#enhypen slow burn

[enhaflixer]

psh - king of tears.

Chaebol Husband!Sunghoon | Queen of Tears AU FULL FIC

📌 summary: your marriage to park sunghoon was supposed to be a fairytale—until it wasn’t. now it’s cold stares across the dinner table, separate bedrooms in a mansion too big for the both of you, and divorce papers waiting to be signed. you were ready to walk away. he let you. so why does he look at you like he’s the one who lost everything?

word count: 20K genre: angst | slow burn | second chance romance | marriage in crisis | Queen of Tears AU | SMUT ANGST FLUFF (in that order) content warnings (explicit, minors dni!):  a marriage falling apart but neither of you can let go, divorce papers as a weapon but neither of you sign them first, staring at an empty side of the bed and pretending it doesn’t hurt, pregnancy, watching him struggle alone but being too proud to help, , high society pressure, and pretending everything is fine when it’s not, angst-heavy sex (sex while crying, sex while angry, sex while pretending it doesn’t mean anything) "we’re supposed to be over, so why are you still fucking me like you love me?" breathless, mentions of a miscarriage, desperate sunghoon (bc when he breaks, he breaks) sunghoon is sick, weak, exhausted—but still strong enough to pin you down "i don’t love you anymore." // "then stop moaning my name.", luxury penthouse sex but it’s tragic, a hand around your throat but it’s not just about control—it’s about possession, he fucks you like he’s trying to remind you who you belong to, aftercare that isn’t really aftercare bc he still won’t say he loves you,

The room is filled with laughter, delicate clinks of fine china and crystal flutes, and the low hum of a jazz quartet playing something elegant and forgettable in the background. The city’s elite have gathered here tonight—not just business moguls, but socialites, investors, and politicians, all dressed in designer labels, all engaged in carefully curated conversations.

The air is thick with power and wealth, a reminder of the world you and Sunghoon exist in. A world where appearances matter more than emotions, where a marriage is not just about love, but about status, about alliances.

You’re used to this now—the expectations, the smiles, the weight of scrutiny disguised as admiration. You’ve mastered the art of being Park Sunghoon’s wife.

Sunghoon stands beside you, dressed in a sleek black suit, looking every bit the composed, untouchable CEO that people admire and envy in equal measure. His features are as sharp as ever, but there’s something distant in his gaze, something almost clinical in the way his hand rests lightly against the small of your back.

To an outsider, it’s a gesture of affection. A claim. A reminder that you belong to each other.

To you, it’s just for show.

"Smile."

His voice is low, quiet enough that no one else hears. It’s not a request. It’s a command.

Your lips curl into something effortless, something practiced. It’s not real, but it doesn’t need to be.

"Ah, our favorite couple has arrived," a familiar voice calls from across the room.

Turning toward the source, you’re met with the warm but calculating gaze of Chairman Park, Sunghoon’s father. His mother stands beside him, dressed immaculately as always, a refined smile on her lips.

"We were wondering when you two would make your grand entrance," she says smoothly, reaching out to take your hands in hers.

Her grip is light, delicate. Deceptive.

"You look beautiful, dear," she adds, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe.

You already know she’s assessing. Cataloging. Comparing you to the polished, obedient daughter-in-law she expected you to be.

Sunghoon’s father, however, has other interests.

"You’re glowing tonight," Chairman Park remarks, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges. "It must be a sign that we’ll be hearing good news soon."

You barely have time to process his words before another voice chimes in—one of Sunghoon’s aunts, a woman who has made it her life’s mission to interrogate you at every family gathering.

"Yes, yes!" she gushes, already leaning in as if she’s about to hear a confession. "It’s been what? three years since the wedding? We were just saying the other day how we still haven’t heard any news!"

There it is. The question that always comes, in one form or another.

The polite, well-mannered, socially acceptable way of asking: Why haven’t you given him a child yet?

You see it before you hear it—the way Sunghoon’s fingers tighten around his champagne flute, the subtle twitch in his jaw. But he doesn’t say anything.

Of course, he doesn’t.

So you do what you always do. You smile. You deflect. You play your part.

"Work keeps us busy," you say smoothly, taking a slow sip of champagne. "There’s still so much we want to accomplish first."

The aunt clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "Ah, but what’s all this success without a family to share it with?"

You feel it then—the weight of your in-laws’ eyes on you, the expectation pressing against your ribs like an iron cage.

Sunghoon’s mother hums, a soft, carefully measured sound. "Children bring a different kind of happiness," she says, voice light but laced with meaning. "Of course, it’s ultimately your decision… but I do hope you aren’t waiting too long."

Another aunt leans in, faux sympathy dripping from her tone. "There aren’t any problems, are there?"

It’s a dagger cloaked in silk. The insinuation. The unspoken judgment.

You don’t have to look at Sunghoon to know he’s bristling beside you. You can feel the tension in his silence.

Still, he says nothing.

The moment stretches, uncomfortable and suffocating. And then—

A soft laugh. Controlled. Collected.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he finally speaks.

"We appreciate your concern," he says, voice smooth as glass. "But when we have something to share, you’ll be the first to know."

There’s nothing in his tone that suggests anger, but the way his mother’s lips press together ever so slightly tells you she’s caught the warning beneath his words.

The conversation shifts, flowing into another topic, but you no longer hear it. You’re still holding your champagne flute, fingers gripping the stem a little too tightly.

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

The meal is extravagant, an elaborate showcase of wealth and refinement. Each course is served with meticulous precision, arriving in waves of delicate flavors and carefully plated masterpieces. Crystal glasses remain full, refilled before they ever have the chance to empty, while waitstaff glide through the room with the kind of quiet efficiency that only comes from years of training. Around you, conversation flows as smoothly as the wine, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from tables where people have had just enough to drink to let their guard down.

The atmosphere is lively, engaging. A room filled with the kind of people who measure success in numbers and influence rather than in anything tangible like love or happiness.

You and Sunghoon don’t speak.

It isn’t new.

It’s been months—maybe even longer—since you’ve had a real conversation. These events used to be something you faced together, an exhausting but necessary part of maintaining appearances in your world. There was a time when he would lean in close, whisper something wry against the shell of your ear just to make you laugh, his hand resting on your thigh beneath the table as a silent reminder that, no matter how long the evening stretched, you would leave together.

Now, his presence beside you feels like nothing more than habit. The weight of expectation.

To everyone else, you are still Park Sunghoon’s wife—flawless and poised, an extension of his success, the perfect image of a woman who belongs at his side. But to each other, you are barely anything at all.

You watch as he listens intently to the conversation at hand, nodding along as one of his board members drones on about upcoming market trends. His features remain unreadable, his fingers steady as he lifts his glass to his lips, sipping at his wine without a second thought. His ability to be present yet completely unreachable is something you once admired about him. Now, it’s something that drives you insane.

At some point during the meal, while the conversation has drifted toward a discussion on recent company acquisitions, a new voice cuts through the air.

"You remember Soojin, don’t you?"

It’s not a question so much as a strategic opening, delivered with the practiced ease of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

You shift slightly, already knowing where this is going before you even turn your head. Sunghoon’s mother is smiling, her expression warm and pleasant in the way that only someone raised in high society can master. It is a look that has fooled many, but not you. You’ve spent too many years in her presence to mistake it for anything but a well-placed maneuver.

Her gaze flickers toward a table across the room, drawing your attention to the woman seated there. Soojin.

She is beautiful in the way that women in your world are expected to be—polished, refined, her makeup flawless, her hair styled to perfection. The kind of woman who commands attention without even trying.

The kind of woman Sunghoon’s mother would have preferred as her daughter-in-law.

"Her father’s company just finalized a deal with ours," she continues, lifting her glass to her lips. "It’s an impressive partnership."

You say nothing.

She doesn’t need you to.

"She’s always been such a sweet girl," she adds, her smile never faltering. "Smart. Beautiful. And her family is so well-connected."

The words are light, conversational, but the weight of them is suffocating.

She doesn’t say it outright, but the message is clear.

You are not the only option.

There are women who would make the perfect Mrs. Park—women who would be better suited for the role, who would know how to uphold the family name, who would understand the responsibilities that come with being married to someone like Sunghoon.

Women who would not have made the mistakes you did.

Your grip tightens around your fork.

You keep your expression neutral, refusing to react. You won’t give her the satisfaction. You won’t let her see that the words sting in a way they shouldn’t, that they burrow beneath your skin, scraping against wounds that never quite healed.

"I��m aware," Sunghoon says, finally setting his wine glass down with deliberate ease.

Two words. Nothing more.

His mother studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles again, as if the moment never happened.

The conversation moves forward.

You exhale slowly, setting your glass down, your fingers still curled around the delicate stem. No reassurance. No defense. No effort to correct what was just implied.

I’m aware.

A bitter taste lingers on your tongue, but you swallow it down, lifting your chin slightly as you redirect your attention to the meal in front of you.

You already know how this night will end. The same way it always does. With silence.

-

The moment you step inside the penthouse, the carefully constructed facade of the evening begins to crumble. The sterile glow of the overhead lights does little to ease the weight pressing against your chest, the silence between you and Sunghoon thick with something sharp, something unsaid.

You hear the quiet rustle of fabric as he shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of a chair before undoing the first few buttons of his dress shirt. His movements are methodical, controlled, as if he’s following a script that no longer holds any meaning.

You should keep walking. You should disappear into the bathroom, wash the night off your skin, lock yourself behind a door like you have so many nights before. But instead, you linger, fingers still curled around the strap of your bag, your gaze tracing the familiar lines of his back, the tension in his shoulders.

"You didn’t say anything."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge buried beneath the exhaustion.

Sunghoon doesn’t turn. "About what?"

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "About what?" you repeat, laughter bubbling up, bitter and humorless. "About your mother. About your aunts. About all of them sitting there, questioning me like I’m some failed investment."

A pause.

Then, finally, he glances over his shoulder. "What did you want me to say?"

The way he says it—steady, detached, devoid of any real curiosity—makes your stomach twist.

"Anything," you say, because that’s the truth of it. You just wanted something.

His lips press together briefly before he turns back toward the dresser, rolling up his sleeves. "It wouldn’t have changed anything."

And there it is.

That unbearable indifference.

The quiet, unshaken finality of a man who has already made peace with his own silence.

It shouldn’t feel like a slap to the face, but it does.

"You never fight for anything," you whisper, voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside.

He doesn’t say a word, but you can feel it—the way his gaze trails over your bare skin, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s holding himself back.

It only takes a step. One step forward, and everything snaps.

His hands are on you before you can think—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body bleeding into yours. His mouth crashes against yours, rough, unyielding, a kiss that isn’t sweet or tender, but desperate, punishing. You gasp against him, your fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as he presses you back against the dresser.

"You always do this," he mutters against your lips, his breath hot, his voice sharp. "Come to me when you need to forget."

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

His hands slide up your thighs, pushing them apart with ease. He’s impatient, reckless, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your panties, dragging them down before you can protest. A sharp inhale leaves your lips as he presses two fingers against your clit, circling slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

"Already wet," he muses, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. His tone is mocking, but his voice is hoarse, strained. "That desperate for me?"

You bite down on your lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your body betrays you, hips rolling against his hand, chasing the friction that he’s refusing to give.

Sunghoon chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just something bitter, something dark.

Without warning, he presses two fingers inside you, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate pace. Your breath hitches, nails digging into his shoulders as he curls his fingers, stroking the spot that makes your knees tremble.

"You can pretend all you want," he murmurs against your throat, his lips trailing down, teeth scraping against your skin. "But your body knows who it belongs to."

His free hand moves to your chest, fingers tweaking your nipple, rolling it between his fingers before his mouth replaces them, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. You arch into him, a whimper slipping past your lips, your thighs tightening around his wrist.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea or a warning—you’re not sure.

He pulls away, his fingers slipping from you, leaving you empty and aching. Before you can protest, he turns you around, pressing your front against the cool surface of the dresser, his body crowding you from behind. His hands roam your body, over the swell of your ass, down to your thighs, spreading them apart as he presses the hard length of his cock against your heat.

You exhale sharply as he grips your hips, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick before pressing forward. The stretch is sharp, deep, and you gasp, gripping the edge of the dresser as he sinks into you, inch by inch, filling you completely.

"Fuck," he groans, his fingers tightening against your hips, like he’s barely holding himself together. 

He gives you a second—just one—before he pulls back and thrusts into you again, setting a brutal, relentless pace. Each movement is rough, deliberate, the sound of skin against skin mixing with the soft, breathy moans slipping past your lips.

The dresser rattles beneath you, your body rocking with each thrust, and you can do nothing but take it, the pleasure sharp and consuming. Sunghoon grips your hair, pulling your head back as he leans in, his breath hot against your ear.

"Let them keep talking," he mutters, voice ragged, punctuated by the snap of his hips. 

Your breath catches, your walls clenching around him at his words.

Sunghoon lets out a low groan, his thrusts growing deeper, sharper, his fingers moving back to your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles. The tension coils tighter, your body burning, unraveling beneath him.

"Cum," he murmurs, his voice softer now, breathless.

And you do—pleasure washing over you in waves, your thighs shaking, your moan muffled as he presses a hand against your mouth, keeping you from making too much noise.

He follows soon after, his grip tightening, his cock pulsing inside you as he groans low against your shoulder, spilling into you with a shudder.

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then, just as expected, he pulls away.

Rolls onto his back.

Says nothing.

You stare at the reflection of yourself in the dresser mirror—flushed skin, swollen lips, empty eyes. You should leave. You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you slip beneath the covers, curling away from him, pressing your knuckles against your mouth to keep yourself from shaking.

Because tonight, at least, you don’t want to feel alone.

- 

The morning is quiet.

You wake up to an empty bed, the sheets beside you already cold. The absence of warmth shouldn’t bother you—it hasn’t in months—but today, it does. The ache in your body from the night before lingers, a dull, throbbing reminder of something you wish you could forget.

For a moment, you stay still, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of light and shadow that spill through the curtains. The penthouse is bathed in soft gold from the rising sun, a warmth that contrasts the cold emptiness beside you.

There was a time when mornings like these meant something. When you’d wake up tangled in Sunghoon’s limbs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your back, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. When the weight of his body against yours felt grounding instead of suffocating.

Now, there’s nothing but space.

You take a slow breath, blinking against the dryness in your eyes before finally sitting up. The silence is deafening, the type that only exists in places too large for two people who no longer belong to each other.

When you step out of bed, your legs feel unsteady, soreness creeping up your spine. You ignore it. You move toward the bathroom, turning on the sink, splashing cold water on your face as if it’ll rinse away the heaviness in your chest. It doesn’t.

Your reflection stares back at you, eyes slightly swollen, lips faintly bruised from the way he kissed you last night. You press your fingers against them, swallowing down the memory of his touch, of the way his hands had held you so tightly as if he could keep you from slipping away.

But he didn’t.

He never could.

By the time you make your way downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. The sight of Sunghoon sitting at the dining table shouldn’t make your stomach tighten the way it does. He looks like he always does—effortlessly composed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand while his other scrolls through his phone.

Like nothing happened.

Like last night was just another night.

The illusion of normalcy almost makes you hesitate. Almost.

Instead, you step forward, setting the folder down on the glass surface of the table with a deliberate thud. The sound cuts through the silence, drawing Sunghoon’s attention as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react, just studies you for a moment before his gaze drifts downward to the document between you.

Divorce Agreement.

His fingers pause against the rim of his coffee cup.

"Where were you?," you say, your voice steady, carefully controlled.

"Work," he replies, taking a slow sip of his coffee.

You cross your arms, exhaling through your nose. "You knew this was coming." Your voice is measured, even, despite the tightness in your throat.

Sunghoon finally sets his mug down with a soft clink, his expression unreadable. "I did."

"Then sign them."

A long silence stretches between you. You hold your ground, standing tall, watching as he leans back slightly in his chair, his fingers idly tapping against the surface of the table. He doesn’t look at the papers, just at you.

"You really want this?"

The words are simple. Too simple.

You hate the way they make your stomach twist. Hate the way your throat tightens because this shouldn’t be hard. This shouldn’t be something that makes your hands curl into fists at your sides.

"Yes."

His lips press together briefly before he exhales through his nose. Without another word, he pulls the folder toward him, flipping it open, skimming the terms with the same impassive ease he applies to every contract he reviews at work.

For a second, your breath catches.

You almost expect him to argue, to fight, to say something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

Not when he turns the page. Not when his eyes flicker across the fine print. Not when he reaches for the pen beside him.

And then—

He stops.

His fingers hover over the paper, the tip of the pen barely touching the page. Then, instead of signing, he clicks the pen shut and sets it down.

The air in the room shifts. Your stomach twists.

"Not tonight." His voice is smooth, final.

You blink. "What?"

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression completely unreadable. "I’ll think about it."

Something in your chest tightens, frustration curling in your throat. "Think about what?" You gesture to the papers between you. "This isn’t something that needs consideration, Sunghoon. This is happening. It’s already over."

His gaze darkens slightly, but his face remains composed. "Then why are you still here?"

Your breath catches.

Because you haven’t left yet. Because some part of you still needs this conversation. Because some part of you is waiting for him to say something that changes everything.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. His fingers drum against the glass once, twice, before he reaches for his whiskey glass instead, taking a slow sip. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but then he just shakes his head.

"You’ll have them back tomorrow."

But you already know—he won’t sign.

Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Maybe not ever.

 - 

Park Enterprises runs on three things: money, power, and the ability to avoid Park Sunghoon and his soon-to-be-ex-wife in the same room at all costs.

This isn’t an official company policy, but if you asked anyone—from the executives to the janitorial staff—they’d all agree: keeping their two highest-ranking officials away from each other is the best way to ensure the company doesn’t collapse in on itself.

This is why, over the past few months, a silent, unofficial, yet highly efficient system has developed.

It begins every morning.

6:45 AM: Sunghoon arrives, coffee in hand, barely glancing at the receptionist before disappearing into his office. If he sighs immediately upon entering? Bad day. If he slams his office door? Get the emergency evacuation plan ready. 7:15 AM: You arrive, headphones in, already on a call, looking like you’re mentally preparing for battle. If you greet anyone? Good day. If you walk straight to your office without making eye contact? Avoid, avoid, avoid. 7:30 AM: Your PA, Nishimura Riki, updates the "Safe Zones" list. Any floor occupied by both you and Sunghoon is immediately deemed a no-go area.

By 9 AM, the "Daily Avoidance Protocol" is in full effect.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 Sunghoon spotted near the finance department. Legal team, take the back elevators. DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT TAKE THE MAIN LOBBY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Executive Team] 🛑 Your boss is stomping through the 18th floor like a woman on a mission. She just told an intern to "never, ever look that stressed in front of her again" and I don’t think she was joking.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Sunoo] i heard ur boss threw his pen at the wall this morning lol wtf did u do to him

[Sunoo]: nothing yet but im about to stir the pot for fun.

[Riki]: bet.

And then, of course, there’s lunch.

There used to be a time—back when things were different, when things were better—when you and Sunghoon would eat together. Now?

Now, entire lunch routes are planned out in advance to make sure the two of you never end up in the same restaurant, let alone the same hallway.

Incoming text: 📲 [Sunoo → Riki] Depressed male boss is heading toward the rooftop restaurant. tell ur people to evacuate the 10th floor cafe IMMEDIATELY.

Incoming text: 📲 [Riki → Legal Team] 🚨 ABORT. ABORT. DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ. I REPEAT, DO NOT GO TO THE CAFÉ.

By 3 PM, most employees think they’ve made it through the day safely. Until they check the meeting schedule. And realize. There’s a joint executive-legal meeting scheduled at 4:30 PM. Which means.

They have to be in the same room.

- 

The boardroom at Park Enterprises is a high-stakes battlefield.

The executives and legal team are already seated, carefully keeping their faces neutral, their eyes trained on the reports in front of them. No one dares to speak. Everyone is pretending to be busy, flipping through documents they’ve already memorized just to avoid being caught in the crossfire of what is about to happen.

At one end of the table, Sunoo twirls his pen lazily between his fingers, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Across from him, Riki updates the betting pool on his phone, typing at lightning speed while shooting occasional glances toward the door.

It’s only a matter of time before the two storm fronts collide.

The first arrival is you.

You stride in with effortless confidence, shoulders squared, back straight, file in hand. Your heels click sharply against the polished floors, announcing your presence before you even reach your seat.

You don’t acknowledge Sunghoon’s presence.

Your team watches as you settle into your chair, flipping open your folder with a level of precision that makes it very, very clear you are not in the mood for incompetence today.

Riki immediately clocks the stiffness in your posture. He subtly pulls out his phone under the table, fingers flying over the screen.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] boss lady is MAD mad. don’t make eye contact, stay low, survive.

Barely thirty seconds later, Sunghoon walks in.

He doesn’t look at you.

Instead, he exhales sharply as he takes his seat, flipping open his laptop with measured ease, his expression unreadable. The sound of his pen clicking open is the only thing that breaks the silence.

he just sighed. that’s a bad sign. let’s all start praying now.

For the first ten minutes, everything is fine.

Reports are reviewed, revenue projections are discussed, and for a fleeting moment, there’s the illusion of normalcy. You make your points with cool efficiency, and Sunghoon listens without interruption.

"The merger contract," one of the executives finally says, carefully glancing between the two of you like he’s about to light a match in a room full of gasoline.

You don’t hesitate. You already know where this is going.

"The terms still require legal review," you state, flipping to the necessary section in your file. "The current liability clauses remain too vague for approval."

Sunghoon doesn’t even look up from his laptop. "The legal team has had two weeks to finalize those clauses."

Your brows lift slightly. "And yet, they’re still a problem. Imagine that."

The temperature in the room drops.

Sunoo, who had been casually taking notes, suddenly stops writing. His eyes flicker between you and Sunghoon, realization dawning.

Riki, seated to your right, visibly winces. His grip on his pen tightens before it slips from his fingers and rolls off the table.

Sunghoon finally looks up, his dark eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "You’re delaying a time-sensitive deal over minor details."

Your lips curl, the faintest hint of amusement playing at the edges. "Minor details? You mean, like, the ones that could potentially cost us millions in damages?"

His jaw tightens. "There’s a deadline for a reason."

"And there’s a reason you need my approval before proceeding," you counter, tone perfectly composed. "Which, let me remind you, you don’t have yet."

The silence that follows is deafening.

Sunoo leans back in his chair, murmuring to Riki under his breath. "They’re fighting in full sentences today."

Riki nods slowly, still typing. "This is worse than last week’s passive-aggressive email exchange."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, sitting back in his chair. His fingers drum once—just once—against the table before he speaks again.

"Fine," he says smoothly, but his tone is sharp. "Take another day. No more than that."

You hum thoughtfully, feigning consideration as you flip another page in your file. "I’ll let you know if that’s feasible."

Sunoo, who is now openly grinning, tilts his phone toward Riki.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] the CEO looks like he wants to kill someone but is trying to stay professional. ten bucks says he slams his laptop shut first.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] LMFAO he just clenched his jaw so hard I think he cracked a tooth.

-

Your heels click against the polished floor as you walk further in the penthouse, but you don’t call out for him. You don’t need to. You already know where he is.

The scent of whiskey lingers in the air—subtle, but unmistakable. Your eyes land on Park Sunghoon, sitting on the couch in the dim light of the living room, his posture relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the cushions, his other hand resting near the glass of amber liquid on the coffee table. His tie is loose, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, his sleeves rolled up as if he’s been here for a while, waiting.

But that isn’t what catches your attention.

The divorce papers sit between you on the glass surface.

Untouched.

Your throat tightens as something bitter and exhausted coils low in your stomach. You set your bag down near the door with more force than necessary, the sound sharp against the silence. You’re tired—of the fights, of the push and pull, of this thing between you that refuses to die no matter how much you try to smother it.

"You haven’t signed them." Your voice is level, controlled, giving away nothing. But inside, your pulse is unsteady, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his whiskey, taking a slow sip, his movements measured, deliberate. When he sets the glass back down, the faint clink against the glass table feels deafening in the quiet room. His gaze lifts to yours, dark and unreadable, his expression betraying nothing.

"No."

The single word lands between you like a gunshot.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, nails pressing into your palms as frustration flares up in your chest. "Sunghoon—"

"Say it."

His voice is quiet, but the weight of it cuts through the space between you with an edge sharper than steel.

You frown slightly, tilting your head in question. "Say what?"

His eyes remain steady on yours, holding you there, unrelenting. There’s no coldness in them, not like there usually is, but something deeper, heavier, more dangerous.

"Say you don’t love me anymore."

The air in the room thickens, growing heavy with something suffocating, unbearable.

It should be easy.

You should be able to say it, to lie through your teeth and tear the last fraying thread between you. You’ve spent months trying to unlove him, convincing yourself that walking away is the only choice left.

But the way he’s looking at you now—the way his fingers ghost over the edge of the divorce papers but never actually touch them—it makes something sink deep in your chest, twisting into something that feels like regret.

Your jaw tightens, shoulders drawing stiff, as you inhale slowly through your nose. "Don’t do this," you murmur, voice quieter now.

Sunghoon leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, the corner of his mouth curling into something resembling a smirk, but there’s no amusement behind it. "Do what?"

Your pulse hammers against your ribs as anger rises in your throat, sharp and bitter. "Pretend to care when you never did."

Something snaps.

Fast. Brutal.

Before you can react, you’re on the couch, pinned beneath him, Sunghoon’s hand wrapped around your throat.

Your breath catches as your back presses into the cushions, your pulse stuttering beneath his fingers. The grip isn’t tight—not enough to hurt—but just enough to hold you there, to remind you exactly who he is.

His face is close, too close, his breath warm against your lips, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the tension in every muscle. His gaze flickers between your eyes, searching, burning, filled with something dark and raw.

"You think I never cared?" His voice is low, rough, dangerous in a way that sends heat curling through your stomach.

Your body tenses, then melts, as his other hand trails up your thigh, fingers barely skimming your skin, teasing, not touching where you need him to.

"You think I don’t want you?" His breath is uneven now, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat before loosening again. His thumb brushes along the side of your neck, slow, deliberate. His body is pressed against yours, solid and warm, every inch of him so close, too close, not close enough.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, nails pressing lightly into his skin, grounding yourself, grounding him. Your breath is shaky when you speak, barely above a whisper. "I think you don’t know how to want me without ruining me."

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

For a second—just a second—he looks wrecked.

Then, his grip tightens.

Your breath stutters, a soft gasp slipping past your lips as heat pools low in your stomach. His lips brush against your ear, his voice lower now, rough, a quiet warning.

"Tell me to stop."

You should.

Sunghoon waits, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, his fingers tightening around your waist, his grip flexing against your throat just enough to make your pulse quicken.

"You won’t, will you?" His tone is almost amused, but there’s something darker underneath, something that sounds almost like relief.

You shake your head.

And then his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is deep, hungry, filled with everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer like he wants to memorize the shape of you all over again.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, his body pressing you further into the couch, his knee parting your thighs. His hands slide under your dress, rough palms trailing against your skin, teasing, making you ache.

"Still wet for me," he mutters, voice dark, breathless. His fingers slip beneath your panties, dragging over your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, just to prove his point.

You whimper against his mouth, thighs trembling as he strokes you, not giving you what you need, just teasing, just pushing you closer to the edge.

"Sunghoon," you gasp, a plea, a warning.

He smirks against your skin, lips pressing against your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin before sinking two fingers into you, curling just right.

"You hate me, remember?" His voice is taunting, wicked.

Your back arches, hips rocking against his fingers, chasing more, chasing him.

Your breath comes out in shuddering gasps as you whisper the only thing you can manage. "I hate you."

Sunghoon lets out a breathless, bitter laugh.

"Liar."

-

"That’s not how we do things at Park Enterprises, Mrs. Park," Sunghoon muses.

He leans back in his office chair, fingers tapping against the polished surface of the table. The way he says it is deliberate, lazy, like he’s testing you.

The meeting room is as usual, closer to World War 3 (total destruction edition) than a collaborative good-vibes-only space.

You still, fingers curling slightly against the stack of legal briefs in front of you. The flicker of heat that rushes through you isn’t fondness—it’s pure irritation.

"Don’t call me that." Your tone is measured, sharp.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch, but there’s no humor in his smirk. "Habit."

Your gaze hardens, your nails pressing into the contract as you slam it down in front of him.

"Then break it."

The entire room freezes.

Sunoo, seated two chairs down, makes a sound that might be a laugh but immediately covers it with a cough. Across from him, Riki subtly slides his phone out to update the betting pool on how long this fight is going to last.

The tension only thickens when Sunghoon reaches for the contract, flipping through the pages like he isn’t remotely affected. His expression is smooth, almost bored, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tightens just slightly.

"You seem invested in this," he muses, signing his name on the margin like he’s humoring you. "Why? Worried about my financial well-being?"

You exhale slowly, forcing down the irritation curling in your chest. "No. I just don’t like being dragged into your reckless decisions when you know I’ll have to clean up your mess later."

Sunghoon’s eyes flick up to yours. There’s something there, something sharp, dark, something that makes your stomach twist.

"You always do," he murmurs. "Clean up after me."

You refuse to react, refuse to let him see that he’s getting under your skin. Instead, you push back your chair, standing with a level of poise that takes effort.

"I don’t work for you, Sunghoon," you remind him, voice cold. "I work for the company."

His lips press together, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t tell you you’re wrong.

Because you aren’t.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Riki] he just flexed his fingers like he wanted to throw the pen LMFAO ur boss literally just called him reckless in front of the entire room. this is peak entertainment.

📲 Incoming text: [Riki → Legal Team] ceo looks ready to commit murder. we might need security.

📲 Incoming text: [Sunoo → Executive Team] he just sighed through his nose. we are in DANGER.

-

The morning sun spills into Park Enterprises, painting streaks of gold across the marble floors of the top executive offices. Everything looks pristine, polished—exactly the way Sunghoon keeps it. But today, something is off.

You push open the heavy glass door to his office without knocking, a thick stack of contracts tucked under your arm. Your heels click against the floor with precise, deliberate steps, each one punctuating the tension lingering between you.

Without hesitation, you slam the folder onto his desk.

“You’re going to sign this,” you declare, arms crossing over your chest, voice clipped, firm.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond right away.

You expect the usual pushback—some sarcastic remark, a knowing smirk, the casual dismissal of your concerns—but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stays where he is, leaning against the edge of his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to suggest exhaustion. His fingers press lightly against the smooth wood surface behind him, as if steadying himself.

He looks off.

Not tired—Sunghoon is always tired. But off.

You narrow your eyes. “What, no argument?”

He blinks at you, slowly, like it takes more effort than it should. His grip on the desk tightens briefly before he exhales, dragging a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Are you okay?" The question leaves your lips before you can stop it.

Sunghoon finally reacts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—small, forced. “Worried about me now?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t want you dying in my office.”

He chuckles, but the sound is weak, quieter than usual. He straightens up, shifts his weight slightly, but the way he moves is wrong—like he’s trying too hard to make it look effortless.

"If I did," he murmurs, "I’d haunt you."

Normally, that would be enough to pull an eye roll out of you. Maybe even a snarky remark. But something about the way he says it makes your stomach tighten.

You watch him carefully. The way his fingers flex against the desk. The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his smirk falters at the edges.

Sunghoon has always carried himself with control—measured, deliberate, never showing a single crack in the façade. But right now, standing in front of you, he looks off balance.

The last time he looked like this, the last time he held himself together just a little too well, something had been wrong then too.

Something you didn’t realize until it was too late.

The memory presses at the edges of your thoughts, but you push it down.

“Maybe you should sit down before you do something stupid,” you mutter.

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he does exactly that. He sinks into his chair, rolling his shoulders, letting out a slow breath before picking up the contract.

“Relax,” he says, flipping through the pages. “I’ll sign your stupid paperwork. No need to get sentimental.”

Your jaw tightens, irritation curling at the edges of your concern. “I’m not being sentimental. I just don’t want to deal with the PR disaster when you inevitably collapse.”

Sunghoon lets out a quiet huff of laughter, but the way his fingers drift to his temple, pressing lightly, does not go unnoticed. He rubs at the tension there, eyes briefly fluttering shut before he shakes his head, pushing through whatever is bothering him.

“I’m fine.”

You don’t believe him. But you don’t push. Because the last time you did, you lost.

It had been late.

Past midnight. The city outside your bedroom window was still awake, alive with light and movement, but inside, the world had gone silent.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing into your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. You weren’t crying. You had already done that. There was nothing left inside you except emptiness.

Sunghoon lay beside you.

Awake. Motionless. Silent.

His back was turned to you.

And the worst part, the part that haunted you even now, wasn’t that he hadn’t said anything.

It was that when you had reached for his hand, he had let you hold it.

But he hadn’t held yours back.

The memory lingers even as you push it away.

You watch Sunghoon as he picks up the contract, flipping through the pages with minimal interest. His fingers tighten slightly when he turns each page, like he’s holding back something.

Pain. Fatigue. Something worse.

"You look like shit," you say finally, leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

Sunghoon hums, barely glancing up. “Charming as always.”

"You should get checked out."

He snorts, shaking his head. “If I wanted medical advice, I wouldn’t take it from my ex-wife.”

"Not ex yet."

And for some reason, as you turn to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that you just missed something important.

-

The Park family never asks for favors.

Not officially, at least.

It’s always subtle, always wrapped in polite smiles and casual requests, laced with just enough manipulation to make refusal feel impossible.

Which is why you’re seated in the Park family’s private lounge, sipping tea that’s gone cold, listening to Sunghoon’s mother and his uncle discuss the delicate legal situation that has suddenly become your responsibility.

“It’s just a small thing,” his mother insists, waving a dismissive hand as though corporate fraud allegations against one of their subsidiary partners are a minor inconvenience rather than a full-blown lawsuit waiting to happen.

You keep your expression neutral, fingers laced neatly over your knee. “It’s not a small thing,” you correct evenly. “You’re looking at a serious case of financial misrepresentation, and if this isn’t handled properly, it could affect all of Park Enterprises. This isn’t something I can just sweep under the rug.”

His uncle chuckles like you’ve just told a particularly amusing joke. “Oh, we know that, dear. That’s why we’re bringing it to you.”

Dear.

You resist the urge to tense, keeping your posture composed.

Because this is what you’ve become to them.

Not a daughter-in-law. Not family.

A lawyer first, a liability second.

“You’ve always been so good at handling these sorts of things,” his mother adds, smiling that elegant, carefully practiced smile that never quite reaches her eyes. “And with your position at the company, it only makes sense for you to oversee it personally.”

Of course. Personally.

They won’t trust this kind of thing to an outsider. But they also won’t officially involve you, because that would mean compensation, responsibility, accountability.

Instead, they’ll let you handle it just enough to clean up their mess. They’ll let you do the work, bear the stress, and take the fall if things go wrong.

And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon won’t say a word.

You glance to your left, where he’s seated quietly, fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his coffee cup. He hasn’t spoken once since this conversation began.

