one night out of many.

But you felt it; that burn in the back of your head like twin cigarettes had bore themselves into your skull; the piercing eyes of an onlooker who couldn’t look away from you and the buff man next to you all night. Each time you tried to catch him in the act, he had anticipated it, busying himself with a customer or peeling orange twists, and when you looked away, you’d feel it again.

Like a worm eating its way through an apple, the fire in Minho’s eyes consumed you.

–

‘Wya?’

On a random weeknight, Minho texted you this just as you were leaving the office. You looked around outside looking for a sniper or an inconspicuous spy but did not see anything suspicious or sensed any danger. To that, you replied with, ‘Leaving the office. Why?’

‘Don’t move.’

If you weren’t panicking before, you were now. Then, from around the alley where ‘DAHLIA’ was, Minho popped up with a tote bag on his arm and an apron slung over his shoulder. He waved and flashed his feline smile, unaware of how cryptic his texts were.

“You didn’t literally have to not move,” he teased.

“Maybe you should normalize giving context.”

“Context is: do you have dinner plans tonight?”

Your plan was to pick up grocery store sushi and binge watch TV, if you’d call that a plan. “Not really. Why?”

He gestured to his tote bag. “I was going to my test kitchen. Do you want to be my guinea pig?”

You considered saying no, but free food was involved. Plus, this is what friends would do, right? “Where’s this test kitchen of yours?”

“In my townhome. ‘Test kitchen’ just sounds cooler.”

The train ride to Minho’s place was the same distance as yours, just in the opposite direction. There wasn’t a ‘nice’ or a ‘bad’ side of the city, but you definitely wouldn’t classify this as the ‘bad’ side. Rows and rows of townhomes occupied endless streets in this neighborhood and each one had its own charm. Minho’s was right in the middle and the reddest, brickiest one on the block while the others had conformed to a more modern grey stucco-style.

The inside was anything but traditional though, with touches of modern style and technology. The first floor was similar to your loft, with an open floor plan combining the kitchen and living room meant for a true host and entertainer. The kitchen, of course, was the most updated, with a fancy six-burner stove, a magnetic display of different knives, and a giant white-granite island.

Soonie, Doongie, and Dori greeted Minho first by rubbing up against his calves and then greeted you second, unaware of the time that passed and recognizing your scent like you were only gone on a short trip.

You gasped happily, scratching their little heads and ears. “My fat ‘n furry step-children!”

“Looks like they missed you,” Minho chuckled.

“Oh, I missed you, too!” you cooed. “Can I help with any prep?”

“Can you help wash the produce?”

“Yes, chef.”

You tried not to stare too long at Minho while he tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves. There were vegetables in his tote bag you’ve never seen before, like the bulbous onion-like thing that smelled of licorice and a variation of a mushroom that looked like it would turn you into a zombie.

“Everything’s a vegetable or a fruit,” you noted.

“I’m attempting some vegetarian and vegan options outside of a salad and some dessert. If it doesn’t work out, the Thai place down the street is really good.”

Minho instructed you to cut vegetables in ways that you didn’t even know had a name to the technique. You had to tell him to talk to you like a five-year-old because you were not someone who knew what it meant to julienne a carrot or prepare the mise en place.

The first dish was a seared cabbage wedge. Cut the head into wedges; sear on the pan; make a soy-sugar-rice-vinegar saucy thing; shave a potato and toast it like a breadcrumb; retrieve the soy-and-smoke-cured egg yolk and… shave it?

“What do you mean ‘shave it’?” you muttered, holding the hardened yellow orb of congealed something in one hand and a sharp sword-like thingamabob in the other. “Isn’t it going to burst?”

Minho, bless his heart, stood behind you and guided your hands together. His hands, despite going through hundreds of washes and touching all things hot and cold, were soft and warm on top of yours. He had you shave one quarter of the solid egg yolk over the dressed cabbage wedge.

“The yolk is cured, so it’s solid all the way through,” he said.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and it turned hot. Was the oven set to a thousand degrees? “O-Oh! Wow, that’s cool. Is it done?”

It was only then that Minho released his hold. “Yup. Try it.”

Cooking was a hidden form of sorcery. It was one of the most complex and delicious dishes you’ve ever eaten. Salty from the potato breadcrumb, savory from the egg yolk, and sweet from the soy sauce, feeling different textures and flavors so good you had to stop yourself from moaning.

��Good?” he asked. All you could do was nod vigorously with eyes wide and glittering. He smiled genuinely and his eyes sparkled, too. He opened his mouth and said, “Ah~”

That was your cue to feed him a bite. You gathered the perfect amount of everything onto a fork for him. As he chewed, his brows knitted together thoughtfully and you’re unsure of what that expression meant. From his pocket, he took out a small field notes book and scribbled something quickly.

“You don’t like it?”

He shook his head. “No, I like it a lot.”

“Why is your face like that?”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“You look so angry.”

“That’s just how my face looks.”

Next was a vegetarian bone marrow. Nothing about bones or marrows sounded remotely vegetarian, but Minho handed you two fat king oyster mushrooms to halve and remove the centers while he sautéed a medley of other mushrooms in salted butter, garlic, and thyme. There was a comfortable silence in the kitchen as you both worked. Nothing felt awkward, or forced, or as bitter as your last meetings were.

As you waited for Minho’s further instructions, you toured the living space and observed all the pictures. You were in about half of them. Most were of your entire friend group, but many were significant moments in your lives, like graduation, birthdays, talent shows, or candid solo pictures. After all these years, when you kept any evidence of him hidden in a shoe box in your closet, he displayed you loud and proud. You glossed over the number of pictures of Karina for your own sake but seeing her face that many times made you stop looking.

When you turned back, Minho was staring at you so intently, he forgot to pretend he wasn’t watching.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Um, the next step is ready.”

Under an immersive blender (“Immersion blender, silly.”) was the sautéed medley and the guts of the king oyster mushroom, softened cream cheese, and olive oil. The paste was bagged and piped back into the charred and seasoned center of the cut-out king oyster mushroom. With a flame torch, Minho darkened the paste, creating a bruleed outer layer, and topped it off with pink peppercorns, pecorino, and chives. Triangles of buttered toast were the vehicle.

Minho took a spoon and scooped out the center. “A little bit of ‘marrow’ and voila. And the ‘bone’ is edible, too, obviously.”

Your eyes teared up at the fireworks of umami. “Will you cater for my next birthday?”

“For you, I will.”

After course upon course of seared and leafy bites of savory and salty goodness, you greenlit practically all of them to Minho’s dismay (“Guinea pig means to critique, not suck up to.”). Dessert was the final leg of courses. From preserved lemon sorbets to chocolatey bites of flourless cake, you would fall into a deep sleep tonight on a cloud of spun sugar.

“I’m drunk on life,” you sighed happily.

“I like you best that way.”

“Seriously, Minho, you have something really good here. I’m no expert, but I think –”

“Wait!” he interrupted. “Chocolate on your lip.”

“Huh? Here?” you licked once.

“Not even close.”

“Here?”

“No.”

“Where’s a napkin?”

“Hold still, will you?”

Minho held your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted up. Like a surgeon, he meticulously wiped away all evidence of your inner chocolate-devouring goblin with his other thumb. For a moment, he lowered his hand to wipe it on his apron, but he caught you looking at his lips.

“Th-Thanks,” you whispered.

He took the chocolate-covered thumb and sucked it clean, maintaining his gaze before it lowered. “My pleasure.”

The kitchen felt hot and it was hard to breathe. The alarms in your head went off again; the longer you stayed, the faster you’d fall. “I-I should go.”

“Wait –”

“This was great by the way!” you called as you backed up towards the door. “S-So good! And thank you, I will pay you back for any groceries!”

“That’s not necessary, I invited you here.”

“Let me know what you decide to add to the menu, and I’ll-I’ll stop by some time, yeah?”

You didn’t give him the opportunity to answer before running out the door.

–

The following weeks after your inappropriately intimate tasting, you avoided Minho as long as you could. It hadn’t even been a month since you saw him for the first time and you already crossed the thin line that was never meant to be crossed. You couldn’t even be strong for that long before you fell back into the routine of desiring the one man you weren’t allowed to have.

This was the curse of Cupid. He had successfully shot and landed an arrow into every friend you loved, pairing them up with their person and the match-up was so right it was scary. Somehow, at the perfect time under the correct circumstances, your friends found the ones that completed their other half, or so they said, and you witnessed love in full bloom every time it happened and everyday since. When it was shoved in your face like that, how could you not think about what you were missing out on every single day of your life?

You used to think considering a couple as two halves was a disservice to humanity. Halves implied that part of you was missing; it suggested that one could never be whole alone, that they spend their whole lives finding someone who fit the two-piece puzzle. A two piece puzzle was supposed to be the easiest puzzle in the world, but in a box filled with over eight billion pieces, it would take forever for Cupid to pair the pieces. At twenty-five, after that stormy night, you once believed that you could survive as one single piece among the eight billion for the rest of your life at the bottom of the pieces pile, if it came to it; but now that you’re the last of the friend group to yet find your match - at thirty, at that - maybe Cupid had a point to the whole two halves make a whole argument.

Because admittedly, as much as you tried to convince yourself on your thirtieth birthday, you didn’t feel whole. Hell, you barely felt like half; and every time you saw Minho, bits of you were being chipped off to the point that you were scared of losing your half of the puzzle.

To distract yourself from thinking about Minho licking chocolate from your lips, you finally jumped the gun and downloaded dating apps for the first time. Well, Chaeryoung and Jisung did.

“Put on your bathing suit,” she ordered.

“Excuse you.”

“What? All your selfies are so normal!”

“Normal is a good thing, Chaer.”

“But it’s not,” Jisung piped in. “Dating is not what it used to be. Before, it was as simple as looking pretty, saying your favorite song or movie, and naming the restaurant you want your first date to be at. Now, you have to get personal. Name a niche hobby, what character from a TV show represents you the most, what childhood trauma affected your frontal lobe development -”

“Ok, I get it.”

Jisung and Chaeryoung sandwiched you tightly on the couch even though the view of the tablet was easily seen. Chaeryoung filled in all the prompts for you a little too enthusiastically while Jisung was there to judge through the lens of the male gaze and snacks.

The woman beside you cackled evilly. “This is so much fun! I can’t believe you’re finally doing this. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment?”

“Seriously. What man made you do this?” Jisung teased.

You yanked the tablet back. “No one.”

“Liar.”

“Who do you think, Han?” Chaeryoung stated bluntly. “Who else could have brought this blessing upon us?”

“Oh,” he mused, “duh.”

“Shut up, both of you! No one made me do this. Am I not worthy of finding love?”

“Of course you are. Just not this way.”

“Why not this way?”

“Just watch.”

The second someone completes their profile, it’s like the app forces it at the top of everyone’s algorithm. You received a lot of interest and private messages in the first five minutes, many of which were… bold…

“Men are so uncouth,” you groaned. “Is sex all you think about?”

“Yeah,” Jisung shrugged, pointing to his head and then his groin. “Two heads, two brains.”

“Ugh, gross.”

Chaeryoung swiped left at lightning speed. “Too young, too old, too short, too tall, too smart –”

“I like smart,” you pouted.

“The key to a healthy relationship is to be smarter than them.” Jisung didn’t argue, as he was happily committed to his intelligent partner (a mystery to all, as no one knew how he bagged a research fellow).

There’s a knock on your door. The three of you look at each other in confusion.

“You two need to stop secretly inviting strange men to my home,” you accused before getting up.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Jisung defended, “did you?” Chaeryoung denied.

When you opened the door, a disheveled Minho stood there with an oily bag in his hands. He raised a brow. “Am I that strange?”

Just as you were trying to trust in the dating app algorithm, the Gods and Cupid said, ‘let there be chaos!’ “You, specifically? A little bit.”

“Ha ha,” he drawled. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah!” Jisung called from the couch. “This is girl time, Min!”

“Shut up!” Chaeryoung pulled Jisung up from the couch and they both patted your head before rushing out the door. “We’ll see you later, _____!”

“Y-You don’t have to leave!” you practically begged.

“Honey, it’s past-nine on a weekday, yes we do!”

“I didn’t realize the time,” Minho frowned, looking at his watch. “I was nearby with Hyunjin and thought I’d stop by with some fries to make up for Chaeryoung tossing them out on your birthday.”

You don’t even remember that happening. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I can come back another time.”

“No!” you said an octave too high. “No, please come in!”

Minho’s outfit was more casual than ‘DAHLIA’s typical button down and tight slacks and you deduced he was working at ‘RED LIGHT’ today. There were multiple oil and/or beer stains on his shirt and his hair was parted and pointing in different directions, evidence of his hand having to go through it several dozen times out of stress.

“You look…”

“I know,” he sighed, plopping the bag on the table. “There was a work-lunch event today that turned into dinner for some corporate slugs. Then, Hyunjin was looking at a location for his coffee excursion and asked for my help. Four hours later, I’m starving and thought of you.”

He was thinking of you a lot lately, it seemed, and it was hard to deny that you reciprocated. “This is wonderful, thank you. I owe you two dinners now.”

“You don’t ‘owe’ me anything. Friends don’t owe; they treat.”

“My treat next time, then.”

“And the next,” he reminded with a smirk. “What were you girlies doing just now?”

“Um,” you hesitated, cheeks stuffed with potato. “Making me a dating profile.”

He raised a brow in the same way when he saw you walking in with San: questioning and dissatisfied. “You never had one before?”

“I was on-and-off when I first moved here, but I couldn’t stand to open the apps after a couple days of usage.”

He does the thing with his fingers when he gestures to come close. You noticed his hands were veinier now than when you were younger.

“Let me see.”

“Let you see my dating profile?” He nodded. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, I’ll give you an opinion through the male gaze.”

“Why do you think Jisung was here?”

“Certainly not that.”

Defeated, you handed him your phone with the app open. There’s a twinkle of curiosity wondering how he’d react, but you wanted to tame that fire quickly. He scrolled and swiped, then scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled.

His face was stern when he said, “You already have a lot of admirers.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

He didn’t answer and continued to scroll. “What about that guy you work with?”

“San? What about him?”

“Nothing came of it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that would be inappropriate?”

“Is that the only reason stopping you?”

You squint your eyes at your all too curious friend who hadn’t looked up from your phone since taking it. He popped fries in his mouth rhythmically like a metronome until he caught the heat from your gaze. He looked up and did a double take.

“Hm?” he asked.

“Why are you so curious?”

“So, there’s another reason stopping you?”

“And if there is?”

“And if there is…” he repeated, fiddling with your phone charm. “Would you tell me?”