Not to defend you. Not to refuse. Not to say anything at all.

Just… silent.

Your fingers tighten around the folder in your lap.

“I’ll review the case,” you say finally, voice clipped, controlled. “But I won’t guarantee anything.”

His mother beams, reaching forward to squeeze your hand like you’ve just agreed to Sunday brunch, not to clean up yet another one of their family’s legal disasters.

“I knew we could count on you,” she says sweetly.

Sunghoon still says nothing.

Not when his mother praises you.

Not when his uncle jokes about how lucky Sunghoon is to have married such a “resourceful” woman.

Not when the conversation finally ends, and they rise from their seats, leaving you with a stack of documents, a heavier workload, and a headache that has nothing to do with legal strategy.

It isn’t until you’re alone with him in the car, on the drive back home, that you finally let your frustration boil over.

“So that’s how this works now?” Your voice is flat, gaze fixed on the city lights outside the window. “Your family gets into trouble, and I’m the free labor you offer up to fix it?”

Sunghoon exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. “It’s not like that.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No? Because from where I’m sitting, it sure as hell feels like it.”

His fingers flex against the steering wheel. “You’re the best lawyer they know,” he says after a beat, like that somehow makes it better. Like that somehow makes this okay.

You turn to look at him, eyes narrowing. “And that’s all I am, isn’t it?”

-

He went back after dropping you off.

His mother had barely glanced up from her tea. “She’s always been so difficult,” she sighed, setting the cup down with a delicate clink. “It would be easier if she simply cooperated without arguing every little point.”

Sunghoon’s jaw had clenched at that.

His uncle had smirked, shaking his head. “Women like her are sharp, but they forget that they’re meant to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

The room had gone silent.

His uncle blinked, raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

Sunghoon had leaned forward slightly, voice measured but laced with something dangerous. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

His mother frowned slightly, but the warning in his expression kept her from speaking.

His uncle, however, wasn’t as quick to read the room. “She’s my niece-in-law, I can—”

“She’s not yours anything,” Sunghoon cut in, tone sharp. “And the next time you speak about her like that, you won’t like how I respond.”

His uncle had scoffed, muttering something under his breath about being too soft on a woman who clearly didn’t respect her place, but the discussion didn’t go any further.

Because Sunghoon had stood up, buttoning his suit jacket, gaze level.

“You wanted her help?” he had said coldly. “You’ll take what she’s willing to give. And if she decides she’s done dealing with your bullshit, you won’t push her. Understood?”

-

The first sign that something is wrong comes in the form of silence.

For the past few days, Sunghoon has been more irritable than usual. Not outright angry, not obviously upset, just… distant. He works longer hours, avoids unnecessary conversations, and brushes off every single instance you or his team ask if he’s okay. It’s nothing new—he’s always had a habit of overworking himself into exhaustion, pushing himself too hard, acting invincible even when he’s clearly not.

You’re used to it.

But today, something feels different.

Maybe it’s the way he barely acknowledged you in the morning meeting, his focus wavering during discussions where he’s usually sharp. Maybe it’s the way his grip tightened just slightly around his pen, like he needed to steady himself. Maybe it’s the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something, but chose not to.

Or maybe it’s the way his entire office is empty when you pass by hours later, and his assistant, Sunoo, is nowhere to be found.

You stop in your tracks.

"Where is he?"

Riki looks up from his phone, startled by your sudden appearance at the executive floor. “Uh—meeting with finance, I think?”

You frown. “No, that ended an hour ago.”

Riki hesitates. He knows better than to lie to you. “He wasn’t looking too good earlier.”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been pushing himself too hard. You knew this would happen.

You spin on your heel, already moving before you can second-guess yourself.

When you find him, he’s exactly where you feared he’d be.

Collapsed on the floor of his office.

Sunghoon is slumped against the base of his desk, one hand still loosely gripping his chair, as if he had tried to stop himself from falling. His usually sharp, polished composure is completely gone—his dress shirt is slightly undone, his face pale, sweat beading along his brow. His breathing is shallow, his eyes half-lidded like he’s barely clinging to consciousness.

The sight of him like this—weak, vulnerable, not in control—makes something in your chest tighten painfully.

"Sunghoon," you breathe out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your hands hover over him for a second, uncertain, before you press against his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

His head tilts slightly, his gaze flickering to you, but it’s unfocused.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice is quiet, hoarse, like he’s barely holding onto himself.

Your heart pounds in your ears. “Shut up.” You tilt his chin up, searching his face, trying to assess just how bad this is. He’s too pale, too warm, and his breathing is far from steady.

"I’m fine," he murmurs, trying to push himself up, but his body betrays him. His limbs shake, his strength is gone, and before he can fall again, you catch him.

That’s when panic sinks in.

You barely register the way your arms tighten around him as you yell for help, your voice sharp, commanding. Within moments, Riki and Sunoo are rushing in, Sunoo already pulling out his phone to call an ambulance.

"Sunghoon, stay awake," you demand, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Do you hear me? Stay awake.”

His lips curve slightly. Even now, he’s trying to smile.

“Bossy,” he mutters.

Your throat tightens. “Shut up and breathe.”

-

The hospital smells like antiseptic and exhaustion.

The waiting room is too bright, too cold, too suffocating. The dull hum of fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, mixing with the distant beeping of heart monitors and the low murmur of voices at the nurse’s station. You sit motionless, staring at the tiled floor, your arms crossed so tightly that your nails press crescents into your palms.

It’s been hours since they rushed Sunghoon in.

Riki and Sunoo are still here, but neither of them speaks. They hover nearby, their presence a quiet weight in the room, but they know better than to say anything. Everyone knows better than to say anything.

Finally, footsteps approach. A doctor stops in front of you, flipping through a clipboard. “Are you here for Park Sunghoon?”

Your breath catches. You rise immediately, ignoring the stiffness in your limbs. “Yes.”

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor says, voice calm and professional. “We ran some tests, but given his symptoms, this isn’t just exhaustion. He’s been dealing with this for a while, hasn’t he?”

Your stomach twists.

He’s been hiding this.

The doctor’s gaze softens slightly. “Are you his wife?”

The word cuts through you like a blade.

You swallow. Legally, yes. Emotionally? You don’t know anymore.

“Yes,” you say, the word tasting strange on your tongue.

The doctor nods. “Then I need to speak with you privately.”

-

The hospital room is suffocating.

It smells sterile, like antiseptic and something cold, something lifeless. The overhead lights cast a dim glow over everything—too bright, too harsh, too unforgiving. The heart monitor beside the bed beeps in slow, steady intervals, but Sunghoon’s breathing is anything but steady.

He looks wrecked.

His skin is too pale, washed out under the fluorescent glow. His lips are dry, colorless. There’s sweat clinging to his hairline, dampening the strands against his forehead. His fingers tremble where they rest against the blanket, curling slightly like even the fabric is too much to hold onto.

And yet, despite all of it, despite the exhaustion weighing down his body and the fever burning beneath his skin, he still looks at you with something sharp, something unyielding, when you demand the truth.

“How long have you known?”

Your voice is stretched too thin, raw from exhaustion and something deeper, something you don’t want to name.

Sunghoon exhales, closing his eyes for a second like it physically pains him to answer. When he finally does, his voice is quiet, hoarse from fatigue.

“Six months.”

The words sink into you like stones.

Your hands tighten around the metal bedrail, your grip so tight your knuckles go white. Your chest constricts, something ugly twisting inside of you, something that makes your stomach curl in on itself.

“Six fucking months?”

Sunghoon drags a trembling hand down his face, but even that looks like it takes too much effort. His body is failing him, but his voice is still there, still cutting, when he lets out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Would it have changed anything?”

Your breath catches, something sharp and painful ripping through your chest.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, something hollow and unfamiliar.

“Yes.”

Sunghoon finally looks at you, but there’s something haunted in his gaze. A long, unbearable silence stretches between you before his jaw tightens, his voice lowering, turning quiet, cutting like a blade against your skin.

“Did it change anything when I tried to hold you after we lost them?”

The air leaves your lungs.

You freeze, your entire body locking up, the grip you have on the bedrail so tight it screeches beneath your fingertips.

Sunghoon watches you carefully, but there’s no fight in his face, no anger, no bitterness.

Just exhaustion.

And pain.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You never tried.”

His breath catches.

“I did,” he murmurs, voice raw.

Your throat tightens.

“No, you didn’t.” You take a step forward, your pulse hammering, hands shaking. “You shut down. You let me—” Your breath hitches, your voice unsteady. “You let me go through it alone.”

Sunghoon doesn’t argue. He just looks away.

And that’s somehow worse.

“You acted like it never happened,” you whisper, the words barely holding themselves together. “Like they never happened.”

Sunghoon’s chest rises sharply, his fingers twitching, his breathing growing uneven again. His entire body stiffens, but he doesn’t push back.

And then, voice hoarse, shaking, wrecked,

“You think I didn’t care?”

Your hands curl into fists, but before you can say anything, before you can even process what’s happening—

Sunghoon moves too fast.

He tries to stand up, tries to close the space between you, but his body betrays him.

His IV yanks painfully, the needle shifting against his arm, and the wires attached to the monitor tangle around his wrist, pulling tighter when he moves. His breath stutters in pain, his fingers weakly gripping the sheets, but he doesn’t stop.

“Sunghoon,” you snap, eyes widening in alarm. “Sit the fuck down.”

But he doesn’t listen. He tries again to push himself up, stumbling slightly, and this time, his knees give out.

You barely catch him in time.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, gripping his arms as his entire weight collapses against you. His body burns under your touch, too warm, feverish, his breathing erratic. His head nearly falls against your shoulder, his body too weak to hold itself up.

His fingers clutch at the fabric of your blazer, something weak, something desperate.

And then—voice wrecked, hoarse, shaking—

“I named them.”

Your entire world tilts.

You go still.

Sunghoon doesn’t move, his forehead nearly pressed against your collarbone, his breath warm and shaky against your skin. His grip tightens, even as his body trembles.

“What?” Your voice barely makes it out, caught somewhere between disbelief and something worse.

“Every night while you were asleep next to me, I whispered their names silently. I prayed for them.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily. His legs shake beneath him, his chest heaving, his entire body drained. He’s burning up, sweat sticking to his temple, his breath shallow.

You grab him by the arms, shaking him slightly. “Say their names.”

Sunghoon winces, he shakes his head ‘no’ his face twisting like the words are physically painful to say. He exhales sharply, breath ragged.

“Say their names, Sunghoon.”

His fingers tighten around your sleeve, his whole body trembling under your touch. For a moment, he just stares at you, like saying it out loud will finally break him.

Then, barely above a whisper, like it’s being torn from him—

“Eunha and June.”

Your stomach drops.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his entire body slumping like he just let go of something he’s been carrying for years.

“I used to imagine who they’d look like more,” he whispers, his voice so thin, so hollow. “If Eunha would have had your eyes. If June would have had my smile.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

“I wondered if they would have fought like us,” he exhales shakily, his fingers flexing around the fabric of your sleeve. “If they would have been close. If they would have had your fire. If I would have been able to protect them.”

His next breath is ragged, breaking.

“They were my girls.”

Your stomach twists.

His voice isn’t just sad. It’s grief-stricken. It’s empty.

“Mine,” he murmurs. His fingers twitch at his sides, the life draining from his voice as his chest rises and falls too quickly. “Mine and yours and no one else’s.”

A sob breaks past your lips, full and desperate and wrecked.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you pull him in.

Sunghoon immediately folds into you, his arms wrapping around your waist weakly, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck.

He’s burning up, feverish, barely staying upright.

Your hands press into his back, feeling the too-thin frame of him, the exhaustion pulling at his body, the heat radiating off him in waves.

Neither of you speak.

For the first time in years, there is nothing left to say.

-

You wake up feeling… off.

Your neck aches, your back is stiff, and there’s a strange, rhythmic beeping that’s far too loud for this early in the morning.

It takes a second to register where you are.

The hospital.

Sunghoon.

The entire night before crashes into you all at once. The fight. His fever. The names. The fact that you never left.

Your stomach tightens. You should have left. You should have walked out the second he fell asleep. That was the plan.

And yet, somehow—you didn’t.

Before you can sit up, the door swings open.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

You jump, blinking blearily as Sunoo steps inside, two cups of coffee in hand, his eyes scanning the room with just a little too much interest.

He doesn’t immediately say something annoying, which means he’s definitely about to.

You shift in your chair, sitting up straighter, clearing your throat. “Morning.”

Sunoo doesn’t move, just looks at you. Then at Sunghoon, still asleep in the bed. Then back at you.

Finally—he lets out a small hum. “You stayed.”

It’s not judgmental. It’s not even teasing, really—just surprised. But for some reason, it makes you feel weirdly defensive.

“He had a fever,” you mutter, shifting under his gaze. “It was high. I didn’t think he should be alone.”

Sunoo nods. “Right.”

You hate how knowing he sounds.

Before you can scowl at him, Sunghoon groans, shifting slightly in the bed. His brow furrows, his body tensing for a brief moment before his eyes crack open.

And you know the exact moment he registers Sunoo’s presence—because instead of groaning in pain like a normal sick person, he exhales sharply, eyes barely open but already full of irritation.

“The fuck are you doing here?” His voice is rough, hoarse from sleep, but still so unmistakably Sunghoon that it’s almost impressive.

Sunoo lets out a small laugh, shaking his head as he grabs his own coffee. “Ah, there he is. Same old personality, even after nearly dying.”

Sunghoon barely cracks an eye open before exhaling sharply, pressing his head back against the pillow. “Go away.”

Sunoo, wisely, does not go away.

Instead, he takes a slow sip of his coffee. “I mean, technically, I work here. It’s my job to check on the CEO.” His gaze flickers toward you. “But wow. Look at this. The dedicated wife, staying by his side all night. It’s like something out of a drama.”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Sunoo—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he says, setting Sunghoon’s coffee on the bedside table. “I won’t tell the office too much. But, you know… people talk. Betting pools exist.”

Sunghoon slowly turns his head toward Sunoo.

And in the flattest, most deadpan voice imaginable, he says—

“You’re fired.”

Sunoo chokes on his coffee. “What?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even blink. “Pack your shit.”

“You wouldn’t survive a week without me,” Sunoo mutters, taking another sip.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, like he’s physically holding himself back from committing a crime.

You watch this exchange, unimpressed. “Are you two done?”

Sunoo gestures at Sunghoon. “Tell him. He’s the one being dramatic.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flick open again. “You barged in here at eight in the morning.”

“Nine,” Sunoo corrects. “And technically, I knocked.”

Neither of you remembers a knock.

Sunghoon takes a long, deep breath. “I still feel like shit. And the very first thing I see when I wake up is you. Running your mouth.”

Sunoo hums. “Okay, grumpy.”

Sunghoon glares.

Sunoo clears his throat, wisely changing the subject. “Anyway. You have the day off, obviously, but I have your morning reports whenever you’re—”

“I don’t care.”

Sunoo nods slowly. “Right. Well. I also have—”

“I still don’t care.”

Sunoo pauses. “…Okay, then.”

For the first time, he seems to sense that he’s overstayed his welcome. He takes a slow step toward the door, glancing between the two of you.

Then, mildly—“Try not to murder each other before lunch.”

And with that, he’s gone..

-

Sunghoon exhales sharply as he sinks into the passenger seat, eyes shut, head tilted back against the headrest. His body is still weak, and you know the car ride is taking more out of him than he’d ever admit. He doesn’t complain, though—he never does.

You keep your eyes on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles pressing just a little too hard against the leather. The silence stretches between you, filling the space inside the car, thick but not suffocating. Just there.

It’s not hostile. Not like before. But it’s not comfortable either.

For a while, neither of you say anything. The city blurs past in streaks of yellow streetlights and neon reflections, casting flickering shadows across Sunghoon’s face. His breathing is slow, controlled, like he’s trying not to let the exhaustion show.

But you see it.

You see the way his fingers twitch slightly against his thigh, how his jaw tenses every time you hit the smallest bump in the road. You see the way his chest rises and falls, slower than usual, deeper like he’s trying to regulate himself.

And then, finally—his voice breaks the silence.

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

It’s not sharp, not a challenge. Just… a test.

You inhale, eyes flickering toward him briefly before returning to the road. “I know.”

A pause. Then, quieter this time, a little more uncertain—“You don’t have to stay in the same house anymore.”

Your fingers tighten around the wheel, your stomach twisting in a way you don’t like.

“I know,” you say again, but this time, it sounds different. Less sure. Less like something you actually believe.

Sunghoon turns his head slightly, watching you from the corner of his eye. His expression remains unreadable, his voice careful.

“Then why are you still here?”

The traffic light ahead flicks to red. The car slows, the tires rolling to a smooth stop, but inside, everything still feels like it’s moving too fast.

You could answer honestly. You could tell him that you don’t know how to walk away from him yet, that you don’t know what the hell you’re still holding onto but you’re holding onto it anyway.

Instead, you let out a slow breath and shift slightly in your seat. “You wouldn’t last a week without me.”

Sunghoon huffs, gaze drifting back toward the windshield. “I’d last at least two.”

The corners of your lips twitch, but you press them together before the expression fully forms.

“Wanna bet?”

The breath he lets out is something close to a laugh—short, barely there, but real.

“Not really,” he mutters, exhaling through his nose.

Neither of you say anything after that.

But the silence that follows doesn’t feel as heavy as before.

-

The house is dimly lit, the soft glow from the hallway casting long shadows across the walls. The familiar scent of wood and clean linen lingers in the air, settling around you like something almost comforting, almost safe.

Sunghoon moves carefully, slower than he normally would, his fingers brushing against the wall for balance as he toes off his shoes. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t sway, but you see the way his body holds tension—too stiff, too controlled, like he’s bracing himself.

You don’t say anything.

Not until he lowers himself onto the couch, exhaling as if just the act of standing had drained him.

“You should sit down,” you say after a moment, arms crossing over your chest.

Sunghoon huffs a quiet breath, shaking his head. “You just watched me sit down.”

You roll your eyes, stepping into the kitchen without another word. He’s impossible. He always has been. The worst part is, you let yourself care anyway.

You fill a glass with water and bring it back to the living room, setting it down in front of him before dropping into the armchair across from the couch.

Sunghoon glances at the glass, then up at you.

“You’re not gonna make me drink it, are you?” His voice is hoarse, rough from exhaustion.

“I will if you keep being difficult.”

Sunghoon exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally—finally—grabbing the glass. He takes a slow sip, sets it back down, and leans back into the cushions.

The silence that follows is heavy, but not the kind that threatens to break.

For a few minutes, neither of you speak. The tension sits between you, waiting, stretching until you finally say—

“You need to take time off.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrows slightly, eyes still closed.

“I already did,” he mutters.

You scoff. “No, you were hospitalized. That’s not ‘time off,’ that’s your body shutting down because you refuse to take care of yourself.”

He doesn’t react at first, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly against his knee.

“I can manage,” he says, and this time, there’s an edge there.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, voice sharper now. “That’s exactly the problem, Sunghoon. You think you can manage. You think you can push through it, that it’s just something you can ignore and work around. But you can’t.”

His jaw tightens.

You exhale through your nose, hands pressing together. “The doctors literally told you what happens if you don’t take care of yourself. You might get better quickly, but if you push too hard, it’s going to get worse even faster. You don’t have the luxury of acting like this is a minor thing.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly, dragging a hand through his hair before resting his forearm against his knee. His voice is quieter when he finally speaks.

“…I know my limits.”

The words hit something raw inside you, something that has been aching for too long.

“No, you obviously don’t,” you snap, and this time, you don’t bother holding back. “You never do. You push and push until you hit a wall, and then you act surprised when your body gives out.”

Sunghoon’s fingers tighten against his knee. “I don’t need you to—”

“To what?” you interrupt, eyes burning. “To remind you? To be here because someone has to make sure you actually listen to the doctor’s advice?”

His breath catches slightly, and you hate how sickly he looks under the dim light. You hate how tired his shoulders are, how his fingers are trembling slightly against his knee, how his skin is still too pale, too warm from the fever that hasn’t fully faded yet. But most of all, you hate that he won’t just let himself rest.

You inhale, voice calmer now, but still firm. “They told you that you can’t just ‘push through’ this, Sunghoon. You’re not invincible. The whole reason you ended up in the hospital is because you ignored the symptoms for months.”

Sunghoon drags a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t need you to remind me of what I already know.”

“Then act like you know it.”

Sunghoon leans back against the couch, his body tense, hands resting on his thighs. His gaze flickers toward the ceiling, expression unreadable.

You watch him, watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with each slow breath, the way his throat bobs slightly when he swallows.

“Are you staying in my room?”

The words are soft. Careful. Testing.

Your fingers tighten slightly against your knee. You should say no.

You should get up, go to your own room, create distance before this turns into something neither of you know how to handle.

“Just until you’re better.”

A lie. And Sunghoon knows it too. But neither of you say anything about it.

-

The room is still dark when you stir awake, the faintest trace of early morning filtering through the curtains. The air is cool, the kind of stillness that comes right before dawn, when everything feels softer—quieter.

You shift slightly under the blankets, your body slow to wake, your mind still caught in the haze of sleep.

And that’s when you feel it.

The warmth. The weight. The quiet, steady presence behind you.

Sunghoon.

Your breath catches, your body freezing for a moment as reality sets in. His arm—heavy, warm, familiar—draped loosely around your waist.

Not tight. Not pulling. Just there.

Your mind races, but your body remembers.

For a second—just a second—you don’t move.

Sunghoon’s breathing is even, deep and slow. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady, the faint warmth of his breath skimming the back of your neck.

Your stomach twists.

It’s been years since you’ve woken up like this—since you’ve felt his presence this close, this natural. And for a fleeting, dangerous moment, you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your shirt, like he’s still dreaming.

Then, suddenly—he shifts.

His body stirs, his breath hitching slightly, and you realize he’s waking up.

Panic flickers up your spine, but you keep still, barely breathing, waiting—waiting to see if he’ll pull away first.

But he doesn’t.

Sunghoon exhales softly, his fingers twitching again before his hand tightens ever so slightly around your waist.

Not intentional. Not forceful. Just… like he doesn’t want to let go yet.

Your throat tightens. It lasts a second. Maybe two.

His body tenses slightly. His fingers flex. His breath catches.

He’s awake now.

Neither of you move. Neither of you breathe too loudly.

And then, carefully—too carefully—he pulls away.

His arm lifts from your waist, the warmth of him retreating as he shifts slightly onto his back. You hear him exhale quietly, controlled.

You wait, counting the seconds, waiting for him to say something, for him to make a joke, for him to act like this didn’t just happen.

But he doesn’t. He just stays there, quiet.

And after a moment, you let out a breath of your own and shift to sit up, pulling the blanket back just enough to swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

Neither of you acknowledge it. Neither of you turn to look at each other.

It’s like it never happened. And that’s the problem.

Because it did.

And for the rest of the morning, you can still feel the lingering warmth where his arm had been.

-

You knew this was going to happen.

You knew the moment you caught a glimpse of his laptop open on the coffee table this morning, saw the unread emails stacking up, the subtle tension in his shoulders as he read through them like he wasn’t supposed to be working in the first place.

You ignored it. You let it go, for a while. But now?

Now, it’s ten at night, and Sunghoon is still sitting on the damn couch, his laptop open, fingers typing slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to pretend he’s not as exhausted as he actually is.

You don’t let it go this time.

“You’re working.”

It’s not a question.

Sunghoon doesn’t look up. His gaze stays fixed on the screen, his fingers still tapping against the keyboard.

“It’s just an email.” His voice is calm. Too calm.

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorway, your eyes sharp.

“Didn’t we already have this argument?”

Sunghoon sighs through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. “And yet, here we are.”

You hate how steady he sounds, how he knows exactly how to say things just to piss you off.

Your arms tighten across your chest. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Then don’t start it,” he mutters, still not looking at you.

Your patience snaps.

You step forward, standing right in front of him, blocking his view of the laptop. “Sunghoon.”

His fingers pause over the keys. His gaze lifts to yours. And the air changes.

It happens too fast, that shift in the atmosphere. The frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer stubbornness—blending into something else.

Something tense.

His eyes flicker over your face, your mouth, your throat. His voice is lower when he speaks this time. Slower. More deliberate.

“You keep saying you’re not going to argue with me.”

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Your stomach twists—not in anger, not in frustration, but in something darker, something hotter, something that you don’t want to name.

Your eyes narrow slightly, your voice sharp when you say—“Because you don’t fucking listen.”

Sunghoon tilts his head, his expression unreadable. His gaze dips, lingering on your lips for half a second too long.

Your breath comes in shorter now.

And then—slowly, carefully—he shuts his laptop. The sound of it clicking shut feels too loud in the quiet.

He leans back against the couch, arms resting on the cushions, his legs spreading just slightly, just enough to make the space between you feel smaller.

“Go on, then.”

Your pulse hammers.

Sunghoon watches you, his gaze steady, his body too relaxed, too effortless—like he’s waiting for something.

Like he wants to see what you’ll do next.

You inhale sharply, trying not to notice the way his sweatpants ride low on his hips, the way his shirt is loose enough to show a sliver of his collarbone, the way he looks completely unaffected when you’re burning.

You hate him.

You hate how good he is at this.

You take a step forward, planting your hands on the armrest, leaning in, forcing his attention back to your face.

“If you’re not going to take care of yourself,” you murmur, “then I will.”

Sunghoon exhales slowly, his jaw flexing slightly.

The tension between you pulls tighter.

He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t blink. He just sits there, waiting.

You don’t know if it’s waiting for the fight, or waiting for something else. You don’t know which one you want more.

For a second—just a second—your eyes flicker to his mouth. And you swear—you swear—his do the same.

Before either of you can do something you can’t take back—

Your phone buzzes from across the room. The moment shatters.

You inhale sharply, stepping back, hands dropping from the armrest. Sunghoon’s eyes flicker, his breath just slightly uneven now, but he doesn’t say anything.

You turn away first. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking.

You don’t look at him when you grab your phone off the counter, checking the notification even though you didn’t read a single word of it.

The moment is over. But neither of you breathe the same after that.

-

You hadn't planned for this.

You hadn't planned on seeing Sunghoon in the hallway, hadn't planned on him looking at you like that—like he was about to ruin you, like he needed to.

But the moment he stepped into your space, the moment his breath ghosted over your skin, you felt the air shift. It was thick, weighted with something that neither of you had the energy to resist anymore.

"Tell me you don’t want this." His voice is low, quiet but firm, laced with something deeper than just lust—something closer to desperation.

Instead of answering, your fingers twist into the front of his shirt and you pull him in.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his restraint snapping the second your mouth meets his. He moves fast—too fast, like he's been starving for this, like he's afraid it'll slip through his fingers if he hesitates. His hands are on your waist, then your back, gripping at you like he's trying to memorize every inch.

The kiss is messy, uncoordinated, filled with teeth and tongues and frustration. Months of pent-up tension, of silent longing, of unsaid words spill into every movement. He presses you into the wall, hips flush against yours, and you feel it—how hard he is, how much he's holding back, how badly he wants this.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he mutters against your lips, his breath ragged.

"Then do something about it."

He groans, low and wrecked, before lifting you effortlessly, hands gripping under your thighs as he carries you through the house. He doesn’t stop kissing you—not when he stumbles slightly into a wall, not when he nearly knocks over a lamp.

You barely make it to the couch before he’s pushing you down, hovering over you, eyes dark with something too raw to name.

His hands move fast—too fast—pulling at your clothes, impatient, frantic. His fingers tremble slightly as he drags your shirt over your head, his lips instantly finding the newly exposed skin, teeth grazing, biting, soothing with his tongue.

"Fuck—" he exhales, hands gripping at your hips, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for a second. Like he's catching his breath. Like this is overwhelming him.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at you.

"Sunghoon."

His eyes flicker to yours, something wrecked flashing across his face before he swallows hard, his fingers tightening on your skin.

"Say it again."

His lips ghost over your collarbone, his breath unsteady. You shudder.

"Sunghoon."

That’s all it takes. Then—his mouth is on you, his hands everywhere, his body pressing against yours like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin.

He whispers your name over and over, between gasps and curses, between kisses that feel too much like confessions.

And when he finally pushes inside you, his forehead drops to yours, his breath heavy, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I missed you. You were my life, you were my life."

It’s not just sex. It never was. It’s him finally admitting what neither of you have said out loud. And you don't stop him.

Because you missed him too.

-

The air is warm, thick with the scent of sweat and skin and something distinctly Sunghoon. His body is still pressed against yours, not with the desperation of before but with something softer, something that lingers.

Your fingers trace absentminded patterns over his back, your body still humming from him, from this, from everything.

His hand is still resting against your hip, fingers brushing against your skin, like he’s memorizing the feeling, like he’s making sure it doesn’t disappear.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, exhaling slowly. You could stay like this. You could let yourself be comfortable in this silence, in the warmth of his body, in the knowledge that—for once—you both stopped fighting.

But then, he shifts slightly, pressing his forehead against your shoulder before mumbling, “We should slow down.”

Your brows pull together slightly.

Did you hear that right? You open your eyes, tilting your head to glance down at him.

"What?"

Sunghoon exhales, leaning up on one elbow, his free hand still resting on your waist, thumb rubbing lazy circles against your skin.

"I mean, we don’t have to rush this," he says, voice quieter now, more careful. His eyes flicker over your face, something unreadable in them. "I don’t want to fuck this up again."

Your breath catches slightly.

He doesn’t want this to be just about sex. He doesn’t want to let himself have you only to lose you again. He wants to be careful with you.

But you nod anyway, pretending that the way your chest tightens isn’t real. "Okay."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Mhm."

Then, slowly, you shift, straddling his waist, your fingers resting lightly on his chest.

Sunghoon stills immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asks, voice cautious, his hands instinctively coming to rest on your thighs.

Sunghoon’s head falls back against the couch, his jaw clenching. He wants to argue, you can tell, but the second you grind down again, all he manages is a sharp inhale, his fingers digging into your skin.

You smirk, tilting your head.

"I thought you wanted to take things slow."

His breath shudders. His grip on you tightens. Then he laughs—low, rough, almost amazed.

"You’re a fucking menace."

You barely have time to grin before he’s flipping you over, pressing you down into the cushions, his body caging you in.

"Slow?" he repeats, voice dropping, his lips hovering over your throat.

You try to keep up the act, but your breathing is already uneven, your body reacting to him before you can think.

"Isn’t that what you wanted?" you whisper, deliberately tilting your chin up in challenge.

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his lips barely ghosting over yours.

"I changed my mind."

You barely have time to react before his hands slide down your thighs, gripping, tugging, parting you for him again.

Your breath catches.

"Sunghoon–"

"No." He shakes his head, his mouth pressing against your jaw as he smirks. "No more talking."

His fingers move lower, teasing, pressing just enough to make you gasp. And that’s when you remember—he’s still recovering. Your hand shoots out, pressing against his chest.

"Wait."

Sunghoon stills, his brow furrowing slightly, his breathing uneven.

"You’re sick," you murmur, your lips brushing against his jaw. "Let me work for it instead."

His entire body tenses.

Your hands trail down his stomach, your fingers ghosting over the waistband of his sweatpants.

"You—" he tries, but his voice is hoarse now, breathless, wrecked.

You hum, tilting your head. "What?"

His jaw flexes.

Then, without another word, he lets himself fall back against the couch. His breath comes out shaky, his head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut.

"Then work for it."

-

It’s been a month since then and Sunghoon has finally fully returned to work.

He’s doing much better now. His energy is back, his balance has improved, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he actually looks like himself again.

You’re not sure what you expected when he came back. Maybe for things to go back to the way they were before, full of sharp remarks and tension that could snap a room in half. Or maybe for things to be awkward, unspoken things lingering between you in ways that made your employees suffer secondhand stress.

But instead? No one knows what the hell is happening anymore.

Because while you and Sunghoon aren’t exactly different, something has… shifted.

The first sign of something weird happening was the lack of fighting.

A month ago, meetings with both of you in the same room meant employees visibly sweating, taking deep breaths beforehand, and updating their wills in secret.

Now?

Now, Sunghoon pulls out a chair for you before sitting down. Now, you ask his opinion instead of shutting it down immediately. Now, he actually listens when you talk.

People are concerned.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat] 👥 Sunoo, Riki, Jungwon, Misc. Employees

🐧 Sunoo: guys. wtf is going on.🐥 Jungwon: ??? 🐧 Sunoo: i just saw boss lady n ceo actually agree on something in a meeting. no insults. no glaring. NO ONE DIED.🐱 Riki: LIAR.🐧 Sunoo: i have receipts.

(Sunoo sends a screenshot of the meeting notes. The section labeled 'Conflict Resolution' is EMPTY. Unedited. No bloodshed.)

🐥 Jungwon: I mean. That’s… good? Right? 🐱 Riki: NO IT’S NOT GOOD. THIS IS LIKE WATCHING PARENTS WHO USED TO HATE EACH OTHER BE WEIRDLY FLIRTY. I’M TRAUMATIZED. 🐧 Sunoo: EXACTLY.

📲 [Legal Team Group Chat] 👥 You, Your Team

⚖️ Paralegal #1: So uh. Boss.⚖️ Paralegal #2: What the hell is going on with you and CEO Park?⚖️ Paralegal #3: Did we miss a memo? Is this a prank? Are you sedated?

You roll your eyes, already regretting checking your messages.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: What are you talking about?

⚖️ Paralegal #2: You didn’t threaten to resign after he questioned your contract amendments today. You just. Smiled??⚖️ Paralegal #3: YOU AGREED WITH HIM ON SOMETHING. WE ALL SAW IT.⚖️ Paralegal #1: YOU LAUGHED AT SOMETHING HE SAID.⚖️ Paralegal #2: YOU LAUGHED, BOSS. AT HIS JOKE.⚖️ Paralegal #3: Do we need to call HR? Blink if you’re in danger.

📲 [You → Legal Team]: Go do your jobs.

It happens after a late meeting. You and Sunghoon are the last ones leaving, walking toward the elevators. Everyone else is pretending to be busy, but they’re totally watching.

The elevator doors slide open. You step inside first, then turn slightly—instinctively holding out your hand. Sunghoon takes it.

Casually. Like it’s normal. Like you always do this. And then—he laces your fingers together.

The doors slide shut.

Riki visibly short-circuits.

📲 [Executive Team Group Chat]

🐱 Riki: GUYS I JUST SAW THEM HOLD HANDS. IN THE ELEVATOR. IN PUBLIC. I NEED TO LIE DOWN. 🐧 Sunoo: Riki. Riki are you there. 🐥 Jungwon: Someone sedate him before he starts screaming. 🐧 Sunoo: THAT’S IT I’M STARTING A BETTING POOL. HOW LONG BEFORE THEY GET MARRIED (AGAIN). 🐱 Riki: I CAN’T BREATHE.

-

The company gala had been suffocating. Hours of pretending, of schmoozing, of wearing polite smiles while the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze burned against your skin the entire night. He hadn’t touched you once. Not in front of the board members, not during the champagne toast, not even when his fingers brushed against yours as he handed you a drink.

But he was watching.

And now, in the backseat of his car, that restraint is gone.

The moment the driver pulls away from the curb, Sunghoon’s hand is on your thigh, gripping—hard. His palm is warm against the skin exposed by the slit of your dress, fingers flexing like he’s holding himself back, like he’s trying to decide how far he’ll let himself go.

He doesn’t speak.

You don’t either.

Because you both know where this is going.

The city blurs past the windows, streetlights flickering across his sharp jawline, his loosened tie, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he exhales.

And then—his hand slides higher.

Your breath catches.

"You knew exactly what you were doing tonight." His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s a sharp edge to it, something dark and controlled.

You shift slightly, not moving away, letting his fingers graze the crease of your inner thigh. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Sunghoon exhales a short laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

His hand tightens.

"You wanted me like this, didn’t you?" His fingers ghost over your clothed core, pressing just enough to make your legs twitch. "Parading around all night in this dress, pretending you weren’t soaking through your panties while you smiled at those executives."

Your stomach flips.

You don’t respond.

Sunghoon doesn’t need you to.

Because the moment you shift your legs slightly wider—silent permission—he knows.

And that’s when he loses it.

The car jerks to a sudden stop.

The driver turns slightly. “We’re at the—”

"We won’t be long," Sunghoon interrupts smoothly, his fingers already curling around your wrist.

Then, he yanks you into his lap.

You gasp at the sudden movement, hands bracing against his chest, but he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. His mouth is on yours before you can speak, rough and claiming, all tongue and teeth.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, his hands gripping your ass as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his cock straining against his pants, pressing against your clothed core.

"Say it."

You bite your lip, pretending to consider, just to piss him off. "Make me."

Sunghoon growls, his fingers twisting into your hair as he yanks your head back, exposing your throat. His mouth is on you immediately, biting, sucking, marking.

"My wife thinks she’s a fucking tease." His lips drag against your pulse, his voice dark, edged with something dangerous. "That’s cute."

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching your dress up to your hips. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, he doesn’t bother taking them off. He just pulls, fabric tearing effortlessly in his grip.

"Sunghoon—"

"Shut up."

His hand moves between your legs, fingers dragging through your slick folds. He groans, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for half a second, like he’s barely holding himself together.

"You’re fucking soaked." His fingers circle your clit, slow, teasing, deliberate. "You really get off on being treated like a brat, don’t you?"

Your breath stutters. You hate how much his words affect you.

But Sunghoon notices.

He always does.

His free hand slides up your back, gripping the back of your neck before wrapping around your throat. He squeezes—not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his fingers.

"Answer me."

You swallow, the pressure of his grip making your head spin.

"I—" Your voice catches when he presses down on your clit at the same time, two fingers slipping inside you. Your body jolts at the stretch, at the pressure, at the way he fills you without hesitation.

"That’s what I thought," he murmurs, his mouth brushing against your ear. "Always such a fucking mess for me."

His fingers work you open too fast, too rough, curling against the spot that makes you see stars. Your hips roll against his hand, chasing it, and Sunghoon laughs—low and wrecked.

"That desperate already?"

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s flipping you onto your back, pressing you down against the leather seat.

Your head spins.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, spreading you open, dragging his cock through your slick folds before he presses against your entrance.

"You want it?" His voice is strained, his jaw tight.

"Yes—"

But he doesn’t give you time to beg.

Because in the next second—he’s inside you, all at once, filling you to the hilt.

Your back arches off the seat, a choked sound escaping your throat.

Sunghoon groans, his head dropping forward, his grip bruising where he holds your hips down. "Fuck—look at you. Taking my cock so fucking well."

You barely have time to breathe before he starts moving.

No easing into it. No gentleness.

Just rough, deep thrusts that knock the air from your lungs.

"You feel that?" His hand wraps around your throat again, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. "This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? My wife acting like a whore all night just so I could fuck her stupid in the back of a car”

You moan, the humiliation making your skin burn in the best way.

"That’s right," he grits out, snapping his hips harder, his other hand gripping your thigh, pushing it higher. "Let me hear you."

The car rocks with the force of it, every thrust sending pleasure shooting through your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body shaking, your release already close, already—

"Come on, baby," he murmurs, his breath ragged, his forehead pressing against yours. "Come on my cock. Be a good fucking girl for me."

And you do.

You shatter beneath him, your body tensing, your thighs trembling as your orgasm crashes through you.

Sunghoon follows right after, his rhythm stuttering before he buries himself deep, his groan breaking into something almost desperate. His fingers flex against your throat before finally, finally, he lets go.

The car is silent except for your uneven breaths.

Sunghoon leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead, softer now, his breathing still shaky. His fingers trail down your side, slow, absentminded, like he’s grounding himself.

The only sound in the car is the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing, the occasional rustling of fabric as Sunghoon shifts slightly against you. The intensity of what just happened lingers between you, crackling in the air like an aftershock, leaving both of you too warm, too tangled, too unwilling to move just yet.

He’s still inside you, still pressed close, his body a solid weight over yours, grounding, steadying. Neither of you speak, and for a while, you simply let the quiet settle, let your fingers drift absently over his back, tracing slow, lazy shapes.His forehead is against yours, his breath deep and uneven, warm against your lips.

Eventually, he exhales, the sound low, almost satisfied, before tilting his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. His hand shifts from where it had been gripping your thigh, his touch gentler now, a stark contrast to how he had held you earlier—fierce, possessive, unwilling to let you go. Now, his fingers just rest against your skin, smoothing over the curve of your waist, the warmth of his palm familiar.

"You okay?" His voice is rough from exertion, still heavy with something raw and unspoken.

You hum, nodding slightly, your cheek brushing against his. You can’t quite find the words yet—your body still feels like it’s floating, caught between exhaustion and bliss.

Sunghoon shifts just slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze sweeps over your face, studying you carefully, before his lips curve into a small, amused smile.

"I’ll take that as a yes." His fingers trace slow circles against your hip, his touch absentminded but deliberate, like he doesn’t quite want to stop touching you yet.

You blink up at him, still dazed, your limbs pleasantly heavy, your skin oversensitive in the best way. His words barely register before he shifts, withdrawing from you slowly. A quiet whimper catches in your throat at the loss, your body instinctively tightening around nothing.

Sunghoon notices.

His gaze darkens again, his jaw flexing slightly before he exhales through his nose, visibly restraining himself. He tilts his head, one brow raising ever so slightly, smug in a way that makes your stomach twist.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice low, watching as his release slowly drips out of you, glistening on your inner thighs.His fingers trace your swollen entrance, dragging along the slick mess he’s made, spreading it just to watch you squirm.

"So messy," he muses, voice teasing but full of something heavier, more possessive.

Heat spreads across your cheeks, embarrassment creeping in at how wrecked you must look, your thighs still trembling, your breath uneven. You turn your head slightly, muttering under your breath, "Shut up."

Sunghoon chuckles, clearly too pleased with himself. His fingers move to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

"Don’t do that," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, lower, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You frown slightly, not quite understanding. "Do what?"

His thumb presses just slightly harder, a silent reprimand, a reminder that he’s still in control.

"Act shy now," he says, watching you too closely, too knowingly. His smirk is slow, deliberate, confident in a way that makes your stomach flip. "You just let me fuck you stupid in the back of my car."

Your cheeks burn hotter, mortification creeping in. You scoff, shoving at his chest halfheartedly, but he doesn’t budge."I hate you."

His laughter is soft, low, a rumble against your skin as he presses another kiss—this time to your jaw, then lower, trailing lazily toward your throat.

"No, you love me."

You take a deep breath “I do.” 

He looks surprised, shocked almost, “You– you do?” 

You nod. “I do, ” you look at him expectantly, “You love me?” 

He laughs deep and loud, a real laugh, grabs your face in his hands forcing you closer, “Baby, when did I ever stop?”

Before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock on the window.

You freeze.

Sunghoon sighs, clearly unfazed, barely even reacting before he reaches over to roll down the window slightly.

Outside, the driver stands with an expression so perfectly neutral it’s almost comedic, like this is just another Tuesday night for him.

"Mr. Park," he says, his tone entirely professional, unaffected. "Should I… call another car for you two?"

You bury your face in Sunghoon’s shoulder, mortified.

Sunghoon, as expected, looks completely unbothered.

"No need," he replies smoothly, his fingers absently stroking your thigh as if nothing had just happened. "We’ll be heading home in a bit."

The driver nods curtly, not even blinking. "I’ll be outside."

And then, just like that, he walks away.

You groan, still refusing to lift your head. "I can never face him again."

Sunghoon laughs softly, his hand sliding up to rub slow, soothing circles against your back.

"You’ll live, you love me."  he murmurs, his voice warm, teasing, but laced with something softer. His fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head up just slightly. His lips brush against yours, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

"Let me clean you up."

You blink up at him, your chest tightening for reasons entirely unrelated to sex.

"You don’t have to—"

His hand tightens in your hair, not to hurt, just to keep you still. He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off before you can finish the thought.

"I want to," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours again, softer this time. "I take care of what’s mine. Of what I love."

Something invisible but heavy lodges itself in your throat.

Because he means it. Because this isn’t just sex, or routine, or an easy way to pass the time. This is him showing you, in the quietest way possible, that he loves you.

And when he kisses you again, when he reaches for a tissue to carefully clean the mess between your thighs, when he murmurs something under his breath about how ‘his wife shouldn’t be walking around with his cum dripping down her legs’

You don’t ever want to lose this again.

EPILOGUE

It starts the same way it did last time.

The nausea creeps in slowly—subtle at first, nothing out of the ordinary. You assume it’s from overworking yourself, the stress of handling legal negotiations, or maybe even just the exhaustion of being married to a man who refuses to listen when you tell him to take breaks.

Sunghoon notices before you do.

At first, it’s little things—the way you lean against the counter a little longer in the mornings, the way your appetite fluctuates, the way you pause mid-sentence with a sudden grimace, like something doesn’t sit right in your stomach. He watches you closer than usual, his sharp eyes following you whenever you touch your lower abdomen absentmindedly, whenever you shake your head at food that you normally love.

And then, one morning, you feel it.

The moment you stand up from bed, a wave of nausea crashes into you so violently that you barely make it to the bathroom in time.

You hear him before you see him—footsteps, the rustling of sheets, the quiet, urgent sound of his voice calling your name as he reaches for you.

"Hey—what’s wrong?" Sunghoon is kneeling beside you in seconds, his hand warm and steady against your back, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you try to catch your breath. His fingers stroke through your hair gently, not rushing you, not asking anything else yet.

You grip the edge of the sink, exhaling shakily, your heartbeat too loud, your pulse erratic.

Because this feels familiar. Too familiar. And that’s when you know. Sunghoon stills when you don’t answer right away.

"Baby." His voice is softer now, careful. "Look at me."

Something unreadable flickers across his face—shock, realization, something dangerously close to hope.

He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to. Because he knows, too.

And that’s how you find yourself sitting on the bathroom floor minutes later, staring at the test clutched in your hands, the two pink lines undeniable.

Sunghoon sits beside you, his knee brushing against yours, his breathing measured but uneven. He doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t take it from your hands.

Instead, he just looks at you.

"Are we...?" His voice is barely above a whisper, raw in a way you rarely hear.

Your fingers tighten around the test, your throat thick with emotion. You nod, swallowing hard before murmuring, "Yeah."

Sunghoon exhales, slow and unsteady, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His head tilts forward slightly, his eyes squeezing shut for a second before he lifts them back to you. His gaze is so full of something it knocks the air from your lungs.

"How do you feel?" he asks quietly.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, part relief, part disbelief. "Like I might throw up again."

A short chuckle escapes him—not out of amusement, but out of something else, something lighter.

Then, slowly, he reaches for you.

His hands slide over your cheeks, fingertips pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to make sure you’re real, like he’s trying to ground himself in this moment. His thumb strokes over your cheekbone, his breath fanning against your lips as he leans in, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, close enough that you can feel the slight tremble in his touch.

The positive test sits between you both, abandoned on the bathroom counter, but neither of you look at it anymore. You don’t need to.

Because all you can focus on is him—the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily, the way his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how.

And then, finally, he does.

"I won’t fail you this time."

His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, but it hits you harder than anything else.

Your breath catches in your throat, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulders. His eyes are so unbearably soft when they meet yours, but there’s something else there, too—something raw, something desperate.

"I won’t lose you. I won’t lose them," he murmurs, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you fully against him, like he can shield you from anything and everything that might try to take this from him again.

A lump forms in your throat, because this is what he’s been carrying.

This is what he never let himself say out loud.

"You never failed me, Sunghoon," you whisper, your fingers moving to cup his face, "We lost them together."

Sunghoon swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

"I should have held you. I should have been better. I should have—" His breath stumbles, and for the first time, you see it—the way his control wavers, the way the guilt still lingers, thick and unbearable.

"Hey." You press a hand against his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "You don’t have to do this alone anymore."

Sunghoon exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I don’t deserve this," he murmurs, his grip tightening around you.

"You do." You don’t hesitate. "And we’re going to do this right this time."

His breath shudders. And then—he kisses you.

It’s not like before. It’s not desperate, or punishing, or laced with frustration. It’s slow, deep, lingering. It’s an apology, a vow, a promise.

When he pulls away, his lips hover just above yours, his eyes searching, waiting for something.

"Stay," he whispers. "Stay with me. Stay here. Always."

You smile, pressing your forehead against his.

"I already did."

fin.

Taglist: @vrusha01 @cupiddolle @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @somuchdard @hveanlyanqelic @miuwonis @outroherrr @weyukinluv @riribelle @wonzbear @zhangyi-johee @randomanothercreature @wolfhardbby @httpenhoon @annovaz @seonhoon @lovelycassy @noidnoentry @btsreadss @linlianxin @icrieliterature @aussie-boys-wife @woniefull @ikeuwoniee @en-doll @ambi01 @thinkinboutbin @tobiosbbyghorl @semi-wife @fancypeacepersona @exhaleinhalepowder @firstclassjaylee @ijustwannareadstuff20 @nshmrarki

[yeonmuse]

SYNOPSIS — Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like involving himself with those at Chaconne academy, but when he finds out his little sister’s music teacher attends and she starts getting a little too close she forces him to let his guard down. Now he’s gotta juggle new people and new emotions entering his life and she’s got to face her past in order to hold tight to him and her future.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, angst non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎻

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . Strong angst themes, slow burn but mostly fluff. I’m not sure where this idea had come from considering I have 4 unfinished series out right now but I wrote this in 4 days so lets fucking go i guess??? Includes Choi Yeonjun, Bae Jinyoung, Kim Sunwoo, Jung Wooyoung, Shen Ricky, Xu Jiaqi and Asaya Jurin. Wc is 4.1k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | ENDING

Chaconne Academy was one of the many elitist schools in the district, your typical run of the mill prissy assholes that felt they were better than everyone else simply because they’d paid a higher price for their education. Those that attended had either been scouted and recruited by the board while anyone other than those that worked hard to get in, were born into nepotism. Born into the wealth of the school or simply owed favors by the dean and those on the board. Though where exactly did that leave you? You were the absolute opposite type of what the school had been looking for, though very talented and passionate when it came to music you werent exactly the vibrant type. You were fairly quiet, you’d only talked to those you absolutely had to, otherwise you would be compelled to spill your guts once you truly got to know someone. You rarely liked to stand out amongst the crowd because truth be told you completely hated attention. Though when it came to writing and composing music or holding a mic in your hand that was where you absolutely shined. In high school you grabbed attention occasionally, many finding you pretty but almost immediately losing interest when they found that you rarely talked. You were never the type that liked to dwell in the spotlight.

You certainly weren't rich nor had you been scouted by anyone so how exactly had your father pulled enough strings to have gotten you into such a highly praised academy? You weren’t exactly sure nor had you cared because you had finally found yourself a group of people you knew would understand you amongst all, or at least you thought you had. The pictures and virtual tour had done no justice to the school itself, not only was it huge, but it was absolutely breathtaking, its outdated castle-like exterior contrasted to its much more modern interior. The visuals certainly lived up to the expectations that had been set by the school's reputation itself. Having been busy taking in your surroundings you found yourself quite distracted, maybe a little too distracted, seemingly unaware of the red haired man hurdling right towards you on his skateboard immediately knocking you off your feet.

“Shit, I'm sorry.’’ Scrambling to his feet he helps you up, holding onto your hand a little longer than he should have been , turning the already embarrassing encounter much more awkward than needed.

“I didn’t see you, I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you or anything right”

“Aside from the embarrassment of being ran over and knocked down in the middle of the corridor completely fine, nothing hurt, nothings broken.’’ You reassure him, making him let out a relieved sigh.

“Actually now that I think about it I don’t think i’ve seen you here at all.’’

“That’s because i'm new.’’

“Ah I should have known, since there aren’t many of us here it’s easy to remember the faces of those that attend, and I know for a fact yours is one I wouldn’t have forgotten.’’ there's a flirtatious undertone to his words, making you look away which hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

“I’m Yeonjun by the way.’’

“Yn’’

A silence lingers between the two of you momentarily after your self introductions, the silent streak only having been broken when Yeonjuns name is called from behind you, making his eyes finally redirect from you who stood in front of him to a group standing behind you.

Four other guys and two girls stood in the entranceway of the hallway, seemingly waiting for Yeonjun to Join them.

“One second.’’ His attention returns to you as he once again makes sure that you’re okay from the fall.Truth be told you were more embarrassed than anything and just grateful that no one had been there to witness the collision

“I’m fine, it looks like your friends are waiting for you and i’ve got to check in with the dean.’’

“Good luck with that, oh and let’s not tell her about our little collision, I don’t need another lecture from her about skating in the halls again.’’ he inquired, sheepishly scratching at the nape of his neck.

“Your secrets safe with me.’’

“I’ll see you around. Goodluck on your first day yeah?’’

“Thanks.’’ without another word he’d picked up his skateboard and gone to join the others, leaving you alone once again. It was then that you realized you’d completely missed the opportunity to ask him where the dean's office had been. Which meant you were now completely fucked and left with no chance of finding it without roaming the entire building. You’d roamed for what felt like an hour but had only been a mere ten minutes, eventually getting yourself lost.

“I should have asked him for directions.’’ a sigh slipped past your lips and you’re immediately startled as you hear someone speak up from behind you.

“Are you lost or something?’’

“Is it that obvious?’’

“Well the “i should have asked him for directions” and the fact that you’re in the guys dormitories which is restricted to the girls are kind of gave it away.’’ you mentally facepalm, taking a mental note of the information he’d just given you before turning to face the owner of the voice that had startled you only a moment ago.

“You must be the new girl Yeonjun told everyone about.’’

“Already? We only just met a few minutes ago?’’

“Word travels fast here, especially if Choi Yeonjun is the man given the information. So by now nearly half the school knows about you.’’

“Great.’’

“I’m assuming you’re looking for the dean's office then? And in that case you’re in the wrong building. This is building B, Building A is where the courses take place and where the dean's office is located, Building C are the girls dormitories.”

“Where are those exactly?’’ you felt bad for having to bombard him with so many questions though he on the other hand didn’t seem to mind.

“Luckily i’m on my way to soccer practice so I don’t mind showing you.’’

“Seriously? You really don’t mind?’’

“I’m headed that way anyways, what’s your name by the way Yeonjun conveniently forgot to pass on that information.’’

“Yn, it’s yn”

“Well welcome to Chaconne y/n i’m Sunwoo.’’

-

“There's no way you just let her walk past you like that? She’s been giving you the eyes for a month now.” jakes eyes trailed behind Kim Yuna like a cat following a laser beam. Kim Yuna had set her eyes on Sunghoon the moment he’d arrived at the school but as of recent she’d found herself growing more bold with her efforts. Subtle glances and greetings in the hallway had turned into not so subtle flirting, eye batting and seduction attempts, all of which Sunghoon paid no mind. Truth be told, aside from the very few people he’d been close to, he didn't care to get to know anyone else at the school. Not only was it pointless, but every single one of them were the same aside from a handful of people, all spoiled and spoon fed their entire lives, completely entitled. Sunghoon himself had also been well off, though he differed in the fact that he didn’t flaunt his money or use it as an excuse to treat people anyway he wanted. He’d treated them all the same, he simply didn’t care for any of them nor had he desired being close to any of them.

“I don’t know why you expected him to show any interest all of a sudden when he’s never given her the time of day no matter how many times Yunas attempted to flirt with him.’’ Jay interrupts, his focus solely on tuning his guitar in hand while Jake continues to whine in disbelief that Sunghoon had let such an opportunity pass him by.

Sunghoon on the other hand had paid him no mind. Glasses perched up on the bridge of his nose, fingers clicking away at his keyboard he’d chosen to simply ignore the latter. He’d grown used to Jake's whining and complaining by now, having known both him and Jake since middle school when their parents had all forced them to attend a shared event. They had all been thirteen at the time, each of them having bonded over dropping frogs in the punch bowl, every one of them having been scolded to the gods for ruining the entire event. They had all been friends ever since.

“He hasn’t given one girl a chance since we’ve gotten here, it’s scary. Wait or are you just not into girls- because you know if you’d rather a dude then that’s okay too.’’ Sunghoon, finally looking up from his computer gives Jake a stern look, one that blatantly read ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ But of course Jake simply ignored it.

“You know sometimes with you, I swear the stores are open but no one's shopping.” Jay retorts, making Jakes brows furrowed in confusion.

“Whatever the hell that means.’’

-

After what felt like an hour long talk with the dean you had settled into your dormitory. Since classes had already started that meant you’d not yet met your roommates but you were praying to every god known to man that they’d be someone you got along with. Today having been your first day arriving both you and the dean had set today’s priorities on you having gotten all moved in and used to the school. You on the other hand had found comfort in Sunwoo, and rather than get lost trying to find your way through the school all alone, you’d rather take your chances asking him to show you around. Until then that left you with nothing to do other than organize your room and job search. After two hours of room decorating and screaming Shinees entire discography at the top of your lungs, you’d eventually showered and sat yourself at the dining room table, scrolling through job after job until you eventually set your eyes on one that piqued your interest.

“Music teacher wanted.”

“We’re looking for someone to teach our youngest daughter about music. Recently she’s taken an interest in instruments we know nothing about. She’s also taken an interest in composing and note writing and we’re looking for an experienced professional, pay would be 200 dollars an hour.’’

Your eyes had nearly fallen from your face upon reading the price, 200 an hour simply to teach a kid music? They had to be either absolutely crazy or extremely wealthy. Either way you didn’t truly care because you’d apply with or without having known such information. Truth be told you’d never taught anyone professionally your entire life. The closest you’d gotten to teaching anyone was when you taught your little cousin how to play guitar hero at the age of eight.

You’d taught yourself to play nearly every instrument known to man, so how difficult could it be teaching someone else, let alone a child?

Your gaze snapped away from your laptop to the door as you heard it swing open and in came two girls yelling about where they should go out for dinner. As if finally seeming to have realized you had been sitting there they’d stopped dead in their tracks, one of them giving you a smile while the other stood rubbing her temples, you assumed it was due to the fact that the other had been screaming only mere seconds before.

“Oh you’re the girl Yeonjun was talking to earlier.’’ the girl that had been yelling moments ago, takes note as the other shuts the door behind them.

“I’m Jiaqi but you can call me jia, this is Jurin”

“Yn, nice to meet you.’’

“Jia the girl just got here, can you maybe not talk her ear off?’’

“I haven’t even said or asked anything yet?’’

“Yeah but I knew it was coming.’’

“Honestly I don’t mind, since we’re all gonna be sharing this space I don’t mind answering any questions you have.’’ you respond while closing your laptop, making jiaqis' nose scrunch up as she turns to Jurin.

“See rin, She doesn’t mind.” she retorts, an all knowing tone before turning her attention back to you

“We were just about to head out for lunch did you want to join us?’’

“Sure, just let me change into something less, homey.’’ you respond, glancing down at your outfit before standing from your seat at the table, earning a laugh from Jiaqi.

The rest of the day had gone by smoothly, you and the girls had taken the time out to get to know one another and you’d found out that you all had a few things in common. Similar music tastes, the same favorite ice cream flavor, you’d even find out that you and Jurin had attended the same middle school and just never crossed paths.

-

Sunghoon had arrived back home, happy to finally be back and get his much needed break from the classes and constant eyes on him. Even if it was a mere two days away he was grateful every time the weekend had come around, it meant no alarms and no agonizing drive from the campus and back. Though he could have made it far easier on himself and gotten a dorm, he'd rather take the drive back and forth from home to campus, rather than be forced to share a room with someone he knew he couldn’t bother getting to know.

“Oh good you’re here.’’ Sunghoons mom enters his room, poking her earring through her ear as she steps inside.

“Your father and I have to attend an emergency meeting, but Yoari’s new music teacher should be on her way soon, we left her instructions on the coffee table, and the money to pay her is in the safe, we told security to let her into the gate when she arrives just check up on her and your sister every now and then.’’

“You got her a teacher?’’

“Well yes, she wanted to learn music so we put up an ad two days ago.’’

“You hired a stranger to teach her when you could have gotten me or Jay?”

“You and Jay are not professionals sweetheart, and we’d rather you focus on your own classes and studies, we’ve been over this.’’

“So we’re just letting a stranger in the house and you haven’t even met them yet.’’ His mother opens his mouth to respond but their conversation is cut short when his father calls out, warning her that the two would be late which prompts her to give him a reassuring look and kiss on the forehead before leaving his room.

It wasn’t that Sunghoon didn’t like the idea of his little sister learning music, it was the simple fact that his parents hadn’t even bothered to get to know whoever it was they had hired. He loved his little sister more than anything, he’d been protective of her since the day she was born and he got to hold her in his arms for the first time. Of course he wanted to see his little sister happy and learning music but not with a absolute stranger when he or Jay were completely capable.

A ring at the door interrupts his thoughts and he assumes it's the unknown music teacher that his parents had hired. Making his way down the stairs, he finds that the door had already been open and his eight year old sister stood in the doorway across from who he assumed was the music teacher.

“Hi sweetheart, um where are your parents?’’

“Yoari what’d we tell you about opening the door for people you don’t know?’’ Sunghoon interrupts, taking his descend down the stairs and over to the door.

“But it’s just my teacher.’’

“Still you don’t know her.’’ Sunghoon eyes the girl watching as her lips pressed into a thin line while she observed the interaction between the two.

-

The tour of the house had been awkward to say the least, you’d been meeting the guy for the first time and you could already feel the atmosphere become tense. From the very moment you’d entered to the moment your tour around the home ended he’d been cold towards you. You hadn’t expected the guy to be overly nice but neither did you expect him to completely shut you out either. Before she could even think she’d spoken the words that sat at the edge of her brain from the moment she’d set eyes on him.

“You look really young for someone that has a kid” He’d immediately stopped reading the directions and gave her a look that made her wish the ground would swallow her whole.

“That’s because she’s my sister.’’ Oh? Now you have gone from wanting the ground to swallow you whole to wanting to completely disappear from the universe itself.

“Oh.’’ While you had been fighting back your embarrassment, Sunghoon who found your reaction amusing had been forcing back a laugh.

Your first practice had gone fairly well, today you’d been teaching Yoari one of the many instruments on her parents lists that she had been eager to play, the violin. Yoari had caught on quite fast, it made you realize how much children had advanced since when you were her age, it’d taken you an entire year to learn to play the violin and she’d caught on as if it had been something she’d been doing for her entire life.

“That was amazing Yoari, you read the notes pretty well so i’ll give you one of the songs and we can try and play that next, let’s see how far you can read and work on what you can’t.” as you placed the music in front of her the sound of your stomach growling cut through the silence like a knife. A giggle spills from the little girl's lips and you clear your throat, feeling embarrassed for the second time today.

“Maybe let’s take a short little break.’’

You left Yoari alone momentarily, making your way up the stairs and trying your best to remember where Sunghoon had told you his room had been when he’d given the tour. Eventually you stumbled across his door and knocked softly, receiving no response. After knocking again and earning not a peep you quietly turn the knob and push the door open. You found Sunghoon sitting at his window with headphones on and a notepad in hand. Now there you stood calling his name and flailing your arms around like an idiot trying to get his attention. Luckily he’d sensed your presence and caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye.

“Did you need something?’’ He finally acknowledges your presence, pulling his headphones off his ears and having them rest on his neck, allowing you to faintly hear the song he’d been listening to.

“You listen to wisp?’’ your eyes widened with disbelief, and for a moment Sunghoon's stoic expression contorted into one of disbelief.

“You know them?’’

“Well yeah i’ve got every song, even made my own hard copy on record of the latest album.’’

“A record? You still use those?’’ He responds, earning an eye roll and a scoff from you.

“Yes I do. And I'm not the only one by the way, vinyls are making a comeback.’’A smile ghosts on his face, yet it falls as fast as it appears. A silence lingered between the two of you for a moment and the only thing breaking it once again was the sound of your stomach.

“I was supposed to ask you about the kitchen, but.’’

“Your stomach beat you to it.’’ You didn’t even know what to say, you knew it was a natural thing but the fact that it had been so loud was agonizingly embarrassing. Without a word he stands from his spot at the window and makes his way towards the door, leaving you to follow.

-

Sunghoon wasn’t sure what made him decide to cook for you, he’d chalked it up to himself also being hungry and his sister also needing something to eat. He still didn’t fully trust you, after all he knew absolutely nothing about you other than you seemed to get embarrassed easily.

“so..do you play?’’

“What?’’

“The instruments, do you play? I’m only assuming since your parents already had the instruments here, the job didn’t require me bringing my own.’’ for a moment Sunghoon just sat there, his lips pressed into a thin line, he wasn’t exactly a talker and right now you seemed to be pushing those boundaries.

“He’s been playing since he was six.’’ His little sister includes herself in the conversation, perching herself up on the stool right in the middle of you and Sunghoon.

“Oh? So music just runs in this family?’’ you respond playfully looking over at Sunghoon who still seemed very much closed off to you.

“Mm no mom and dad hate it, they only let us play because they know it’s what we love to do.’’ the little girl continues, while Sunghoon just took the opportunity to continue eating, leaving you to eye him curiously. It was obvious that while Yoari liked you he still hadn’t fully warmed up to you yet.

“My mom hated music too, she’d say that all of it was just noise.’’ you don’t know why you suddenly felt the need to spill your guts to an eight year old girl and her brother who you weren’t even sure was listening but here you were.

“The only reason I was allowed to play growing up was because of my dad, he’d buy me all the latest cds and pay for my lessons, he’d work extra shifts just to pay for my first violin.”

“Your dad sounds cool!’’ Yoari responds enthusiastically, spaghetti sauce smeared on her face as she continues to eat while listening.

“Yeah he is, he gave up everything just to make sure that his only daughter didn’t give up on her dream even if that meant-’’ You paused realizing you’d dug a little too deep into the details of your own life. Leaving not only Yoari to look at you curiously but Sunghoon as well.

“Meant what?’’ Yoari asks curiously, her doe eyes staring straight up at you as she waits for you to finish your sentence.

“Even if it meant I get to teach someone as amazing, and talented as you Yoari.’’ you fake a smile, a smile that was enough to fool Yoari, but Sunghoon saw straight through it. He didn’t question it though, after all the two of you had only met today and it wasn’t his business to involve himself.

-

You’d eventually return to your dorm to find not only Jurin and Jiaqi but the others that had been waiting for Yeonjun on your first day. They had all sat in your living room screaming over what looked like a game of Uno.

“Oh yn you’re back.’’ Jurin was the first to realize you’d been back, making everyone's attention fall upon you.

“Hey, it’s my collision buddy.’’ Yeonjun greets you, making you cringe at the name.

“Collision buddy?’’

“Almost ran over her on my skateboard her first day.’’

“You idiot didn’t the dean tell you you’d be scrapping the gum off the desks if she caught you skating in the corridor again?’’

“Well it’s a good thing she didn’t catch me then isn’t it.’’

Jiaqi jogs over to you, locking her arm with yours. She takes you over to the group and introduces you. In addition to learning Jiaqi and Jurin you could finally put names to each face you’d learned, Aside from Yeonjun you’d found out their names were Wooyoung, Ricky, and Jinyoung. After having gotten to know each of them you’d clicked with all of them pretty well, or that was until yet another round of Uno began and all hell broke loose. That night ended with your newfound friends yelling over the game and eventually deciding it was best you all never played uno again.

On the other side of town Sunghoon sat quietly at the piano absentmindedly pressing his fingers against the keys. After the conversation in the kitchen and seeing how well you’d treated his sister he began to have second thoughts about you. Maybe he’d judged you too soon, maybe you were someone that would be good for his sister? He’d found himself thinking about you for the rest of the night, most of all he wondered what it was that you had really wanted to say when you had been talking to his sister. What you actually were going to let slip before you’d seem to catch yourself. For the first time he found himself interested in someone else other than himself, Jay, Jake or Yoari.

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle @gaytron3000 @heesunghooney @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @enaile23 @ivyvioletcarson @kristynaaah @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella

[just-nc-tea]

nine and three quarters ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross – you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. Then one night, everything shifts. A blurred memory, a moment of fear—and Sunghoon catching you before you can fall. Suddenly, it’s not awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe—just maybe—home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person.

ᝰ genre. Figure skater!Sunghoon, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, really SLOW burn, fluff, suggestive .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, mentions of rape, mentions of date-rape-drugs, mentions of the police, panic attacks, eating disorder, overworking PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING OR IF YOU FEEL LIKE I MISSREPRESENTED SOMETHING.ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ features. Mark, Johnny, Ten, Kun, Taeyong & Jungwoo from NCT, Woonyoung and Rei from IVE ᝰ word count. 31.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ --⟢ PART 2 COMING SOON

series masterlist ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ GET ADDED THE SERIES TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🏒 ⤷ GET ADDED MY PERMANENT TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT ✨

Hallucinating. You had to be hallucinating.  Maybe Sunoo was right. Maybe the sleep loss wascatching up with you. You were starting to hallucinate. There was a hot guy flipping through the first pages of one of your fashion magazines. In your living room. Surrounded by moving boxes. 

You cleared your throat. “Hi?” He looked up from the magazine he was looking at and smiled at you. Oh god. “Hi I’m Sunghoon.”, he set the magazine down on your sofa table. “I’m your new roommate. I don’t know if Mr. Kang told you I am moving in today instead of the first. I had a more or less spontaneous change of plans.” He chuckled.  No. No Mr. Kang did not. He did in fact not tell you at all that you would be getting a roommate. You tried to smile at Sunghoon but it felt more like a grimace. “Hi. I am Y/N. Are you sure you are in the right apartment? I mean considering you probably got the keys from Mr. Kang, yes, but he didn’t tell me anything about a roommate? I know in Apartment 4B is a free room?” Sunghoon scrunched his eyebrows. “This is Apartment 4D, right? I definitely signed a contract for the smaller room in Apartment 4D.” “Oh.”, you just said and blinked at him. The smaller room in your apartment has technically been rented out for the last two years you have been living in this apartment but the girl that supposedly rented the room never came. When you asked Mr. Kang about it he said that as long as the rent was being paid he didn’t care if the other girl came or not and you were free to use the room until she did indeed show up. 