The inkling of assumption tickled annoyingly at the corners of your mind. Was he asking to let you know that he knew he was the reason for your desires? Or was he asking to tease you, to prove to you that if you had made the right decision all those years ago, you could have been in Karina’s position? That all this time you spent away from him, your journey for companionship started too late. And sure, your bank account was as filled as your stomach, but was it worth it when you had no one to share it with?

He waited patiently for your answer, but you heard his foot tapping rapidly on the wood. Your mouth opened, then closed, and you finally shook your head in shame, because your lips were cursed to speak the truth or nothing at all and you would rather deny than to admit.

He licked his lips, and that gesture alone sparked something in your core. Then he nodded in a way that expressed sourness, as if this confirmation was exactly what he expected but not what he was hoping in both the nonverbal response and the underlying tone that trailed behind it.

You broke the silence. “How’s Karina?”

“Good.” He was quick to shake his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since lunch a month ago.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve… been too busy.”

Shameful and embarrassed, was what you gathered from his response. As he should; to criticize your decision only to repeat the cycle when he found fulfillment in his career was so… Hypocritical was not a strong enough word. Betrayal, perhaps, was the most correct, but that didn’t satisfy you, either.

You wouldn’t get satisfaction from any angle, though. No matter how you viewed it, it was selfish to consider yourself relevant here. Minho was hurting; everything you feared about relationships had flowered before him and crushed the idea that perfection could be achieved as long as both people tried. But it seemed that although he tried, it wasn’t enough, and maybe his ideals were more out of the ordinary than he anticipated.

“It’s put a bit of a strain on our relationship. She wants to settle down and I… I thought I did, too, but… you know, my places have been growing so much, and…”

As he trailed off and off through a list of excuses, it took you all the way back to the night that it rained. You also spat excuses from your pockets and got nowhere. Now, Minho was on your side, but it didn’t feel great, either.

“What’s more important to you?” you asked.

That was the age-old dilemma, wasn’t it? What was most important to someone as an adult who spent most of their life getting educated and preparing for the professional world to milk money from consumers; the career they adored and earned or the love they found along the way? One could argue they could live without love, but could one live with themselves if they gave up their dream? How many rom-coms have you and Minho laughed at where the world that movie was set in was in a vacuum and the couple always chose each other? Though the plot was fake, the dilemma was real, and the choices they made in the movies were just not realistic.

“Important,” he chuckled, understanding what you were getting at. “Why can’t both be important to me?”

“They can, but it’s clear your efforts are imbalanced in one direction. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation.”

The fries were long gone. Minho stood up and tossed the bag in the trash before grabbing the unfinished bottle of wine leftover from your birthday and two glasses. You supposed tonight would be the most appropriate night to finish it off. Plus, Minho needed it, apparently.

“I tried, you know,” he sighed, “I really did. I text every night; I send her flowers to her office; I cook for her, shower her with gifts, and tell her regularly that I-I…”

Minho didn’t complete his thought, but you knew what he meant to say. Why would he not, for your sake? “That you love her?”

“Yeah. That I loved her.” Your glasses raised in sync. “I get it. I’m not as present, and I get her love language is quality time, but when did the thought stop counting?”

“Have you considered you two aren’t compatible?”

“Anyone can be compatible, no? Where’s the effort?”

Now you were feeling annoyed. Were these digs subconsciously at you? “Effort can only go so far. You said her love language is quality time. You could do everything in between, but you’re not there to hold her, to kiss her, to tangle under the bed sheets as much as she wants, then guess what? She’s never going to feel the love that she wants and deserves.”

“What about me? What about what I want?”

“I don’t know what you want. Does she? Do you?”

Minho chugged the rest of the cabernet in his glass, nose wrinkling, before pouring in more with a heavy hand. You ignored how cute his nose looked. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Ok, so you can’t complain is what I’m hearing.”

A chuckle huffed through his nose, annoyed that someone who he confided in didn’t feed into his fantasy that his ideology was gospel.

“Ahh!” he groaned loudly to the ceiling. “Fucking hell. I thought this was supposed to get easier when we were older?”

“What? Love?” you scoffed. “Look at us; I’m stuck on the apps and you’re stuck in your ways. You think this gets easier just because we have more ‘life experience’?” Your air quotes were overly exaggerated. “No, dude. People are dumb at every age.”

“I’m not dumb,” he pouted.

“You’re a little dumb.”

He giggled a bit and it traveled down his belly to a full laugh. You couldn’t help but smile, too, which grew into your own fit of laughs, and the condo was filled with ugly laughs and tears of joy, pain, and all that was locked inside your’s and Minho’s souls since inception. These nights were the ones you once looked forward to.

When the giggles died down, he stared blankly at the swirling wine in the glass and asked, “Do you think we could have worked out?”

You felt your cheeks and nose flare brightly. “Worked out? Like if we tried?”

In some other tangential timeline, Minho moved to the city. Maybe he still bought out ‘RED LIGHT’, and you would visit him everyday after work and bring your coworkers in to show off your hot bartender boyfriend. Then, you’d take the train home together. You’d wind down on the couch watching a couple episodes of something light and crawl into bed in each other’s arms. Your lips would never leave his unless it was to come up for air, arms wrapped around his naked torso as he crawled on top, and mumbling praises and poems of how much you adored him.

Like an asteroid that orbits a planet, you revolve your life around him and his happiness. If you tried long distance or if you gave up your career, it would be a difficult feat, and happiness would not be found in that desert. Leaving for the city was for the best. He eventually found his oasis, and you were still on the long journey of finding yours in between the infinite dunes.

Before you realized, your nose burned some more and your vision blurred. “I think it still would have been really hard.”

“Would it have been worth it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but the wine in your veins was overtaking, “it would only have been worth it if it was with you.”

“Then, why?” he begged. “What happened to ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’?”

“After all this time, you still can’t see what I see. I never want to risk something where I would lose you. So, I didn’t think I’d lose you if I said no.”

“This is… so stupid…”

“Don’t insult me in my home.”

“No, I… I…” he stuttered, and it’s just now you see his eyes were glossy, too. “I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s so fucking stupid.”

It was stupid; you moved out to move on, and here he was at your door bringing you french fries and opening bars across from where you work, invading your life like a decade-old infectious disease with no ailment known to man-kind. It was stupid; he was taken, spitting out confessions of his failing love story to the one he ended, telling you he still thinks of you before he sleeps. It was very stupid, and it pained you not to fall for it.

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“______ -”

“You can’t think of me.”

He reached out across the table to take your hands. You allowed it, because you were a weak, weak woman, starving for touch and hungry for him. His skin was rough and tired from the dehydrating soaps of the service industry, but they felt so right.

“Tell me you don’t think of me,” he demanded. “Tell me, and I’ll leave.”

“What does it mean for you to leave? You will leave my home, and then what? Will you try to be better for her? You’ll stay in my life and we can be friends? Or will you leave permanently and change the dynamic of our friend group forever for the second time?” By now, the tears were falling and words choked as they came out, but your grip on him betrayed you and you held on like he was hanging off a cliff.

“I… The… The former…”

“Then, no. No, I don’t think of you. I’m not tormented by you, I’m not in ruins when I see you, I don’t smell you on my clothes, I don’t see you when I close my eyes, or in stranger’s faces when they pass, I don’t dream of you, and I definitely don’t think of you every second of everyday!”

“You can’t even convince yourself anymore. Why won’t you be vulnerable with me?”

“Vulnerability is weakness, Minho! I have been strong for so long; without you, at that!” your voice was shrill and loud and you couldn't be bothered to sit. You were up from your chair, leaning over the table, and he winced as you kept going. “You come here, turn my life upside down, and ask me to be vulnerable? To lower my guard around you? After you abandoned me all because the circumstances weren’t right at that moment? Fuck you.”

He got up from the table to get to you and towered over you, torso much wider than you remembered. He was too close, and you could feel him feel you. Your body hadn’t turned to face him, too scared to face your biggest fear, so he forced it upon you by holding your shoulders. His eyes, so big and brown that it was easy to drown in them, dug deep into yours and pleaded with everything he had in his heart.

“Fine, don’t be vulnerable, but show yourself some mercy, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mercy? I want someone I can’t have. How does that merit mercy?”

He faltered a bit and you regretted the moment you invited him in. His eyebrows furrowed in what you thought was pity. Your head dropped in shame; that was the last thing you needed. His hands moved to hold your face as if he never wanted you to drop something so precious to him ever again.

“Don’t,” you repeated.

His forehead connected with yours and suddenly, you felt young again. It’s what you needed, what you wanted, but…

“I want to kiss you.”

The rush from five years ago hit you like a truck. “I want to kiss you, too.”

Every emotion, every desire, collided into the kiss. His hands swiftly moved to your waist and pulled you in until every millimeter of you touched some part of him and soon your hands were lost in his hair. His lips were soft, and you always imagined them to feel like petals of a tulip, but he was earnest and there was some pain in the amount of pressure he pressed into you. The pain felt good, the feeling of being wanted made your heart soar, and you two exchanged gasps and moans as your lips moved fervently, hungry for indulgence after being teased with temptation. But his tongue tasted sour, and bitter, and nothing like the coffee and chocolate you once dreamed of, because this circumstance was yet again not right. He tasted like rotting fruit because stolen fruit was never sweet.

You broke away, gasping and sniffling and it was so hard to breathe. “You’re not mine,” you cried.

“But you have always been mine,” he whispered, with his breath ghosting your lips.

You shook your head, over and over until you freed yourself from his grip, wishing you’d be free of him forever. You turned your back to him, unable to show your face as you said, “I think you should leave.”

Back then, you wished he fought for you as much as he wished you to do the same. You wished he’d followed you, or waited for you until the time was right, but of course time didn’t wait for anyone. Deep down, as you broke into pieces in your dining room, you hoped he’d fight for you then, too, and proclaim that his heart belonged to only you. You were fooled twice, and as the saying goes, shame on you.

The failure of reciprocity would weigh you down just as much. You never fought for him the way you wished he would for you for the simple fact that you weren’t allowed to. He was a taken man, a man who said not too long ago how he told her he loved her every single night, and it would destroy you how he’d go home later and still say those words.

You believed everyone was worthy of love, including you. The love you wanted wasn’t supposed to feel tainted or spoiled. No matter how much you wanted him, how much he claimed he wanted you from the very start, you wouldn’t be that kind of woman who stole someone’s man, and therefore you would not confess to anything else that lay hidden away in your heart.

Minho left quietly. The battle was over, and you broke down on the floor.

Heavy and loud sobs escaped your quivering lips in a poor attempt to dissipate the pain that expanded in your chest. Your cries echoed into the open loft until you couldn’t stand the sound of your voice and wasting tissues, but your body wouldn’t let up. So, you transferred yourself to the bathroom, running a hot shower and curling up on the tile until the water ran cold. Here, your cries were muffled by the artificial rain, just as you had cried into the storm that ugly night long ago.

You called in sick the following day.

–

For the next quarter, you were happy you were swamped with work, for once. That meant waking up early, taking the train when the sun had barely risen, and leaving when it had long gone to sleep. It was the same for most people in the office and you were blessed with not having to conjure up a lie to get away from San’s advances to get you to happy hour.

In sum, you hoped it meant you’d be too busy to think of him, but when you had only a single moment, a single second of freedom, he invaded every bit of you. He was a virus, a parasite, sucking the life out of you like he was reminding you what you desired that once was within arms reach was now lost forever. Like Icarus, you fell from the ether into despair, surrounded by darkness from the absence of the sun in your only moments outside of the office. On days when you were off, you had begged your boss to let you come in, to distract you with some enrichment of any stupid task even if it meant gluing together inadvertently shredded proprietary documents for sixteen hours, but HR would catch on too quickly, was what he said.

You hoped to fall hopelessly in this troposphere of purgatory forever, operating through the days on autopilot, but your heart had sunk to your gut and it ached to land on the earth to end the pain. Just as you were getting the hang of flowing with the wind, Minho called once. Then, he called twice. On the third, you almost answered, but when your eyes welled and you struggled to breathe, you figured it was your body’s reaction to falling faster and further beneath the clouds. You spent those nights he called curled up in some corner of your home under a multitude of blankets waiting for the headache and heartache to subside, but by then the night turned to dawn and time was limited.

Chaeryoung would call, too; she’d text; she’d send you food, coffee, and chocolates, and much of it went cold because any sight of food made you nauseous. Lately, you moved so slow that sustenance wasn’t a necessity anymore, nor was it a pleasure. She was always quite the worrywart, so you tried to answer as much and as vaguely as you could, but at one point it was too exhausting to keep up the lie and you gave up, leaving her with one-worded answers that didn’t satisfy either party.

And so you continued to fall; continued to cry, rot, and falter when all you had done was taste forbidden fruit.

His birthday approached faster than you could get over him.

For a while, no one seemed to mind your absence besides Chaeryoung and Minho, who had called to see if you were attending any of the last-minute get-togethers or planned reservations in the recent month. The one big one you regretted missing was Chan’s birthday, who was rightfully miffed, but you hoped the gift you shipped would make up for it. You kept up with social media, though, and liked all the pictures that came from those nights. 

Each post, you’d look for him. You’d admire what he was wearing; you’d wonder what cologne he was wearing; you’d imagine the way his eyes lit up when Karina walked in the room. But she wasn’t in any of the photos.

You didn’t tell anyone what transpired the second time with Minho. It was too embarrassing to have fallen for him twice, which sent feminism back at least a decade. You were going to conjure up some work-related lie to get out of his birthday celebration, but Chaeryoung wouldn’t allow it and even went as far as messaging San for confirmation about your work schedule.

In a huff, she busted through to your home before you could reject her kindness. Normally, your girl was all smiles and full of expressions, but tonight she was strict and stern, which meant she was mad. Very mad.

“I need you to not message my coworkers, please,” you said as she filtered through your closet. “I don’t want a meeting with HR on Monday.”

She didn’t turn to face you when she snapped, “It felt like you were lying, so I had to double check.”

“I wasn’t lying. It was busy, but we just lightened up after the deadline yesterday.”

“So, why couldn’t you tell me that?”

“I needed an excuse to not go tonight.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated with how insufferable you were being. She turned to you with glossy eyes and you regretted avoiding her lately. “Aren’t I your friend?”

Her having to ask really stung. “You’re my best friend.”

“Then can’t you tell me why you disappeared for three months?”

“I… it’s hard, Chaer…”

“For God’s sake, _____, you’re thirty. Act like it, and use your words!”

“I can’t,” your voice cracked, “I can’t see Minho.”

Her face softened, realizing maybe that night when she left you with someone you saw as a stranger was not what a best friend did. You watched her scan through your slumped posture and sunken eyes before she lunged and hugged you tightly. Tears burned, the feeling of gentle humanity fulfilling your highest hierarchy of needs overflowing all your emotions.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“We kissed,” you whispered back.

“And?”

“I kissed back.”

“But?”

“He’s not mine.”

She pushed you to arms length, eyes knitting sternly. “I think you should go tonight.”

“Chaer -”

“Trust me. You might regret it. It’s his thirtieth, after all.” She pushed away the hairs that cling to your forehead before running to grab some make up. “Let me do your make-up! It’ll be like your twenty-first all over again.”

She sat you down on your bed and began to dab away at the color-correcting pallet. A box of tissues lay next to her so she could catch the tears before they fell. She created a large pile in the end.

“Do you want him to be yours?” she asked after a long moment of silence.

You wanted to smell him on your clothes, adore him in your dreams, and wake up next to him. You want him to be yours, only yours, and to not have to share him with someone who he also chose. Under this sanguine circumstance, still, you smiled at this very thought, because of course the answer was, “Yes.”

And she, too smiled, her own tears forming while she dabbed yours with another fist full of tissues. “Then, go to him.”

“But -”

“_____,” she breathed sternly, sniffling a bit. “You stupid, stupid people-pleaser. Fight for yourself, for once.”

When you thought the battle was long over, little did you know you were still fighting all this time.

Despite trying not to think of him, as his birthday approached, the calendar terrorized you to get him a gift. Just in case, you know? It was a fancy Nakiri knife whose steel was decorated in waves. The Internet told you that a chef’s knife was similar to that of a samurai’s sword, so only the highest quality of Damascus steel was preferred. As you held the box in your hand at his front steps, your mind and heart kept battling with each other and debated whether or not getting a personal gift was too intimate versus a gift card to some generic restaurant to establish a boundary.

But wasn’t the boundary already too blurry, anyways?

Chaeryoung pushed you inside the already-unlocked door. All the boys and their partners and Chaeryoung’s now-official real man were already there surrounding the island. Minho, who just had a grin on, dropped it quickly upon seeing you come in and straightened his back. It’s like deja vu from your birthday.

Karina wasn't present.

Your body’s instinct was to turn and run out the door, but Chaeryoung anticipated your every move and was quick to block you. She squeezed your hand and tugged you further inside. You greeted the boys and their partners first, who all said a variation of, ‘long time, no see,’ before reaching Minho. His expression was still starstruck and confused. He didn’t appear angry. Perhaps it was a feeling worse than that, which could not be translated through his face.

With sweaty hands, you handed him the small rectangular box. “Happy birthday.”

He was hesitant to take it, as if to question the possibility of diffusion of poison through the skin. His hesitancy allowed you to get a whiff of his bourbon vanilla cologne. “Thank you.”

“Oh, so you’ll come for Minho’s birthday, but not mine?” Chan pouted.

“Some things are worth coming out for,” you retorted.

The night went on and you played your role as an onlooker in the background, hoping to blend in with the walls and remain unnoticed so as to not ruin the night. You watched him and the boys shove each other playfully and inhale any and all food Minho made. Who’s to say that thirty was old when the epitome of youth was in the souls of a group of hungry boys? Conversations and debates picked up from when they last saw each other. Some of them filled you in and others forced you to answer without knowing the majority opinion. Laughs and giggles filled the kitchen and even when it seemed that Minho didn’t want to whenever you answered, he couldn’t help himself from smiling at your ridiculous answers, though he stopped when he’d catch you watching him.

As the clock ticked forward, your anticipation for Karina to pop in at any moment dwindled. Maybe she was also having a rough quarter three and taking a late night at the office, but to miss her boyfriend’s thirtieth was… a choice, even if they were fighting or some other strange reason. But then four hours turned to six hours and then it was, ‘damn, it’s already 2:00 AM?’ and she never came.

“Are you ready to go?” Chaeryoung asked at the front door.

Minho was now alone in the kitchen and there were a lot of dishes left to wash. You should help him.

“No,” you said. “I’ll call you later.”

She had a hard time hiding her grin as she left.

You approached him slowly like how you’d approach an angry cat because he was scrubbing the dishes a little too furiously. He didn’t look up despite knowing what you were up to.

“Can I help?” you asked.

Still, he refused to look at you, but he handed you the sponge. Well, that was progress, right?

Dishes and clean up were completed in silence. No chit-chat, no music, just the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the cupboards. The task was finished in good time, and just before you decided that your stay was long overdue, he pulled another deja vu card.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled to the floor.

“It’s your thirtieth birthday. Chaeryoung told me to come.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I could’ve.”

A salty laugh - or perhaps a scoff - was uttered. He was tired, you were tired, and the air was cold and stale. The topics orbited like a satellite, coming ‘round for another turn for a different thirtieth celebration, if either of you would even call it that.

Minho let out a big sigh. “Only you can disappear for three months and come back into open arms.”

The words arranged sounded like a compliment, but it was clearly the opposite. “I don’t expect to be forgiven.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I tried calling you.”

“I know.”

“Texting. E-mailing. Fuck, even snail mailing!”

“I know…”

He threw his hands in the air, as he did whenever he was frustrated, and turned to take a breather from your nonchalance. You were supposed to be fighting for him, not letting him slip away like this, but why was this so hard when loving him came easily?

“I shouldn’t have come over that night,” he said after returning. “I was trying too hard to be friends again and I crossed a point where I couldn’t return from.”

“Isn’t that the story of our friendship?”

“Is that how you feel?”

“We were never really just friends, were we?” you teased.

“No,” he admitted softly, “we never were.”

Your eyes met for the first time that night. His were red and puffy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in three months.

You swallowed the rock in your throat. “Where’s Karina?”

“I don’t know. I broke up with her a while ago.”

Your chest felt tight and your voice bubbled out a garbled, “Why?”

And his mirrored, to the point where he had to clear his throat. “I don’t love her anymore.”

“So, is it true? Is it better to have loved and lost?”

“I wouldn’t exchange my days with her for anything.”

It didn’t make sense; it just didn’t. When someone loved that deeply, how could they throw that person away so easily?

“I’m sorry,” was all you could say.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I loved her and she loved me. It was fulfilling, and now it’s not. It’s just how it is.”

“Isn’t that painful?”

“If it means I get to feel like I’m flying, I think I can handle it.”

The concept, the idea of that, was just too hard to grasp. It took your wax wings melting to realize that the journey upwards was worth the descent.

“Enough about my failures,” he said hoarsely, “What about you? How… how are you doing?”

How were you supposed to admit that tonight was the first night you had a proper meal? That sleep only came under the influence of some generic-brand silver liquor? That you plucked a fist full of grey hairs the day before? Would admitting to vulnerability prove that you were fighting for this? For him? Or would it make you look pathetic?

“I’ve been doing fine.”

The centers of his brows scrunched together and his lips pursed. He inhaled heavily, his sniffles echoing through his quiet home.

“Are you?” he stuttered, voice distorted and desperate. “Really?”

No, of course not, and that much was clear when you started to cry.

“Because,” he continued, “if you can’t tell, I’m… dying on the inside.”

“Because of me?” you whispered, feeling the weight of your actions collapsing.

“Because of you. It’s always because of you. Everyday for the past ten years. It’s always been you.”

“Why couldn’t you forget me? Why? When you were the one to throw me away?”

“How!” he cried out. “How could I forget about you, when all I wanted was you?”

“You wanted to change me! You wanted me to abandon my career.” “I wanted you to try!”

“And you were right!” Sobs choked in your chest. “You were right. If I loved you, I should have fought for you. I should have tried harder. And I really shouldn’t have admitted those feelings to you when you were not mine. For everything that I’ve done, I’m so, so sorry.”

“You should be. You are so mean,” he hissed, pointing harshly. “You torture me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Even when I close my eyes, I see you.”

“I’m sorry -”

“I named my fucking bar after your favorite flower! And now you stand here in my home asking me to forget about you? How am I supposed to even begin doing that, hm? How, when everything around me reminds me of you?”

Your sobs were visceral and messy, and you buried your face in your hands. Maybe tears held the youth Ponce de Leon searched his whole life for the way yours could fill the fountain in minutes and how wiping them took away two decades of your life.

“I’m going to ask you once more,” he whispered. “One last time, and I’ll leave it be forever because I’m fucking tired. Do you think of me as often as I think of you?”

You caved in when all else went wrong and there was nothing else to hide. “Everyday.”

“Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“No,” you replied, “Because I need you. Now, let me ask you: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

His lips quivered before he laughed and you do, too, because that was the cringiest thing you’ve ever said. He held your face, that precious face of yours that he adored so much, dabbing away your tears. His eyes fluttered to your lips, a habit he couldn’t shake off after all these years.

“I need you to kiss me,” he demanded.

He tasted like honey and his lips fit yours like the second half of a two-piece puzzle. This was slow and deliberate, no longer going at the crushing speed of fervent passion because you had all the time in the world together now, and Minho was always the type of man to take his time. You couldn’t stand to leave his lips even for air and they ghosted his only for a few seconds before you tip-toed and pressed yourself deeper against him. Your hands were occupied with gripping his shirt at his waist to keep him in place. When you felt his smile on your lips, you grinned back and held him by his beautiful face.

“I need you to stay,” he formed on your lips.

“All I need is you,” you answered.

Even while traveling to his bedroom, both of you refused to separate as you bumped into furniture.

“We should take this slow,” he mumbled, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Get acquainted with each other, or whatever,” you concurred after removing his belt.

“Maybe get coffee some time?” he asked into the crook of your neck.

“Or a drink? I know this really cute bar called ‘DAHLIA’.”

He threw you onto his bed. After removing his shirt, he crawled on top. “I think I’ve heard it.”

“Oh yeah?” You undid his pants zipper. “I know the bartender. A little narcissistic, though; he thinks he’s so hot.”

He trailed kisses down your lips, to your neck, to your sternum, to your stomach, until the top of your panties where his fingers hooked. “I know he is.”

You called Chaeryoung the next afternoon. At first, she scolded you for not texting her when you got home, but when she checked your location during the call, she screamed so loud that Minho dropped the spatula while making your breakfast.

The sanguine satellite would continue to orbit her world and revolve her life around his happiness; and he would continue to do the same.

[dropout-if]

DEMO (coming soon) - FAQ - NAVIGATION

Dropout is an upcoming (and a side project!) +18 slice-of-life interactive fiction game. Loosely inspired by media such as In the Heights and Night in the Woods.

Tag(s): Slice of life, Drama, Romance, YA, LGBTQ+, Text-based.

You take the train home from college after nearly four years away, knowing you will be welcomed with open arms, bright smiles, and the sincerest congratulations from your friends and family, from the entire neighborhood. Their pride has not been misplaced, for better or for worse, you are the one: the only one who made it into college.

This is your first summer home since you began studying in Stanford. That is what everyone thinks.

This is your first summer home since you dropped out of college, thus becoming the biggest disappointment in your neighborhood. That is what only you know.

Trigger Warning(s): Crude humor, Strong language, optional sex scenes, Violence, Depression and depictions of other mental illnesses, Substance use, Unwanted pregnancy (a RO's, Wanda).

A short disclaimer

Features and Characters below!

Return to your home, the fictional neighborhood of Downtown Heights, where you're treated like a local hero because of your grand achievement.

Determine how you managed to make it into college and why you decided to call it quits.

Reunite with your high school friends and acquaintances, with whom you've barely spoken in the past few years.

Romance one (or more) of the six old faces waiting for you in Downtown Heights.

Customize your Main Character! From their teenage years to their young adulthood, from physicality to personality. Be it your traits, flaws, and vices: everything shapes your return home.

Navigate the very dramatic shenanigans of young adulthood.

Queer relationships • RO Intros • ROs' Social Media • RO Facts

Jean/Jade Gray (he/him or she/her): THE EX • 23 years old

J and you were good. Until you weren't, and then they broke up with you right before you left for college. The two of you promised to stay as friends, but, like most promises between you and J, that too was meant to be broken. Your ex is often considered to be ambitious, determined, and cutthroat. You honestly expected them to be well out of the neighborhood.

Exes to lovers. It's possible to start a poly relationship (v and triad) with J and Kai.

Uma Bharat (they/them): THE OLD FRIEND • 22 years old

It has always been you and Uma, and this has been something you covetously believed to be true. But then the distance settled in, and then the many years in which you lived abroad. You can't claim to know them as well as you once did. Uma once dreamed of being a successful painter, and they have never given up on art (though they sometimes feel like art has given up on them).

Childhood best friends to lovers. It's possible to start a poly relationship (triad) with Uma and Travis.

Statler Amani (he/him or she/her): THE HEARTTHROB • 25 years old

You knew Statler back in high school, though they can't claim to have known of you until you made it out of the neighborhood. Many years ago, they were every high schooler's dream partner: kind, polite, intelligent. Their current partner must be proud. Nowadays, Statler works as hard as they can to help their family.

Unrequited crush to lovers. Statler is already in a relationship, a (more-or-less) toxic one.

Wanda Pavon (she/her): THE MODEL • 22 years old

Wanda had a future in modeling, the two of you were in the same group of friends in high school, and you never doubted she would be capable of making it out of the neighborhood. Her self-assertive and spontaneous personality surely would have made Wanda's road a little easier. You only find out why Wanda stayed in Downtown Heights when you meet her daughter.

Friends to lovers. Wanda is a single mother, her daughter's name is Gabi.

Kai Alofa (he/him or she/her): THE ROOMMATE • 24 years old

Kai's glow-up is the reason some Downtown Heights grandmothers believe in magic. The high school nerd turned fuckboy/girl has spent the past few years traveling around the state. Like you, they are back for the summer, ready to disappoint their parents. Rooming together comes as a natural result of delaying said disappointment (or so Kai claimed).

Friends with benefits to lovers (mandatory to romance Kai). It's possible start a poly relationship (v and triad) with Kai and J.

Travis Camaro (he/him): THE RIVAL • 21 years old

Uma, Travis and you were considered to be inseparable: it was the three of you against the world. That is no longer the case. A massive argument completely shattered the friendship Travis and you had. You know he resents you, you know he's jealous you managed to make it out and that he was left behind. And that's all you know. Travis has always been... a private guy.

(Past friends) to enemies/rivals to lovers. It's possible to start a poly relationship (triad) with Travis and Uma.

Choosing a route.

The Dropout's Family

The list of flings!

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

I had a long argument with someone on whether or not stomping Belos before he dies was better than letting him die pathetically, and I asked myself if that is what fans really believe in... or if they would hail any Belos' death as the perfect one if Dana choose a different one?