So that is what you did.  You transformed the small room into your studio. You pushed the bed to the side and used that, as well as the closet in the room, for all of your utensils. And you knew for a fact, that the desk and the floor were a cluttered mess at the moment. You handed in your last assignment just a few days ago after your professor thankfully extended your deadline by three weeks into the semester break after he made you start from scratch again.  “I–uhm–I didn't know you were moving in at all. I’ve been using the room as my studio. Just give me like an hour and I’ll move all of my stuff into my room.”, you said, already feeling a headache coming. You just wanted to peel your uniform off, eat something and sleep. And not deal with Mr. Kang not telling you Adonis 2.0 would be moving in today, or well, at all.  Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at your words, then glanced toward the hallway leading to his supposed new room. "You’ve been using it as a studio?" You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Yeah. I mean, it’s been empty since I moved in. Not technically empty? Someone rented it out but she never came and Mr. Kang said I could use the room if my supposed roommate wouldn’t want it? So I just… took over? I’ll be really fast so you can start putting all your stuff in there." Sunghoon’s lips quirked up in amusement, arms crossing over his broad chest. "So, I’m kicking you out of your studio?" You groaned internally. Yeah, yeah he was. "Technically, yes. But it’s not your fault. Mr Kang just – kind of forgot to tell me you were coming? At all? So I didn’t know I had to clean it out." 

He nodded, glancing back toward the hallway before looking at you again. "Well, if you need help moving your stuff, I don’t mind." You blinked. That was… unexpectedly nice. And also the absolute last thing you wanted. Some of your sketches and drawings were way too personal for him to even get a glimpse at them. "No, it’s fine. It’s mostly styrofoam, pens and sketches. It's fine." Sunghoon shrugged. "Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind." He moved toward the sofa, lifting a box and putting it onto the floor to flop down on the green fabric. He reached for the magazine again. “Are you a fashion student?” “Oh. No. I study architecture.”, you shook your head and made your way through the maze of boxes and furniture in your living room towards the hallway that separated your and now apparently Sunghoons room.  “Oh, that's cool. I am in PE.”, he grinned at you. You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. "Ah. That's nice. Just… make yourself at home while I clean I guess?." Sunghoon grinned. "Will do, roommate." The word made you wince. ──────────────────────── You stood in the doorway of your studio, well technically Sunghoon’s room, mentally preparing yourself for the hours of cleaning ahead. The small space was overflowing with architectural sketches, blueprint rolls, rulers, model pieces, and textbooks.

This was… embarrassing. You usually were a really organized person but with work and your deadline coming up, you just didn’t have the time and energy to clean behind you. You were pushing that to the next weekend after you got at least 10 hours of sleep instead of the five you got the last few days. You groaned quietly when you realized that those five hours might be even less during the next semester when you had to work in  the university instead of your flat since you had to give up your working space at home. Great. Just great.  You started cleaning, piling all of the cut-up styrofoam and paper into a trash bin, carrying your unused styrofoam into your room and getting a broom from the kitchen.  After around half an hour Sunghoon slightly knocked on the doorframe to his room, startling you from where you were sorting through your sketches and designs.  “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”, he asked, while he stepped into the room, doing his best to not step on anything.  You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling self-conscious with Sunghoon standing there, observing the chaos with a curious look. “No, it's fine…It’s not usually this bad,” you mumbled, tiredly smiling at him. Your head was aching a bit and you were hungry but you didn’t want to inconvenience him by making him wait until you ate something and napped. And you wanted to inconvenience him even less by making him help you clean a space that should have been clean. Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle. “Mhm. No worries. If it’s just your space that you use for a creative chaos I don’t have any problem with that.” You pressed your lips onto each other and tried to ignore the heat that was crawling up your neck. 

He hummed, stepping further into the room. "What's this?” He gestured to a half-finished architectural model on your desk, a sleek modernist building carefully cut out of foam board and assembled with tiny, precise details. You spend countless hours on it, just for your professor to ask if you could start over since he didn’t think it was the best you could do. You hesitated before replying. “It was supposed to be my final project. For my design class.” Sunghoon bent down slightly, inspecting it. “This is insane,” he murmured, his fingers hovering near the structure but not touching it. “It looks like something you’d see in an actual firm.” You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just gave a small nod, focusing on rolling up your blueprints instead. Compliments always made you feel a little awkward. Then, unexpectedly, Sunghoon grabbed a stack of sketches and rulers and started organizing them neatly. Your head snapped up. “W-What are you doing?" “Helping,” he said simply, not looking up. “You’re going to take forever if you do this alone.”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around a miniature model piece. Letting other people touch your things, especially your carefully crafted work, wasn’t something you were a hundred percent comfortable with.  But he was doing it carefully and slowly, making sure to not fold or bend anything. “…Okay,” you mumbled, focusing back on your sketches. Sunghoon smirked. “That sounded painful for you to say.” You refused to look at him as you continued sorting.

An hour and a half later, the room was clear. Well, mostly clear. Your things were now safely in your room, and Sunghoon’s moving boxes were neatly stacked in the corner, ready to be unpacked. You gave Sunghoon a kitchen tour and went over the house rules and you found yourself standing awkwardly in the living room when you were done. Sunghoon had started unpacking his boxes, while you weren’t entirely sure what to do with yourself.  You have been living alone for the past two years, and now suddenly, there was another person here. Another person who would sleep in the room next to yours, walk around the apartment, use the kitchen, and exist in your space. It wasn’t like you didn’t know this would happen eventually. Your scholarship technically covered a dorm with a roommate, but since no one had ever moved in, you’d gotten used to having the space to yourself. You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet. "Uhm… do you, uh, need anything else?" Sunghoon looked up from where he was stacking his books on the shelf. "Nope. I think I got it." "Okay, um good. Well, uhm, goodnight then." His lips curled slightly, amused at your awkwardness. "Goodnight, Y/N." ─────────────────────── When you woke up and made your way to the kitchen at 6:30 am the next day, feeling and probably also looking like you had just risen from the dead. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were half-closed, and your body was running purely on muscle memory as you reached for the door handle of the kitchen door. You took a deep breath. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air. For a second, you thought you were hallucinating again or maybe still asleep. But when you rubbed your eyes and looked up, you realized something far worse than hallucination was happening. There was a half-naked man in your kitchen. Sunghoon stood by the counter, one hand resting on the coffee machine, the other rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and his bare upper body was exposed to the warm air in the kitchen. Seoul was way too humid and warm even in the morning during the summer months. He turned, eyes still heavy with sleep, and blinked at you still standing in the doorway. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he yawned again. "Morning." "Uh—" you cleared your throat, snapping your gaze away from his body. Ogling at your admittedly stupidly attractive new roommate was very inappropriate. "Morning." Your voice sounded way too high-pitched. Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he just poured himself a cup of coffee, completely unbothered. You walked to the fridge, pretending to not care that he was standing next to it and grabbed one of your containers with porridge inside.  By the time you turned back around, Sunghoon had disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, now wearing a T-shirt. "Do you have any plans today?" he asked, casually leaning against the counter as he took a sip of his coffee. You glanced at him, still feeling a bit weird to have seen him half naked after knowing him for not even 24 hours. "Uh… yeah. I have work today." Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "You work?" "Yes?" You frowned. "I mean, my scholarship covers a lot, but I still have to pay for food, transportation, materials, and the rent. It adds up." "Hm," Sunghoon hummed, nodding. "What do you do?" "I work as an intern at an architecture studio." You grabbed a spoon and honey, setting it on the counter. "I mostly organize files, scan documents, and do small tasks for the senior architects. I also make coffee and refill the printer paper, which is apparently the most important job in the entire office." Sunghoon let out a small chuckle at that. "Sounds fun." You gave him a dry look. "It pays." Sunghoon leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking toward your food as you peeled off the lid of your porridge and took a small spoonful. He glanced back up. "I have training later." You blinked at him. "Training?" "Yeah." He took another sip of coffee. "The season ended, but I’m still training. I’m working to qualify for the Olympics."

You froze mid-bite. "The… Olympics?" "Yeah." Your spoon slowly lowered. "You’re an athlete?" Sunghoon gave you a confused look. "Did you not know that?" "No?" He tilted his head slightly. "You didn’t google me?" You stared at him. "Was I supposed to?"

Sunghoon let out a small breath of amusement, shaking his head. "I thought you might, considering how organized you are. I did google you. Y/N Y/L/N, architecture student at DA, graduated from Tongyeong High School with honors. Your parents have a restaurant." You stared at Sunghoon, your spoon hovering slightly above your container of porridge. “You…you found out quite a lot. Did that all come up when you just put in my name?” “Yeah.”, he nodded, taking another sip of his coffee, “Well the first thing I found was an article about you graduating as the only one with honours that year, and then it mentioned that your parents have a restaurant, so I just looked it up on Naver. Your parents got featured on KBS once!” “Oh.” You felt your entire body heat up. You knew the article he was talking about and the picture in said article. You saw your stiff smile, the way-too-tight graduation gown, the way your parents insisted on standing beside you, both of them beaming proudly, even though they weren’t supposed to be in the picture in your mind. A wave of secondhand embarrassment crashed over you. You swallowed hard. "You–You saw my high school graduation picture?"

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, setting his coffee cup down. "Yeah. You looked cute." Cute. "Oh my god," you muttered, pressing your cold spoon against your cheek, hoping it would somehow cool down the sudden heat spreading over your face. Sunghoon chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. You cleared your throat and tried to change the topic.  "What do you do? What sport?" "Ice skating," he answered simply. "You’re a figure skater?" Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "What else would I be?" "I don’t know–basketball?"

Your brothers loved basketball. After school, you ended up playing with them more days than not, mainly because your parents wanted you to get some fresh air and not only study in the living room of the small apartment the six of you shared above your parent’s restaurant. They couldn’t really give you the opportunity to be in a sports club, since the subscriptions would be quite expensive so throwing around Taeyongs worn and weathered baseball together with Mark and Jungwoo was the thing to do. Oftentimes other kids that were living in Tongyeong or some of the tourists would play with you.  Sunghoon gave you a deadpan look. "Do I look like a basketballer?" You ignored that. "You’re an Olympic-level skater?" "Hopefully," he said. "If I qualify." For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, you shook your head. "That’s really impressive." Sunghoon just shrugged, like it was no big deal. You took another bite of your porridge, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. You never did anything that made you special. Or something impressive. 

Sunghoon took another sip of his coffee, watching you. "You always eat that little?" You swallowed, a bit caught off guard. "I meal-prep my portions." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "You sure that’s enough? This looks like it could keep me afloat for like an hour." You hesitated and just gave a tight smile. "I manage." Sunghoon just nodded slowly and stood up, putting his cup into the dishwasher. "Alright," he said, heading toward his room. "See you later." You watched him go. ──────────────────────── A few days later Sunghoon got back to the apartment pretty late. 

His body ached from hours of training. After practice, he had gone out for food with Jay and a couple of the other guys, something that had become routine over the years. Ice hockey players ate like they were fueling a small army, and even though Sunghoon wasn’t quite on their level, he had no problem keeping up, so he at least didn’t have to think about dinner today. He didn’t have the time to buy groceries and would have not wanted to eat a chicken breast today again and he would not touch your carefully labelled and stored food.  Kicking off his shoes, he stretched his arms over his head, sighing as he made his way into the living room. The apartment was quiet, and he couldn’t see light coming out from under your door. So he just assumed you weren’t home. Not that he really cared.

It was none of his business where you were. But he did notice that you did come home pretty late often. He barely saw you, even though the two of you live together. You were going into the bathroom while he was in the kitchen and vice versa in the morning. Aside from a few short greetings in the kitchen, you barely talked. He figured you were just shy or maybe just didn’t like talking to people in general. Not that he had a problem with that. He poured himself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as he looked at the pictures and postcards you had on the fridge. He took a step forward and carefully took a postcard showing the sea into his hands. He knew he probably shouldn't be doing that but he was curious. 

Hi Bug! Busan is as beautiful as ever. I wish you were here. I hope you're doing well in Seoul. Don't overwork yourself too much, okay? See you soon.- Love and miss you, Mark :) 

He didn’t know much about your personal life. Actually, scratch that. He didn’t know anything about your personal life. He had no idea what you did in your free time. Maybe you really did have a boyfriend. Mark definitely sounded like a boyfriend name? Your hometown was close to Busan after all. Maybe he went to Busan to study and you went to Seoul. But that wouldn’t explain where you were now, if Mark was in Busan.  He shook his head and took another sip of water. It was not his business to wonder where you were. You weren’t friends or anything, just two strangers sharing an apartment.  He exhaled. He should really get to know you a bit, or else this semester was going to get quite awkward.  When he was just about to go to the bathroom to get ready for bed the front door opened. Sunghoon’s fight or flight response immediately set in but when he saw your figure walking into the hallway he relaxed again.

His brows furrowed as he glanced at the time on his phone. 1:30 AM. You seemed exhausted and you were… wearing a uniform? A white dress shirt with your name stitched into it and black pants.  Sunghoon starred as you locked the door behind you, dropping your bag onto the floor before kicking off your shoes. You rubbed at your temple, eyes half-lidded from sheer exhaustion. The dim kitchen light cast soft shadows over your face, emphasizing the dark circles beneath your eyes. “Where were you?” The question slipped out before he could stop it. You flinched slightly like you hadn’t noticed him standing there. Your tired eyes flickered to his.

“I was at work,” you mumbled, walking past him to grab a glass from the cabinet. “Work?” Sunghoon repeated. “I thought you worked at the architecture studio?” "I do," you sighed, filling your glass with water. "This is my second job." His eyebrows rose. "You have two jobs?" You let out a small huff of laughter, but it was completely devoid of amusement. "Three, if you count my scholarship." Sunghoon blinked. Oh. He thought about that for a second. You had the same scholarship he had, didn’t you? Did you really need to work another job? He was aware that your parents probably couldn't stem you going to university. The pictures he saw of your parent’s restaurant weren’t horrible. The opposite actually. It had good reviews but still, it didn’t look like something that made much money compared to other jobs. He watched as you took slow sips of water. “That sounds like a lot.” You just nodded and repeated your answer from this morning. “I manage.” ──────────────────────── The next time you saw Sunghoon was a day later when he shuffled into the living room, still half asleep. You were sitting on the sofa reading a book from your big to-be-read pile that accumulated during the semester. His hair was standing up in every direction. He had red streaks on his face that came from sleeping on a wrinkly fabric. He let himself fall next to you on the sofa, lleaned back and closed his eyes again, grumbling a sleepy. “Good morning Y/N.”

"Good morning, Sunghoon," you said softly, turning your attention back to your book. He hummed in acknowledgement, still not opening his eyes. "Got any plans today?" "Not really," you murmured, tucking your feet under yourself. He opened one eye. “You don’t have work today?” "I have the morning shift in the cinema tomorrow, but that doesn’t start until ten, so technically, I could sleep in. The studio is closed on weekends." "Mm," he grunted. "At least two days of the week you don’t have to run out the door at seven.” You let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It’s nice to sleep in." The conversation faded into silence. The living room was warm, the kind of thick, humid heat that made everything feel slower in the middle of summer. But with all the windows open, a soft breeze drifted through the apartment, making the living room curtains sway gently.

You shifted your focus back onto your book. The slow and soft breathing that came from Sunghoon made you think he fell asleep again. You had noticed over the course of the last week that Sunghoon wasn’t a morning person. He was always grumpy in the morning, but still polite and nice to you.  Just as you were finishing your chapter his voice suddenly broke the silence in the living room. "What are you reading?" You blinked, lowering the book slightly. He was still sprawled out on the couch, but his eyes were open now, watching you. "Uh," you turned the book over, showing him the cover. "It’s a novel I’ve been meaning to read for a while. Haven’t had time during the semester."

He nodded slowly. "You like reading?"

"I do." “My friend Jay’s girlfriend also really loves reading. She is super crazy. She reads like a book or two a week.”, he tilted his head slightly. „What is this one about?“

“Teenage summer love? Something along those lines. I am not that far in yet so I can’t really tell you more to be honest.“, you turned the book around in your hands and looked at the cover. „Teens? Aren’t you too old for that?“, Sunghoon hummed, shifting slightly so he was lying on his side, head propped up on one arm. “You are never too old or too young for love, Sunghoon.”, you answered, opening your book again. It was ironic. Really. You only knew love from books and TV shows. Those overly dramatic or romantic relationships between two overly attractive persons are written to always have a happy ending. In reality, love doesn’t end in happy ends. Or most of the time it didn’t, so you didn’t even want to try it out. Better not get to know something you could lose forever, right? The thought made you sign quietly. Sunghoon was quiet for a moment. "You open all the windows every morning." You looked up and blinked at him. "Yeah. The air feels stuffy otherwise." Sunghoon nodded. "You don’t open mine."

You hesitated. On the first day, you almost did. You almost opened the door opposite to yours in the hallway when you just woke up.  You liked to open the windows in the morning. When the air was still fresh and not too warm. "I don’t want to overstep." He exhaled a soft laugh. "Don’t worry. I‘ll just open it myself now. Then you can’t overstep anything." You smiled faintly. "Thank you." For a while, there was nothing but the occasional rustling of your pages and the sound of cars in the distance. Then Sunghoon spoke again. He didn’t seem like a person that talked a lot. But apparently, he had the desire to talk to you sometimes. He would come to your room or the kitchen when you were there and strike up conversations. It was nice. Sunghoon was nice. 

You did google him and asked Sunoo about Sunghoon when you were working the Wednesday shift in the cinema together. Wednesday was always slow. Not that you minded. That gave you plenty of time to talk to Sunoo or Jungwoon. Sunoo was surprised when you told him who just moved in. Apparently, Sunghoon was known across the sports and business faculties. He attended their parties together with his friends a lot. According to Sunoo, Sunghoon is really nice.  "Do you miss home?" The question caught you off guard. You looked at him again, only to find that he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling. You hesitated before answering. "Sometimes." Sunghoon nodded slowly. „It must be weird to move from such a small town to Seoul. I grew up in Suwon but I think I spend more time in Seoul than anywhere else. My childhood and teenage years took place in ice rinks in Seoul.“

You thought for a second. It was weird. The house you grew up in was always loud. Either your brothers or the guests downstairs in the restaurant were constantly talking or making noises and suddenly you were in this apartment, all alone and it was silent. You really disliked it. You spend quite a lot of time calling your friends or family members in the beginning until you adjust to the silence.  After you finished your first year Mark finished his mandatory military service and resumed studying and working in Seoul as well. It was still almost an hour-long bus ride to go to his dorm but it was better than 5 hours to Busan.  Taeyong went back to Tongyeong to help your parents. He loved the little restaurant and most importantly he loved the new doctor in Tongyeong. He and Johnny got together back in high school and have been together ever since. Johnny came back to your hometown to take over his father's doctor's office. You loved Johnny. He was fun. When you were younger he always brought you expensive presents and never said no if you asked for ice cream when you were out with him and Taeyong. Taeyong and Johnny were almost 7 years older than you so they were tasked with babysitting you when your parents needed someone to do so quite often. You missed all of them a lot. 

„Yeah. It’s weird. It’s so quiet and loud here at the same time. At home you rarely hear this many cars passing by but my family is quite loud so living alone is very quiet?“, you put in a bookmark to not lose your page. You assumed Sunghoon was in the mood to talk right now. „Really? Do you have siblings?“, he tilted his head slightly. His hair flopped down. You hummed and nodded. „3 brothers. All older.  7 years, 4 years and 3 years. What about you?“ „I have one sister. 5 years younger than me. And a dog. “, he chuckled. „Oh, that’s nice. I always wanted a pet. But my parents wouldn’t allow it. They were busy enough with 4 kids and a restaurant.“ "Your parents still run it?" Sunghoon asked. "Yeah," you answered quietly. He nodded. "Do you help out?" "Not really," you admitted. "My parents always told me to focus on my studies and made my brothers help them. I did help if they let me. I usually cleaned out flat though. I like the area I live in to be really clean and growing up my brothers weren’t the cleanest.“ Sunghoon hummed. „Yeah, I’ve noticed. I think that’s pretty nice. That you are such a clean person I mean. I love my old roommate but he left his shit everywhere and should be sued for noise complaints 24/7. That guy never shuts up.“ „Oh that sounds annoying.“, you kept your voice soft.  “It’s all right. Now I don't have to tell him to wash the dishes or to not scream at his internet friends in the middle of the night.”, he hummed and lifted himself from the sofa, “Do you want some breakfast? I was thinking about going for a run and getting something from the Creek. My friend’s girlfriend works there and I can get us free stuff?” “I uhm. I already ate. But thank you so much for offering.”, you smiled at him. “Sure, always.”, Sunghoon smiled at you.  ──────────────────────── Sunghoon wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand as he stepped back into the apartment. It was still cold in the apartment. You must have closed the windows after he left. You never really used the AC in the mornings. You let the early morning breeze cool the place down and waited until it got too warm, until you couldn’t stand it anymore. He didn’t really get why, but he wasn’t home much in the afternoons, so it didn’t matter. He was actually quite glad about the warmth after he spent all day in the rink. It felt kind of nice.

His run had been good. He liked going on runs. It felt refreshing. It took his mind off of things for a while. But by the time he finished his run and he stepped into the Creek the sun had started blazing. After he spent way too much time talking to Jay, who was doing god what in the small campus cafe while his girlfriend was on shift, he stepped out and was hit by a wall of heat. The cool air in the apartment made him feel a bit less sticky.  He dropped the bag of food onto the kitchen counter, his eyes scanning the room. It was still quiet. His gaze flickered toward the living room. You were still lying on the sofa. Your legs were slightly bent and your arms were in awkward positions. One was sprawled across your face, blocking your face from the light coming in through the living room windows. The other one was resting loosely over your stomach. The book you had been reading was lying on the floor next to you, seemingly having slipped from your hand when you fell asleep. 

He quietly walked towards the sofa and reached down to pick the book up. Sunghoon slipped the bookmark that was still resting on the sofa table in between the pages and his fingers brushed over the creased cover before setting it on the table.  He knew the book. His sister read it last year and wouldn’t shut up about it. You must have enjoyed the book. You’ve read a big chunk of it already.  Sunghoon made his way back to the kitchen and cursed whatever architect designed your flat for deciding on building an open-style kitchen. The open-style kitchen was what sold him on the place, but now, with only a kitchen pass-through separating the two spaces, it also meant that if he used the coffee machine, it would definitely wake you up. He signed and grabbed the orange juice jug in the fridge instead. That was healthier anyway.  As he poured himself a glass, his eyes landed on the vase near the window.  The tulips inside were starting to wilt, slowly letting their heads hang down and a few white petals were laying on the window sill. Without thinking he got up, grabbed the vase and changed the water. Maybe that would keep them alive for a bit longer. 

Sunghoon set the vase back down, watching another petal slowly making its way down towards the window still. He would drop a few coins in the vase later. Wasn’t that supposed to help keep flowers fresh longer? Having fresh flowers around made the kitchen look more alive. The whole apartment actually. It was clean, something he appreciated, but it still felt lived-in. Your personal style was different from his. The walls were painted in a pale green and you hung pictures and paintings along the walls, antique-looking candle holders and books were lined on the white shelves. It reminded him of older European-style houses, those that he had only seen in movies or pictures. When he helped you clean his room last week, he tried not to look too closely at the sketches you were carrying. But the ones he did catch a glimpse of? Almost all of them were of European-style houses. Tall, elegant, full of intricate details. You must really like that style. Sunghoon chewed slowly and glanced at you again. In the seven days that he has been living here he hasn’t seen you this still? Usually, you were always moving, rushing almost. Even in the evening, when you shuffled into the kitchen before heading to bed, there was a quiet urgency to your movements. Like you were always on the clock. He knew he was privileged. He knew that his parents were making enough money for him not to worry, especially not when he and his sister both got scholarships. His sister still had two years of High School to go, but had been offered the scholarship already, just like he had been. But you did have a scholarship as well. And the rent wasn’t too high. So why were you working so much? It wasn’t his place to ask. But he was curious. After all, he hoped to befriend you at least a bit.

Just as he was finishing off the last of his food, he heard you stir. At first, it was just a sleepy shift, a small stretch of your legs. But then, your eyelids fluttered, and with a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself up, blinking blearily at the room. “Morning.” Your gaze flickered to him, still half-asleep. “Morning,” you murmured back, your voice soft. He hesitated for a second before nodding toward the counter. “I got you something.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, then followed his gaze to the extra plate. You stared at it for a moment before looking back at him. “You didn’t have to.” “I know,” he said simply. “I got them for free so I thought I’d just bring you one.” You hummed again before flopping back onto the sofa, singing softly and stretching again. He watched you push yourself up from the couch and paddle over to the kitchen, yawning softly. You sank onto the stool across from him, glancing down at the pastry before picking it up. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said, your voice still quiet. He only shrugged, watching as you took a small bite.

The apartment was quiet for a moment, the sound of birds outside filtering in through the open windows. The heat of summer was already creeping in, but the slight morning breeze kept it bearable. Then, before he could stop himself, he spoke. “Would you mind it if I put on some music? I have a really nice summer morning playlist.” You shook your head. “No, go ahead.” Sunghoon hummed and searched for his morning R’n’B playlist. “So what do you do on your day off?” You shrugged. “Laundry. Grocery shopping. Sometimes I sleep in.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really making the most of your free time.” You let out a quiet laugh. “I don’t have much free time, so I have to use it well.” Sunghoon thought about that for a second. It made sense. He understood what it was like to have every second of your day planned out, to always have something you were supposed to be doing.

“How was your week?” he asked, surprising even himself. You swallowed the bite you just took and for a second the only noise in the kitchen was the soft music coming from the speaker on top of the fridge. “Busy. The office was hectic, and I had a lot of late shifts at the cinema. I didn’t really have much time for myself.”, you answered. He nodded. “Mine was busy too. Training’s been rough.” You tilted your head slightly. “Do you train every day?" “Yeah. Well, almost. I get a rest day here and there.” He stretched slightly. “But even on those, I still have to stay active.” You hummed, considering that. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I’ve been doing it for so long, it’s just… normal now.” You took another bite of your pastry, glancing at him. “You must really love it, then.” Sunghoon was quiet for a second. He did love it. Skating had been his entire life for as long as he could remember. It was just strange hearing someone say it like that. Then, he nodded. “Yeah. I do.” You smiled slightly, resting your chin on your hand. “That’s nice. I like to paint. On my days off I mean. I have to be creative for uni so much. But I love painting other stuff aside from houses as well.”

Sunghoons eyes immediately wandered towards the painting that hung in the kitchen. It was two pieces of kimchi, the cabbage split in half, sitting neatly on a plate on a striped fabric with some typography at the bottom of it.  He was never good at English and the letters were cursive and ornate so he had a hard time figuring out what it said. “Did you paint that one?”, he asked.  You were in the middle of drinking water, and for a second, he thought you might choke. But you quickly swallowed and cleared your throat. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you said, setting your glass down. “Last summer break. It’s oil, so it took an eternity to dry. But, uh, the sun helped." He tilted his head back toward the painting. “Oh wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That’s so cool. Are the other ones yours too?” “Uh. Yeah.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and suddenly looked very interested in your glass of water. “I was feeling, um, really inspired last year. And my brother got me oil paints for my birthday.”

Sunghoon watched as you let out a small, breathy laugh, your fingers gripping the glass a little too tight.  “I’d never really had the chance to paint with oils before,” you continued, words coming out a little too fast, “since they’re super expensive. But, uh, money well spent, I guess?” He looked back at the paintings again, his gaze lingering for a moment. It was really well done. “You know,” he added, voice dropping a little in awe, “I don’t think I’d be able to do that. Like, paint something like this. It’s pretty... impressive.” You quickly looked away, like you didn’t know what to do with the compliment. And then, you laughed. A weird, nervous little laugh, as if he’d just told a joke instead of genuinely complimenting you.

“Oh, no, I mean–it’s just practice, really,” you blurted out, waving a hand in the air. “It’s not like–it’s not, like, some crazy talent or anything, it’s just… you do it enough, and it sort of, um, happens?” ​​Sunghoon blinked at you. He wasn’t sure why, but it was kind of funny watching you trip over your words like that. You looked like you wanted to disappear. “Still,” he said, amused now, “it’s really cool.” You made a weird, stiff nod, then immediately picked up your water again and took the smallest possible sip. Sunghoon bit back a smile. He wasn’t sure why you were acting so flustered, but it was… kind of entertaining.  ──────────────────────── You stepped into your apartment, shivering slightly at the cool air pressing against your skin. 

Sunghoon must have turned on the AC again. It was nearly 35 degrees outside, but inside, it was much colder. You never really liked using the AC too much. It used a lot of electricity and the temperature drop always left you uncomfortable. You shouldn’t have to wear long sleeves in summer. But Sunghoon didn’t seem to mind the cold. Given how much time he spent at the ice rink, you supposed he was used to it. His skin was pale compared to yours. As a child, you have always been a bit self-conscious about how dark your skin was compared to the ones of the actors or celebrities you saw on TV.  But most of the people around you had tan skin.  Living in the South meant you spent a lot of time in the sun after school or when playing with friends. You enjoyed being outside in the sun, letting the warm ray of sunshine hit your skin, having to eat ice cream quickly before it melted in your hands. What you really disliked was the constant smell of fish everywhere, but that was a given thing, considering one of the dishes Tongyeong is famous for is Chungmu gimbab. It is usually served with a baby octopus with spicy sauce (kolddugi muchim) and radish kimchi. Your mother made really yummy kolddugi muchim. Maybe you still had some in your freezer.

You placed your shoes neatly next to Sunghoons by the door and stepped further into the cool apartment. The sound of the television playing in the background hummed through the air. When you looked over, you saw Sunghoon sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes focused on the screen. You hesitated for a second, not really sure what to say if you should say anything at all. You didn’t want to disturb Sunghoon and make him miss something in his show. But before you could decide, Sunghoon reached for the remote and lowered the volume. His head turned toward you. “Hey.” You blinked, a little caught off guard. “Hi.” He sat up slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest. “How was work?” You paused by the fridge, fingers hovering over the handle. He asked the same thing yesterday, and the day before. You weren’t sure if he asked just to be polite or if he actually wanted to know. Either way, it was nice.

So, after a beat, you pulled the freezer open and started shuffling through the bags of frozen fruits or vegetables. “It was fine. Busier than usual.” Sunghoon tilted his head. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you said, smiling when you found the container with kolddugi muchim that was at the bottom of the freezer. “It’s usually not that packed during summer shifts, but today was weirdly busy.” You took a sip before adding, “At least Sunoo was there. It was fun with him." Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgement, his gaze flicking back to the screen for a moment. “Who’s Sunoo?” You hesitated slightly before standing up from the crouching position you were in. “My friend and coworker, I guess. He works the counter with me.” Sunghoon nodded slowly. “You work with him a lot?” You frowned slightly at the question. “Yeah. Why?”

“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “Just wondering.” You didn’t know what to make of that, so you let it go, turning back to the counter to start defrosting your food. Your favourite pot was still in the dishwasher, it hadn’t been run today. There weren’t any new dishes in the sink either. You hesitated for a second. “Have you eaten lunch today?”, you asked, glancing over your shoulder. Sunghoon looked at you, almost like he was caught off guard by the question. “Uh… no. I was too lazy to cook, so I just had a protein shake.” You frowned slightly. A protein shake was not a meal. You shifted your weight, debating for a second before clearing your throat. “Do you… want some? I’m making kolddugi muchim and rice. It’s too much for just me anyway.” His eyes lit up a little, his usual neutral expression shifting. “Oh, for sure. That sounds way better than another shake.” You nodded, a little awkward as you turned back to the counter. 

Sunghoon stood up, stretching slightly. “Need help with anything?” You’ve gotten used to him wearing joggers and tank tops over the last week. That didn’t mean that seeing him in those didn’t make you feel like you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have seen.  “Um.” You thought for a second. “Could you go to the GS25 down the street and get some mu kimchi? Only if it’s no trouble. I can go too.” He waved you off, already grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter. “Nah, I got it. I’ll be back in a sec.” The apartment fell silent again as the door shut behind Sunghoon. You stood still for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint dialogue from the drama still playing on TV. Then, shaking off the quiet, you turned back to the stove. The scent of simmering garlic and gochugaru filled the air, thick and warm. It clung to the fabric of your clothes and seeped into the walls of the small kitchen. 

You closed your eyes for a second. It smelled like home. Like summer afternoons in the restaurant, your mother’s voice drifting in from the kitchen. The ajummas asking you and Mark how your day was, praising you for being so well behaved. The sharp tang of kimchi mingling with the sweetness of caramelized fish sauce. The distant sound of seagulls outside, the heavy heat of the South pressing against the window screens. You exhaled, opening your eyes again. Swallowing the sudden ache, you focused on stirring the sauce for the kolddugi muchim, watching the deep red paste thicken over the heat. Cooking had always been something comforting, something familiar. You never saw yourself working in the restaurant after you finished high school but you missed living by the sea, close to your family. You were so happy when Mark moved to Seoul. Was it weird that you asked Sunghoon if he wanted food? Usually, if Mark was over for a weekend or just after he finished uni and work for the day it was a given that you cooked for him as well. Eating is supposed to be an activity to do with loved ones after all.  Before you could dwell on it too much, the door clicked open again.

Sunghoon stepped back inside, a small plastic bag in his hand. “Got it.” You turned, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. “That was fast.” He shrugged, placing the bag on the counter. “I have long legs.” You glanced inside, pulling out the package of mu kimchi. “Thanks.” “No problem,” he said, leaning against the counter. His eyes flicked to the stove. “It smells really good.” You didn’t know if he meant it or was just making conversation, but either way, you liked hearing that. “It’s my mom’s. She gives me containers of this stuff every time I visit home. Sometimes I have to eat kolddugi muchim for days after I’ve been home because it wouldn’t fit into the freezer.”, you chuckled thinking about it.  “Oh, I wouldn’t complain about eating kolddugi muchim for days. If it tastes as well as it smells I’ll gladly help you eat some of the kolddugi muchim you can’t fit into the freezer.”, Sunghoon grinned and reached up to grab two sets of plates and bowls from the cabinet. 

You just nodded and smiled at him while dropping the still slightly frozen baby octopus into your mom’s premade sauce. The sizzling of the pan was the only sound for a few moments.  “I’ll go and turn off the TV. I’ll be right back.”, Sunghoon said and disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later the music box he placed in the kitchen made a sound and Sunghoon’s playlist hummed through the speakers. You weren’t sure if he turned it on just to fill the silence or if he actually wanted to listen to music, but either way, you didn’t mind. By the time he returned from turning off the TV, you were both ready to eat. Sunghoon sat across from you, piling some of the baby octopus onto his plate. “So, are you allowed to sneak me free popcorn at the theatre?” You blinked at him, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “No.”