They also justify the stomping as being part of horror-comedy genre and that Belos should not have any dignity what so ever because apparently letting him die in despair with no stomping is running the risk of making the audience feel "sorry" for him.

Honestly, these justifications make The Owl House feel more shallow. Like, why shouldn't the audience be allowed to feel sorry for Belos? What is the danger? That people would agree with Belos' views?

Or are we supposed to develop a black and white view of the world akin to a conservative view but inverted? And then hide behind the horror comedy genre to justify less drama? I hate to say it, but Nostalgia Critic is right about Belos being this strange outlier. The show seems to be afraid of actually doing a complex, tragic and yet irredeemable villain.

It doesn't make any sense to argue that Belos' death fits because of toh's genre as a horror comedy because the scene was neither played for horror nor laughs. At best, you have the image of Philip slowly being dissolved by the rain and then Raine's smug "that was satisfying" line. The overall tone of the scene is one of contempt as Philip tries one last plea to Luz only to be snuffed out (and weirdly validated) by the heroes. Its intent is to be cathartic for both audience (though as you know doubt know, YMMV) and the characters.

Frankly, despite its marketing, I don't see toh as either a horror or a comedy because it spends more time on slice of life stuff and high school teen drama and romance. And even when it does go for the horror and comedy, both are rather tepid. You want a real example of a horror-comedy for kids, then go watch Courage the Cowardly Dog or Invader Zim.

The reason why I argue the heroes validated Belos is because in the moment of his death, he clings to the idea that as humans, "we're better than this!" It's a moment of pathetic delusion that is appropriately met with silence but then it's ruined with Eda and Co. barging in with "Well, we ain't!" only to then prove his point by mercilessly stomping an already dying man to death. There's a reason why kid shows usually end with either the villain being imprisoned or not outright being murdered by the heroes. Evil has to die by its own hubris, not get killed by the heroes after the Big Battle when they're no longer a threat. I made a post about the importance of defeating a major antagonist twice.

Belos' death also doesn't work with a "Kill your oppressors" theme because the show isn't about that. The show barely spends any time showing why the EC is bad for the Boiling Isles and Eda is the only named wild witch we see getting harassed by them and even then, it's mostly played for laughs given how inept the coven scouts are (seriously, they're able to quit without fear of repercussions).

I think a reason fans are split on Belos' death is because of differing expectations; the fans who paid attention to Belos and the implication of his backstory and waited for every lie to come crashing down on him since that's what the show seemed to be building up to only to be unceremoniously ignored in the end were no doubt disappointed. Then you have the other fans who hated the character to the point that any gruesome death will do, regardless whether it made narrative or thematic sense or not.

Ultimately, I think the biggest reason his death doesn't work is because Belos fails as a villain.

Belos' status as a colonial puritan only works on a meta-level; it serves a cathartic release for marginialized people to see a representative of real world oppression beaten by queer characters as it fulfills the fantasy of finally overthrowing an oppressive system. The fatal flaw though is that none of this works on a narrative level because the coven system is either treated as a joke or simply a career path one must choose and we never see the disenfranchisement of wild witches. People largely get off scot-free opposing Belos, which undermines his credibility as both a dictator and a villain because no one cares about him until the plot needs them to. Luz doesn't even care about proving he's evil until Hollow Mind, which is halfway through season 2.

Belos as a villain only works if you project your own feelings and desires in wanting to see the Evil Christian/Evil Parent destroyed. While this is extremely satisfying emotionally, it does not make a sound story.

All the reasons why people like his death ("it's great the evil colonizer died so pathetically!" "omg, the white christian colonizer was killed by two queer people and their adopted son!" etc) are all meta reasons. And to be clear, it's totally fine if you thought his death was satisfying. But for many people, it did not work for a variety of reasons, including narrative ones. And that differing opinion should be respected instead of arguing some nonsense like "we have to make our villain as stupid/evil as possible or run the risk of people liking/sympathizing with him."

Belos should have died in a manner that connected back to his original sin: the murder of his brother. All of his lies and delusions and fear of being wrong should have played a part in the finale. He should have not died thinking he was right. He should have died realizing that all he did was for nothing. And that he is to blame. And that there is no one waiting for him back home.

[penguinsnoot]

20 Anime You Should Watch

I’ve been getting into anime again recently, and thought I’d share some that I like! These are in no particular order. I gave very short, simplistic descriptions of each show, but I recommend looking them up for full summaries to get a better idea of what they’re about.

1) Cells at Work! (2 seasons, 22 episodes) [Comedy]

Anthropomorphic cells living in a human’s body. Focuses on a red blood cell that frequently encounters a white blood cell during dangerous bodily infestations and illnesses.

2) Kaichou wa Maid-sama! (1 season, 26 episodes) [Comedy, Romance]

Focuses on the female school president of a previously all-male school who directs and rules over them harshly. She secretly works at a maid café, which is discovered by a popular male classmate of hers. 

3) Ouran High School Host Club (1 season, 26 episodes) [Comedy, Romance]

Student Haruhi Fujioka stumbles upon a host club in the prestigious Ouran Academy. After accidentally breaking an expensive vase, she must work for the club to pay off her debt.

4) Lost Song (1 season, 12 episodes) [Music, Fantasy]

Rin is a girl from a small village who dreams of singing in the capital city. Her singing has the power to heal any wound. Rin and her brother, Al, journey to the capital when their home is attacked by soldiers hoping to capture Rin. Finis, who also has a magical voice, performs for the royal palace. She falls in love with a soldier named Henry and must hide their relationship from the prince. She and Rin have intersecting destinies and both struggle with the terrible circumstances that life throws at them. 

5) Clannad (2 seasons, 47 episodes) [Drama, Romance, Supernatural]

Delinquent Tomoya meets ill Nagisa and they become friends. Along with four other girls, Tomoya decides to help Nagisa revive the school’s drama club. He finds himself helping each girl with their respective problems and learns that life may not be as dull as he once thought. 

6) Fruits Basket (3 seasons, 64 episodes) [Drama, Romance, Supernatural]

Homeless Tohru Honda moves in with members of the mysterious Soma family. When she accidentally learns of the family’s curse of them turning into animals when embraced by a member of the opposite sex, she resolves to help them figure out how to lift the curse. 

7) Kamisama Hajimemashita (2 seasons, 25 episodes) [Comedy, Fantasy, Romance]

Offered a home by a man being attacked by a dog, Nanami is surprised to find a seemingly abandoned shrine. When she tried to leave, she is confronted by the spirits of the shrine. Tomoe, the fox spirit, leaves angrily when he realizes it is not the land god, Mikage, who has entered their home and that he instead sent a human girl as replacement. Refusing to remain homeless, Nanami decided to serve the shrine and ends up forming a sealed contract with Tomoe when she kisses him. 

8) Princess Jellyfish (1 season, 11 episodes) [Comedy, Slice-of-life]

Tsukimi is an introvert with a love for jellyfish living with other socially isolated women in Tokyo. One day, she meets someone beautiful who looks like a princess and helps her save a jellyfish from a local pet store. The beautiful princess is revealed to actually be a crossdressing man named Kuranosuke. Despite their aversion to men and socializing in general, Kuranosuke resolves to help the women become more confident in themselves. 

9) Soul Eater (1 season, 51 episodes) [Action, Comedy, Fantasy] 

Follows three sets of meisters and their weapons as they fight demons and witches to obtain the status of Death Scythes. They attend a school founded by Lord Death and learn the best ways to recognize and defeat these evil entities. 

10) Yuri on Ice (1 season, 12 episodes) [Sports, Romance]

Figure skater Yuri meets champion skater Victor, who claims he is going to be Yuri’s new mentor. Yuri accepts and goes on a difficult journey of training in the world of competitive ice skating. 

11) BNA: Brand New Animal (1 season, 12 episodes) [Action, Fantasy, Comedy]

Michiru, after becoming a newly formed beastman, travels to Anima City, a safe haven for people like her. After witnessing an explosion during a celebration, she is confronted by detective Shirou Ogami. They team up to pursue the criminals involved with the explosion and discover why Michiru has suddenly started to turn into a Tanuki after being human all her life. 

12) Japan Sinks: 2020 (1 season, 10 episodes) [Drama, Sci-fi] 

Ayumu and family’s life is turned upside down when an earthquake strikes and obliterates Japan’s structural integrity. The Mutou family must find a way to survive and get out of the country before the entirety of Japan sinks into the ocean. 

13) Toradora (1 season, 25 episodes) [Drama, Romance]

Gentle yet fierce-looking Ryuji forms an unlikely friendship with sharp-tongued and violent Taiga. They try to help one another confess to their crushes while growing closer along the way.

14) A3! (2 seasons, 24 episodes) [Drama, Slice-of-life, Comedy]

Izumi confronts the loan sharks who are after money from her father’s run-down theater. She plans to bring the theater back into the spotlight and pay of the debt with the help from an all-male acting troupe.

15) Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun (1 season, 12 episodes) [Comedy, Romance]

Chiyo has a crush on her schoolmate, Nozaki, and confesses to him, but he mistakes her as a fan of his manga and gives her an autograph. Saying she wants to be with him, Nozaki invites her to help him with his drawings. Chiyo hopes that by helping Nozaki, he will eventually take notice of her romantic feelings for him.

16) Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku (1 season, 11 episodes) [Romance, Comedy]

Narumi and Hirotaka knew each other when they were younger and end up working in the same office. They decide to start dating, but find that their respective interests make it difficult to create romantic situations. 

17) K-On! (2 seasons, 39 episodes, 1 film) [Comedy, Slice-of-life]

Five high school students become friends and bandmates as they form the next generation of their school’s Light Music Club.

18) Violet Evergarden (1 season, 13 episodes, 2 films) [Fantasy, Drama]

Amidst working for a ghostwriting agency, past soldier Violet Evergarden learns to reconnect with her feelings while trying to understand the final words her commander left her with.

19) Given (1 season, 11 episodes, 1 film) [Drama, Romance]

Prepared to give up music for good, Ritsuka changes his mind after meeting Mafuyu. He gives Mafuyu guitar lessons in the hopes of making the other boy the lead singer for his band. 

20) Rascal Does Not Dream of Bunny Girl Senpai (1 season, 13 episodes, 1 film) [Drama, Romance, Supernatural]

Sakuta suffers from puberty-syndrome and sees a bunny girl that is invisible to others. When he meets the girl in real life, he realizes she’s going through her own problems and becomes attached to the bunny girl. 

[factorygirlsstuff]

Currently watching: Brewing Love, Family By Choice, Love Game in Eastern Fantasy & When the Phone Rings.

I started watching kdramas in May 2023 (updated 4/17/24)

My personal top 10:

It’s Okay to not be Okay (top fav) ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A road to emotional healing opens up for an antisocial children's book author and an employee in a psychiatric hospital. (amazing chemistry & found family)

Crash Landing on You ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A paragliding mishap drops a South Korean heiress in North Korea - and into the life of an army officer, who decides he will help her hide. (lots of crying but worth it)

Hometown Cha Cha Cha ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

At a crossroads, a dentist moves to a seaside village where she meets a handyman intent on helping his neighbours. (my most rewatched)

Her Private Life ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Dedicated art gallery curator Sung Deok Mi is a fanatic fan girl of White Ocean's Cha Shi-an, a dark secret she hides from everyone. (really supportive relationship, weird last couple of eps)

Business Proposal ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In disguise as her friend, Ha-ri shows up on a blind date to scare away her friend's prospective suitor. However, plans go awry when he turns out to be Ha-ri's CEO and he makes a proposal. (my first kdrama! Super cute & funny)

Touch Your Heart ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A famous actress, gets caught in a scandal with a son of a rich family; with her career declining quickly, she looks for one last hope to get back on the screen. She lands a role playing a secretary in a drama & then becomes a real secretary in order to play the part. (Healthy relationship, office romance)

Welcome to Samdalri ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

After suffering a fall from grace, a photographer returns to her hometown and bumps into her childhood friend, rekindling an unfinished romance. (childhood friends to lovers & slice of life/healing)

Happiness ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The residents of a high-rise apartment fight for their lives against a deadly infectious disease while Sae-bom and Yi-hyun try to find the person because of whom the virus spread. (I think I really love friends to lovers)

Something in the Rain ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

When a single career woman reunites with her best friend's younger brother after he returns from three years of working abroad, their efforts to reconnect grow into romance. (they just felt so real to me, the romance was 🤌🏼, worst mom)

Cheer Up ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

A working-class girl joins her college's down-and-out cheerleading team, where she finds friendship, love, and an old-school campus mystery. (idk they felt real too, worst SML though)

Other kdramas I finished:

Healer ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (binged in 2 days)

What’s Wrong With Secretary Kim ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (love PMY)

Love to Hate You ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (Maybe I binged it too fast, but I don’t remember it lol)

Our Beloved Summer ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ (too slow for me & I usually don’t mind slow)

True To Love ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (main leads romance was everything)

Forecasting Love & Weather ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (something was off/missing)

Vincenzo ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (🫰🏼)

When the Weather is Fine ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (kinda slow but I binged it fast lol)

Squid Game ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

All of Us are Dead ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (I like zombie shows)

Alchemy of Souls ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆

Alchemy of Souls: Light & Shadow ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (the romance 🫰🏼)

Suspicious Partner ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (dragged in the middle but loved this couple)

Save Me ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (so good, just hard subject matter)

Shooting Stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (loved the main couple so much & so many other cute couples!)

Doona! ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (omg her visual, binged so fast)

Itaewon Class ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (binged so fast)

Descendants of the Sun ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (binged in 2 days)

Castaway Diva ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (first kdrama to watch while airing)

The Matchmakers ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (first sageuk, thought they were adorable)

Crazy Love ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (it was good, but didn’t do it for me 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Moving ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (I didn’t like all the flashbacks, but it was good overall)

Backstreet Rookie ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (for some reason I loved this couple so much, problematic SML & annoying SFL)

School 2017 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (just perfect)

Dalie and the Cocky Prince ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (the pet names 🥰)

Soundtrack #1 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (another friends to lovers)

Behind Your Touch ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (idk why but I loved it, it was so funny to me lol)

Thirty But Seventeen ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (great romance & cutest found family)

Kiss Sixth Sense ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (really liked it, last 20 minutes idk 🤷🏻‍♀️)

I Am Not A Robot ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (loved this, dragged a little in the middle)

My Man is Cupid ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (SML annoyed me, the cutest ending 🥰)

Gyensong Creature ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (I liked it, but it didn’t end I guess. So I’m waiting for season 2)

Cafe Minamdang ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (loved it so much! It made me laugh & loved the FL!)