“Not even a little?” he pressed, raising an eyebrow. “Nope.” You shook your head, scooping some rice onto your spoon. “If I got caught, I’d probably get scolded. We’re supposed to charge for everything.” Sunghoon sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “Man, I thought I could use you for a continuous flow of premium popcorn.” “Yeah. Sadly that’s not possible.”, you smiled and scrunched your nose a bit. Sunghoon picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of the kolddugi muchim. You watched, suddenly unsure if you maybe had made a mistake with the sauce, or overcooked the octopus. But then, his brows lifted slightly, and he gave a small nod. “This is good.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Really?”

He hummed. “Yeah. I don’t eat baby octopus much, but this is nice.” A strange sense of relief settled in your chest. You took a small bite yourself, humming in delight when it did indeed taste good. Not as good as if your mom made it freshly but it was still yummy. You’d call our mom later to thank her for cooking for you.  By the time you were both finished eating, you felt exhausted. Standing and smiling at customers for hours was always exhausting, no matter which shift you had. You stood, grabbing your plate, but Sunghoon reached out before you could take his. “I got it.” You blinked. “You don’t have to–” He was already stacking the dishes. “You cooked. I’ll wash.” You hesitated, but after a second, you nodded. “Okay.” ──────────────────────── A few days later Sunghoon came home from the rink and was ready to just drop into his bed, maybe eat something if he still had eggs in the fridge. He signed when he opened the door to your apartment. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed it wasn’t silent, how it usually was.

Soft music played from the speaker in the kitchen, something mellow, with a steady rhythm. He frowned slightly, slipping off his shoes. You were usually  still at work or in your room when he got home. But now, as he stepped further inside, he saw you sitting at the kitchen table, completely absorbed in whatever you were doing. You were painting. Your brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together in focus. The soft light of the kitchen lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm glow on your skin. Sunghoon found himself pausing, watching as you carefully dragged your brush across the canvas. “You’re painting?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the music. You flinched, clearly startled, before looking up at him. “Oh–yeah. They sent the interns home earlier today. I’ve been thinking about adding a second painting to the living room, if that’s fine with you.”

Sunghoon dropped his bag by the couch, stepping closer. “Yeah, sure. Go on Y/Nasso.” You hesitated for a moment before tilting your canvas slightly so he could see. It wasn’t finished yet. Soft, blended strokes created what looked like an ocean scene. The colours melted into each other, deep blues fading into lighter shades. “That’s really good,” Sunghoon said, his voice a little softer than usual. He wasn’t trying to flatter you. He genuinely thought it was impressive. You blushed a little, glancing down at the painting. “Thanks,” you murmured. “It’s the view from one of my favourite beaches in Tongyeong.” He pulled out a chair across from you, sitting down. “Do you still paint often?”

“Not really,” you admitted, dipping your brush into the water before reaching for a new colour. “I used to do it more. Back home.” He watched as you mixed a soft peachy hue, the movement of your hand precise, practised. “Why’d you stop?” You shrugged, not looking up. “I don’t know. Just got busy, I guess.” Sunghoon hummed in understanding, leaning back in his chair. He knew what that felt like, the way life could pull you away from things you enjoyed. “What made you start again?” For a moment, you didn’t answer. Then, finally, you sighed, glancing out the window. “I just… missed it. And I had some free time today so I thought I could use it by doing something I love.” Sunghoon nodded slowly, his gaze flickering back to your painting After a moment, he stood up, stretching. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your masterpiece.” You rolled your eyes but smiled slightly. “It’s not a masterpiece.” “Yet,” he said, smirking before heading toward the fridge. “Have you had dinner?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.” Sunghoon opened the fridge, rummaging through it. “Want me to make something? I was thinking of kimchi fried rice.”, he asked, half-expecting you to decline. You hesitated but then nodded. “Okay.” As he started pulling ingredients out, the quiet music continued playing, filling the space between you. He noticed that you replaced the flowers in the kitchen. The white tulips were gone and you changed the vase. The freesias you bought were arranged neatly in the window frame. His little sister was obsessed with flowers and made him learn the names of at least 30 different ones. They were pretty. Your voice startled him a bit when you started speaking. “How was your day today?” Sunghoon paused mid-chop, surprised. You usually didn’t really initiate conversations, so this was a first. “It was good,” he said, continuing to chop the vegetables. “Tiring, but good. My routine is a bit intense.” He turned toward you, his eyes catching yours for a moment. “How about you? How’s work been?”

You paused for a second, looking up from your canvas. “Not much happened today, so pretty chill actually,” you said, your voice light. “I am glad.”, he replied with a small nod. Then, after a brief pause, he said, “Have you ever been ice skating?” You blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Ice skating?" “Yeah,” he grinned.  You shook your head and focused back on the canvas in front of you. “No, I haven’t tried it yet. I was thinking about going last winter. But my friends and I didn’t really have time for it. And we don’t really get snow or ice at home.” Sunghoon leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Wait so you have never seen snow?” You glanced up at him, a small, unsure smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve been living here for 2 years now. I have seen snow in Seoul.”

“That’s insane,” he muttered, shaking his head. “What did you even do in the winter?”

You hesitated for a second, then quietly said, “Just… normal things? It wasn’t that different. We had the ocean instead of snow.”

Sunghoon huffed out a quiet laugh. “The ocean is great, but winter is so much better when you have snow.”

You gave a quiet laugh, your gaze dropping back to your painting. “Maybe. I don't like the cold tho.” 

“Nah, you’re just missing out.” He straightened up, turning back to the stove to check on the food. “Do you want to learn how to skate?”

“I am not sure I would be good at it," you said. 

“Well, good thing that I am very good at it. My friend Jake was able to teach his girlfriend how to skate so I am sure you could do it as well. It’s fun. You should definitely try.” 

You hummed noncommittally and started to clean up the table.

Sunghoon focused on finishing preparing the food. It was nothing fancy, just stir-fried vegetables, kimchi and rice with some grilled chicken, but it smelled good. He set a plate in front of you before grabbing his own and sitting across from you at the table.

 He made enough for the two of you, actually it was probably not enough for the both of you – or so he thought. But when you finished putting food onto your plate, he stared. His brows furrowed.

“…That’s all you’re eating?”

You looked up, blinking at him. “Yeah? Why?”

Sunghoon glanced between his plate and yours, then back again. His plate was nearly overflowing, while yours looked like what he considered a snack at best.

“That’s like, half of what I made for you,” he pointed out, still frowning.

You just shrugged. “I don’t eat a lot in one sitting.”

Sunghoon stared for another second before looking down at his own food. How were you even functioning on that?

He wasn’t exactly an expert on how much people should eat, but compared to his own portions – hell, even compared to what his sister or his mom ate – yours seemed ridiculously small.

His first instinct was to tell you to take more, but he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Instead, he picked up his chopsticks. He felt a bit weird about it but decided not to push.

The silence between you was comfortable, only broken by the occasional clinking of utensils against plates and the quiet music playing from the speaker.

After a few minutes, he spoke again. “You know,” he said casually, “you should come to one of my competitions sometime.”

Your eyes flicked up to him. “Your competitions?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back slightly. “They’re pretty cool.”

You took a sip of your water, considering. “Maybe,” you said finally.

Sunghoon smirked. “That’s not a no.”

You gave him a little smile. “I’ll think about it.”

That made him smile too.

All through the dinner his eyes kept drifting to your plate. He’d never really paid attention before, but now he was wondering – was this just a today thing, or was this normal for you He always assumed you ate a few snacks at the company or the theatre but if you were eating just this little portion, but maybe you really only ate the small pre-prepped lunch boxes, that were neatly stacked in the fridge.  ──────────────────────── Sunghoon had just finished mixing his protein shake when he heard keys jingle and the front door swung open.

He frowned, setting the shaker bottle down. You weren’t supposed to be home yet. It wasn’t even 4 p.m. Had your shift ended early? 

Still, he greeted you out of habit. “Hey, Y/N–”

But the person standing in the doorway was definitely not you.

Sunghoon froze. The guy in the doorway froze too.

For a long second, they just stared at each other, equally confused.

Sunghoon slowly lowered his shaker bottle. Who the hell–

“Uh…” the guy started, blinking a few times like he was trying to process the situation. Then, he pointed at Sunghoon. “You’re not Y/N.”

“No,” Sunghoon said flatly. “I’m not.”

The guy frowned, his head tilting slightly. “Then… who are you?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms. “I live here. Who are you?”

The guy’s face shifted as realization dawned on him. His confusion melted into something amused.

“Ohhh,” he said, dragging out the word. Then, he grinned and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. “I’m Mark. Nice to meet you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Wait.

Mark as in your boyfriend Mark?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward the fridge before he could stop himself. The slightly curled postcard from Busan hung beside a few photos he had found himself staring at more than once in the past week and a half. Mark was in a lot of them. Always close to you, arms slung around your shoulders, laughing together.

Sunghoon quickly cleared his throat. “Nice to meet you, Mark. I’m Sunghoon.”

Mark hummed, already toeing off his sneakers. “Is Y/N still at work?” He dropped his bag by the door and strolled toward the kitchen.

Sunghoon, still trying to wrap his head around what was happening, hesitated before answering. “Uh… yeah? She usually gets home around 4:30. Sometimes a bit earlier.”

Mark nodded, completely unfazed. “Alright, cool.”

Then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass, and filled it with water.

“How long have the two of you been together?”

Sunghoon nearly choked on air.

“What?” He spun around so fast that he nearly knocked over his protein shake.

Mark just shrugged, sipping his water like this was a completely normal conversation. “Y/N didn’t tell me she was seeing someone. Or, well… seeing someone seriously enough to let him move in with her.”

Sunghoon’s brain stalled. What. The. Hell.

“I hope it’s been at least half a year and you didn’t just sweet-talk her into letting you move in after, like, two months.” Mark narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Why–why would I be Y/N’s boyfriend?” Sunghoon blurted.

Isn’t Mark the boyfriend?! What was happening?

Mark gave him a look. “Dude,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You literally just said you live here.”

“Yeah, because I’m her roommate,” Sunghoon said, still trying to process this ridiculous conversation. “I pay rent and shit to be here.”

Mark blinked. “Wait. You’re her roommate?”

“Yes.” Sunghoon gestured vaguely at the apartment. “What else would I be?”

Mark tilted his head, considering. Then he shrugged. “I dunno, her boyfriend?”

Sunghoon let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “Dude, I thought you were her boyfriend.”

Mark burst out laughing.

“Me?” He pointed at himself, looking genuinely amused. “Oh, nah.” He shook his head, still grinning. “I’m her brother.”

Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Brother.

Oh. Okay.

Now that he really looked, Mark did have similar features to you. 

Mark just grinned, clearly entertained by the situation. “Damn, you really thought Y/N was cheating on me?”

Sunghoon groaned, leaning against the counter. “Can we not phrase it like that?”

Mark cackled. “That’s wild.”

Before Sunghoon could recover from the secondhand embarrassment of his own assumption, the front door suddenly swung open again.

“Oh my god,” your voice rang through the apartment, full of surprise and excitement. “Mark?!”

Sunghoon turned his head just in time to see you practically launch yourself at your brother. Mark barely had time to put down his glass before you crashed into him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming! I thought you were still at home!” You grinned up at him, eyes shining.

Mark ruffled your hair like it. “I wanted to surprise you. Taeyong packed you a snack box from home. Mom and Johnny’s Mom added some stuff too. You know, since you can’t come home.”

Your face lit up. “No way.”

Mark smirked. “Way.”

Sunghoon, still leaning against the counter, just watched as you glowed with excitement over the snacks and goodies from home.

But before he could fully process how different you looked right now—so happy, so genuinely overjoyed—Mark turned to you with an easy grin.

“So…” He dragged out the word, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Sunghoon felt the moment you went stiff in Mark’s arms.

Your expression twisted in confusion. “What?”

Mark jerked his thumb toward Sunghoon. “You didn’t tell me you were dating your roommate.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then, your entire face went red.

Sunghoon could feel the heat radiating off you from where he stood.

“What?” you repeated, blinking rapidly.

Mark just smirked, clearly enjoying this. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” He gestured toward Sunghoon, who was still standing there like an idiot.

Your eyes darted to Sunghoon like you were expecting him to say something but Sunghoon’s brain was still buffering.

Because all he could think about was how genuinely happy you had looked when you saw Mark.

He had never seen you like this.

So expressive. So open.

The way your face had lit up, the way your voice had lifted into something bright and completely unfiltered, it was cute. And, selfishly, Sunghoon wondered why.

Why did you always hold back a little around him? The small, bashful smiles, the careful responses. Was he that intimidating? He was trying so hard to get to know you, to be a good roommate that would turn into a friend. 

“We’re not dating.” Sunghoon finally managed, his voice a little more rushed than intended. “I’m just her roommate.”

You exhaled, pressing your hands to your very red cheeks. “Yes. He’s my roommate.”

Mark raised a brow, clearly not convinced.

“Right,” he said slowly, crossing his arms. “So you just let random guys move in with you now?”

“I didn’t—it’s not—” You groaned. “It’s a long story.”

Sunghoon, for some reason, felt the need to defend himself. “It’s not weird, okay? We barely even knew each other when I moved in.”

Mark snorted. “That makes it sound so much worse.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it. Okay, fair.

You groaned again, looking like you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Mr. Kang is renting the second room to Sunghoon.”

“No way. Your studio?”, Mark asked and looked at Sunghoon as if he had personally had the intention to steal your studio from you. 

“Yeah. It’s all right though. I always knew he could rent it out to someone that will show up.”, you leaned against the counter next to Mark. 

Mark was still looking at Sunghoon, but his facial expression had changed from accusation to something that looked like interest.

“Anyway,” he said focusing back on you, “Do you wanna open the package? I am praying that Johnny put in some of those dope cookies from the bakery under his office. If he did, I am claiming one-half.”

At that, your face brightened again, and Sunghoon caught himself watching the shift in your expression again. 

The way your eyes widened, the slight bounce in your stance, the way you leaned in just a little closer to Mark.

Mark unzipped the bag and pulled out a medium-sized cardboard box, setting it on the counter with a slight thud.

Your hands were already on the tape, peeling it open. “You had four weeks to eat the cookies from ppangjib. You get one. Or maybe two."

Mark grinned. “Deal.”

Sunghoon, though still a little confused by the whole situation, couldn’t help but glance into the box as you pulled back the flaps. Inside were neatly packed bags of homemade snacks, a few small wrapped gifts, and a handwritten letter sitting on top.

You immediately grabbed the letter, unfolding it with the kind of excitement that was usually reserved for kids on Christmas morning.

While you skimmed it, Mark reached into the box and pulled out a small bag of yakgwa, grinning. “Oh, sick. Mom made you some yakgwa.”

“No way.” You grabbed the bag from him, grinning just as wide.

Sunghoon almost asked what was so special about it–but then he checked the time.

Shit.

He had to get to training.

With a sigh, he grabbed his shaker bottle and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I gotta head out,” he said, glancing between the two of you. “Enjoy your snacks.”

You looked up from the letter. “Oh–right! You have training tonight.”

He nodded, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Mark, already chewing on a piece of yakgwa, gave him a lazy salute. “Have fun, man.”

Sunghoon huffed a small laugh before turning toward the door.  ──────────────────────── On the second Saturday after Sunghoon moved in, a soft knock on your door startled you from where you were curled up in your bed reading. “Yeah?” you called out, glancing toward the door. Sunghoon’s head appeared in the gap, his figure half-hidden behind the doorframe. “Hey,” he began, “a few of my friends want to come over and check out the apartment. Is that fine with you? I know you’ve got work tomorrow, but I promise we’ll keep it down when you want to head to bed.” You shifted slightly in your bed, sitting up to get a better look at him. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he seemed a little sheepish like he wasn’t sure whether he was imposing. You smiled, the question barely making you think. “Oh, that's not a problem, Sunghoon. You live here too, after all. It’s not like I’m going to stop you from having friends over.” You stretched a little, trying to shake off the sleepiness in your limbs. “I don’t mind at all. I’m just reading anyway. Besides, it’s your apartment too.” He relaxed at your response, the tension in his posture easing as he gave a small, appreciative nod. “Thanks,” he said, looking genuinely relieved. “I’ll let them know we’ll keep it low-key.”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “No worries. You do you.” Then, as an afterthought, you added, “Just don’t be too loud around midnight. I haven’t really had parties here so I don’t know if our neighbours are cool with noise or not?” He chuckled again. “Yeah, I’ll try to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you. “You can come hang out later. If you want to.” You nodded in acknowledgement, giving him a small wave. “Ah. Uhm. Thanks. But I think I’m good. I’ll sleep soon anyway.”

Sunghoon grinned and gave a quick nod before closing the door behind him, leaving you in peace once again. You could hear him bustling around in the kitchen, probably making snacks or food for him and his friends. It was kind of weird. To have someone in your apartment this long that wasn’t Mark. But Sunghoon wasn’t the worst person to live with. He was a very clean person and living together with him these past weeks was really peaceful. You kinda liked having someone around in the evenings. Sometimes, especially during the summer break, you feel a bit lonely. Sure you met some of your friends in the studio or the cinema, but you were working there, not hanging out. So your small conversations were very nice. He was listening to a lot of music and he seemingly enjoyed having his room door open, so whenever you read or sketched in the kitchen or living room you listened to the music he was playing. ──────────────────────── At some point in the evening, your stomach started to growl. You cursed yourself for not having eaten more for lunch. You could hear laughing and music from the living room. Your stomach wouldn’t stop growling so you begrudgingly put your book away and stood up from your bed. 

You hesitated for a moment when you reached your door. You weren’t really dressed for guests, let alone Sunghoon’s friends. You were still in your cosy striped pyjamas, hair braided messily from your earlier nap, and you hadn’t even bothered to put on any makeup. Your stomach growled again, which made you sign and push your door open. The laughter grew louder, and you could hear them chatting away in the kitchen.

As soon as you entered, four pairs of eyes turned to look at you.

Before you could even consider retreating, one of them looked up. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easygoing smile. “Oh, hey!” he said like he wasn’t about to make your night significantly worse. “You must be Y/N.”

“Oh, uh–hi,” you said, your voice coming out slightly too high. Your fingers tugged nervously at your shirt.

Sunghoon turned to you, looking far too amused for your liking. “This is Jay, Heeseung, and Jake,” he said, nodding toward each of them. “Guys, this is Y/N.”

Heeseung leaned back against the couch. “Dude, your apartment is so nice,” he said. “Did you decorate it?”

You blinked. “Uh–what?”

“The apartment,” Jake chimed in, grinning. “It looks really good. Feels like a Pinterest board. My girlfriend would love it.”

“Oh! Um–yeah, I did?” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, I just… put some things together. I like interior stuff, so…”

“Man, Sunghoon lucked out,” Jay said, shaking his head. “My first roommate had, like, one folding chair and a mattress on the floor.”

“Hey!?”, Heeseung said and turned to Jay, “I was your first roommate?”

“Yeah. And we have been living in our dorm for 3 years now. The only reason why you have more than your bed and a keyboard collection is because your girl made you buy a rug and some decoration.”, Jay deadpanned. “How did she phrase it again? She was glad you have a big dick and that she loves you but you but if she had to look at that keyboard corner again she would throw all of them away?”

Jake and Sunghoon snorted while Heeseung tried to defend himself: ”I bought those with her, okay, my room looks fine you stupid piece of shit.”

“See I am really happy to have Y/N as my roommate. She has rugs and decorations. And a normal amount of keyboards.”, Sunghoon grinned at you. 

The guys laughed again, and you forced out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, the paintings? Those are yours, right?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen. “They’re sick.”

You had already been flustered enough–first with the whole walking into a room full of good-looking strangers in your pyjamas situation, then with them complimenting your decorating, and now this.

Your paintings.

It was weird hearing people—people other than your brother or your friends—talk about them, at least the ones you had hung up here and at home. You weren’t used to it. It felt like they were looking at something too personal, like flipping through a journal you hadn’t meant to leave out.

“She’s really good,” Sunghoon said, leaning back in his chair like he was enjoying this way too much. “But she gets all shy when people talk about it.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with betrayal. He just grinned.

“Did you paint all of them?” Jay asked, nodding toward the kitchen.

You hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah. Mostly last summer.”

“Damn,” Jake said, shaking his head. “That’s sick. I can barely draw a stick figure.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “Thank you.”

Before you could recover, Sunghoon gestured toward the pizza box. “Are you hungry? We ordered way too much.”

“Oh–no, no, it’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I was just going to warm up something from the fridge.”

He just raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I swear this is so much and we are all supposed to watch over our diets. You’d be doing a good thing by stealing a slice or two.”, Jake said before stealing a gummy bear from Jay.

“…Maybe just one slice,” you mumbled.

Jake’s smile widened. “Sure, take as many as you want.”

He slid a plate toward you, and you shuffled over, still feeling painfully awkward. You perched on the arm of the couch next to Sunghoon, back stiff.

“Y/N.”, Heeseung leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Are you coming to the beginning-of-the-semester party next Friday?”

You blinked. “The… what?”

Jay chuckled. “The semester opening party. Each semester one of the teams throws one, this semester it's the baseball players.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You hadn’t even heard about it. You shifted slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I–um. I don’t really know. I usually work on Fridays, so…”

Jake tilted his head. “Yeah, Sunghoon did say you work a lot.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. You did work a lot. But it wasn’t like you didn’t have free time… you just never really did much with it.

Jake leaned in a little, his voice gentle. “If you don’t have work that night, you should come. It’s not, like, a crazy party or anything. Just fun. You can just hang out, meet some people.”

“You don’t even have to drink,” Jay added quickly. “I mean, most people do, but you don’t have to. There’s food. Music. It’s chill.”

You felt all their eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You shifted again, fingers curling around the edge of your plate.

“Oh. Um.” You wet your lips. “I’ll… think about it?”

Heeseung smiled, nodding. “That’s fair.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, no pressure.” ──────────────────────── Except that, it was pressure. 

The hum of the popcorn machine filled the quiet lobby, the scent of butter lingering in the air. The morning shifts were always slow—just a few scattered customers, mostly older couples and parents wrangling excited kids. You handed a soda to a woman with two small boys, murmuring a polite “Enjoy your movie” as she thanked you and walked off.

Sunoo, who had been leaning against the counter snacking on popcorn, gave you a look. “Okay, spill.”

You frowned. “What?”

“You look weird.” He popped another kernel into his mouth. “A bit constipated. What are you thinking so deeply about? 

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “…It’s nothing.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Liar.”

You exhaled, already knowing you weren’t going to get away with it. “…Sunghoon’s friends came over last night.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Heeseung, Jay, and Jake?”

You blinked surprised. “…How did you know?”

At the same time, you weren’t really surprised. Sunoo had a way of knowing everything and everyone. He was the definition of a social butterfly.

He grinned. “They’re his closest friends. He’s always with them.” Then, he leaned in. “Tell me more.”

You sighed, wiping your hands on a napkin. “It wasn’t a big deal. They just came over to see the apartment and hang out. I ran into them when I went to the kitchen.”

“And?” Sunoo prompted, eyes gleaming with interest.

“And… they were nice,” you admitted. “They complimented the apartment and–” you hesitated, then added reluctantly, “my paintings.”

Sunoo gasped dramatically. “No. Way.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, calm down.”

“No, because you get all shy when people talk about your art. How did you survive that?”

“I almost didn’t.” You groaned, covering your face. “Sunghoon called me out for being awkward about it.”

Sunoo cackled. “That is kind of funny.”

You shot him a glare. “Not to me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, waving a hand. “And then?”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “They… invited me to a party next week.”

Sunoo froze.

His expression went from shocked to utterly gobsmacked in less than a second. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Wait like, the sports team party?”

“…I think?”

He gawked at you. “You think? Y/N, do you even realize how exclusive those are? The end and beginning of semester parties are mostly for the teams and their close friends.” He leaned in. “It’s at a different frat house each semester, but you have to know people to get in.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I guess… I know people now?”

Sunoo smacked your arm lightly. “Oh my god, this is huge.”

“It’s really not.”

“It is.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You have to take me with you.”

You groaned. “Sunoo–”

“Please.” His eyes widened. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We’d be insane not to go.”

You chewed on your lip. “I don’t know… I feel like I’d just be awkward.”

Sunoo softened slightly. “You might. But you might also have fun.”

You sighed.

“If you feel uncomfortable, I’ll leave with you,” he promised. “I swear.”

You hesitated before finally mumbling, “…I’ll think about it.”

Sunoo beamed. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Sunoo was not letting this go.

“You have to take me with you,” he said, gripping your wrist.

You groaned. “Sunoo.”

“Please.” His eyes widened dramatically. “Do you even understand what this means? This is like–like being invited to the Met Gala of frat parties.”

You gave him a look. “You are so dramatic.”

“Am I?” He scoffed. “Y/N, do you realize how hard it is to get into one of these? And you got invited. You!” He clutched his chest like he was about to faint.

You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Sunoo’s jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? Y/N, if I had even breathed in the direction of these parties before, I would’ve been escorted out.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. If not even Sunoo had been invited to one of these parties they probably were a big thing. Johnny was always talking about how he enjoyed going to parties. You loved hearing his and Taeyongs stories every time they came home. They did romanticize uni life a bit in your opinion. Or maybe you were just doing something wrong. Maybe you could try going to that party.  

Sunoos face softened slightly. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Big parties aren’t your thing. And, yeah, it might be overwhelming at first. But, Y/N, you deserve to have fun.”

“I do have fun,” you muttered.

Sunoo gave you a knowing look. “Working and studying doesn’t count.”

You sighed.

“If you don’t like it, we’ll leave,” he promised. “I swear. I won’t ditch you. But at least try.”

You hesitated, staring at the counter, before finally mumbling, “…Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Sunoo grinned like he had already won. “That’s all I needed to hear.” ──────────────────────── It was way too early when you made your way through the market, near your apartment. Despite it being 7:30 am, the market was already bustling with life. It was never truly empty, and if it was then the stall owners made sure that it was at least as loud as it is with customers there. The air smelled like fresh produce and spice but the closer you got to the stand you needed to go the more the air smelled like flowers. 

You stopped in front of a stall called ‘Spring Flowers Right Next to You' and greeted the elderly lady behind the stall with a warm smile. You stopped by once a week to buy your flowers, so the Ajumma greeted you with an even warmer smile. She reminded you a lot of your own grandmother. 

"Good morning, Ajumma," you said, stepping closer.

"Ah, Y/N!", her hands were arranging some petals. "It’s so lovely to see you again, my child. Do you have any particular flowers in mind today?"

“Not really. I think I’ll just buy whatever speaks to me today.”, you answered, softly shaking your head.

You walked slowly, taking your time to browse through the vibrant bouquets and paused in front of the pink peonies. You’ve always loved peonies, but you really didn’t feel like having to carry them around all day, since a bouquet was quite big and your working space in the studio was quite small. Maybe you could give them to the lady at the front desk again. You continued to wander until you reached the chrysanthemums. The yellow ones were beautiful today. You reached out to gently touch one, admiring how full they were. They would go well with the new painting you had in mind for the kitchen. Maybe you could finish that before the flowers wilted.

You gathered a few of the flowers and walked back to the ajumma. She wiped her hands on her apron. "Yellow chrysanthemums today, Y/N? You usually stay with less vibrant colours.” You hummed when she started wrapping the flowers in some old newspaper. “Yeah. I thought I should try something new.”

Her face grew more serious, though still warm. “Yellow chrysanthemums can symbolize caution or a warning.”

You frowned slightly, taking in the flowers again.  "Really?" You chuckled lightly, not taking it too seriously. "They’re so pretty, though."

The Ajumma gave you a small smile, "If you feel like buying them, then maybe be careful. Something might happen, my love."

You stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to react. "Oh," you said slowly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

With a polite thank you, you paid and made your way out, chrysanthemums in hand.

As you left the market, the sunlight began to feel warmer, the air thick with the early morning heat.  ──────────────────────── When you arrived home, Sunghoon was already there, his sneakers discarded by the door. He glanced up from his phone as you walked in, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth when he noticed the flowers in your hands.

“Oh hey you bought new flowers.”, he said smiling at you. "They look nice."

You smiled softly, setting them down on the counter. "Yeah, I thought they’d brighten things up a bit. I usually tend to go with softer colors or white but somehow the yellow spoke to me this morning."

He came over, inspecting them with a thoughtful expression. "I like how you always have flowers around here. It makes it feel more... cozy, I guess."

You nodded, while reaching for a new vase. “I like the way they make the place feel, too."

The freesias that were sitting in the window still were still blooming. You reached over the sink and grabbed the old flowers, putting them into the living room and exchanging them with the new chrysanthemums. 

Sunghoon stood there for a moment, watching you work. He then shifted his weight, looking at you with a hint of curiosity. "So, have you thought about the party this weekend?"

You paused, your fingers lightly grazing the flowers in the vase as you considered his question. "I’m still not sure," you admitted softly, glancing up at him. "I mean, it’s just... I don’t know."

Sunghoon tilted his head, his eyes soft but insistent. "It’s going to be fun. You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve to get out and relax." He stepped closer, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Think of it as roommate bonding time. I'd love to see you outside of the apartment too. You know, I’ve only seen you in PJs and your work outfits. I don’t even know if you have anything in your closet that's not suit pants or a gigantic washed out T-shirt."

You felt heat creep up your neck. He really hasn’t seen you in any normal outfits yet. You haven’t been spending your free time outside a lot, so you never wore anything aside from working uniforms and Pyjamas. You hesitated, feeling a bit nervous about the idea, but considering he and Sunoo both claimed you should spend more time outside of work and uni you probably should. You knew you should. You just sometimes, okay most of the times, felt a bit uncomfortable and too tired for social interactions, especially when you had to meet new people. 

But the thought of spending time with Sunghoon outside the apartment  felt a little exciting. He was quite nice and maybe you could turn from roommates to friends. You always thought you would struggle more when living in a shared apartment but Sunghoon somehow made it easy. You always feared you would feel uncomfortable outside of your room but you liked having Sunghoon`s presence around.

"Okay," you said, surprising yourself. "I’ll go."

Sunghoon's grin widened, clearly pleased. "That’s the spirit! I’ll make sure it’s a good time, I promise." ──────────────────────── By the time Sunghoon made it home, he was done. 

Completely exhausted. 

His entire body ached from training and his wrist was throbbing. If he wanted to keep up with his competition and impress the scouts for the Olympic team, his execution had to be perfect.

Perfect footwork. Perfect jumps. Perfect landings.

Too bad he’d wiped out twice today.

And landed on his wrist, both times. The neon pink tape Wonyoung put onto it helped slightly with the pain.

With a sigh, Sunghoon kicked off his sneakers and slung his bag onto the floor, barely mustering the energy to shuffle further inside.

The apartment smelled faintly of paint.

When he looked up, he found you sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by brushes and tubes of oil paint. You were wearing an oversized lab coat with a few colourful smudges on the fabric. Your hair was in that same slightly messy braid you always did, a few strands falling loose around your face.

Sunghoon felt a strange, fleeting sense of familiarity at the sight. His younger sister used to wear her hair like that all the time, and at some point, she had forced him to learn how to braid too. He would also come home to find her sitting in front of the TV studying or eating hunched over the table. 

Instead of heading straight to his room like he normally would after a brutal training session, he walked over to the couch and let himself collapse onto it with a groan.

You looked up. “Tough day?”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You could say that.”

Your eyes flickered to his hands, and before he could stop you, you asked in a soft voice, “Did you fall?”

Sunghoon hesitated.

“Just a little.”

Your expression made it very clear you didn’t believe him.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” he admitted, rubbing the sore spot on his wrist. “Coach keeps drilling me on this footwork section. It’s not even the hardest part of my program, but I swear I’m losing my mind.”

You hummed in understanding, but your attention was already back on your painting.

That was fine. Sunghoon didn’t need a response. He just needed to sit here and let his brain switch off. It was nice that you were out of your room again. Usually, he didn’t see that much of you but you seemed to feel a bit more comfortable around him now, so you were more in the shared rooms of the apartment. 

His eyes drifted back to the TV, catching sight of a painfully dramatic scene. The female lead was running in the rain, and the male lead was standing there, staring after her.

A few minutes passed before he finally asked, “What are you working on?”

You glanced at him, surprised. “It’s part of a series I’m doing.”

“Series?”

You nodded, hesitating a little before explaining, “I’ve been painting dishes from my childhood. Meals I grew up with, the ones that remind me of home.” You gestured toward your canvas. “This one is my mom’s kimchi jjigae. She used to make it whenever someone had a bad day.”

Sunghoon stared at the painting for a moment.

“That’s… really cool,” he found himself saying.

You blinked at him, clearly not expecting that either.

“Thanks,” you murmured, going back to your work.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sound coming from the TV.  ──────────────────────── You yawned while opening the door, stepping into the apartment and kicking off your shoes. Work had drained you, and the thought of going to a party tonight made you feel even more exhausted. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or just the lingering headache, but either way, you needed a break before even thinking about getting ready.

“Hey,” you mumbled, rubbing at your temples. “I think I’m gonna nap for an hour before we go. Is that okay? I could also just drink a cup of coffee if not.”

Sunghoon, who was lounging on the couch with his phone, looked up from the screen and nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to get there on time anyway.”

“Oh. Okay. When do you want to be there?”, you asked, a bit unsure as to when coming to a party was appropriate. 

“Around ten? Maybe eleven? Imma ask the others but probably around that time. You will even have time to get ready. Gotta impress the jocks, don’t we, Y/Ncasso?”, he smirked at you. 

“Oh. I wasn’t really planning on doing that?”, you said, shrugging and Sunghoon chuckled at that.

“Sure.” 

Without another word, you went straight to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you let out a long sigh. You tried to push aside the anxiety gnawing at your stomach. You hadn't been to many parties before, especially ones like this. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.

About an hour later, you reluctantly pulled yourself out of bed. Your head was still heavy, the migraine a constant throb beneath your temples. You could feel your nerves creeping back up as you walked out of your room, rubbing your eyes.

“Hey, Sunghoon,” you said, standing in the bathroom doorway. Sunghoon was already getting ready, styling his hair in the mirror. You gave him a small smile, trying to push away the nervousness in your chest.

“I don’t wanna drink a lot tonight,” you said, your voice a little softer than you would have liked. "Is that okay?"

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face. “Why? Are you a lightweight?”

You rolled your eyes but felt the flush creeping up your neck. “I’m just asking. I don’t really drink much at all.”

He leaned against the sink, looking you up and down with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Y/N, you’re seriously asking if it’s cool to not drink a lot? What kind of question is that? It’s just a party. You’ll be fine.”

You bit your lip, still feeling a little uneasy about the whole idea of the party. “It’s just... I don’t know. I’ve not really been to many parties.”

Sunghoon’s face softened. “You don’t have to worry. It’s gonna be fun, alright? You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. We’re just hanging out. I’ll make sure you’re not left to fend for yourself and Sunoo will also be there. If you feel uncomfortable I’ll bring you home, I promise.”

The soft, almost protective tone he used made you relax a little, and your anxiety loosened just enough for you to take a deep breath. You nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

He laughed slightly and turned back to the mirror. “Always. Don’t stress, alright? It's just a party. There is going to be lots of drunk people and no one will notice if you don’t drink. They will be too busy getting drunk.”

You smiled, though it was still a little tight around the edges. Sunghoon caught your glance and, after a moment of silence, his expression softened into something more reassuring. 

“Come on, it’s going to be okay, yeah? We’ll get there, and we’ll just hang out. You’ll be alright, I promise.”

You gave a reluctant nod, grateful for his words. You stretched out, trying to shake off the drowsiness, and took a deep breath.

"Okay. I’m going to eat the rest of the kimchi jiggae from yesterday and then change." ──────────────────────── The moment you stepped into the house, the overwhelming mix of loud music, sweaty bodies, and flashing lights hit you all at once. The air smelled like alcohol, something vaguely fruity, and whatever cologne the guy who just stumbled past you had drenched himself in.

You were already regretting this.

Before you could fully process your surroundings, a loud voice called out: “Y/N!!!”

You barely had time to react before Jake launched himself at you, arms wrapping around you in an enthusiastic, borderline crushing hug.

You froze immediately. Your arms stayed stiff at your sides as Jake rocked you side to side, laughing and giggling.

“Oh my God,” he slurred. “I knew you’d come! I told Sunghoon you were gonna come!”

Your eyes darted around, searching for Sunghoon and you stared at him in a plea for help.

Sunghoon, being the absolutely useless person he was, was not helping. Instead, he stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching you with a big, shit-eating grin.

You glared at him. He just smiled wider.

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand and gave Jake a few awkward pats on the back and he beamed. He finally pulled away just as Jay approached. Unlike Jake, he didn’t tackle you. He just gave you a half-hug, clapping your shoulder lightly. “Glad you came,” he said with an easygoing smile.

You managed a small nod, still recovering from the ambush hug. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

Before you could even take a breath, another person appeared, practically draping herself over Jay’s side.

“Baaaby,” she whined, stretching the word out dramatically. “I want more shots.”

Jake, who had just released you from his bear hug, perked up immediately. “Oh yes, shots!” he cheered, eyes shining.

Jay turned to the girl with a rather lovesick smile. “What do you want, baby?.”

“Vodka? Tequila? I don’t care.”, she shrugged. 

Sunghoon leaned down slightly so you could hear him over the music. “That’s Jay’s girlfriend,” he murmured, nodding towards the girl. “She and Jake together are, like, dumb and dumber when they’re drunk.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching as the two of them clung to each other, giggling over something completely unintelligible.

“They seem… enthusiastic,” you said hesitantly.

Sunghoon snorted. “They are. Jake’s girlfriend is probably off getting high somewhere, so later we just have to deal with dumb, dumber, and dumbest and whoever they rope into their mess.”

Oh. This really sounded like one of the parties Johnny used to tell you about. Somehow you felt a bit weird being surrounded by all of these strangers being drunk. Usually, you only drank with your friends at home or in a restaurant, so this was something completely new. You opened your mouth to respond to Sunghoon but were interrupted by cheers that echoed through the whole house, coming from different directions.

“Katy shot!” Jake bellowed.

“Katy shot!” Jay’s girlfriend echoed, nodding enthusiastically. You were glad Jay had her arm around her since she seemed a bit wonky on her legs.

Before you could even ask what was happening, a guy materialized out of thin air with a vodka bottle and a stack of shot cups, moving with the efficiency of someone who had clearly done this a thousand times before. The others were cheering on him and he was laughing like some kind of a lunatic. 

One by one, he poured shots and handed them out, barely even looking as he passed them around.

And then, before you could even protest, he shoved a shot glass into your hand, too.

You blinked down at the clear liquid.

“What,” you said flatly.

Sunghoon, standing next to you, huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s a thing for the hockey players,” he explained. “Every time a Katy Perry song plays, they take a shot.”

“…Why?”

He shrugged. “Tradition.”

You glanced back up at the others, who were all now holding their shots high in the air, looking at you expectantly.

“To Katy!” someone announced.

“To Katy!” the rest echoed.

You turned to Sunghoon again.

He leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You don’t have to drink it, you know.”

You bit your lip. You had told him earlier that you didn’t want to drink much tonight. But… it was just one shot. And everyone was looking at you expectantly.

So, before you could overthink it, you raised your glass and knocked it back.

The vodka burned on the way down, and you barely had time to process it before the other girl cheered, Jake clapped you on the back, and Jay grinned.

Sunghoon just shook his head and took his shot. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon was leaning against the sofa, half-listening to Jay argue with Jake about their next beer pong shot. His own cup sat untouched beside him. He was pacing himself, knowing he had practice tomorrow and he did not intend to show up hung over. His coach was already on him for falling last week so he didn’t want to even try his luck and skate hungover. The music thumped through the house, bass vibrating beneath his feet, and the heat of too many bodies in a small space was starting to get to him.

He glanced over at you, watching as you hesitated before stepping closer.

“Sunoo is here,” you said, raising your voice slightly over the music. “I’m gonna go find him.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Yeah, go ahead,” he said smiling at you.

As you disappeared into the crowd, he turned back to Jay and Jake, who were still discussing their game strategy. Sunghoon took a sip of his drink, sighing as he tuned them out. For a while, he let himself get caught up in the game. He played a round of beer pong, winning against Jake, who was way too drunk to aim properly, before getting pulled into a conversation with some of Jay’s friends. But even as he talked, he found his eyes drifting back to you.

You were with whom he assumed to be Sunoo, just as you said you’d be, laughing at something one of the baseball players said, that came in with Sunoo. Sunghoon recognized a few of them vaguely. He watched as one of them, a little taller than the rest, leaned in slightly while talking to you.

Sunghoon wasn’t sure why, but something about it made his jaw tighten as he saw you taking a slight step back, your smile reverting back to the small reserved ones you always had when you were uncomfortable or felt especially shy. He hasn’t seen that in quite a while now.

He shook the word feeling off, going back to his drink. You were fine. 

Then, a few minutes later, the guy stood up and made his way toward the kitchen.

He watched as the guy grabbed a couple of cups and a few bottles from the counter.

He handed out the cups and to Sunghoons surprise you also took one cup. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, your fingers barely brushing against the cup.

You weren’t smiling as much anymore. You weren’t laughing like you had been with Sunoo. Your shoulders seemed a little stiffer now, your weight shifting slightly as if you were debating stepping back.

Sunghoon frowned, tapping his fingers against the rim of his cup.

You were uncomfortable. He could tell.

And suddenly, guilt crept up his spine.

You didn’t even want to come in the first place.

He had been the one to convince you. 

And now here you were, standing in the middle of a room full of people you barely knew, clutching a drink you probably didn’t even want.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, setting his cup down on the counter with a soft thud. He didn’t know if he was overthinking things, but he did tell you that if you felt uncomfortable he or his friends would help you out.

So casually he started making his way toward you. Sunghoon had barely taken a step toward you when a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Park,” a familiar voice drawled.

He turned to see Hyunjin, one of the more senior skaters. Despite the loud music and chaotic energy of the party, Hyunjin looked as relaxed as ever, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Haven’t seen you drink much,” Hyunjin noted, tilting his own half-empty cup toward Sunghoon. “You’re really out here being responsible?”

Sunghoon snorted. “Some of us have practice tomorrow.”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have told coach you are trying out for the Olympics. He’s already making you run that new program into the ground.”

Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but his attention was already elsewhere.

Across the room, you were still standing with that guy. Sunghoon didn’t know his name but he was talking to you with a bit too much interest, hands moving animatedly as he spoke.

You weren’t saying much. Sunghoon had come to know you well enough to recognize when you were just being polite. The way your shoulders stayed stiff, the way your fingers fidgeted slightly at your side. 

Sunghoon forced himself to look away. Maybe you were interested and just didn’t know how to react. Hell, he knew best how awkward you could be when you met new people. He was just overthinking things.

He shifted his weight, keeping one ear on whatever Hyunjin was saying while his eyes flickered back to you.

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of Sunghoon’s face. “Hello? Are you even listening?”

Sunghoon blinked, forcing himself to focus. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, glancing at you once more. “Yeah. I am just a bit tired.”──────────────────────── The music thudded in your chest, vibrating through your bones. Your head was pounding, your vision blurry, and there was a weird, giddy sensation bubbling up in you like everything was too funny. You didn’t feel like yourself.

Your hand was still gripping your drink. You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying. It wasn’t unusual for you to get a migraine, especially with the noise and lights in a place like this. It felt like your mouth was moving without you even thinking about it when you were answering whatever question Injang just asked.

“So, what brings you here tonight?” He asked, leaning in slightly, his voice a little too loud to make it easy to follow.

You could feel his eyes on you, more intent than necessary. “Um... I came with Sunghoon? He’s my roommate.”

“Ah, cool. You two must be close,” he said, his grin widening. “How long have you known each other?”

You tried to concentrate on his words, but the pounding in your head was intensifying. “I—I don’t know, a few weeks?” you replied, your voice trailing off into a giggle.

He continued asking questions, and you tried your best to follow along, giving short, vague answers. Your thoughts felt slow, fuzzy, and your vision started to swim a little, but you chalked it up to the headache that was now making its presence known.

“Hey, Y/N, you sure you’re okay?” Injang’s voice broke through the fuzz. His proximity was suddenly too much, his words a little too loud, and yet it made you want to giggle like there was something funny about how he was looking at you, how close he was.

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the haze in your brain, but instead, the dizziness swirled, the world spinning around you.

“I... I’m fine, I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to reassure him, though you weren’t even sure you believed it. Your words were slurred, and you felt the giggles bubbling up, like a laugh track in your head, though there was nothing funny happening.

He kept leaning in, his hand brushing your arm, his smirk growing wider. You tried to focus on him, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure in your skull and the odd sense of lightness in your limbs.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, leaning even closer, and you could feel his breath on your face. His voice sounded like it was echoing from far away. Your mouth felt dry, but you still wanted to laugh. It was all so weird.

“I... yeah,” you giggled softly, barely able to catch your breath. It was so hard to keep it together. “I’m just... I’m just a little tired, y’know? Need... water...” You tried to push past him, but your legs felt unsteady, as though they weren’t entirely yours. You could hardly keep your balance, and the noise became so much louder like it was vibrating inside your skull. You placed a hand on the wall for support, just trying to stay on your feet. The room was spinning, and you tried to focus, to remember where the kitchen was, but it felt like you had to move through molasses. Your vision blurred at the edges, but you focused on the thought of just getting some water, something to cool down the spinning in your head. You leaned against the wall to steady yourself, the world around you tilting sideways.

But before you could move, you felt his hand again. This time, it wasn’t just a touch; it was a grip, his fingers wrapping around your waist, pulling you back. You tried to tug away, but your body wasn’t listening.

“Hey, I’m just trying to help you out, alright? You don’t have to be so shy,” Injang’s voice was thick now, too close for comfort. His touch sent an uncomfortable shiver through you.

Everything felt wrong, but you were too tired to fight it. The giggles still threatened to slip from your mouth, but you pushed them down. You knew you needed to get away from him, but every part of you felt so heavy, and your movements weren’t your own. You were trapped in this slow, sluggish fog.

You tried to move away from him, but your body wasn’t responding the way it should, your feet dragging with each slow step. "Seriously, Y/N, you're cute when you're all quiet like this," he continued, stepping even closer until you could feel the heat of his body at your back. "I’m just worried about you. You sure you’re not feeling anything... weird?" 

You flinched, trying to pull away, but he kept his grip, his fingers brushing down to your waist in a way that made you feel exposed and uncomfortable. “Come on, don't be shy. It's just a party. We’re just having fun, right?” His voice was low and thick like it was supposed to be reassuring, but it just made your stomach twist in on itself. Everything felt off. This wasn’t right. Your thoughts were foggy, too confused to make sense of it, but you knew enough to feel uncomfortable. You barely registered that your feet were still dragging, moving you backwards towards the counter, away from him.

But before you could get any farther, you heard loud voices—like shouting—though it sounded muffled, distorted. Then, you heard Sunghoon's voice cut through the noise. “Get your hands off her. Now.” Your heart picked up speed, your pulse pounding in your ears. 

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open, the words slipping out without you even meaning to speak them. You thought you heard a shuffle of footsteps, the sound of someone else stumbling, but your vision was swimming again, too blurred to catch the full picture. You vaguely made out Sunghoon moving closer, his shadow blocking out the light from the hallway. "Did I fucking stutter? I said, get off her," Sunghoon growled, the anger in his tone clear now. Injang didn’t let go immediately. You could hear him chuckling, but it was shaky and nervous, and you felt him try to touch your arm again. “I was just trying to... you know... be friendly.”

“Friendly?”, Sunghoon spat, “This is not friendly.”

The next thing you knew, there was a quick movement. But before you could do much else, your knees buckled. The sound of the voices and the music became distorted again like you were hearing it underwater. You tried to take a step forward, but your body didn’t listen to you, and in a blink, everything went black. ──────────────────────── The moment you collapsed, it was like time stopped. Your body crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. Sunghoon barely managed to catch you in time, feeling the weight of your body press into him as you fell limp in his arms. His heart slammed in his chest. 

"Y/N?" he shook you gently, but you didn’t respond. Your head flopped back, your eyes closed, and your face was pale.

What the fuck was going on?

"Someone call 112!" Sunghoon yelled. He held you against him, trying to shake you awake, but you remained unresponsive. “Y/N? Y/N, wake up!”

The kitchen had gone eerily silent, the music and chatter fading into the background. The people around him were now all staring.

Sunoo had been standing at the edge of the room, just a few feet away when it all went down. 

"Oh my god," he gasped, as he rushed forward.

He knelt beside Sunghoon, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. His eyes flickered between Sunghoon and you.

"What happened to her? What's wrong with her?" Sunoo’s voice was panicked. His gaze darted between your pale face and Sunghoon’s frantic movements. Sunghoon carefully laid you down on the floor and onto your side. He checked your pulse, your breathing and that if you threw up you wouldn’t choke on your vomit.

Sunghoon's mind raced as he tried to figure out what could have happened. You had been fine when you came here. You said your migraine had been getting worse after a while at the party you, but you wouldn’t faint from a headache. Not this quickly. Something else was going on.

He looked around the room, eyes searching for the guy who had been sticking so damn close to you earlier. His hands were shaking as he tried to make sense of the situation.

"Call 112," he shouted at Sunoo, pushing through the growing panic. "Call 112, now!"

Sunghoon’s voice was firm despite the rising panic. “She’s been drugged,” he said through clenched teeth. "She didn't drink with me. And I didn’t see her take more than two sips of her drink afterwards.”

Sunoo’s eyes went wide with disbelief, his hands hovering over you like he was too scared to touch you. “What? No. No, this can’t be happening. I- she- she was fine just a few minutes ago.” His voice cracked, the fear and shock written all over his face. He carefully took your face into his hands. “Y/N, wake up. Wake up,” he muttered.

Sunghoon looked around the room again, his eyes searching for Injang. He had to be the one responsible.

He turned to Sunoo. “Stay with her,” he commanded. “Don’t leave her, alright? I’ll find that guy.”

Sunoo nodded, his face pale, his lips pressed into a tight line. Sunghoon pushed through the crowd, the noise and the panic rising as more people realized what was going on.

When he spotted Injang near the back of the living room, casually laughing with his friends as if nothing had happened, Sunghoon’s blood boiled. Without thinking, he rushed over, grabbing Injang by the collar and yanking him around to face him.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Sunghoon’s voice was low, tight with anger. "What did you give her?"

Injang, looking completely unfazed, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What? I didn’t do anything to her,” he said, his voice laced with a mocking sweetness. “She’s just drunk, man. Chill out.”

Sunghoon’s grip tightened and he pulled him closer. “Don’t fucking lie to me,” he hissed. “I saw how you were with her. She’s not just drunk. You drugged her.”

Injang’s smirk only grew wider, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “You know, she’s a shy little thing, right? Pretty cute, too. I thought it’d be funny. Nothing too serious.” He leaned in a nasty gleam in his eyes. “It wasn’t like I wanted to rape her, dude. Just a little fun. You know, loosen her up a bit. She is just a lightweight I guess.”

Sunghoon felt his stomach twist in disgust. His vision blurred with anger. "You think this is funny?" he growled, stepping closer, his voice dangerously calm. "You think what you did is some sort of joke?"

Injang scoffed, clearly unfazed by Sunghoon's fury. "Relax, man. She’s just a little buzzed. Nothing serious happened." His tone was dismissive as if he was still trying to downplay the situation as some harmless prank.

Sunghoon's chest tightened with rage. "Nothing serious happened? She is unconscious!”

Injang's smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, shrugging nonchalantly. "Whatever, man. Don’t be so dramatic. It was just a little harmless fun–"

He was stammering, trying to back away from Sunghoon. 

“Sunghoon, stop!” Hyunjin’s voice reached him just in time before he could shove his fist into Injangs face.

Sunghoon turned to see Hyunjin standing behind him, holding his arms up in a way that was meant to stop him. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Hyunjin?” Sunghoon snapped, furious at him for getting in the way. “This shithead drugged Y/N.”

“Sunghoon, listen to me,” Hyunjin said, stepping closer. “If you hit him, it’s going to fuck up your chances for the Olympics. Let the police handle this. You have enough evidence that will get him into trouble.”

Sunghoon stared at Hyunjin, his hands trembling with the urge to knock Injang’s teeth out. His entire body was on fire, adrenaline pumping through his veins. But Hyunjin was right. As much as Sunghoon hated it, he was right.

He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around nothing as he reluctantly let go of Injang. “You’re lucky I’m listening to him,” Sunghoon muttered, his voice barely controlled.

Injang took a step back, his face pale and sweaty now.

The sound of sirens grew louder in the background, and Sunghoon pushed past Hyunjin to get back to you.

Sunoo was still kneeling beside you, looking helpless, his hands hovering over your body as if trying to figure out what he could do to help

Sunghoon crouched down next to you, watching as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon sat in the back of the taxi, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mind was still racing, his pulse hammering in his ears as the city lights blurred past the window. His body moved on autopilot as the taxi finally pulled up in front of the hospital. He couldn't get the image of you collapsing out of his head the way you crumpled to the floor, lifeless in his arms. He insisted on coming to the hospital but wanted Sunoo to be with you in the ambulance, just in case you woke up. The chances were low but he didn’t want you to be with him. You barely knew each other. Heeseung asked him if he should come along, Jake and Jay also tried but those two already drank too much to survive a car ride without throwing up. He declined Heeseungs offer, Sunoo would be there and Mark would also be there. Sunoo called him the second you had been securely lying in the ambulance.

He barely remembered paying the driver before rushing inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic and bright fluorescent lights making his head pound. He wasn’t as sober as he wished he would be. 

The waiting area was quiet except for the distant beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses. It didn't take much of an effort to find Sunoo.

He was curled up in one of the plastic chairs, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. His shoulders were hunched, and when he looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes were bloodshot.

Sunghoon hesitated before stepping closer. "Any news?"

Sunoo shook his head, wiping at his face with his sleeve. His voice was hoarse. "She's stable, but she's not awake. They-they said it's GHB." His breath hitched slightly. "It's gonna take time for it to wear off."

Sunghoon felt his stomach twist. Before he could say anything else, the doors to the waiting room swung open, and Mark rushed in, looking like he had just thrown on the first clothes he could find. His hoodie was inside out, and his sweatpants were wrinkled like he had just rolled out of bed, which made sense, it was nearly 2 AM.

Mark's eyes immediately found Sunghoon's. "Where is she?"

Sunghoon gestured toward the hallway leading to the ICU. "They're still monitoring her."

Mark let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face before sitting heavily in the chair next to Sunoo.

Mark's voice was shaky when he asked, "What happened?"

Sunghoon took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before he spoke. "Y/N fainted. The doctors say she's stable now, but she's still unconscious. She's been drugged. They found GHB in her system."

Mark let out a soft, guttural sound of disbelief, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as he processed the words. His face was a mask of shock, confusion, and rage all mixed together. "She was drugged?" Mark repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "Who the hell would do something like this?"

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, the memory of Injang's smug face flashing in his mind. "Some asshole at the party. I confronted him before the cops came. He acted like it was funny." His fists tightened.

Mark lifted his head, his face eerily blank. "What's his name?" 

Sunghoon hesitated. "Mark-"

"What's his name, Sunghoon?" Mark repeated, his voice sharper now.

Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. The police took him in."

Mark's expression was unreadable, but before he could press further a nurse came up to them.

"Mr. Lee?", she asked as she approached them.

"Yes.", Mark stood up immediately.

"Y/N is stable," she said gently. "We've been monitoring her closely, and her vitals are steady. She hasn't woken up yet, but we'll continue to keep a close eye on her. Lucky the dose she digested was small and she ate something before going to the party."

"Can we go in and see her?"

The nurse hesitated, then nodded. "You can, but please be as quiet as possible. She's still unconscious, and we don't want to overwhelm her."

They followed her down the hospital corridors, the sterile smell of disinfectant in the air.

The nurse carefully opened the door to your room. You were lying motionless in the bed, your face pale beneath the hospital sheets and an oxygen mask was resting gently over your nose. The soft beeping of the machines filled the room.

Mark seemed at a loss for words, as he walked to your bed and gently took your hand into his hand. “She is going to be alright, right?”, he whispered.

“Definitely.”, the nurse nodded, “She might be confused and shocked when she wakes up and may experience side effects of the antidote, but she will be alright.”

Mark slightly nodded his head and caressed your hand. "I grabbed a T-shirt and some joggers. I thought... I thought she might want something comfortable when she wakes up."

Sunghoon glanced over at the bag Mark had brought and hummed slightly. 

“That’s really nice of you. We handed her clothing to the police, so they can take it in for evidence collection.”, the nurse smiled at Mark. “You can stay in here for a while, just please don’t try to wake her up.”

The three men nodded and Sunghoon watched the woman leave the small room. Sunoo signed and pulled one chair closer to your bed. Mark sat down next to you on the bed while Sunghoon stayed at the end of your bed. He felt weird and guilty, for being here, for his friends asking you to come, for him to not pay more attention. 

There was a long silence before Sunoo sniffled.  "I don't know what happened, Mark. She was fine. We were just hanging out, talking to some of the baseball guys I know and then she….. she just collapsed. I shouldn’t have let her drink something we didn’t watch being made. But he brought everyone a cup."

Mark shook his head, he was still carefully holding your hand, petting its backside. "It's okay Sunoo, it's not your fault that this happened." 

Thick silence filled the room again. Sunoo occasionally reached out to adjust the blankets around you, his eyes never leaving your face. It was as if no one could speak of what was actually happening, so they stayed silent instead.

Sunghoon had never felt so helpless in his life. He kept glancing at you, watching the shallow rise and fall of your chest. Every time the beeping of the monitor shifted, his heart skipped a beat, thinking for a second that something had changed. He also couldn’t imagine being in Mark's position. If Yeji was laying here, pale and motionless –drugged– his whole world would end. 

Minutes turned to hours, and yet, nothing changed. The night dragged on, and the three of them sat, waiting, watching, doing nothing but hope. Neither of them left your side. The hospital staff came in and out, checking your vitals, assuring them that you would wake up, your body just needed time. There was nothing to do but wait. ──────────────────────── Darkness.

That was the first thing you registered. Heavy, suffocating darkness clung to you like a thick fog, making it impossible to think, impossible to move. Your body felt foreign—like it wasn’t yours at all. Your limbs felt sluggish and your head was pounding.

Then came the sound. Distant at first, like you were hearing everything from underwater. A rhythmic beeping. The faint hum of voices. Someone shifting beside you.

You tried to move, but your body refused to cooperate. Your fingers twitched slightly against the sheets and a noise escaped your lips.

The beeping grew louder. The voices became clearer.

“…think she’s waking up.”

A hand brushed against yours, hesitant and warm.

“Y/N?”

You forced your eyes open, but the brightness was overwhelming. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through your skull, and you let out a quiet whimper, squeezing them shut again.

“She needs a doctor—someone get a nurse!”, a voice said, more urgent this time.

Footsteps hurried away.

You tried again, forcing your lashes to flutter open. The light was still too much, but this time, your vision wasn’t completely useless. Shapes. Shadows. A blurry figure leaning over you.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” someone murmured, their tone softer now.

You blinked a few times, and slowly, painfully, the world started to come into focus.

Sunoo.

His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles beneath them like he hadn’t slept in days. His fingers were trembling against your hand.

Behind him, other figures began to materialize.

Mark? Sunghoon?

Your sluggish mind tried to piece things together, but it felt like you were missing something. Everything was hazy. The last thing you remembered was the party. The bright lights, the pounding music, the way your head had started to spin. And then… nothing. Just a void.

Your throat felt raw when you tried to speak. “Wha—?”

“Don’t talk yet,” Mark cut in quickly, leaning forward. His hair was messy, and he looked like he had been dragged out of bed. “You’re in the hospital.”

Hospital?

Your fingers twitched again, trying to push yourself up, but your body didn’t cooperate. Everything was too heavy.

You swallowed, forcing the words out. “What… happened?”

Sunoo squeezed your hand. His lips parted, but for a second, he hesitated, like he didn’t know how to say it.

Sunghoon was the one who finally answered. His voice was low, careful. “You were drugged.”

Drugged?

Your eyes darted between them, searching their faces for some kind of explanation, some kind of reassurance that this was a misunderstanding, that they were wrong.

But Mark’s jaw was clenched. Sunoo’s fingers were still shaking and Sunghoon’s face was unreadable.

A cold sensation washed over you, creeping up your spine.

Drugged.

Your stomach twisted violently.

A shuffle at the doorway made you turn your head slightly. A nurse had entered, a clipboard in hand,

“Y/N,” she said with a small smile, stepping closer to check the monitor beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

You opened your mouth, but for a moment, no words came out. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know what you felt.

“…Heavy,” you managed weakly. “Tired.”

The nurse hummed in understanding. “That’s normal. The drug is still leaving your system, but your vitals are stable. Do you remember anything?”

Your mind scrambled for an answer, but there was nothing. Just fragments.

“I…” Your throat tightened. “Not really.”

She nodded, scribbling something onto the clipboard. “That’s expected. Your body reacted well to the fluids, and the tests showed a relatively low dose, but it’s still disorienting.” Her eyes softened slightly. "I will bring you something to drink and then we will have to draw a bit of blood to send to the lab again."

You just nodded and watched her leave the room.

Mark leaned forward, his hands clasped together. “You scared the hell out of us.” His voice cracked slightly. “I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Sunoo was silent, but his hand trembled against yours. When you turned to look at him, you saw that his bottom lip was pressed tightly together, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Then, quietly, almost too softly to hear, he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Your chest ached at the way his voice broke.

“I shouldn’t have convinced you to go,” he continued, his fingers tightening around yours. “You didn’t even want to. I–I wasn’t paying attention. I should’ve been watching out for you. I should’ve–”

“Sunoo,” you cut him off, your voice was still hoarse and talking was uncomfortable. “No.”

He shook his head. “But–”

“No,” you said again, stronger this time. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Sunoo let out a sharp breath, looking down at your joined hands. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away hastily.

“If anything, I shouldn’t have just taken a drink from someone I didn’t know.” You tried to give him a small smile. “That was stupid of me.”

Mark tensed. “Don’t do that.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Blame yourself.” His voice was firm. “You shouldn’t have to watch your drink like a hawk just to be safe. This isn’t on you.”

At the foot of the bed, Sunghoon, who had been mostly silent, finally spoke up. “Mark’s right.” His hands were clasping the end of your bed. “If anyone’s at fault, it’s that bastard who did this to you. Not you. Not Sunoo.” He exhaled heavily. “I wish I could’ve hit that asshole.”

You blinked at him, a little surprised at the sudden shift in his tone. 

Mark exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re gonna have to call Mom and Dad,” he murmured.

Your stomach dropped. He told your parents? Your mom must be worried sick right now. They never admitted it but your parents were always a lot more careful with you, compared to your brothers.

Mark must have seen the way your face fell because he quickly added, “You don’t have to do it right now. Just… at some point.”

You nodded numbly.

Sunghoon shifted slightly, the rings on his fingers clicking against the metal of the bed. “We already gave our statements to the police,” he told you. “But they’ll want to talk to you too.”

You swallowed hard. You didn’t even know what to tell them. Whatever happened at the party was gone. You could barely remember getting there, so what were you supposed to tell the police? 

Mark hesitated before speaking again. “The guy who did it… Injang. The police took him in.”

You tried to put a face to that name. Sunoo sniffled quietly beside you, his head bowed.

You squeezed his hand, again and tried to ignore the overwhelming wave of emotions that threatened to crash over you. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone right now.

Mark sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You should get some more sleep. I’ll wake you when the nurse returns,” he murmured.

You weren’t sure if you could sleep, not with your heart still hammering in your chest, but you nodded anyway. ──────────────────────── The rest of the day passed in a blur.

The hospital staff checked in on you frequently, making sure you were eating, and drinking, and that the drug was fully leaving your system. Your body still felt sluggish, like moving through water, and your head pounded in a dull, persistent ache. It really did feel like the worst hangover of your life, except this time, you hadn’t even earned it.

By the time the evening rolled around, you were discharged with strict instructions to rest, stay hydrated, and come back if anything felt off. Mark refused to let you go home alone.

So Mark, Sunghoon, who was weirdly invested in “Tomorrow” and you settled into the couch in your living room, the TV casting a soft glow across the dimly lit living room. Mark had insisted on watching the episodes you missed, hoping it would distract you, but honestly, you could barely focus.

Your whole body still felt off. Heavy. Sluggish. Every movement required double the effort. It felt like there was a fog over everything, making it impossible to think too hard or even process what had happened.

So you just… sat there. Curled up in the corner of the couch, wrapped in the blanket Mark had thrown over you the second you walked into the apartment. Your body felt hot and cold at the same time. The AC was still running so the apartment was not as uncomfortably hot as the air outside, but somehow the cold didn’t feel comfortable either. 

Mark and Sunghoon were having way too much fun making fun of the show.

“Why does he run like that?” Sunghoon snorted.

Mark shook his head dramatically. “Man’s fighting for his life, and you’re worried about his running form?”

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be scared if someone chased me like that.”

Mark let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh my god he is such an idiot. Look at him! He had one job, and now–yep. Yep. He’s dead.”

Sunghoon shook his head. “Deserved.”

Mark turned to you, expectantly. “Right, Y/N?”

You blinked slowly, trying to focus on their conversation. “Huh?”

Mark’s teasing expression faltered slightly. His eyes softened. “Never mind,” he said gently. “You tired?”

You nodded, barely holding back a yawn.

Mark reached for the remote, lowering the volume. “You should sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You were about to agree, but when you tried to move, your entire body protested. Even sitting up felt like too much effort. You groaned softly, dropping your head back onto the couch. “I wanna continue watching. I’ll go to bed after the episode.”

Mark hummed in agreement and turned back to the TV.

Somewhere in the middle of the episode, your body gave in to exhaustion.

You woke up in the middle of the night. It took you a moment to realize you were curled into Mark’s side, your head resting against his chest. His arm was draped over you protectively, his slow, steady breathing the only sound in the quiet room. You adjusted slightly and closed your eyes again.  ──────────────────────── The apartment was quiet. 

Sunghoon stood in the kitchen, rolling his shoulders back as he stared at the half-chopped apple sitting on the cutting board in front of him. His eyes kept flicking toward the living room, where you were curled up on the couch, asleep. Again. 

Mark had left a few hours ago, only after making you swear you would be okay. He assured you and Sunghoon that he’d be back in seconds if he was needed.

Now, it was just the two of you. 

Sunghoon knew that you wouldn’t be on top of your game 24 hours after being drugged, but it was weird seeing you do nothing all day long. You called in sick at work for your shift in the cinema for today, so all you did today was try to rewatch the episode of “Tomorrow” Mark and Sunghoon watched with you yesterday. Or well watched without you. You fell asleep not even 30 minutes in. The same thing happened today. 

During lunch, you only ate a few spoonfuls of rice so you could eat your medications, painkillers and pills that suppressed the nausea. So now he was cutting up some fruit for you. He neatly arranged a banana, a few pieces of apple, mango and some grapes before setting the plate down on the coffee table. Maybe you felt like eating a bit when you woke up and the meds had kicked in.

When he came to the kitchen a few hours later he saw the plate of fruit standing next to the sink. Untouched.

Sunghoon frowned, stepping closer. He had expected at least a few pieces to be gone. Maybe you just weren’t hungry? Or still nauseous? There were a few crumbs on the kitchen counter and when he opened the dishwasher he emptied before he saw a plate. So you did eat something. Maybe you just didn’t feel like fruit? 

He placed the fruit in one of the containers he usually used for his lunch preps and wrote you a small note to eat some of the fruit when you woke up again. He had training in the morning and didn’t know when you would wake up, but wanted to make sure you ate something in the morning. The nurse told the men that you should eat a bit more. Not only because you were drugged, but because you were in the lower BMI regions and you had to pay attention that it wouldn’t get worse. Marks face fell when he heard that. He told Sunghoon to please keep an eye on your eating behaviour.  ──────────────────────── You jerked awake around midnight. 

You left your blinds open when you went to bed a few hours ago, not because you wanted to but because you simply forgot. 

You never forget to close your blinds. 

The light from the street lamps outside always made your sleep restless, so you closed the blinds. 

Everyday, after you finish your night routine. 

Today you barely had the energy to brush your teeth and wash your face before falling into bed. 

You blinked slowly and took a deep breath in. The air in your room felt stuffy and hot. When you slowly sat up the world was spinning for a second before you could stand up. Your stomach was growling and your throat felt dry so you slowly and carefully made your way into the kitchen. Maybe Sunghoon put some of the fruit he cut up for you into the fridge. You tried to eat some when you woke up from your nap earlier but just the thought of eating made you nauseous. The rice you ate for lunch was lying heavily in your stomach. 

The nurse said that the nausea was normal and would probably take a few days to subside. She advised you to stick to plain food, that was easy to digest, so you ate a piece of toast with butter for dinner, after you cut it into small bite-size pieces.  

You made your way into the kitchen, careful to be as quiet as possible, to not wake Sunghoon. When you opened the fridge you had to squeeze your eyes closed again. The light coming from it made a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your skull again. Similar to the one in the hospital when you first woke up. You closed the door again and leaned against the kitchen counter. 

On Friday, before you went to the party you planned on changing the water of your chrysanthemums, so the flowers were standing on the counter instead of the window sill. You reached for the vase to push it further back. Your fingers barely brushed against its smooth surface before it tipped over. It teetered for a split second, the world seeming to slow before it crashed onto the floor. The sound was deafening—glass shattering, water splashing, and the dull thud of the flowers hitting the tile. No. No. No.