My Man is Cupid ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (it was cute)

Marry My Husband ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (it was a lot of fun & loved watching it weekly with everyone)

My Holo Love ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ (it was fine, only 12 eps so it was quick & slow burn romance.)

Queen of Divorce ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ (it started off really interesting, but some things were never explained & I wanted more romance between the leads)

Doom at Your Service ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (I really liked it, the romance was SO good, but I was a little confused about how the contract worked.)

Doctor Slump ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (loved it SO much! Everything was so cute & loved the romance)

Flex x Cop ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (really loved it, gave me Castle vibes. #1 drama I was looking forward to every week. No romance, although we are getting a 2nd season so fingers crossed.)

Chicken Nugget ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ (it was definitely weird, but I laughed a lot)

Wedding Impossible ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (really liked it, cute romcom)

Fight For My Way ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (loved it so much, binged it in a day! I could not stop watching, friends to lovers really is the best.)

Rookie Cops ★ ★ ★ ☆ ☆ (really liked it at first, put on hold for a month, then the last few episodes were good again.)

Parasyte: The Grey ★ ★ ★ ★ ☆ (it was really good)

Mad for Each Other ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ (so good! Loved everything about it, especially the couple)

Dropped: (I might try again 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Run On

Goblin

Hotel De Luna

Weight Lifting Fairy, Kim Bok-joo

King the Land

My Demon

True Beauty

The K2

Destined With You

The Story of Park’s Marriage Contract

Perfect Marriage Revenge

Moon in the Day

A Good Day to be a Dog

Open to recommendations!

[mononijikayu]

safe and sound — nanami kento.

“Who was that, Nanamin?” Yuuji asked hesitantly. “That was my wife.” Nanami explained to him, putting his phone away.  “It’s better if we talk about it on the way there. Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want the store to close on us.” “Huh?” “Huh? Itadori–kun, are you okay?” The shock is now more evident than ever before in Itadori Yuuji’s face. He was hysterical, stunned and dumbfounded. “What? Nanamin, you’re married? You have a wife? Huh?” "Itadori–kun, please calm down." he began, his voice steady but tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Yes, I am married."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Gen, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Husband and Wife, Friendship, Husband! Nanami, Reader! Wife, Fluff, Drama, Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fix-It, Humor, Domesticity, Family Life, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Idiots In Love, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Pining, Nanami Being A Great Husband;

WORDS: 6.9k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: im alive (hurray!!!); i've recovered a little bit, so i wrote this. hurray for the winning poll!!! i'm sorry it took this long to post. i hope you enjoy it as much i did writing it!!! i'll be writing pasilyo and seeing you in the upcoming days~ i love you all <3

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polaroid love | safe and sound

next: just one day

IT WAS ALWAYS SOMETHING, THE AFTERMATH. Every mission felt different. Every mission left a different taste, a different texture, a different feeling. And this wasn’t something that Nanami Kento was unfamiliar with. If he was being honest, he’d experienced all the sorts of emotions that come with being a Jujutsu sorcerer. But it was new to Itadori Yuuji. And it was devastating to watch.

It was almost as though the blond had returned to those days, that misery when Haibara Yu had died. He could remember being just as lost, being just as disgruntled and grievous. Every bit of it returned in a flash as he stood there, watching Yuuji grapple with the fresh wound of loss.

Itadori-kun hasn’t spoken since yesterday, not since they talked. But Nanami Kento had expected it as much. What does one say after such a tragedy? The boy who had died, the one named Junpei—he was a comfort to Yuuji. He didn’t know Junpei as well as Yuuji did, but he knew that he was just a kid. A kid who was robbed of his life, of a chance.

Nanami’s heart ached with a familiar pain as he watched Itadori Yuuji, who was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn to his chest, staring blankly ahead. It was an all-too-familiar sight, one that he had seen reflected in his own mirror years ago. The silence between them was thick, filled with the unspoken sorrow that hung heavily in the air.

He sighed as he saw the boy still at the edge of the school’s steps. His shoulders slumped and eyes fixed on the ground. The battle with the curse Mahito had taken its toll on everyone, but it seemed to have hit Yuuji the hardest. With Gojo Satoru still away on his overseas mission and Gojo Genmei's whereabouts uncertain, Nanami Kento felt the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his own shoulders. He couldn’t leave the boy alone. Not like this. He could see it in the young boy’s eyes. He needs relief, peace of mind. 

Ieiri Shoko and Kiyotaka Ijichi were good people, but Nanami knew they weren’t what Itadori-kun needed right now. Shoko was burdened with her own responsibilities, cleaning up the mess that curse left behind. Her duties as the school's medic were already overwhelming, and adding Yuuji's emotional turmoil to her plate would be unfair. Ijichi, on the other hand, was exhausted from going back and forth between missions, assisting wherever he was needed. He needed rest, not more stress.

Nanami sighed, racking his brain for a solution. No one else was to know that Itadori Yuuji was alive—that was what Gojo Satoru had insisted on. It was dangerous to reveal Yuuji's survival, especially with the higher-ups likely to come after him. They wouldn't hesitate to use Yuuji as a pawn in their political games, and Nanami couldn't allow that to happen.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on Nanami's shoulders. If he failed to ensure Yuuji's well-being, it would be his fault. He couldn’t bear the thought of failing another young sorcerer, not after what had happened to Haibara. The memory of his own anguish, his own failure, was still too vivid, too painful.

As Nanami watched Yuuji sitting despondently, he felt a surge of determination. This boy, who had been thrust into a world of curses and death, needed guidance and protection. It wasn’t a sin, to be a child who needs protection from the cruel world. He needed someone, something. To live, to breathe. To be relieved.  And it was up to Nanami to provide that. He would not let Itadori Yuuji fall into despair or danger. 

He approached Yuuji, who was still staring at the ground, lost in his own grief. "Itadori–kun." he said softly, trying to reach through the boy’s sorrow. "Are you alright?”

Yuuji looked up, his eyes empty and haunted. "O–oh, I’m fine, Nanamin. Please don’t worry about me—”

"I’d rather you be honest with me, Itadori–kun." Nanami replied. "I know you're hurting. And I know it feels like you’re alone. But you’re not. You should not burden yourself with this anymore than you should.”

Yuuji’s gaze dropped again, and Nanami felt a pang of sympathy. The boy had been through so much in such a short time. He needed someone to anchor him, to help him navigate the turbulent waters of his emotions and the dangerous world he now inhabited.

“But Nanamin…”

Haibara used to make that face too, Nanami thinks. That same expression of guilt and self-doubt, as if he hadn’t done enough, as if he should have been better. He could see it now, in Yuuji’s eyes. The weight of regret and the burden of what-ifs.

“I just…” Yuuji’s voice cracked, his words trailing off. The pain and uncertainty were clear, and Nanami’s heart ached with understanding.

"Gojo-san trusts you. And so do I," Nanami said, his eyes softening as he met Yuuji’s troubled gaze. "You’ve shown incredible strength and resilience, Itadori–kun. I told you that yesterday. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. It’s okay to grieve."

Yuuji’s lower lip trembled, and he bit down on it, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “But what if… what if I’m not strong enough? What if I fail again?”

Nanami shook his head slowly. “Strength isn’t about never failing, Itadori–kun. It’s about getting back up, even when you’ve fallen. It’s about continuing to fight, even when it seems impossible. You’re stronger than you think, and you don’t have to do this alone.”

The boy looked down, his hands gripping his knees tightly. “Junpei… he was my friend. And I couldn’t save him.”

Nanami’s grip on Yuuji’s shoulder tightened, offering a silent promise of support. “We can’t always save everyone. But we honor them by continuing to fight for others, by becoming better, stronger. Junpei–kun wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep going, to keep trying.”

A tear slipped down Yuuji’s cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “I just… I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Nanami assured him. “And you will. Little by little. You can do it, Itadori–kun.”

Itadori Yuuji didn’t respond immediately, but Nanami Kento could see a flicker of something—hope, maybe—in his eyes. It was a start. Little by little. He could feel the boy’s breathing become more even. He could see his features relax slightly, the tension he had vanishing. Nanami thinks that he’ll cry again, when Nanami isn’t there. But perhaps, this was enough. Seeing him be reassured once again, that it wasn’t his fault.  Maybe one day, Nanami Kento would see him smile genuinely again.

WHENEVER HE SEES YOUR NAME ON SCREEN, HE SMILES.When he heard the familiar melody of his ringtone, Nanami Kento excused himself from Itadori–kun and walked off to a more private area. The buzzing seclusion of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s main stairwell faded as he found a quiet corner. He felt a pang of guilt for not replying to you much earlier. He can only think how much you were thinking about him, with a worried heart. He knew you understood, especially during times when he was on missions. But he thinks that understanding can only go so far. His job after all was something that was hard to grasp with relief. 

But you knew the demands of his work as a sorcerer, when he told you about it years and years ago. He wouldn’t leave the work, you know that much. So you let it be. As long as he came home to you, that was fine. And so, it has always been fine when you don’t get a text between some days. All these years, you had never pressured him about not replying or calling. The same understanding applied when you were engrossed in your manuscripts during writing season. 

At times, Nanami Kento wishes he could be a better husband for you. A husband that you deserve. A husband that’s always there to coddle you, to take care of you, to love you. He thinks about it sometimes, if he were a househusband. He could commit his life to taking care of you, the way you had always done for him. Maybe one day he’d get that chance. Maybe he’d finally be able to return your love for him in a way that was true to loving you.

“Hello, my love.” he greeted, trying to keep his tone cheerful. “I’m sorry for not replying to you sooner.

“Kento, baby! I’m so glad I caught you.” you replied, your voice warm and bright. He loves it. He adores it when he hears that excited pitch. He was happiest when he could hear your voice. “I haven’t heard from you all day.  I hope everything’s been alright at work, baby.”

Nanami Kento hesitated for a moment. He didn’t have the heart to tell you that he had almost died yesterday, that the mission had been far more dangerous than anticipated. He didn’t want to worry you. He doesn’t like it when he stresses you out. You were in enough pressure for your deadlines, he didn’t want to add to that.

“Yes, everything’s fine, love.” he said, forcing a smile even though you couldn’t see it. “Just a bit busy, you know how it is.”

You sighed on the other end of the line, a sound filled with understanding and concern. “I know. I just worry about you sometimes. I’m a worry wart, you know?”

“I know you do, my love.” Nanami replied softly. “But I’m alright, really. I did well and survived. I’m okay. That’s all that matters.”

You sighed tenderly. ‘I suppose so. I think that’s always enough for me. Knowing that you’re well.”

“Exactly. So, my love. Enough about me. Tell me, how was your day? Did you finish your manuscript for the new book?” He thinks that he could see your smile, even from a phone call. If there’s anything that makes him feel warm inside, it’s your smile.

There was a brief pause, and you laughed. “Yes, I did! It was a lot of work, but I finally finished it well. Before the deadline! Which means, no editor coming into our house to take me away from you! I’m really happy with how it turned out. I spent most of the day taking in the words I wrote and making sure everything was perfect.”

Nanami listened as you shared the details of your day, his heart lifting with every word you spoke. Your voice was animated and full of excitement, a soothing balm to his weary soul. He could picture you in the kitchen, eyes sparkling as you talked about finishing your manuscript and experimenting with new recipes. He asked questions, genuinely interested in every detail, finding comfort in the normalcy of your conversation.

As he listened, he was struck by the stark contrast between the world you described and the chaos he had faced earlier. Your day, filled with the mundane but meaningful tasks of editing and cooking, felt like a distant haven from the danger and uncertainty that had engulfed him. It was in these moments, when he could hear the warmth and love in your voice, that he found his grounding.

Nanami Kento often marveled at how deeply he loved you. It was a love that had grown over time, a steady flame that had become an essential part of his existence. Despite the tumultuous nature of his work, you were his constant, his anchor in a sea of unpredictability. Your unwavering support and understanding were the bedrock of his strength, and he cherished every bit of it.

In a world where so much was uncertain, your love was a rare and precious constant. It was the reason he fought so hard, the reason he pulled through the darkest moments. Your voice was a reminder of why he endured the risks and dangers of his profession. It was the promise of coming home to a place where he was loved and valued, no matter how challenging the world outside might be.

As you continued to talk, Nanami Kento felt a profound sense of gratitude. He knew that he could face any challenge, knowing that you were waiting for him at home. Your support gave him the strength to confront the darkness and emerge stronger. And in that quiet, shared moment over the phone, he felt an overwhelming appreciation for you, his partner, his love, and his greatest source of comfort.

“And then I took a break and made that recipe we found a while back!” you continued, giggling at the end. 

You were always like this, when you were excited about something that had turned out well. Nanami Kento thinks that he can only feel like his heart is going to burst whenever you talk like this, like you were sunshine itself in his cloudy days. 

“I can’t wait for you to come home, baby. You would enjoy it well!”

He chuckled softly. “I’m looking forward to it. It sounds delicious.”

You laughed, the sound light and musical. “I’ll make it for you when you get home. Just promise me you’ll be safe until then, okay?”

“I promise, my love. “Kento said, his voice sincere. “I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“That’s great!” You cheered on the other line. “I can cook it right away. I’m sure it will be ready by the time you get home.”

Nanami was about to reply when Itadori Yuuji walked in. The boy with fuschia hair started to speak but quickly realized that Nanami was on a call and fell silent. His face started to turn red as he blubbered a weak apology, as he turned around and started to walk off. Nanami shakes his head and puts his hand on his shoulder. Yuuji looks as though he was going to explode from embarrassment, mouthing to Nanami to let him go. But since he was here, he might as well introduce you to the boy.

Nanami Kento was private about his life. He rarely talked about how he was a proud married man. But it wasn’t because he was embarrassed. If anything, he would like to brag about you to the world. How you had the loveliest singing voice. How your cooking was the best he had ever tasted. How your words were always the warmest to hear. But he didn’t think he needed to share you with the world. Your presence was his sanctuary, a secret haven where he could retreat from the chaos of his duties.

In the quiet moments at home, when the world outside seemed a distant memory, he would listen to you hum a tune as you prepared dinner, your melody weaving a tapestry of comfort and familiarity. The aroma of your cooking filled the air, a symphony of flavors that spoke of love and care in every bite. And when you spoke, your voice gentle and soothing, it was as if the weight of his burdens lifted, replaced by a warmth that radiated from your every word.

Nanami didn’t need to share these moments with anyone else. They were his to treasure in this life, this little life he’s built with you. In your eyes, he found a reflection of the man he aspired to be – strong, yet tender; stoic, yet deeply affectionate. And in your embrace, he found the peace he so often sought in a world that demanded so much of him.