It startled you and your heart started racing, pounding violently against your ribcage. The walls of the kitchen suddenly seemed to close in around you, and a heavy weight pressed down on your chest, making each breath feel laborious like there was not enough air to fill your lungs. You gasped, but the air felt thick, suffocating, and each breath was a struggle. Suddenly everything felt too much. The low humming of the fridge, the shouting from the streets, the light coming from the fridge. 

You looked down at the mess on the floor.

The kitchen started spinning slowly, the edges of your vision blurring as your head grew lighter with every passing second. The shards of what once was your favourite vase shimmered in and out of focus. Their jagged edges distorted before your eyes, and your stomach twisted into knots.

You crouched down and hovered your fingers over the sharp edges, but your body felt disconnected like you were trapped in a haze. Then, through the haze, you heard hurried footsteps.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the static in your ears, but it sounded far away, distorted like he was speaking through a tunnel.

"Y/N? Are you okay?" Sunghoon asked when you didn't respond.

You opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, that you just knocked over the vase, but the words got stuck in your throat. You could only stare at the mess in front of you, your fingers twitching as you tried to piece together the fragments of the vase.

Sunghoon kneeled down beside you. “Hey–hey! Stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!” His voice was urgent but soft. He reached to stop you from touching the glass, but the moment his hand got too close, you flinched violently. You didn’t know why, but the thought of him, or anyone touching you, made your breathing come even faster. It came in rapid, choked gasps, your chest rising and falling too quickly.

"I can't—" You tried to tell him you couldn’t breathe, that something was happening, but you couldn’t push out more than those two words. Why couldn’t you breathe? What was going on?

Sunghoon cursed under his breath. “Y/N, you have to breathe,” he pleaded, but his voice barely reached you over the deafening static in your head. He didn’t reach out again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you were thankful for that.

Then, suddenly, your body gave out. Your knees buckled, and the room tilted violently as you started to fall.

Before you hit the floor, Sunghoon caught you.

“Let’s sit down,” he said firmly, and without waiting for a response, he gently guided you to the floor, settling you against the cool tiles. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on his voice. But the moment you sat, your body betrayed you, and the weight of, what you assumed was panic crashed down even harder. 

You were having a panic attack. 

Each breath became a desperate gasp, your chest constricting painfully as you tried to pull air into your lungs. The shadows in the corners of the kitchen deepened, and the static in your ears rose to a deafening roar. It felt like you were drowning.

“Y/N!” Sunghoon’s voice was muffled and distant like he was speaking from underwater. 

He shifted closer, concern etched deeply in his features, but you couldn’t focus on his face. Desperation rose within you as you gripped your knees, your nails digging into your skin as if that might calm you, but it didn’t help. All you heard was the pounding of your heart, drowning out everything else.

“Y/N! Look at me! Just breathe!” He tried again, his voice steady and calm.

You gasped, your voice shaking, “I can’t... I can’t...”

Sobs clawed their way up your throat, but you swallowed them back down, your body trembling with effort.

His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady, holding you up as your body shook uncontrollably. He didn’t let go—not even when you flinched again, your entire body tense as if expecting a blow. You didn’t understand why this was happening, why you were panicking, why the thought of Sunghoon touching you made it even worse.

“Shh, I got you,” he murmured, “Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air wouldn’t reach your lungs, no matter how hard you tried.

Sunghoon adjusted his hold, carefully guiding you to sit on the floor against the cabinets. He moved quickly but gently, his grip firm enough to keep you from collapsing completely. 

He grabbed your shaking hand and pressed it against his chest.

“Feel that?” His voice was very soft now. “That’s my heartbeat. Focus on it, okay?”

Your fingers twitched against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the rhythmic thump beneath your palm. It was strong, steady. You closed your eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensation of his heartbeat and the warmth radiating from him.

“Inhale,” he instructed gently, his own breath deepening as he demonstrated. You could feel his chest expand beneath your hand, and you tried to mirror him, drawing in a shaky breath as you followed his lead.

“Hold it for a second... and exhale,” he guided you, releasing his breath slowly.

You tried. You really tried. Your breath stuttered, but you forced yourself to follow his lead, mirroring the slow, controlled rise and fall of his breathing.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hand covering yours. “Just keep doing that. Inhale... hold... exhale. You’re doing great...”

It took time. Minutes passed in a blur of shaky inhales and uneven exhales. Your body still trembled, but slowly the weight on your chest began to ease. The static in your mind started to fade and got replaced by the steady rhythm of Sunghoons breath, his heartbeat.

Sunghoon didn’t rush you. He didn’t let go. He just stayed there, guiding you through each breath.

Eventually, your breathing evened out. Your fingers relaxed against his chest, no longer curled into fists. The dizziness ebbed, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

“Just like that,” he whispered, offering you the faintest smile.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. You didn’t understand what had just happened. Why had you had a panic attack over knocking over a vase? Yes, you liked it, but why hadn’t you been able to breathe just seconds ago? Why had Sunghoon had to catch you again?

You leaned against Sunghoon, your head resting on his shoulder, closing your eyes. Your body felt so heavy.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he glanced down at you.

“Yeah,” you breathed, your eyes closed.

You barely had the strength to lift your head, let alone stand up. Every muscle in your body felt drained as if the panic attack had stolen the rest of your energy in the blink of an eye. 

Sunghoon glanced down at you, concern still evident on his face. "Y/N, should we call the hospital? Or at least Mark?" His voice was gentle.

You shook your head weakly, which took embarrassingly much effort. "No, I–I– don’t call Mark. I just need to rest. I’ll be fine."

He hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as he took in your condition. He didn’t argue, but the concern in his eyes remained. He nodded softly, looking around, as if trying to figure out what would help you.

"I don’t want to be alone," you muttered, barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone in your bed was unbearable. 

Sunghoon’s gaze softened. "Do you want me to stay with you?" 

You just nodded and looked up at him, your exhaustion and anxiety still clinging to you, making it hard to even form coherent thoughts. 

He gently placed his hand on your shoulder. "Yeah, I’ll stay with you. Let’s get you to bed first."

Sunghoon helped you up slowly, his arms steady around you as you leaned against him for support. Your legs felt wobbly like they might give out at any moment. Together, you made your way to your room.

Once inside, Sunghoon guided you to the bed, helping you lie down as carefully as he could. You curled up into the blankets. The weight of exhaustion hit you all at once, and all you wanted to do was close your eyes and escape into sleep.

Sunghoon climbed in beside you, his movements slow and gentle. He settled beside you, making sure to give you space but still close enough to offer comfort. You felt him move, his hand lightly brushing your hair as he began to softly caress it, a soothing motion that calmed you more than you expected.

"Just relax," he whispered, his voice soft as he ran his fingers through your hair. "I’m here. You’re safe."

With each gentle stroke of his hand, your breath steadied. You felt your body relax, the tension in your muscles easing, until you were almost asleep. Before you completely drifted off, you managed to whisper a quiet  "Thank you". ──────────────────────── The warmth against Sunghoon’s side was the first thing he registered when he stirred awake. The second thing was the damp stickiness of sweat clinging to his skin. You were still curled up against him, your body radiating heat beneath the covers, your breathing uneven. Even in sleep, you were restless.

His eyes flickered open, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He blinked sluggishly, his mind still foggy with sleep. He needed a second to remember where he was.

He was in your bed.

His body stiffened slightly. You had a panic attack. A rather bad one he’d say. He wasn't particularly an expert but he had seen a fair share of people having panic attacks before. Afterall he was doing a sport on a level where it wasn't just a hobby anymore. Sometimes the pressure and stress are just too much and people crack.

His body tensed slightly as he thought of yesterday night. The sound of the vase shattering, the way he had bolted into the kitchen, heart hammering in his chest because, for a split second, he had thought someone had broken in. But then he had seen you. On the floor, hyperventilating, flinching away from him like he was a threat. The way you had nearly collapsed in his arms, too overwhelmed to even breathe properly.

You had been terrified last night. Completely overwhelmed. He hadn’t known what to do, so he just stayed. Let you rest, let you find comfort in his presence, because if that was what you needed, then fine. Sunghoon wasn’t great at emotions, but he could do this. He could be here.

After all, wasn’t it kind of his fault that you had been drugged in the first place?

A dull pang of guilt settled in his chest at the thought. If he had just been more careful if he had noticed sooner—if, if, if. It was too late to change anything, but it didn’t stop the thought from lingering.

Sunghoon swallowed, his jaw tightening. He glanced down at you, still tucked close against him. Even now, your brows were slightly furrowed, your fingers twitching every now and then like you were stuck in a restless dream. His grip on the blanket tightened slightly.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

He had never been great at this, comforting someone emotionally. He could be there physically, he could hold you, keep you safe, but saying the right words? Making sure you actually felt better? He didn’t know if he was capable of that.

He sighed quietly, shifting slightly to ease the discomfort of his sweaty shirt clinging to his back. The movement must have disturbed you because, after a moment, he saw you stir, your breath hitching slightly as you blinked yourself awake.

Immediately, you tensed. He felt it—the way your body stiffened, the way your breathing changed

Slowly, you pulled away from him, avoiding his gaze as you sat up.

“Uh… morning,” you murmured, your voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

Sunghoon sat up too, studying you carefully. You looked exhausted, of course you did. After everything that had happened, it wasn’t like one night of sleep would magically fix it

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “Um… thanks. For last night. I–”, you hesitated, eyes darting to the covers. “I don’t know what happened. It was just a vase, I don’t know why I–”

You cut yourself off, shaking your head like you didn’t even know how to explain it.

Sunghoon frowned. You shouldn’t have to explain yourself right now, it wasn’t like you planned on having a panic attack.

“You okay?” he asked, instead.

You hesitated before nodding, but it wasn’t exactly convincing.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. He wanted to ask more. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to act like everything was fine, but he wasn’t sure how to say it without making things worse.

"You sure?” he pressed.

You swallowed. “I mean… I don’t know. I just feel… off.”

Yeah. That made sense.

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek, watching you carefully. You weren’t crying, but you still looked so lost in your own head, your eyes unfocused like you were somewhere else entirely.

He hated it.

Sunghoon exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. He had no idea how to comfort you emotionally, but he could at least make sure you weren’t alone.

“…Are you gonna be okay alone today?” he finally asked, watching your reaction closely.

You hesitated again, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “…I don’t know.”

Sunghoon nodded, already making a decision before you even had to say anything else.

“Come with me,” he said simply.

You blinked up at him, surprised. “Huh?”

“To training. You can sit in the bleachers or whatever,” he shrugged, standing up to stretch. “You don’t have to be alone.”

You opened your mouth like you wanted to protest, but after a moment, you shut it again, your expression softening slightly.

“…Okay.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod before grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Cool. Get ready, we’ll head out soon.”

As he walked toward the bathroom, he glanced back at you, still sitting on the bed, staring at your hands. ──────────────────────── You sat in the bleachers, wrapped in the thickest hoodie you could find, your arms resting on your lap as you watched the skaters glide effortlessly across the ice. The cold from the rink seeped into your bones, but you didn’t really mind. It was better than the midday heat outside. 

When you and Sunghoon arrived at the rink the air was hot and humid and you were glad to escape the weather for a few hours. You've been at the rink for a while now watching Sunghoon and his teammates skate through various choreographies. Alone, in pairs, alone again. His coach seemed to be quite strict, making them run through the same part multiple times.

You had never seen Sunghoon skate before. Not in person.

You had known he was good, obviously. He was literally training for the Olympics. But knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes were two very different things.

He moved across the ice like he was made for it, every motion smooth and deliberate, like gravity didn’t affect him the way it did everyone else. His long limbs should have made him look awkward, but instead, they made everything he did look even more refined—effortless.

It was mesmerizing.

And it wasn’t just him.

The other skaters–especially the female ones–floated across the rink with that same elegance, their bodies cutting through the ice with practised ease. They were beautiful and so graceful.

Your mind still felt slow, like it was moving through water. Everything around you felt a bit...distant. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Just… off. Like you were here, but not fully.

Having a full-blown panic attack in front of your hot roommate and asking him to more or less act like a gigant plushie in your bed, so you could sleep may contribute to that feeling. And the fact that it felt wrong to sit here. You should be in the office right now. It was Monday after all, but the hospital sent your doctor’s note to your workplace, excusing you until the weekend, so you could recover from the GHB properly. The doctors were quite worried when you left, that you might still be affected by the drug. Which, honestly, you were. So maybe it was good you didn't go to work, but at the same time would you have appreciated a bit of a distraction?

You pulled your knees up slightly, resting your chin against them as you watched Sunghoon land a jump perfectly, the ice slicing beneath his blade.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, just watching. But you were grateful that, at least for now, you didn’t have to do anything else.

At one point you felt bored so you pulled your sketchbook from your bag, flipping to an empty page as you settled back against the cool bleachers.

Your fingers gripped the pencil lightly, gliding it over the paper in slow, careful strokes. The ice skaters still moved gracefully across the rink, but now, instead of watching them with awe, you focused on capturing their movements with lines and shading.

Sunghoon was still the easiest to spot, his tall frame making him stand out among the others. You tried to sketch the way his body tilted ever so slightly before he leapt into the air. It was frustrating, trying to capture something so fluid, but it gave your mind something to focus on other than the lingering exhaustion weighing down your limbs.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but eventually, a small shiver ran through you.

The cold had crept up on you gradually, settling in your fingers and arms before you even realized it. You rubbed your hands together, tucking them into the sleeves of your hoodie before glancing down at your phone. Sunghoon was still practising, but you didn’t want to sit in the rink any longer.

Y/N: Hey, I’m gonna go outside. It’s getting kinda cold.

You packed up your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you made your way out of the building. The warmth of the summer air hit you instantly, a stark contrast to the coolness of the rink. You let out a slow breath, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders as you stepped into the shade of a tree just outside the entrance.

You sank onto the grass, reopening your sketchbook.

Here, in the quiet, it was easier to draw.

Your pencil moved fluidly, shading in the folds of Sunghoon’s training jacket, the angle of his arms mid-spin. The longer you sketched, the more the world around you faded into the background.

You didn't even realize how much time went by when you heard footsteps approaching.

You straightened up, seeing Sunghoon walking toward you, his tall figure framed against the bright afternoon sky.

“You didn’t have to wait out here. You could have gone home,” he said with a small smile, though there was something in his eyes that made it seem like he was still concerned about you.

“It’s fine,” you replied quietly, standing up and stretching out your legs. “I didn’t feel like going back inside and here I could enjoy the sun a bit.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but you noticed his eyes flicker toward your sketchbook.

“Did you paint something?”

You glanced down at the book in your hands, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Just… some sketches of you and the other ice skaters..”

Sunghoon tilted his head, walking a little closer. “Can I see?”

You hesitated, but then you opened it to the page with a sketch of him. The lines were still rough, not nearly as clean or as elegant as his movements on the ice, but it was the best you could do.

He smiled slightly when he saw the drawing. “Is that me?”

“Yeah.” You closed the sketchbook quickly, feeling suddenly awkward. “You looked really...elegant? I don't know how to describe it but I wanted to capture that. I also painted your friends. The one with the long hair. She is really beautiful.”

"Wonyoung?", Sunghoon asked and flopped down onto the grass next to you. "She is really pretty. And really talented. If she doesn't get into the Olympics team I don't know who will."

You collected your pencils that you spread onto the hoodie you layed beside you. "Do you think you will get in?"

Sunghoon let out a humourless laugh. "I am doing my best, but I am not sure. Honestly, at the moment it feels like I am stuck somehow. No matter what I do it feels like I am getting worse instead of better."

"Oh.", you said softly, "Sometimes the universe just has different plans for us. You still have other cool opportunities but the Olympics, right? I imagine taking part in the Olympics is quite hard on your body and psyche?"

Sunghoon hummed. "Yeah. And if nothing works out I'll just coach or something. I don't know. My degree offers me so many various career paths. I am sure I'll find something I like."

You nodded, "Mine really doesn't. Oh well, it does, maybe not as many as yours but I kinda am planning in specialising in Architectural History and Classical Design, which won't get me far here in Korea, so I kind of have to think of going in a different direction."

"Why not go to Europe or the States? You like that kind of architecture, right?", Sunghoon asked.

You looked at him confused. How did he know that? "I-uhm- yeah, I do. But I would hate to live far from my parents and my brothers. Seoul is already too far. I want to go to Busan. To you know, live and build my life there."

"Oh really? I love Busan. It's very pretty. I've been there with my family once or twice.", Sunghoon said.

"It is.", you smiled at him.

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by a female voice: "Honnie?"

The girl with the long hair, Wonyoung?, was walking towards the tree you and Sunghoon were leaning against.

"I thought you left to go home?", she said and then turned to you. "Oh hi. You must be Y/N I am Wonyoung."

You cleared your throat and looked up at her. She was quite tall. "Ah yeah. Hi Wonyong."

"I heard what happened at the party on Friday," she said and shook her head. "I knew Injang is a Idiot but I would have never guessed that he would drug people for fun. Are you feeling better?"

You stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the question. Your fingers curled around the edges of your sketchbook, gripping it just a little too tightly.

“I…” You hesitated, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t entirely true, but what else were you supposed to say?

"I am glad." Wonyoung's expression softened as she looked at you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, shifting on your feet. “Me too.”

The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment. You felt awkward, unsure of what to say, but Wonyoung quickly changed the subject, turning to Sunghoon.

“Are you heading back to your place now?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Y/N and I were planning on cooking together tonight.”

Oh? Were you?

“Alright,” Wonyoung said. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She gave you a small wave before walking off, leaving you alone with Sunghoon.

You exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “She is nice.”

“She is,” he said simply. Then, after a pause, he glanced down at you. “Ready to go?”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you both headed toward the bus station. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon and you didn't really plan on cooking together. Sunghoon just had an oddly specific craving for dinner.

“I really want dakgalbi,” he said as you walked side by side toward the bus stop. “There’s this place I love, but you have to order for at least two people. So if you're up for it, I would order for the both of us?”

You blinked up at him. "I-sure. I would love to eat some dakgalbi."

Eating with Sunghoon was… nice.

You had fallen into an easy routine with him over the past few weeks. Sometimes one of you would cook a meal with two portions so you would eat together, but most of the time you both ate different meals, his playlist would softly play in the background and you would be talking about anything and everything. It had all started feeling strangely comfortable. You liked coming home to him being at home already. He preferred to lounge on the sofa in the living room, instead of his room and you enjoyed the natural lighting of the kitchen more than the artificial one in your room so the two of you were often in the same room, doing your own thing. 

The smell of spicy stir-fried chicken filled the apartment as you both settled on the floor, in front of the TV, the takeout container placed between you on the small sofa table. The heat from the dish rose in soft waves, making your mouth water despite the lingering unease in your stomach.

Sunghoon dug in immediately, scooping up a generous bite of chicken and rice, his playlist playing softly in the background. You took your first bite. It was delicious, and at first, you thought you’d be fine.

But a few bites in, your stomach twisted uncomfortably. The spice lingered longer than usual, settling in your gut, and you swallowed quickly, taking a sip of water to cool your mouth. You tried eating a little more, but by the time you reached your fourth bite, it was obvious that your stomach was not on board with this meal.

You set your chopsticks down and exhaled, hesitant to say anything. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful when Sunghoon had been so excited about it. He didn’t even let you pay your half.

After a few moments, Sunghoon glanced up and noticed you weren’t eating. His brows furrowed slightly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, feeling a little guilty. “I think the spice is a bit much for my stomach.”

Sunghoon blinked, chopsticks pausing mid-air. For a second, he looked almost disappointed, but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. Instead, his features softened, and he set his chopsticks down, eyeing the takeout container. It was nearly untouched on your side of the bowl.

“Do you want more rice?” he asked gently. “It might help settle your stomach.”

You looked at him, a little surprised by the offer. 

You nodded after a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

A small, almost satisfied smile crossed his face as he scooped some of his rice onto your plate. “Here. Eat at least this much, okay?”

You smiled back, warmth settling in your chest. It was such a simple thing, but it made you feel… cared for. It was like with your brothers, but different somehow. Your brothers kinda had to be nice to you, they were your brothers after all. But Sunghoon just was…nice and caring and watching out for you apparently. You knew he was feeling unbelievably guilty for what happened on Friday. 

It wasn’t his fault. 

Or his friends fault. 

Or Sunoos. 

Just yours. For stupidly accepting a drink from a stranger. It was stupid. Really. 

But nothing you could change. The police came to your hospital room and you gave your statement, it wasn't really helpful, since you couldn’t really remember anything at all that would help, but they assured you Injang would be punished.

You looked at the rice on your plate . “Thanks,” you murmured, picking up your chopsticks again.

Sunghoon nodded, going back to his own food.

The two of you continued eating, the quiet hum of his playlist filling the space. It was a comfortable kind of silence, the kind where you didn’t feel the need to fill it with words.

You liked this. Sitting here, sharing food, talking about whatever came to mind. ──────────────────────── The apartment was eerily quiet.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered tubes of paint, brushes of varying thicknesses, and a palette smeared with muted blues, soft greys, and hints of warm ochre. You dragged a brush lazily across the canvas. It was slowly coming to life—a cityscape bathed in hazy afternoon light.

Normally, your days were filled to the brim with tasks, deadlines, and obligations. There was always something to do, somewhere to be. But today? Today had been mind-numbingly empty. If Mark had gotten to know that you went to work he would have probably killed you, so would Junwoo and Taeyong. Johnny even asked if he should come to Seoul to give you a once over and when you declined told you to get rest and take care of your body as much as possible. 

So you were doing just that. 

Taking a rest. 

But taking rest somehow felt even more draining than working. You had to find something to do besides sleeping, that would keep you occupied, even though you somehow didn't feel like doing anything. The last three days you tried everything.

You cleaned the apartment, skimmed through a book, scrolled through your phone more than you cared to admit and you tried to start a new drama. Nothing stuck. The boredom pressed down on you until you gave in, grabbing your sketchbook and paints.

At least painting gave you something to focus on.

You've finished the painting of your mom’s kimchi jiggae you planned to hang next to the one of her kimchi that already hung in the kitchen and decided that you wanted to paint something different. So now you were painting the gamcheon village in Busan. Since talking to Sunghoon about wanting to move there you’ve watched a few Youtubers vlogs they filmed in Busan. It was such a beautiful city. 

The silence in the apartment stretched, only interrupted by the occasional distant sound of cars passing outside while you painted for hours on end.

It wasn’t until the familiar click of the front door opening that you realized how much time had passed.

"I'm back," Sunghoon’s voice rang through the apartment. You heard him toe off his shoes before stepping inside.

You turned to glance at him over your shoulder, taking in the slight dampness of his hair and the relaxed way he shrugged off his jacket. He must’ve gone out with his friends after training, just like he had mentioned in passing this morning.

His gaze flickered to you, then to the half-finished painting in front of you. His brows lifted slightly. “You’ve been painting all day?”

You nodded, stretching your stiff limbs. “There wasn’t much else to do.”

He hummed, walking over and peering at your work. “It looks good.”

You let out a small laugh. “You say that about everything I paint.”

“Because everything you paint looks good,” he replied easily before his eyes flickered toward the kitchen counter, where the plate you used for your breakfast was still standing next to the sink, waiting to be put into the dishwasher. His brows furrowed. “Did you eat?”

You opened your mouth to say yes but then hesitated.

Had you?

You tried to think back, but your mind came up blank. You remembered making tea in the morning. You remembered eating two pieces of toast with butter in the morning, before your stomach acted up again, so you made yourself tea. Tea was safe. You remembered sitting down to paint. And then… nothing.

“…I don’t think so,” you admitted, a little uncertain.

Sunghoon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y/N.”

 “I just… forgot. I did eat breakfast?”, you said quickly. 

Since you’ve left the hospital a few days ago you had trouble sleeping and eating. Somehow your sleep was really restless and you still couldn’t really eat. You didn’t even know why. You were nauseous after eating, your stomach hurting, whatever you ate, so you just stuck to small portions of rice, soup or plain bread and drank a lot of tea, that was supposed to help your stomach.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you eat?”

You winced at his tone. “Some rice. And, um… a bit of bread.”

Sunghoon let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s it?”

You shifted under his gaze. “Food still makes my stomach feel weird.”

His expression softened slightly. “You can’t just not eat,” he muttered, already heading toward the kitchen.

You watched as he pulled out a pan and some ingredients, your stomach dropping.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Making food. Something you can and will eat. I swear I will call Mark and tell him you haven’t eaten. Painting is not an excuse to forget eating, Y/N.”

You nodded and just sat there, watching as he cracked eggs into the pan, adding rice and a few simple seasonings. The scent of warm, slightly buttery rice filled the air.

Within minutes, he placed two plates of egg-fried rice on the table, sitting down across from you. “Eat,” he said simply, nudging a fork toward you.

You picked up your spoon and took a small bite. It was plain and a bit bland. You took another bite, and Sunghoon seemed pleased, nodding slightly before starting on his own portion.

Then, like a switch flipped, he started talking.

“I almost faceplanted during practice today,” he said, shaking his head. “Lost my edge on a turn and nearly crashed into the barrier. Coach wasn’t impressed.”

You looked up, raising a brow. “But you didn’t fall?”

“I saved it at the last second,” he said proudly, then deflated a little. “Still got yelled at, though.”

You hid a smile behind another small bite of rice.

He continued talking, recounting random moments from his day—how the rink was more crowded than usual, how Rei had almost tripped over Wonyoung’s skates, how his friends dragged him out for food afterwards and wouldn’t stop teasing him about something dumb he said years ago.

You barely had to say anything, just nodding along, adding the occasional question or comment. But you didn’t mind.

You liked listening to him.

Before you knew it, you had eaten more than you thought you would. Almost half of your plate was gone. Sunghoon must have noticed because he gave you a small, satisfied smile. “See? Not that bad, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Yeah, yeah.”

Sunghoon just grinned, leaning back slightly. “Good. Gotta make sure you don’t starve while I’m around.”

You shook your head, but a small warmth settled in your chest.

Somehow, despite everything, Sunghoon made things feel a little easier. ──────────────────────── Exactly one week after the party Sunghoon came home late. Frustrated and annoyed and with his wrist taped again.  He saw the edge of his skate catch the ice, and before he could correct himself, he was already stumbling. His landing was off. Again. His frustration boiled over as he skated to a stop, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

He never struggled with this jump. It was muscle memory, something he had nailed a thousand, no a million times before. But today, it was like his body refused to cooperate. Every attempt ended in a mistake. Every spin felt just a little too slow. His footwork was sluggish. He had barely made it through his program without messing up half of it. And he had fallen. Four times. 

He wasn’t going to make the Olympic team. He knew it was pointless at this point. He knew he had to stop, before he would be one of the athletes stumbling under the pressure. 

Sunghoon had been trying to accept it, telling himself that there would be other competitions–Worlds, Grand Prix Finals, Four Continents. He had time. He could try again.

But knowing that didn’t make failure taste any less bitter.

By the time he got home, he was still frustrated and annoyed. His muscles ached, his mood was horrible, and all he wanted to do was shower and pass out.

You were curled up on the couch, holding a packet of crackers in one hand and your phone in the other. Your face lit up when you saw him.

“Hey,” you said, voice soft. “You wanna watch Tomorrow with me?”

Just like that, every ounce of frustration in his body melted.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. His mood was still heavy, but the tightness in his chest loosened just a little.

“Yeah,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes. “Sure.”

As he stepped further inside, his eyes flickered to the empty packaging of the crackers that way lying on the sofa table. It wasn’t much, but at least you were eating. 

The amount you ate in the last few days wasn’t enough for anyone older than ten months.

So he’d take what he could get. 

He sat down beside you, not too close, but close enough to see the flicker of relief in your expression.

You curled into the couch, your head resting against the armrest, the soft glow of the TV flickering across your face. Sunghoon barely paid attention to the drama, his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You had always been on the quieter side, but lately, it was different. You barely spoke at all. You looked exhausted, all the time. You forgot to eat all the time. It was like someone stole your routine and suddenly you didn't know how to be alive anymore.

He knew, he just knew, that you probably hadn’t eaten much today.

It had been days now, and he had been paying attention. The way you only picked at your food, how your portions kept shrinking, how you hesitated when he asked if you had eaten. 

He understood, why you weren’t eating. But he couldn’t stop worrying. Not after what happened last week.

His jaw clenched as he thought back to the party and to last Sunday. Your body crumbling to the floor, your breathing ragged and uneven, the sheer panic in your eyes as you tried to gasp for air. That moment had scared the living shit out of him.

He had never felt that helpless before.

Sunghoon wasn’t great with emotions, but he knew guilt when he felt it. If he hadn’t convinced you to come to that party, you wouldn’t have been drugged. You wouldn’t have had a full-blown panic attack in front of him. You wouldn’t have been this drained, barely eating, barely sleeping.

Sunghoon saw you blink slower and slower. And then, you stilled completely.

You had fallen asleep.

For a moment, he just watched you, letting out a quiet sigh.

His fingers hovered over the remote before he lowered the volume, careful not to wake you. The drama kept playing, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore.

He wished he knew what to do.

Sunghoon had always been someone who fixed things with action—if his jumps were off, he trained harder; if he lost a competition, he worked until he won the next one. But this? He couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t rewind time and undo what had happened. He couldn’t take away the fear, the exhaustion, the way you barely seemed present sometimes.

And that made him feel useless.

In the four weeks he has been living here he started liking you in a way that made him feel protective, that made his chest ache when he saw you struggling.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the couch.

Sunghoon had never been good at dealing with feelings. 

Not others, not his own. 

But he knew that if you weren’t feeling like shit right now he would really like this. 

Watching TV with you, being the person you quietly sought out when you didn’t want to be alone, quietly spending time with you.  ──────────────────────── University had started again a few days ago, and honestly, you were relieved.

It felt good to slip back into a rhythm, to have a schedule, to wake up knowing exactly where you needed to be and what you needed to do. Your mornings were filled with lectures, afternoons with group work, and in between, you had your friends back. After weeks of quiet, of spending most of your time alone or with Sunghoon, the campus felt alive again.

You hadn’t realized how much you missed this.

So when lunchtime rolled around, you were glad to finally sit down with Renjun, Jaemin, and Ningning, listening to them bicker.

“I swear, Professor Kim hates us,” Ningning groaned, aggressively stabbing at her rice. “Why else would she give us a group project with the deadline in less than 3 weeks?”

Jaemin snorted. “She’s just testing who’s gonna drop out first.”

Renjun sighed dramatically. “Well, it’s me. I’m dropping out. I’m packing my bags.”

“You say that every semester,” Jaemin pointed out.

“This time, I mean it.”

Ningning grinned. “What’s the plan, then? Becoming an unemployed artist?”

“Hey.” Renjun looked offended. “I could make it work. Maybe i am the next Picasso.”

Jaemin smirked. “Sure. I’d go more for Van Gogh. I think you would be sexy with only one ear.”

Renjun picked up a fry and threw it at him.

At some point during the lunch break, Renjun glanced at your tray.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Is that all you’re eating?”

Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t meant to eat so little—it just… happened. You hadn’t even realized how little you filled your tray with until now: a bit of rice, a few slices of meat and a yoghurt. It was food you knew you could eat without feeling uncomfortable later.

You forced a casual shrug. “I’m not that hungry.”

Ningning frowned. “Y/N, that’s, like… nothing.”

Jaemin studied you for a second before leaning forward. “You’re really not hungry?”

You hesitated, gripping your spoon a little tighter. “Not really.”

Ningning raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It’s not because the food here sucks?”

You forced out a chuckle. “I mean, that’s part of it.”

Renjun, though, wasn’t so easily convinced. His voice was softer when he spoke. “You’d tell us if something was wrong, right?”

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the edge of your tray.

You hadn’t told them yet. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because saying it out loud would make it too real, or maybe because you just didn’t want to see the way they’d react, maybe because you were embarrassed that you made such a stupid mistake.

But now, with all three of them staring at you, waiting, you exhaled shakily.

“Something…did happen.” You swallowed, forcing the words out. “At a party. Someone put something in my drink.”

Silence.

Renjun’s face went blank. Jaemin sat up straighter. Ningning eyes widened, mouth parting slightly.

“What?” Renjun finally breathed.

You nodded, pushing your yoghurt around with your spoon. “Nothing… bad happened. But it could have. I am just not feeling super good.”

Jaemin looked like he was ready to murder someone. “Who the hell—”

“You know Injang?”

Ningning’s face twisted in disgust. “The baseball player?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It was him.”

A long pause stretched between you all. You didn’t want them to look at you like that, with pity and worry and barely contained anger, but you couldn’t blame them either. If one of them told you they were drugged you would be furious. 

Renjun ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Y/N… why didn’t you tell us?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really something to just tell someone?”, you shrugged.

“And you’ve been okay?” Ningning asked, voice softer now.

You hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m getting there. My stomach is just super upset at everything I eat. It’s really annoying but it’s getting better.”

They didn’t look convinced. You weren’t convinced either. But at least you didn’t feel like vomiting. Jaemin slid his untouched banana toward you. “Eat this. Just a few bites. Bananas are easy to digest.”

You sighed, but peeled it anyway. And as you forced yourself to take a bite, you saw them all relax.  ──────────────────────── You saw the light filtering through the lecture hall windows, dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun as your professor droned on about neoclassical influences. Your hand moved across your sketchbook on its own, lines forming the skeleton of a Corinthian column without conscious thought. When your professor wrapped up his lecture you realized that yes you have painted a row of very beautiful looking Corinthian columns but you also didn’t pay attention to what the professor was saying. You signed and texted Jaemin to send you his notes of the class. His only response was a thumbs-up emoji. 

The walk home was long and the heat made it almost unbearable. It was September but summer was unwavering and the air was hot and humid. You adjusted your bag strap when it slipped off your shoulder, then frowned as your jeans sagged at the waist again. You hitched them up with one hand, mentally scolding yourself for buying them a size too big last month. The washing machine must have stretched them out. You made a note to check the care tags later. Maybe they needed a hotter wash.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Taeyong’s contact photo flashed on screen. A ridiculous selfie of him and Johnny making fish faces at the camera in your parents’ restaurant kitchen. A warm flicker sparked in your chest at the sight.

"Oppa," you answered, pressing the phone to your ear as you turned onto your street.

"Y/N!" Taeyong’s voice was sunshine wrapped in static. "Did you get the package Mom sent? There’s three kinds of kimchi and—"

"Johnny’s mom’s seaweed soup," you finished, smiling for the first time all day. "Yeah, it’s in the freezer." You hesitated before adding, "I had some yesterday." You had taken one bite before the nausea hit, which technically counted.

"How’s uni? You sound less dead than last week."

You kicked a pebble across the pavement. "It’s… actually good? My design professor finally approved my project concept." You didn’t mention it was your third submission. "It’s just annoying to haul all my models back and forth now that I don’t have the studio space at home."