To the world, he was Nanami Kento, a formidable sorcerer and a man of few words. But to you, he was simply Kento, your beloved husband who cherished every moment spent in your presence. And that, he believed, was more than enough.

But he supposed, at least today, you would get known to the world.

“Who was that, Kento, baby?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

Nanami smiled slightly. “This is Itadori Yuuji, a student at Jujutsu High. I’m looking after him right now, for Gojo  and his wife.”

He could feel the pitch get higher. That excitement in your voice, it never gets old to him. “Oh, bring him over for dinner, baby. I’m sure there’s enough food for us to share. Maybe even more.”

Yuuji looked even more flustered, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want to impose on you at all…”

“Nonsense, Yuu–chan! Can I call you that, Yuu–chan? I think it suits you well!” 

“Y–yes, that’s fine.” The boy uttered back, his lips trembling. “I–I don’t mind at all.”

“My! He sounds like a darling, baby.” You gushed happily. “I’d love to have him over for dinner with us, baby. It would be more lively.”

“Hm, I think so too.” He hums as he looks at Itadori. “Itadori–kun, you are welcome at our house.”

“I….I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Yuu–chan. We’ll be glad to have you.” You cooed on the other line. “Oh, baby. I think it’s going to be chilly tonight, so you might as well grab some miso paste before you get back home. It would be nice.”

Nanami nodded. “Alright. Is there anything else that you want me to grab?”

“I think something for the soup! I’ll text you the details.” You say to him. “But, baby, I’ll start cooking in a bit, so I’ll hang up.”

“You should. Remember the last time when you were cooking on call?”

He could feel the heat from your cheeks miles away. That incident will never leave you, you think. “T–that was one time, you know! And it ended on a happier note. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Hm, I suppose so.” He smiles at the phone. “I’ll be home in a bit, with Itadori–kun. I love you.”

“I love you too. See you soon, Kento!” You blew a kiss through the phone, and Nanami felt a little flustered as he ended the call.

Clearing his throat, he turned to Yuuji, who looked both embarrassed and curious. There were few people who knew he was married, let alone how much softer and brighter he became when it came to his wife. And now, Itadori Yuuji seems to be one of them.

Nanami's stern facade cracked ever so slightly as he met the young sorcerer's gaze. Yuuji's eyes were wide with a mix of surprise and wonder, clearly grappling with the unexpected revelation. Nanami could almost see the gears turning in the boy's head, trying to reconcile the image of the strict, no-nonsense mentor with the man who evidently harbored a deep, abiding love for someone special.

Kento sighed, pursing his lips. This was bound to happen, he supposed. The gods would make it happen, one way or another. He had always been careful, keeping his personal life meticulously separate from his professional duties. But perhaps it was inevitable that, sooner or later, the two worlds would collide.

“Who was that, Nanamin?” Yuuji asked hesitantly.

“That was my wife.” Nanami explained to him, putting his phone away.  “It’s better if we talk about it on the way there. Come on, let’s get going. I don’t want the store to close on us.”

“Huh?”

“Huh? Itadori–kun, are you okay?”

The shock is now more evident than ever before in Itadori Yuuji’s face. He was hysterical, stunned and dumbfounded. “What? Nanamin, you’re married? You have a wife? Huh?”

"Itadori–kun, please calm down." he began, his voice steady but tinged with an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Yes, I am married."

Yuuji blinked, processing the confirmation. He finds his composure and starts smiling. "Wow, Nanamin, I didn't know... I mean, you never mentioned it. But I should—Congratulations on your marriage!”

Nanami nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't know what to say as the young fuchsia-haired boy started clapping like it was a newly finished wedding reception. The sound of Yuuji's enthusiastic applause filled the air, an unexpected burst of joy that contrasted sharply with the usual solemnity of their conversations.

This kid has too much energy in him, now that he’s out of that dark headspace, Nanami thought, observing Yuuji's bright, expressive face. The transformation in the boy was remarkable; gone was the haunted look that had shadowed his eyes not so long ago. Instead, Yuuji was brimming with vitality, his spirit seemingly unbreakable despite the hardships he had faced.

But Kento thinks that it’s for the best. It’s hard to be in such a dark place. Levity should be welcomed. In a world where curses and battles often cast long shadows, moments of light-heartedness were precious. Nanami Kento had always believed in the importance of balance, of relief and seeing Itadory Yuuji so full of life reminded him of why he fought—to protect the innocence and joy that still existed in the world. 

"I don't often talk about it.” Nanami says softly. “Not because I am ashamed or unwilling, but because...well, my wife is a part of my life that I prefer to keep private. Our moments together are precious to me."

Yuuji's curiosity seemed to override his embarrassment. "Your wife must be really amazing, Nanamin!" he ventured, his tone sincere and full of admiration. “Your wife seems to make you very happy!”

"My love certainly does." Nanami replied, his expression softening as he thought of you. "My wife is my sanctuary, my peace in a turbulent world. I’m lucky to be blessed.”

Yuuji smiled, clearly moved by the rare glimpse into Nanami's personal life. "That sounds incredible, Nanamin. I think it's great that you have someone like that."

Nanami gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the truth in Yuuji's words. But he cleared his throat, feeling a bit of heat rise to his face as the young boy grinned at him. "Thank you, Itadori-kun." he said, his voice steady yet softer than usual. "Now, let’s make our way. It’ll be hard to find a store open late."

Yuuji’s grin widened, but he nodded obediently, falling into step beside Nanami. "Right, Nanamin! Let’s get moving."

As they walked through the dimly lit streets, Nanami couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the vulnerability of revealing a part of his personal life, he found solace in Yuuji’s reaction. He thinks his reaction was endearing, too. Nanami Kento thinks that he realizes the extent of the boy’s unfiltered happiness. It was like a deep uncharted ocean. But it was nice, how warm it was, his genuine response. 

Nanami Kento thinks that learning more about being an adult is because of Itadori Yuuji than anything else. And he thinks that’s lovely, and perhaps you will think the same. The children are the future, after all. And their joys will always be  a reminder of the simple joys that still existed, even amidst their perilous world. Perhaps that’s why Gojo Satoru gave him the boy. Gojo’s always been astute about that sort of thing, but Nanami thinks that he doesn’t have the capability of saying it out loud.

"Say Nanamin," Yuuji began, his tone conversational, more casual than before. Comfortable. "What's your wife’s favorite thing to cook?"

Nanami glanced at Yuuji, a small smile playing on his lips. "Well, my wife has a knack for many dishes, but my wife’s favorite to cook is a traditional Japanese meal. My wife loves making it, and I must admit, it’s my favorite to eat. Perhaps more than Danish or Filipino dishes.”

Yuuji's eyes sparkled with interest. "That sounds amazing! Do you ever help out in the kitchen?"

Nanami releases a small laugh, the sound carrying a warmth that feels foreign yet welcome. Yuuji thinks that he feels like he is going to smile wider. Happiness looks good in Nanamin’s face. "I do, when I can. I take days off sometimes. But my wife likes doing most of the cooking. My wife says that I’m more of a hindrance than help, though. But it’s the effort that counts, or so my wife tells me."

Yuuji laughed, the sound bright and full of life. "I bet you’re better than you think, Nanamin. It sounds like you two have a lot of fun together."

Nanami’s expression softened, the memories of their shared moments filling him with a gentle warmth. "We do. I’m happy to say that." he admitted, his voice quiet but filled with affection. "In those moments, everything else fades away. It’s just us, and that’s more than enough."

THE SMELL OF GRILLED SALMON MADE NANAMI HAPPY. You were always a much better cook than him, he thinks. He always looked forward to coming home and having a nice hearty meal when you made it for him. The thought of your cooking brought a soft smile to his face as he and Yuuji navigated through the ryokan. He gently handed the young boy slippers, which was returned by a gentle smile and a whispered thanks.

The weight of the day seemed to melt away as he stepped further into the warm embrace of your shared home. The familiar, comforting aroma of your cooking wafted through the air, mingling with the soft, ambient sounds of home. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and danger he faced daily, a sanctuary that he cherished more than anything.

Loosening his tie, he took a moment to simply stand in the hallway, eyes closed, breathing in the scents and sounds that spoke of love and normalcy. Each time he returned, he was reminded of just how much these simple, everyday moments meant to him. It wasn’t just the meals or the comfort of the house—it was you. Your presence was the balm to his weary soul, the light that guided him through the darkest of times.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he could hear you humming softly to yourself, a tune that brought a smile to his face. He paused at the doorway. He was going to take in this moment. Itadori Yuuji was just behind him. Both of them take in the sound of your tender humming. Kento was sure that you were also gracefully dancing on the other side, expertly preparing dinner. There was something almost magical in the way you worked, turning ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary. It wasn’t just food; it was an expression of your love and care, a daily reminder of how much you meant to each other.

He walks and then stops for a moment, where a wall separates the dining room and the kitchen. Nanami Kento often marveled at how effortlessly you could turn simple ingredients into something extraordinary. The kitchen was your domain, where you wielded spices and herbs with the same precision he applied to exorcizing curses. He watches as your humming intensifies as you move around the kitchen, your movements lively and excited.

There was a particular comfort in the routine you had established together in these many years of marriage. He enjoyed it, every single time. After a long, arduous day, he would come home to the welcoming warmth of your embrace and the tantalizing aromas wafting from the kitchen. You had a way of making every meal special, infusing each dish with a warmth that spoke of your love and care. He knew he was lucky, every single day — to be in your loving arms, to be cared for and adored by you.

As he walked toward the kitchen, he could hear you humming softly to yourself, a tune that brought a smile to his face. He paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of you moving gracefully, expertly preparing dinner. There was something almost magical in the way you worked, turning ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary. It wasn’t just food; it was an expression of your love and care, a daily reminder of how much you meant to each other.

Clearing his throat, your Kento stepped into the kitchen. "It smells amazing, my love." he said, his voice warm with affection.

You turned around, startled, and your cheeks flushed as you saw him standing there. "Kento, baby! I didn’t hear you come in." you said, quickly setting down the spoon you were holding. Then you noticed Yuuji standing behind him, grinning widely, and your blush deepened. "Oh! Yuu–chan, welcome. I–I’m sorry you had to see me in that state! My humming must have been so loud!"

Yuuji gave you a cheerful wave. "Hello, Mrs. Nanami! I didn’t mean to intrude, but Nanamin invited me over."

You wiped your hands on a towel, trying to regain your composure. "It’s no trouble at all. And please, you don’t have to be formal with me. You’re always welcome here, Yuu–chan!"

Nanami watched as Yuuji smiled wider at your response. He stepped closer to you, his presence calming your flustered nerves.  "Your humming was great." he said softly, his eyes filled with affection. “I’m home, my love.”

You smiled up at him, the embarrassment fading away in the warmth of his gaze. "I’m glad you’re home, Kento." you replied, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Yuuji watched the interaction with a happy grin. "You two are so cute, Nana–san!" he said, unable to hide his delight. 

You laughed, the sound light and happy. Kento didn’t know how to feel with the nickname that Yuuji gave you, but if you were happy about it, then he doesn’t think it’s anything to be having a fuss over.  "Thank you, Yuu–chan. Why don’t you take a seat? You must be so hungry! Oh, you should eat a lot. You seem to be getting thin! Come here and wash up. Dinner is almost ready.”

“Thank you, Nana–san!”

You grinned. “Oh, it’s my pleasure! Now go and wash up. Have a good warm one, okay? Ah, and the towels and some clothes are in a cabinet in front of the bathroom!”

Yuuji grinned and waved at you and Kento before he headed over to the direction you pointed and left. Kento crossed his arms and sighed. You were still smiling. “I’m glad you took that boy home. He seems to be such a lovely young man, Kento.”

“Hm. Itadori–kun’s a good kid.”

“Like Megumi–kun, hm?”

“Well, Fushiguro–kun’s a different sort of kid.”

As you turned back to the stove with an agreeable hum, your husband stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. You smile as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "Do you need any help?" he asked, his voice a low murmur in your ear.

You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his embrace. "Just keep me company," you said softly. "That’s all I need."

“How was your day?”

“It's really good.” You whisper to your husband, satisfied. “I finished my manuscript. I sent it to my editor. I’m just waiting for feedback.”

“What did you do for the rest of the day?” He asked softly, his eyes shifting to look at you tenderly. “I hope you rested. You must have worked through the manuscript without taking a break again, hm?”

It was quick for him to pick up on your ears turning red. He was right. “....I did sleep, you know. I rested a lot after. I knew you would be worried if I didn’t.”

“Ah, so that’s why you didn’t reply to my text.”

“Huh, what do you think I was doing?” You pouted as you looked at him. 

He grins. “I thought you were crying about your 3D man on Twitter again.”

You blush even harder. “Ahhhh, Kento! I wasn’t, I was sleeping!”

“Hm, that’s a win for me then.”

“You tease, you!”

Itadori Yuuji had gotten out of the shower and stopped his tracks when he saw the two of you bantering. It was something interesting to see. So far, he’d only known the blond to be stern and stoic, perhaps serious and strict too. But he could not help but feel warmth when he saw how he is with you, his wife. He could only watch with a mix of admiration and amusement as Nanami Kento stayed close to you as you finished preparing the meal. 

At times, Yuuji could not help wondering if his mother and father had ever done something like this. If he was being honest, he doesn’t remember much about his parents. And grandpa really didn’t talk much about them when he was growing up. But Yuuji still liked to imagine. He liked to imagine a warm, happy home. Where his parents were there, waiting for him. With a warm meal, a loving hug and a laughing face. 

For a moment, he couldn’t help but imagine that this was home. That this was his own little happy home. With a mother and a father that loved each other, with a warm meal on the way for his belly and a tender greeting with that laughing face for him. Itadori Yuuji thinks that maybe just this once, even just tonight, he’d like to keep this moment as it was and carve it in his memory. 

You were the first to notice that he had returned. You turned around as Kento moved away. You were still a bit flustered but smiled at him. “Did you have a good shower, Yuu–chan? Dinner’s almost ready, you can sit down!”

Yuuji smiled widely. “Yes, I did! Thank you for welcoming me again, Nana–san.”

You waved him off. “Oh, don’t even think about it, Yuu–chan. We’re glad to have you here!”

“Itadori–kun, come here.” Nanami calls to him, waving for him to come. “Help me set up the table for the meal.”

“Yes, of course, Nanamin!” He nodded, immediately coming over.

They settled the table as you began putting the dishes on the plates. You grinned as you turned to set the dishes on the table, your heart swelling with affection as you watched your husband indulge Yuuji in a conversation about how to properly plate a table. Yuuji, with his usual wide-eyed curiosity, listened intently as Nanami explained the intricacies of table setting—how the forks and knives should be arranged, the importance of the right glassware, and even the subtle art of folding napkins.

You could see the delight in Yuuji’s eyes as he absorbed every detail, and it warmed your chest to see Kenyto share his knowledge so patiently. It was clear that Kento was savoring this moment quietly, enjoying the chance to mentor and connect with Yuuji in this simple yet meaningful way. His usual reserved demeanor softened into something more tender and nurturing, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of happiness.

The kitchen was alive with the sounds of your evening together—laughter, the clinking of utensils, and the occasional lighthearted banter. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the challenges Nanami faced outside. You moved around the table, placing the final touches on the meal, while the two of them continued their engaging discussion.

"See, Itadori–kun." Nanami said, demonstrating the correct way to position a knife beside the plate. "The blade should always face inward, toward the plate. It’s a small detail, but it makes a big difference."

Yuuji nodded, his expression one of earnest concentration. "Got it! I’ll have to remember that. Thanks for the tips, Nanamin."

You couldn’t help but smile as you watched them. The sight of Kento imparting his knowledge with such care and Yuuji absorbing it with enthusiasm filled you with a profound sense of contentment. It was moments like these that reminded you of the beauty of simple connections, the joy of sharing everyday experiences, and the happiness that came from seeing the people you loved come together.

As you finished setting the table, you joined the conversation, your voice blending with theirs in easy harmony. The meal was ready, and the table was set with all the care Kento had described. The three of you chatted effortlessly, the conversation flowing naturally between you. Yuuji asked questions, Nanami answered with a mixture of expertise and humor, and you added your own touches to the discussion.

The kitchen was filled with laughter and the clinking of dishes, creating a symphony of warmth and joy. As you all sat down to enjoy the meal, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of fulfillment. The love and connection you shared with Nanami, now extended to Yuuji in these small, everyday moments, made you realize just how precious and meaningful these times were.

In the midst of the shared meal, as the conversation continued and the laughter echoed through the room, you felt incredibly grateful. The sight of Nanami treating Yuuji with such kindness, the ease of their interactions, and the warmth of your home created a beautiful tapestry of everyday joy. And as you looked around the table, surrounded by the people you loved, you knew that these were the moments you would cherish forever.

As the meal drew to a close, you noticed that Yuuji’s eyes were beginning to droop. The day's excitement and the hearty dinner had taken their toll. You glanced at your husband, who met your gaze with a knowing smile.

“Yuu–chan.” you said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s getting late, and you must be tired. Why don’t you head to the guest room and get some rest? You’re welcome to stay the night if you’d like.”

Yuuji blinked, a little surprised but clearly pleased. “Oh, really? I didn’t mean to impose, Nana–san…”

“You’re not imposing at all, Yuu–chan.” you reassured him with a warm smile. “You’re always welcome here. Always. We’d be happy to have you stay.”

Yuuji’s face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thank you so much! I’d love to stay. It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal like this, and spending time with you both has been really nice.”

Kento nodded, his expression tender. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. The guest room is all set for you. Let me show you where it is.”

As your husband led Yuuji toward the guest room, you decided to go on ahead and tidy up the table and cleaned the remaining dishes before your husband came back. Your husband always insists on doing it, but he is already tired.It feels nice for you, you think — to make sure that the home is clean for your lovely husband to relax in. The sounds of their footsteps and quiet conversation in the hallway were a comforting backdrop to your evening chores. They still must be talking upstairs, if they were still walking about. A few minutes later, your husband returned, his demeanor still soft and content.

“You know you didn’t have to wash it up, my love.” He presses a kiss on your cheek as you dry your hands. “I would have wanted to do it.”

You smile at him. “I know, but I wanted to do it. You deserve some rest.”

“So do you.” He sighs, growing softer as he looks at you. “I’ll do it tomorrow, hm? The whole day.”

You playfully roll your eyes, smiling wider. “Fine, if you insist.”

He smiles. “Good.”

“So, how is Yuu–chan?” You asked as you started untying your apron. “He must be exhausted.”

“Hm. He’s about to get ready for bed. He didn’t sleep much yesterday, so he should start to fall asleep soon.”

You sighed. “Poor boy. Well, he can stay as much as he likes. I doubt Sato–chan would be home early to pick him up again. Let him stay with us until then.”

“That’s what I told Gojo.”

“Good.” You smiled at him. “Then I could continue to cook for him. Pamper him, even!”

“You really made Itadori–kun’s night, my love.” Nanami said, his voice filled with appreciation. “He looked genuinely happy.”

You smiled at your husband. “He’s a good kid. I’m glad we could make him feel at home. It’s nice to share our home with someone who means so much to you. And well, someone who is dear to me now too.”

Kento walked closer to you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “Thank you for making him feel welcome. I know it means a lot to him. And to me.”

You rested your head against his chest, savoring the warmth of his hug. “It’s what family is all about. And you know, it’s nice to have another person to share our home with.”

As you both stood there, the tranquility of the evening enveloping you, Nanami kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go check on him before we head to bed. It’s always nice to say goodnight.”

You nodded, and together you walked down the hallway to the guest room. The door was slightly ajar, and you could see Yuuji already settling in, his face relaxed and content. The blacket was covering him well enough. It was a cold night, so you were at least glad for that. You smiled at him.

“Hi, Yuu–chan. We just wanted to come up and say goodnight.” you said softly, peeking into the room. “Sleep well, hm? As much as you like, it’s okay. Remember, you have a home here with Kento and I whenever you want.”

Yuuji looked up, his eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you, Nana–san, really. I’ll definitely take you up on that whenever I can. Nanamin already said the same thing, but really….I’m grateful to both of you.”

You smiled at him warmly. For a moment, Yuuji thinks that it would be a smile that only loving mothers can pull off. “Of course, don’t worry. Good night, Yuu–chan. Get some rest.”

With a final wave and a warm smile, you and Kento quietly closed the door and made your way back to your own room. The house felt even more like a home with Yuuji’s presence. And you were glad for it. As you looked at your husband, you knew that he felt the same way. You leaned against him, satisfied, happily. This was a happy night.

epilogue 

The warmth of the evening lingered, and you felt a happy contentment settle over you as you changed into your pajamas. Nanami Kento was already in bed, propped up against the pillows and reading a book. You slid under the covers next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Kento, baby." you said, your tone light and playful. “I have thoughts I wanna say out loud.”

"Hmm?" He glanced down at you, his expression softening. “What are they about, my love?”

"I’ve been thinking, you know….I don’t think it’s crazy to think this, what I’m thinking." you began, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Maybe we should adopt Yuu–chan."

Nanami blinked, clearly taken aback. "Adopt Itadori–kun?"

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face. "Yes, he’s such a sweet boy, Kento. And he already seems like part of the family. Plus, he clearly adores you. And you clearly adore him. I’m sure it’s mutual between him and I. So, we might as well make it happen!”

Nanami chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "You do realize he’s already got Gojo as his current guardian, right? I doubt the higher–ups will allow us to take Itadori–kun.”

You pouted. "Yes, but think about it. I’m sure Sato–chan can convince everyone to make us Yuu–chan’s parents.  He’d bring so much energy into the house. Imagine all the laughter and fun. And you’d get to give him more life advice about girls, well even boys. I’m sure we’ll love him no matter what, you know?”

Kento closed his book, setting it aside. "And what would you get out of this arrangement?"

"Oh, just the joy of seeing you two bond even more. Being his mother…." you said with a laugh. "And maybe some help with the cooking. I can think some more, I’m sure.”

Kento shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "You’re incorrigible, my love.”

"But you love me still, hm?" you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"That I do, my love." he agreed, wrapping his arm around you. "But I think we should leave the adopting to those who don’t have to face curses every day."

You sighed dramatically, still pouting. "Fine, fine. But I still think it’s a good idea."

Kento laughed, pulling you closer. "Maybe we can settle for having him over for dinner more often. How does that sound?"

You snuggled into his embrace, your smile widening. "Perfect. And who knows, maybe he’ll start calling you his dad! And me, his mom!”

Kento groaned playfully. "Now that’s a terrifying thought."

You laughed, the sound mingled with his, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, the warmth of your love and the lightheartedness of your conversation wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

“But maybe when you retire….”

“......I’ll think about it.”

“I love you so much!” You say, kissing his shoulder. 

You hear him sigh, content. “I love you too.”

facts about nanami and his wife:

kento thinks that he fits being a house-husband. he likes the idea of taking care of his wife, so he thinks that he'd be great at it. he's thought about quitting sorcery to be a house-husband.

yuuji becomes a staple in your house. the guest room he used became his regular bedroom at the house. you buy clothes you think would suit him often and put it in his drawers. when he can't stay for the night, you indulge a long dinner.

these dinners lasting long into the night leads into yuuji not going home to the dorms at all and a long phone call between kento and yaga.

kento's mother and grandmother send your recipes to try almost daily. you guys maintain a group chat without the men in your lives. you enjoy it a lot, when you vent about your editor.

your editor always has a hard time with you keeping up with deadlines and because your editor's stric. sometimes, he brings out a picture of kento looking disappointed at you and you cry harder.

you still continue to ask kento to adopt yuuji because you really love him a lot. it would be easier if he was your son!!!

[wonupatootie]

SVT Social Media AU Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

오늘 날씬 너를 많이 닮아 너에게 가는 길은 꽃길이 되고~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

Yoon Jeonghan

“Death By A Thousand Cuts” by @ssssssssssssscoups

Fem!reader || fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･y/n loves books. she loves the way they make her feel any emotion, to get lost within the pages and words that suffocates her heart. jeonghan loves performing, loves the way his voice makes the public go wild. if they fall in love, will they fall out? 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Iris Beauty” by @wonunuu

Fem!reader || romance, fat angst, drama, comedy || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you and mina have been best friends for as long as you remember. after your parents passed from a horrible car accident, mina's parents kindly took you in, tending and caring for you as their own. at such a young age, you have learned the meaning of debt as this is your constant feeling towards your best friend and her parents. to compensate, you have showed them undoubtable loyalty, respect, love and kindness, just as they have showed you; you do everything they tell you without question. so when your best friend asks you to pretend to be her in meeting a guy she has been talking to online, your loyalty and trust are tested when you unintentionally develop feelings for him.

Hong Jisoo

“You Were Beautiful” by @viastro

Fem!reader || modernised cinderella au, strangers to lovers, humour, fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you and joshua meet through your love for boba popsicles, but end up living out your very own complicated, mess filled, cinderella story.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Love On The Air” by @suhnshinehaos

Gn!reader || uni au, childhood friends to ???, pining, fluff, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･joshua hong wants you to know how he feels about you, but god forbid he actually say it out loud. instead, he settles on the next best thing : dedicating a song to you every week on the campus radio. too bad you’re too dense to actually figure out it’s all for you.

Wen Junhui

“Moonlight” by @nonononranghaee

Based on Hidden Love, orange cat x black cat || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Jun as the boy who makes you believe in the existence of love

Lee Jihoon

“Yearning” by @jihoonotes

Gn!reader || sunshine x grumpy, fluff, humour, angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight.. oops?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“FORELKSET” by @escapewriter

Fem!reader || idol au, fluff, humour, romance, slight angst || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a boring summer with you and your best friend led you both to do some dumb things, one being texting your number neighbor. however, things take a toll when your number neighbor isnt the person who they say they are.

Kim Mingyu

“My Melody” by @networkluvs

Gn!reader || college au, band au, strangers to lovers, slice of life, comedy, angst, fluff || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you become the muse of the overly cocky rising rockstar on campus, kim mingyu.

Xu Minghao

“What I Would Do!” by @sungbeam

Fem!reader || acquaintances to lovers, pining, fluff || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･minghao is kinda sorta maybe in love with you, but he thinks you're so out of his league.

Boo Seungkwan

“Company Policy” by @whatsk-poppinhomies

Fem!reader || idol au, romance, fluff, drama, comedy, angst, smut || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Being an intern at Hybe was a dream come true for you. It was simply a summer program where you got to experience and be a part of the behind the scenes work that pushed the artists to the top. Three months working with some of the biggest k-pop artists, it wasn’t a big deal, that is until Boo Seungkwan entered your life and you both began to question the Company Policy.

Lee Chan

“PANG!” by @kkumawrites

Fem!reader || college au, strangers to friends to lovers, angst, drama || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“The Fiancé” by @wondernus

ft. Pi Cheolin || est.relationship, romance, humour, mystery || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a mysterious pink fishing vest. a fiancé who wakes up in the middle of nowhere. and an upcoming wedding on the line. there's only so much you can take before you let your perfect future crumble before your eyes.

Unspecified End Game

“Choi Seungcheol Must Die” by @princessleechan

Fem!reader || Potential endgame: seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan || college au, slight angst, romance, humour, eventual smut || Status:Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“REDAMANCY” by @escapewriter

Fem!reader || Potential endgame: junhui, minghao || college au, slice of life, fluff, humour, romance || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･your best friend was lucky enough to have two boys pining after her. you on the other hand were unluckyenough to be in love with one of them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Newsflash!” by @cupidhaos

University harem, angst, humour, fluff, slice of life || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･university life can be hard when you get caught up with the SVT boys

⤷“Move!” (sequel of Newsflash!)

University harem, angst, humour, fluff, slice of life, mystery || Status: Completed 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･a new school year means new beginnings and new memories - but that can be hard with unfinished love stories in the way

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[dangermousie]

2023 End of Year Post - cdrama edition

Yes, we have a lot of December left, but I don't think anything else I want to check out will air before 2024 hits (it's cdrama so caveat is - you never know.)

This is only going to cover cdramas that aired in 2023; if I watched it but it was made in a different year, it's not on the list. This was a pretty good cdrama year, all in all.

DRAMAS WATCHED

(In order of liking from least to most as opposed to pure quality; I am including if I’ve seen enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list)

30 legend of twin flower - Not dignifying that drama with capital letters, as the only capital that should be associated with this is capital punishment - which is what watching this feels like.

29 Dominator of Martial Gods - sounds like a bdsm gay porn title. Would probably be better acted and written if it was.

28 Beauty of Resilience - you'd need a lot of said resilience to sit through this incoherent, barely acted mess. The thing that I remember the most other than my annoyance is all the jingly-jangly head gear on JJY. Perhaps they could have sold some of them and spent the money on a better script.

27 Divine Destiny - if you think you have too many brain cells and want to get rid of some, boy do I have a drama for you!

26 Wanru’s Journey - honestly it's probably tied with SEL - I mean it's worse but it has actors who are nowhere as well known and a fraction of SEL's budget. Still, this is a big fat nope. I will not say what I think of Aoi Rupeng's "acting" or I'd have to put money in the curse jar.

25 Snow Eagle Lord - Gulinazha's stone face, nonsense plot, terrible CGI. Take your pick as to why this is terrible.

24 Scent of Time - it was uneven but fun but then that ending was dumb enough to destroy the whole thing. Show me on the doll where common sense hurt you, makers!

23 Royal Rumors - Jeremy Tsui and Meng Ziyi are utterly wasted in this nothing trifle of a drama.

22 Legend of Anle - I had high expectations but alas. This is the drama version of color beige. There is nothing offensive about it but nothing good either. Mediocre actors are mediocre, good actors become mediocre, this is just a waste of our finite time on planet earth.

21 Romance on the Farm - it's not you, it's me in action. I can see why people would like this wholesome slice of farming family life, but it's tailored to trigger every one of my "nope" opinions.

20 Back from the Brink - if I were 12, it would be my favorite thing. I am not 12.

19 Journey of Chong Zi - objectively a terrible drama with plot holes the size of Mars and a leading lady whose face has apparently frozen when the wind changed. But I am a total sucker for the trope of upright shizun falling for his demonic disciple and going mental so here we are. Objectively, garbage, subjectively my precious!

18 Love you Seven Times - just call poor Ding Yuxi "Atlas," he carried this mess so hard.

17 Blooming Days - trashy dogblood harem fight fun throwback. It's not that great (and the fact that it was shredded doesn't help) but it's probably the last gasp of that genre for the foreseeable future, so I am grading on a curve.

16 The Starry Love - a fun fantasy where the secondary OTP stole the thunder but overall a really solid fantasy xianxia romance.

15 The Longest Promise - it could have been better - the secondaries were unbearable and there was too much of them and what they did with Alen Fang's character still gives me rage fits, but the main couple was impeccable and lovely and I rooted so hard for them.

14 Chang Feng Du/Destined - visually gorgeous, solidly acted, impeccable first half. Bland as hell second half. Win some, lose some.

13 Circle of Love - this drama is a nonsense trash heap on fire. After a typhoon hit it. It was also the most entertaining, addicting drama on this whole list.

12 Hidden Love - the sole modern on this list, this story has barely any plot but it made me care about the young, decent lovers so hard.

11 Choice Husband - starts out wacky, continues with angst and blood and happy ending. I loved it, but I've always had a soft spot for melo and schemers turning devoted.

10 Pledge of Allegiance - bromance, super solid acting, visuals, a really dark take on officials and the world. Insanely underrated.

9 Provoke - a truly fun Republican revenge and love tale, showing that short format can be wonderful.

8 Gone with the Rain - some of the secondary characters are rage-inducing (hi there, cardboard boy!) but the scheming, ruthless, vulgar FL is amazing and her slowburn with her age gap general who is delighted by her out-there-ness is great!

7 Wonderland of Love - Fei Wo Si Cun goes wholesome and the result is surprisingly entertaining. Battle couple, glorious visuals, a fast paced plot. It's the first Xu Kai drama I enjoyed in years (and he plays a rare cdrama ML it would be pretty neat to pair up with in rl.)

6 My Journey to You - that ending is infuriating (and I am OK with open endings if done properly) but what a visual feast, probably the most gloriously shot drama on this list, and that's a tough competition. Also it packs a hell of a lot of couples and familial and adversarial relationships into its slim running time; assassin lady won over by a gentle man is my favorite trope and so this is extra great.

5. Till the End of the Moon - the ending is a rage-inducing disaster for me, but this drama was the most incredibly emotionally intense, visually eye popping experience. It was deeply flawed but when it was amazing, it was like nothing else in its visuals, its characters and its narratives. It took insane risks; some paid off and some did not, but it was glorious.

4. Story of Kunning Palace - I don't often care for reverse harem stories but this one was such fun - the main OTP was glorious (strong FL, unhinged ML) but honestly everything about this was just so excellently done.

3. The Ingenious One - the most adult drama on this list. Smart protagonists, intelligent plot, emotions that felt true, this is a revenge and a mystery and found family and goes into so many directions you do not expect (Su Mengyu's PTSD after his first kill - that is something you never see in dramas, definitely not prolonged and profound - not like this.) If I was to say which drama was objectively the best on this list, as opposed to favorite, it would be this.

1 (tie) Lost You Forever 1 - this is an exquisite emotional jewel of a story about damaged people moving forward, with damage always present - their past informs their present and always will. The narrative about Xiao Yao and three very different men in her life makes me think that it's an equivalent of a neutron bomb going off right before the main narrative starts and now we are watching the survivors wander in the wreckage. This is very high fantasy setting but it's one of the most emotionally human narratives out there.

1 A Journey to Love - everything I ever wanted - assassins, ride or die adult OTP with genuine believable conflicts, great and complex secondaries, beautiful fights. Oh, and yeah Liu Shi Shi domming the hell out of every man in a ten mile radius, as she should.

FAVORITE DRAMA

It's a tie between Lost You Forever Part 1 and A Journey to Love. LYF1 is a bona fide art piece but it's only part 1 and who knows if part 2 will be any good (seeing the huge ep number cut, I have my doubts) and so it's incomplete. AJTL is an old school wuxia romance with incredibly competent, adult people in love and great cast of secondaries. I can't pick.

WORST DRAMA

romance of twin flower - this is a drama that should not exist. If I could hex everyone involved with it, I would. It's a terrible, stupid, shrill, badly acted drama to start with, but where it really is catapulted into stratosphere of horror is that is took my very favorite non-danmei web novel of all time, a smart and complicated tale with incredible protagonists and turned it into that barftastic abomination. Peng Xiao Ran kept making horrible drama after horrible drama but I kept giving her a chance because of Goodbye My Princess but after this disaster, I've had to accept GMP was a fluke and she is on my "if she's in it, I am out” list. Ding Yuxi is not that far yet (his performance in Seven Lifetimes was the one thing carrying that mess afloat) but he's on freaking thin ice. Anyway, I like to pretend this drama does not exist.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

It was hard because there were so many I loved this year - Deng Wei's traumatized, gentle Seventeen from LYF1 (if someone told me I'd swoon and weep for a character played by Deng Wei, I'd have told them to examine their brains asap), Liu Yuning's incredibly capable, deadly, contained Ning Yuanzhou from AJTL, Zhang Linghe's unhinged Xie Wei from SoKP, Chen Xiao's schemer with a heart Yun Xiang from TIO.

But ultimately, it couldn't be anyone else but Luo Yunxi as Tantai Jin/Demon God/Ming Ye/Cang Jiumin in Till the End of the Moon. He was everything - a demon, a saint, a martyr, a monster, a tormented abuse victim, a savior, joyful, unhinged, smart, pitiable. It was the cdrama performance of the year for me. Luo Yunxi even in a mediocre role is impressive but in a complex (series of) role(s) designed for his strengths, he is a force of nature.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Xiao Yao (Lost You Forever Part 1). Once again, there were runner ups - Bai Lu's smart a little evil FL in Kunning, the gloriously unhinged assassin domme Liu Shi Shi in AJTL, Esther Yu's assassin longing for a different life in MJTY etc etc etc. But Xiao Yao's damaged, difficult, very self-aware woman stole my heart. I was skeptical going in because I haven't enjoyed a Yang Zi performance in a long time, but she was the wounded beating soul of this incredible drama.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

Where do we start? How about all of Seventeen's (LYF1) monster family? His brother, who tortured him for years physically and emotionally to such a degree his body is a horror map and his personality is permanently altered because "mommy liked you better." Psycho mother who created a situation where the kids were going to turn on each other and "let's get my grandson raped" grandma. Where is a well-placed meteorite when you need one.

FAVORITE SHIP

Xiao Yao/Seventeen, LYF1. Yes, a ship of characters played by Yang Zi and Deng Wei is my favorite. Leave me alone, I am on my tenth helping of crow already. They are both incredibly damaged, barely functioning survivors who find what they need in the other - he finds a savior and someone who sees him as a man and rebuilds himself around her and she finds someone who will always put her first and only, and subsume himself in her. Is it healthy? No. Does it make sense for them and is it making them slowly functional? Yes.

Runner up: Ren Ruyi/Ning Yuanzhou, AJTL - two adults, so competent, so chemistry full. She has so much damage and so little normalcy but is so strong and he is oddly gentle (in between murders) and incredibly self-reflective. They are each other's mirrors and I love them.

FAVORITE SECONDARY OTP

Su Mingyu/Ke Menglan, The Ingenious One - the idealistic merchant who wants to join jianghu until he sees its horrors firsthand and a slave entertainer who wants security but decides she wants him more. They are gorgeous and glorious and wholesome and I adore them.

Runner up: Liu Gong Quan/Ming Zhu, The Ingenious One - that drama was a shippy gift, especially impressive considering it wasn't even romance-centric. He's the officer who has to bring down her treasonous father but loves her. Delicious.

Another runner up is Chao Feng/Qian Kui, the angelic good girl and the scheming bad boy in The Starry Love. They stole the drama from the main OTP for me.

NOTP

Scent of Time endgame. What the hell was even that. It made NO sense.

FAVORITE SCENE

So many good scenes this year - Tantai Jin taking apart Li Susu in prison in TTEOTM, the OTP fighting in perfect sync and insane rhythm in the gorge battle in AJTL, Chen Ruoxuan's character stopping the execution in Pledge, Yan Lin's coming of age in Kunning, the poison/antidote "gamble" in MJTY, Cang Xuan detoxing in LYF1. But I think ultimately, me being who I am, my favorite scene is Xiao Yao kissing Seventeen's damaged, scarred knee to show he is in no way inferior for her. AAAAA!

In terms of pure jaw dropping visuals tho nothing will ever beat Ming Ye’s battle against the Devil God in TTEOTM.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Ning Yuanzhou, AJTL. He's sexy as hell (that height, that way he moves in battle) but he's also so incredibly competent, so adult, so self-reflective and so attracted to a woman for her strength. He also gets whumped on the reg. Anyway, my hormones are ready.

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Gong Yuanzhi (My Journey to You) - I loved the unhinged, brocon poison boy. He was everything. Also Yan Lin (Kunning) - talk about sunshine; I totally got why all these people felt they needed to save him.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

My Journey to You - what the HELL was that ending?

NEEDS SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

legend of twin flower - that is, stab it with scissors like it stabbed the novel until it's dead.

TOO MANY SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Till the End of the Moon - they clearly cut stuff to fit into the new regs about runtime and it made the last 1/5 rather abrupt. Gimme!

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

The emperor cannot be irredeemable. WTF, China, you are a communist country!

FAVORITE TROPE WE’VE SEEN A LOT OF

This is the year of a ML who yearns to be dommed by his FL. Long may it continue.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

The Legend of Anle - the novel had a great plot, the cast were all actors I either enjoy a lot or somewhat and we got - whatever that soggy piece of wonderbread toast was.

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

LYF1 - I only checked out to mock because nobody could explain the story to me and nobody in the cast did anything I like either ever or in years. And then I fell utterly and completely in love and had to eat so much delicious crow.

2023 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

Ancient Love Song is the only one on that list. It looks really good, I just need to brace myself.

BEST NON-2023 DRAMA I’VE WATCHED IN 2023

The Imperial Doctoress - best slowburn and pining and glorious character development and adult leads.

MOST ANTICIPATED

Anticipating any nonaired cdrama is a mug's game but if they air, I will definitely check out all the Fox Matchmaker dramas, LYF2, JoL2 and The Last Immortal. If Prisoner of Beauty ever is allowed out of the vault (dubious), it goes on the list too.

[lifeafterdeath-if]

Life After Death is a Slice of Death Romantic Drama that takes place within the afterlife. It’s rated 18+ for depictions of violence, sexual themes, alcohol use, explicit language, and, of course, death.

You’re dead.

It’s still something that you have to get used to. That you were happily, or at least you told yourself anyway, living your life within the world of the living only to end up in the world of the dead by nightfall— Elysium isn’t exactly what you were expecting, the bustling city being an eclectic mix of various points in history, but you’re certain you could be in worse places.

Making a new “life” within the walls of the ever-growing city seems an almost impossible task.

That is until a kind stranger, garbed in Victorian-Era clothing, offers you a place to stay at the Silver Towers; an apartment complex that has all walks of life seemingly crammed into its well-structured walls.

Will you be able to find your place among the new ensemble of people? Will you be able to find a connection with someone that you had never been able to create in life?

Only time will tell as your afterlife commences.

Customizable MC: Name, appearance, gender (female, male, and non-binary), sexuality, smattering facets of your life before death, and more!

Detail how your MC feels about their death and the world that they’ve left behind? Happy, sad, angry?

Discover all that Elysium, and its many Districts, have to offer as you meet more and more people.

Engage in a romance with 1 of 6 romantic options— from the kindly stranger to an ancient warrior. Each one gives you an insight into a world that seems so far from your own.

Forge friendships that will last through time.

Follow your MCs journey as they discover what their Life After Death will truly entail.

Edward/Elizabeth Clarke: A soft-spoken individual, with a heart of gold, and a penchant to help those in need. They also happen to be the very individual that offers you a place to stay within the Silver Towers. [PROFILE]

Kaspian/Kassandra Drakos: Hot-blooded and slightly obtuse, Kas is an individual from Ancient Greece; a Spartan Warrior that still has some of their old teachings ingrained in their very being, even after all these years. [PROFILE]

Jace/Jade Reed: Your new roommate who, fortunately for you, seems to have come from the same time as you. With a sunny smile and excitable disposition, they’re clearly a person that anyone could go to if they needed a shoulder to cry on. Only time will tell if they have one as well. [PROFILE]

Yvan/Yvonne DeLuca: The owner of the most influential club within all of Elysium— Afterlife. A rather on-the-nose name, of course, but that doesn’t stop the lines from forming throughout the night. With ambition running through their veins, and a silver tongue, nothing has ever made them slow down. [PROFILE]

Gabriel/Gabriella Caelius: An Angel sent from Heaven to watch over Elysium— a post that seems to have been subjected to for quite some time if their total apathy towards the city at large is anything to go by. It’s clear they want nothing more than to leave, but aren’t able to. [PROFILE]

Celian/Céline Keres: The Mayor of Elysium, maintaining order within a place that is simply a waiting room for most of the inhabitants within, who has a reputation for being cold; not wanting anything to mess with the city they love so much. Of course, another moniker is commonly attached alongside their name— The Grim Reaper. [PROFILE]

DEMO TBA