A beat of silence. Then, carefully: "Sunghoon still says you can use the living room, right?"

"I don’t want to take over his space," you muttered, stepping around a crack in the sidewalk. "It’s his home too."

Taeyong sighed. "Y/N–"

"Anyway, the studio has extended hours now," you interrupted, watching your shoes scuff the pavement. One lace was fraying. "It’s fine."

Johnny’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Tell her to eat the soup, Taeyong. With rice. Actual rice, not just broth–"

"I’m eating!" you lied, too quickly. Your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly enough that Taeyong snorted.

"Liar," he said, but his voice was fond. "Just… take care of yourself, yeah? Or I’m driving up there."

You rolled your eyes but felt something tight in your chest loosen. "Yeah, yeah. Love you."

The call ended just as you reached the apartment. The key stuck in the lock and you jiggled it harder than necessary until the door gave way.

The living room was exactly as you’d left it this morning, except now Sunghoon’s skate bag sat by the couch, his jacket slung over the back. A sticky note on the coffee table caught your eye:

"Left japchae in fridge. Made by my mom, so it’s edible!"

You traced the blocky letters with your finger. He’d drawn a tiny smiley next to his name. You didn’t see Sunghoon often, since uni started. His and your schedule was so different, that the only time you saw him was late at night, when he came back from training, exhausted and frustrated. You were feeling so bad for him, he was training so hard, but if he was right he was training for nothing. Maybe he would be able to deliver a beautiful routine and he would be accepted into the Olympic team. You would be so happy for him. He would deserve it. 

Your models and supplies were still stacked neatly in the corner where you’d left them after Sunghoon moved in. 

You bit your lip. Maybe you could work out here tonight while he was at practice. You should really get started now that your project has been approved. 

As you bent to pick up your drafting supplies, your jeans slipped again, the waistband catching on your hip bones. You huffed, yanking them up. 

In the kitchen, you opened the fridge out of habit. The japchae sat front and centre in a glass container, noodles glistening under the fluorescent light. Your stomach twisted—not unpleasantly, just… strangely.

You shut the door without taking the food.

The wilting chrysanthemums on the windowsill caught your eye as you passed. Brown-edged petals curled inward like fists. You should change them. Tomorrow. Maybe.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty ♡ CONTINUE ON READING --⟢ PART 2 all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @ikeumina @softchannie @sirens-dreams @schmocolateschmchip @delirioastral @dearestdreamies @deluluscenarios @urmomssneakylink @qlorin @elairah @addictedtohobi @doririsstuff (if anyone wanted to just be tagged for The truth untold pt. 2, i am very sorry. I kinda didn't give you a way to differentiate if you wanted to be tagged for the series or just his story! So just ignore this tag if I tagged you wrongly)

ᝰ an. A special mention and thanks to @xylatox for dealing with my rambling and more or less live reading all of this. Ily and your comments please feel all of my kisses!!! Part two is in the works and will be coming! I don't know when, but it`s coming! ₊ ⊹  

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Rockstar;

Synopsis; Hired to babysit Jay’s daughter, you never expected the quiet tension between you two to turn into something more. Jay tells himself it’s just admiration, maybe loneliness... but one night, with tension hanging heavy in the air, he finally confesses what he feels for you.

Pairing; fem!reader X older rockstar dilf!Jay Genre; suggestive; fluff; tiny bit of angst Words; 2k Warning; horny stuff; body insecurities; cursing; mentions of alcohol; Author's Note: OMG IT'S FINALLY HERE!! I edited this so many times because I wanted it to be perfect. I hope you guys like it :( If you guys like this I was thinking I could make a two-part, longer version with more details. Let me know if you would like that! As always, thank you so much for all the love, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Masterlist (might revise and edit later)

You weren't exactly sure when the gentle touches and long eye contact had changed, but you could feel it in your skin every time Jay was close. At first, you thought you were making things up in your head because you had a silly little crush on him, but it was impossible to deny it by now.

He used to ask you to move out of the way and never touch you, but lately, every time he wanted to pass by you, his large, calloused hand would gently rest on your lower back to guide you. Jay used to avoid making eye contact with you; you weren't sure why. But lately, his mysterious brown eyes never left yours when you spoke, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh.

You could swear he was spoiling you, giving you presents that had nothing to do with your job. After all, he was a talented guitarist in a rising rock band, and since he couldn't spend much time at home, he had hired you to look after his three-year-old daughter.

He had been the one to reach out to you after hearing so many good things about your babysitting skills. Jay had asked one of the managers for your number because you also looked after their eight-year-old son. And to say you were good was an understatement.

The care you had for kids was endearing, and the kids loved you. They loved your creativity and ability to make fun, artsy things, your willingness to play with them for hours, to get them to sleep on time, and to eat everything.

Jay refused to admit that he was attracted to you. Why would he like a girl four years younger than him? It wasn't a big age gap—you were twenty-three, and he was twenty-seven.

But he knew he was lonely. After his ex-wife left him, he became very emotionally shut off, focusing only on his daughter and his band. So to him, it was obvious he wanted you because his daughter liked you, and he had been missing a woman's touch for too long.

Jay also realized that he was wrong very quickly. When one day you came into his house with red eyes and a puffy face because of a bad date, he knew he wanted you more than he could explain. And it wasn't just because you were a sweet, kind woman. It was the way you were always so well put together, your full lips always shiny, and the way your body swayed when you moved.

Your hair, your chest, your waist—he was completely drunk on you. And he felt gross for being attracted to you, because in his head, the age gap was too big. Soon his worries eased away when he opened up to his best friend Jake, who assured him he wasn't creepy, just horny.

In his eyes, you didn't feel the same — there was no way. You could hold eye contact with him for a long time without feeling shy; you wouldn't mind his presence close to you, and you would even help him fix his outfits before leaving for work.

But he was wrong, again.

You felt every single touch of his, every tiny glance. The heat of his fingertips against your waist, even through all the clothes. Your breath would speed up from his sophisticated perfume and his black hair, which had grown longer.

Now you're standing in the kitchen, by the refrigerator, the only light source being the soft light from the open fridge. You're holding a tall wine glass, sipping from it slowly as memories flood your mind.

You were standing in front of the tall mirror in the guest room, your hands sliding all over your body. Your eyes hesitated to look at your reflection in the mirror, the reality hitting you like a truck.

Since you've started babysitting for Jay, you had to stop going to the gym because he needs you more than your other kids. And since you're a person who gains weight easily, you're feeling insecure over the extra weight.

“Can I come in?” you heard Jay ask from outside.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jay walks inside the room, and his jaw nearly falls to the floor when he sees you, not believing that the dress he picked out for you fits like a glove.

“You look stunning, YN,” he complimented, eyes glued on the curves that were outlined by the red, silky dress.

“I do?” you ask hesitantly, your hands trying to hide your tummy.

“Hey,” Jay reached out for your hands, pushing them away from your body. “You look so beautiful. That dress has never looked better. It really highlights your curves; it makes you look classy yet sexy.”

A subtle smile grows on your lips, and you let out a small laugh. His words hit your heart harder than they should. Jay looks at your red cheeks and takes a step back, worried.

“I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm just trying-”

“You didn't, Jay. It made me feel good.” You interrupted him, assuring him that you were more than okay.

You can feel your cheeks heating up as you remember his words, loving the way it makes you feel cozy on the inside. But you were still unsure if he meant those words or just said them to comfort you.

During the whole night, Jay had his eyes on you, amused by your polite self talking to everyone while taking care of his daughter. You could feel his gaze on you, burning on your skin from afar. And when he got on that small stage and started singing, you swore he became unbearably hot.

Jay owned the stage with his presence and vocals, his skilled hand playing the guitar as if it were an extension of himself. And as he sang the romantic lyrics, his eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense yet sincere.

By that time, his daughter was sleeping on the trolley, still with a peaceful face despite the loud music. His manager approached you with a suspicious smile. Jay's best friend, whose name is Jake, stood by your side too, as Jay continued performing.

After the performance, Jay, his bandmate, and his manager disappeared for a while, going to a business room to discuss the new direction of the band with the new sponsor.

The first person he ran to tell the good news to was you. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug. Jay had a smile so big on his lips that it made your heart flutter, happy for him.

“What are you doing here so late?” Jay's voice sounds from far away, pulling you out of your thoughts. He was now wearing some loose pajama pants and a t-shirt.

“Just thinking…” you responded with a small smile, taking another sip of the wine.

Jay walked closer to you and took in your figure once again. The red, silky dress that was loose yet tight enough to highlight all your curves, the tall red-bottomed heels he bought, and the heavy necklace resting on your cleavage.

He couldn't understand how you could feel insecure about your body when it had the most beautiful shape and thickness in all the right places. And it drove him mad.

“There's something I need to tell you. And it has to be today and now,” Jay pointed out in a stern voice, catching you off guard.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, worried, putting down the glass next to you on the counter.

Jay stepped closer but stood against the main island in the kitchen while you remained by the counter. He couldn't look better, illuminated by the blue light of the open fridge, his masculine features enhanced by strong shadows.

“I want to start by saying that I don't want anything to change between us.”

Your heart sped up as soon as those words left his mouth, and negative scenarios started forming in your head. He's going to fire me, you thought.

“Jay, if I did anything wrong, just tell me and…”

“You didn't do anything wrong, YN. On the contrary, you did everything right. Too right.” Those words failed to bring any comfort. Could you be fired for being too good?

“Jay-”

“Stop interrupting me, or I'll lose the last bit of confidence left in me,” Jay interrupted you, his hands shaking slightly as he took them out of his pockets and reached for the marble countertop.

You took a breath in, your chest feeling heavy and your heart breaking little by little. Does Daphne not like me anymore? Did he find out about the silly crush I have on him? Am I no longer good enough?

“I have feelings for you, YN. Feelings that I can’t control anymore…” Jay interrupted his speech with a pause. “I want to touch you, hold you, and kiss you. I want to ruin you. To be yours. I want to make you forget about all those bad dates you had in the past, make you sweat, and give you the best sex you’ve ever had.”

Jay stopped for just a moment to catch his breath and calm down his racing heart, but it all went down when he saw you. He could faintly make out the shape of the tears rolling down your cheeks. Silent and heavy.

“Why are you crying? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he questioned, stepping forward and holding your shoulders.

You let out a small giggle, your hand reaching out to wipe the small pearls away.

“Fuck, I thought you were going to fire me. But this is so much better,” you confessed, your cheeks turning red.

Jay was dangerously close—you could feel his warmth and breath against your skin. Your eyes found his, and he felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while, too, but it was unprofessional… so I kept it a secret.”

“You feel the same?” Jay was convinced that he was delirious.

“Fuck, yes, I do,” you laughed. “I always have.”

Silence filled the kitchen space as your eyes met Jay’s, his presence so close yet so far. His hands slowly and hesitantly slid down from your shoulders to your side, tracing your lines under his fingertips.

“That means I can do this?” Jay questioned in a low voice, his large hand traveling all the way down to your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. You bit your lip to stop a whimper from leaving your throat.

“You can do anything you want,” you assured him, stepping closer, so your chest touched his.

“Wait—” Jay whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. “I not only want to fuck you, I—I want you to be my daughter’s new mom, my girlfriend.” He declares, eyes tense and glued to yours, needing to show you how honest he was.

“Jay, I would love to. I’m yours, completely.” You whisper, your hands moving to wrap around his neck as his grip on you gets tighter.

Jay doesn’t say anything else; he leans forward and seals your lips with his. The kiss is slow and loving, his warm, delicate lips moving against yours with precision and patience. Your hands sneak to his scalp, pulling the little hairs, causing Jay to let out a low moan against you. A smile grows on your lips, and you turn your head to the side, trying to deepen the kiss.

Something in Jay snaps, and the grip on your waist turns possessive. He takes two steps forward, trapping you against the counter. The kiss deepens, his tongue exploring your mouth and fighting playfully with yours as his eager hands move to the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and sits you down on the counter.

“Jay…” You whisper desperately, your body throbbing with desire. Your eyes find his, and you’re surprised they are completely different—dark and dilated, dripping with need. You haven’t seen them like this before, and it causes a wave of warmth to travel all over your body and pool at your core.

Jay remains silent while his hands pull your dress up, revealing more and more of your flesh. But his eyes are closed, and his mouth is attached to your neck, looking for that sensitive spot that would make you moan. When his full lips smooch the small spot just below your jaw, your mouth opens in an ‘O’ shape, and your hips press forward, harder against his hands.

“You smell so nice, sound so nice…” He speaks against your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a small mark. “I wonder how nice you feel… how nice you taste…”

Jay’s face leaves your neck for a few seconds to give you a quick kiss full of saliva and teeth, hungry and dizzying. Then he shows you a smirk he has never made before and drops to his knees. Your eyes follow his every move, completely hypnotized by the lust in his eyes.

From below, Jay’s hungry fingers travel further upwards your legs, from your foot to your knees and then your thighs. “Such soft skin, baby.” He compliments, and with no further warning, he yanks you forward, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Your covered cunt is inches away from Jay’s face. “It’s going to be a long night… and a long life…” Jay teases, his fingers feeling you up unhurriedly, making you wish you’d just confessed earlier.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie @xiiaobaoo @itsuen @laylasbunbunny @mellowgalaxystrawberry @firstclassjaylee @questionsdearreader @greeyjre @en-doll @riqomi @lovingvoidgoatee @mitmit01 @miuwonis @aureliaaaa555 @han-to-my-minho @heeweenie @vixensss @ro-diares @hoonvinx @immelissaaa @jiryunn @quilevyt @vrusha01 @kkamismom12 @skzenhalove @theothernads @moonpri @nicoleparadas @fightqueen @heesunghooney @starl0ver4 @jooniesbears-blog @k1arar3 @riri-lvs-food @kolawnk @mitmit01 @dummyf @tender-is-the-moon @dksfml @tobiosbbyghorl @loveydoveyez @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @hhyvsstuff @moondooll @enchantedtomeetyou @desistay @filmofhybe @somuchdard

If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[lovinglylotte]

★ | DIE FOR YOU || park sunghoon x fem!reader

❥ completed

synopsis: being part of enhypen is fun and never boring. but being the only girl gets you the princess treatment and the brother treatment at the same time.

pairings: park sunghoon x fem!reader, choi soobin x fem!reader (rumors), ot7 x fem!reader (rumors)

genre: smau, idol au, 8th member au, slow burn, workplace romance, crack, fluff, angst

warnings: hate comments, death threats, profanity, knetz being asses, inappropriate jokes

➸ NEVER LEAVE XX ➸ others

❥ chapters

01: down bad

02: sunoo is my fave

03: crashing out

04: no more compliments?!

05: stole y/n

06: introverted self

07: valentine’s day

08: destined lovers

09: you were good

10: tell me now

11: bagged a baddie

12: fighting for his life

13: MY gf

14: exposed

15: oops… i accidentally posted

16: him and i

17: loml

[mrsnishimuraaa]

i’ll take good care of you

PAIRING : FBI agent!niki x CEO daughter!reader

SYNOPSIS: having an insanely rich and powerful father was always something different, you never know who can be after you or your family. So when you have your own agents hired and Nishimura Riki is assigned to look after you, trained to always keep his emotions in check but when he meets you everything changes, the professional detachment unravels as he falls for the girl he’s sworn to keep safe. torn between duty and desire even in the worst of times.

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fluff and angst, mentions of death

m.list

well i did do a poll for this but i ignoredthe poll and decided to write it anyways plus all the votes were yes! so here we are ☺️

“now off you go, don’t mess this up Nishimura” the head of agents says sternly as he pats niki’s shoulder gently. they had just finished a long briefing the objective coming out as: Protect the CEO’s daughter. keep her safe. at all costs. Simple enough, very do-able.

niki stepped out of the office building and made his way to the sidewalk. the area around was busy, but he caught the company transport, gave the driver the address, and relaxed as they drove through the nice neighborhood, passing big houses and well-kept gardens on the way to the destination.

when niki arrived at the place he was sent to, the first thing that hits him is the silence. The kind of quiet that comes with a fuck ton of money. as he steps up to the front doors, he’s greeted by an abnormally large door that’s framed by tall columns. lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and a series of different flowers. useless stone statues in spots around the well kept garden. ‘what kind of fucking person with this much money needs a special agent’ is the thought running through his mind, but he continues to walk up the concrete steps before knocking on the door.

the front door swings open and he’s met with a man in a suit “nishimura riki right?” the man asks , he can hear the money imprinted in his voice. “that’s me, you can call me niki if you’d like” he responds, reaching a hand out to shake the man’s hand. “come inside” the man wavers him in, stepping aside to invite him to the house.

as he steps in he’s met with marble floor, a big grand staircase and chandeliers as if they were normal room lighting. the openness of the house screams filthy wealth to him, expensive artwork on the walls and an unnecessary amount of vases. “take a seat, take a seat let me call my daughter down” niki nods as he lets himself fall back on the big white couch, admiring the inside of the house that is before him.

the man comes back with a girl, as she elegantly walks down then stairs before making her way over. “hey, i’m y/n it’s nice to meet you” her smile beams as niki stands up in a array of manners , reaching his hand to shake hers “ Riki Nishimura, but you can just call me niki” he faintly smiles and nods his head. “look i’m so sorry about this, my dad is just so paranoid” you laugh in attempt to lighten the mood a bit, sitting on the chair across from him. but niki knows how oblivious you are to the situation your in, your thinking your dad hired him for no reason. “ well it is my job at the end of the day right” he says , clasping his hands together.

after chatting for a while, and niki being shown to the room he will be staying in for probably quite some time, night had fallen and niki was left to soak in his own thoughts.

niki had forced his mind back to the mission what felt like millions of times , pushing aside the thoughts that kept drifting to y/n. everything about her was distracting, but he couldn’t afford to get caught up in it. this was only a job, nothing more. he had to remind himself that his focus had to stay sharp and collected, any personal feelings were a risk he just couldn’t take.

the first few days were definitely something , attempting to grow to know each other he figured the job may not be too difficult, the only instruction from her father being to keep her safe at all times, even if it means fleeing the country. you on the other hand never knew why being protected so well was so important, your father never explained it to you and only left you just plain curious as to why what he does is so serious that people want to hunt down him and his family

all of that aside you thought niki was generally attractive, though you know that’s something you can’t go against on your father, you’ll just have to keep it to yourself. although you do enjoy his company, despite how cold and collected he may seem. as you’ve never really spent much time with many people your age because of the so called ‘risk’ . it was oddly comforting to finally have someone to talk to other than your mother or father for once.

but at the same time he has this cold, almost unapproachable look, with a tough expression that doesn’t seem to change no matter what’s happening around him. it’s like he’s built a wall around himself, but sometimes in the quiet moments, you catch a glimpse of something different. softening in his eyes or a rare smile that feels out of place but somehow not. you know it’s there, buried beneath the tough play, that soft heart of his waiting to be seen if you’re patient enough to look beyond the coldness. and it really makes you wonder sometimes how long it’s gonna take for you to crack the cold surface of his heart.

you think maybe it’s because he’s here sincerely to do his job and that he could possibly get in trouble if he shows a warmer more bright side of him. either way your determination to figure it out grows

although most of the time your father was never home , and your mom always being in other countries on business trips, you found yourself spending a awful lot of time with niki, desperate to crack the coldness and authority in his heart against you, bringing up random topics to get to know him better was definitely helping a bit but never a lot.

but oh little did you know his feelings only ever growing fonder and fonder of you, having to push them right back down and attempt to separate his feelings from buisiness. he can’t let his guard down like this, he’s only here simply for work right?

never in a million years would his mind cross that you would feel the same way as him, suppressing your feelings thinking he would not be here for a long amount of time. or even the thought of how cold hearted he may seem, you hope maybe he will become much warmer to you one day.

but the day your father never comes home from work, it all changes.

your first instinct is to panic, the morning you realise your father has been missing for 2 days, your hysterical sobbing whilst pacing the kitchen awakens niki as he rushes downstairs, completely forgetting to put on a shirt but that’s the least of his concerns, grabbing the gun he was told to bring incase of an emergency, thinking you were being attacked.

he puts his back to the walls, gun drawn infront of him as he carefully yet quickly makes his way to where the sound of your crying is coming from.

gladly hes met with the sight of you laying over the kitchen counter sobbing at a piece of paper in front of you rather than being stabbed brutally by a hit man. “y/n what’s wrong, talk to me” he rushes over dropping the gun on the counter, his cold hearted play immediately washing away as he hears your cries, placing a hand on your shoulder, the other reaching out to pick up the letter infront of you.

“Dear miss Kang Y/N

We are incredibly sorry to inform you of the tragic assasination of your father Sir. Kang Jin-woo.”

that being the only sentence his eyes run over,the word ‘assasination’ ticks something off, completely ignoring the rest of the long letter. he engulfs you in a hug, rubbing your back as you sob into his bare chest. the moment is cut short by the ringtone of his phone “shit, one moment” he gives your back a last light rub before pulling back to answer the phone. “Hello? yes nishimura speaking, okay i’ll be gone in the next hour.” he hangs up the phone in urgency.

“get your stuff y/n we have to leave. now.” he hurries you, your sobs coming to a stop slowly as panic sets in “w-wait what’s going on” you sniffle as you follow him upstairs “i’ll explain later, transports gonna be here in half an hour hurry” he firmly says, but the urgency in his voice gives you the instinct to pack up and go.

he gathers his own items before dropping them downstairs , making his way up to you as he knocks on your door “come in” you chime as he makes his way in, “how close are you to being ready” he asks , leaning on your doorway as you push your last suitcase toward him “now, but can you please tell me what the fuck is going on?” you question as he takes your suitcases and bags , leading you downstairs “there’s a car out the front get in and i’ll explain to you there, we don’t have time we need to go”

you get into the car, saying hello to the random driver as you buckle yourself in, hearing the trunk close before niki jumps into the seat beside you.

“now y/n, don’t panic okay” he starts to trail off

“your dad was assassinated by the people that want to take over his company, this was the whole reason i was sent to take care of you in the first place, now they are coming after you as your the next person in line to take over as the next CEO. they are already on their way to find you, most likely more than half way as it’s not that difficult to track people down anymore.”

the seriousness in his voice concerns you the slightest “what the fuck?” your face shows utter shock.

“i know” he sighs “i’ve already booked us flights to japan” he leans back in the car seat , man spreading in search of comfort. “sorry what?” you blurt out “i don’t even speak the tiniest of japanese” you raise your concern. “i know, but i do” he raises a brow as you give him a look of confusion

“y/n im japanese,i was born there.” he laughs, as you nod and form a small ‘ohh’ understanding his idea a bit more. “we’re gonna stay in Okayama where i was born, trust me we will be safe there okay?” he says as he reaches for a bottle of water from the cup holder “niki i’ve known you for barley 3 weeks and you expect me to ‘run away’ with you?” you say quietly. “it’s my job y/n i am here to look after you. i can promise you i’m not some creepy freak that’s kidnapping you, it’s for your safety ” he adds a small joke to a serious matter, you seem to relax a bit at that.

arriving to the airport, he hands you a mask and gestures for you to put it on, you need to keep your identity hidden until your out of south korea.

the two of you make it through checkin and security with ease, and begin to roam to the international terminal. “sorry to bother but im lowkey hungry” you tap him on the shoulder. “that’s okay, there’s a cafe just there we can go get something?” he says pointing around the corner as you nod, leading you over to the cafe. you grab a drink and 2 hash browns to snack on, you reach into your pocket to grab your card but as you look up you see that niki had already payed for you. “niki.. you don’t have to pay for me” you shove him lightly and he only chuckles at you “its fine y/n ,let’s go to the gate” your heart warms at his sweet gestures.

maybe he wasn’t so cold after all? the geniune care and thought in his gestures make your doubt of him ever showing any feeling to you wash away.

though y/n needs to keep her feelings in check, no matter how strong they may be. the reality is, he’s just there to do his job, not someone she can let her heart run away with, or can she? but the feeling of finally seeing niki’s warm hearted side envelopes her in her thoughts. would she ever know he’s thinking the same?

boarding the plane as the attendant tells you to turn left, you look at him in confusion “oh yeah i booked us business class” he laughs as he ushers you forward. “ki” the nickname slips out of your mouth and goes straight to his heart, he feels like he could melt into a puddle right infront of you.

sitting down on the comfy seats next to each other , making small talk as the flight fills. doubt starts to set into you, and your mind runs a million miles per hour and niki can see it on your face. “what’s wrong?” he leans forward to take a better look at you in an attempt to read your expression better.

“ nothing , it’s just what if they find us in japan? y’know what if we’re not safe niki” you turn to face him, “y/n i can promise you we will be okay, im gonna do whatever it takes, i’ll take good care of you” he pushes the strands of your hair behind your ear as you smile at him.

you relax a bit more, after takeoff you find yourself in an attempt to ponder off to sleep, but you just can’t so you opt to just rest your eyes for a while knowing you may have a big day ahead of you.

on the other hand he can’t help but think about how he’s been holding onto his feelings for a while now, wanting to confess but unsure if it’s the right time. there’s a part of him that wonders if she sees him the same way or if it would just complicate everything between them, his doubt lingers making him hesitate, but the urge to be honest with her grows stronger with every conversation the two of you share.

until he finally gains courage speaks up “y/n” his settled voice slightly startles your tired self but you hum at him, gesturing him to continue on. “this might sound crazy but just listen to me please” he asks for reassurance and you nod

“y/n i’ve liked you since the day i layed eyes on you, every conversation we have, every time we laugh together i can’t help but love it. i know your in a crazy situation right now and i promise im never going to let anything bad ever happen to you. i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that i can keep you safe y/n, hell we can even stay in japan for the rest of our lives if you want too y/n im willing to try” the loving words that leave his mouth have you in shock for a second or so, and your heart races in your chest at the sudden confession

“niki..” you trail off, “but what about your job?” you question “ i would quit in a heartbeat for you, we can both start fresh, please give it a chance” his voice is so sincere.

you think for a moment, your dad got assassinated your mom has probably fled for good and people are after you big time, you realise how you may have little to nothing good left back in korea, and the opposed risks of going back truly frighten you and the opportunity of a fresh start with a lot less risk is something you can’t afford to not take up and the offer really sparks up your brain.

fuck it let’s do it.

“you know what” you breath, and niki’s face brightens a bit “ yes, only if you really want too niki ill start fresh and give you a chance” you look into his eyes for assurance and he can’t help but smile so brightly at you pulling you in for a quick kiss, he feels like your smile lightened up the whole entire plane. “ i’m gonna take good care of you y/n i promise” he says in a warm voice as his thumb caresses your cheek gently.

the two of you land in japan, and you immediately feel so much more free and relaxed as niki communicates to the airport staff for you as you can’t speak japanese, though you find that utterly attractive but anyways. collecting your luggage and making you way out of the airport before catching transport to his home town.

the feeling of this once in a life time opportunity is so beautiful to you, a fresh start in a new country. you prepare to meet niki’s family the next day as a surprise and can’t help but feel nervous alongside excitement to meet new people.

meeting his family went extremely well, they took a strong really liking to you and you bonded so well with his siblings. also slowly starting to pick up the basics of japanese as niki gives you occasional lessons when needed otherwise you both communicate in korean any other time.

two years pass and you can’t be any more thankful for the opportunity of a fresh start, you haven’t had any opposed threats so far and seem to be un reachable from the people after you back in korea. and the thing your most grateful for?

you and niki got engaged.

[whiterosesforher]

𓍼 ⋮ FALLING FOR THE RUSE ( S.JY )

𝒾 : may i present to you dearest reader, Sebastian Hastings, Duke of Hastings, a man of charm and wit, your biggest mystery to uncover. 【 ˚⊱☁️⊰˚ 】 ♯ 𝓳𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝓌 : 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐟 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞), 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

disclaimer ‣ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🩷 this is a fanfiction inspired by the duke and i, originally from the bridgerton series book and show. most elements are purposely altered.

𝓌𝒸 : 33.3k

( ‧˚꒰🦪꒱༘⋆ ) write to lady whistledown ✒️៹

You stand before the large mirror in the drawing room, your soft blue gown hugging your figure perfectly, the delicate flowers woven into your curls sitting like a crown atop your head. The maids bustle around you, smoothing the fabric, adjusting every last detail, ensuring you look flawless.

To anyone else, you might appear to be the perfect picture of grace and beauty. Yet, as you catch your own reflection, doubt lingers in your eyes.

Your mother, Violet, sits quietly in a chair nearby. She offers you a small, kind smile, the kind that would usually soothe you. But today, it doesn’t. It is the start of your second season, and you still haven't found a match yet. Unsuccessful to marry a respectable man at the age of nineteen.

“You look radiant, my dear,” she says softly, her voice warm but tinged with something deeper, something that mirrors the unease in your chest. You let out a long, shaky sigh and run your fingers over the edge of your gown. “Radiant,” you echo, the word falling flat on your tongue. “Radiant for what purpose, Mama? I’ve already endured one season, one dreadful season of rejection. What’s to say this one will be any different?”

Her smile falters, her hand rests on your arm, soothing you in a way only she can. “This is not rejection, my dear. It is simply that what you’re searching for is rare. A love match is no simple thing to find, especially when many are willing to settle for less. What you want is extraordinary, and that takes time.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you look at her. You know what she's saying is true, but you can't help but envy the kind love that your parents had. “You and Father had that. Everyone saw it. They envied it. And I—” You pause, the lump in your throat growing. “I want that, too. I cannot imagine settling for anything less. But what if...” The words taste bitter on your tongue. “What if it’s impossible for me?”

Your mother’s hand squeezes your arm gently, she chuckled lightly, “Oh, my darling, it is not impossible. It is simply uncommon. Your father was one of a kind, and men like him do not come around often. But I promise you, when the right gentleman does come along, you will feel it deep in your heart.”

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling within you. “Last season, I felt like some prized horse on display, Mama. All they saw was my title, my dowry, our family’s reputation. None of them truly saw me.” Your voice breaks slightly. “How am I supposed to find love when all they care about is what I represent, not who I am?”

Her eyes glisten as she listens, her heart breaking alongside yours. “You are right to want more,” she says softly. “And while the process may be painful, it is worth enduring for the chance at true happiness. I know it feels unbearable at times, but do not lose hope.”

Your mother stood beside you, her hands gentle as she fastens the final pin in your hair. Your dark locks now gleamed, swept into an elegant updo that frames your face so well. You look absolutely beautiful, you thought to yourself.

She glanced at you through the mirror, “Now you look completely flawless, my dear,” she complimented while smoothing a strand of hair that dared to fall out of place. “Today is your day. I just know it.”

Dorothea turned to you, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mama. I truly hope this season will finally bring what I’m looking for.”

“You will find it, Dorothea,” your mother's words never fail to comfort you, “I have no doubt.”

The peaceful moment was interrupted when the door to the room burst open with a dramatic thud. “Dorothea!! You. Must. Make. Haste!” Elisa's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative, as she stormed in, punctuating every word with an exaggerated stomp of her foot, glaring at you. Both you and your mother flinched at the sudden intrusion, but when Elisa came into view—her cheeks flushed with urgency, her hands on her hips like a soldier commanding an army—you couldn’t help but break into a fit of laughter.

“Elisa!” you exclaimed in shock and amusement. “What?” Elisa shot back at you, her tone exasperated. “You’re going to make us late! Again! Do you want everyone in the ton to think we Bridgertons have no sense of time?” Her mock scolding sent you into an even severe fit of laughter, shaking your head fondly at your sister’s theatrics.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” you replied with a teasing grin, fixing your gloves before walking beside her. Elisa crossed her arms, satisfied, though a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Good. You’ll thank me later when we're not late to the ball and the ton won't stare and silently judge us.” As you and Elisa moved past the door, you heard your mother's soft call, stopping you on your tracks for just a moment. She walked with two of you, her hands on you and Elisa’s arm.

“Good luck, my darling,” she whispered to you, “May this season bring you everything your heart desires.” Oh yeah you hope so too, in fact you hope so hard you're willing to waste all the pennies you have at this point to throw them all in a wishing well. “Thank you, Mama.”

As you descend down the stairs, the others are already there looking at you in admiration, especially your brothers. Though as annoying as they can get, they are your biggest supporters. Benjamin held your hand as you walked down the last few steps of the stairs, and then offered his arm to you that you gladly accepted, linking your arm with his.

The first ball of the season was a whirlwind of sparkling chandeliers, lively music, and the subtle hum of whispered conversations. You entered with grace alongside your family. This time, your brother, Atticus, is the one escorting you. It was your second season, and while you tried to focus on optimism, the sting of last year’s failure still lingered.

You’d heard all the murmurs about you, on how you were far too clever, far too independent, and, most frustratingly, far too overshadowed by your brothers. But tonight was going to be different. It had to be.

As soon as you enter, it's like all eyes are on you. Gentlemen from left and right setting their eyes on you, giving you hope that you might find someone tonight who would interest you. You were instantly entertained as you watched the pairs dancing on the ball dance floor.

“They’re all staring, mother,” Atticus said as he watched each staring gentleman with a stern gaze. There's his protective nature again, you internally sighed. You could only hope your brother won't ruin this for you again.

Your mother, Violet, had whispered from behind you “Allow them to come to you, dearest.” And you smiled, eyes twinkling as your beauty didn't fail to attract attention once again.

It started off well enough. A gentleman approached with a tentative bow. You recognized him for you had already encountered him before, he's Lord Ambrose, a Baron. He has a smile on his lips, and you appreciate the sincerity in his eyes.

“Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton,” he greeted, addressing you and your mother with a polite nod of his head. But when he turned to your brother, you can see him swallow awkwardly, “Lord Bridgerton,” he nodded at Atticus.

Your mother chimed in from behind you, her tone joyous as she offered a smile to the man, “I believe you have already been introduced to my daughter Dorothea, Lord Ambrose.”

The man nodded at your mother once again, “Uh yes, we met at your brother's levee,” he specified, pertaining to Atticus who's right beside you now with a cold stare.

You started up a conversation, wanting to be approachable for tonight to open opportunities, “If I recall, my lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket.” You said with a soft chuckle, and you were about to congratulate him.

But your nuisance of a brother interrupted, “His first and only, I believe,” Atticus said in a passively rude tone while wearing a fake smile, that made your smile falter as you turned to him. Your eyes shooting up to silently tell him “You’re unbelievable.”

You immediately saved the awkward tension and turned your head once again to Lord Ambrose, “Well, in that case let us hope his lordship has found himself a new horse.” Ambrose chuckled, appreciating your warm and kind personality.

And here goes this evil maggot ruining your chance for a match once again, oh how you want to rip Atticus’ hair at this point when he interrupts once again, looking at him in disbelief as he run his mouth while staring intensely at Ambrose.

“I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you at our club lately, Ambrose,” he paused and you were about to open your mouth to say something but he beat you to it, “Should it have anything to do with the unpaid balance you left on our betting books last winter?”

He jabbed in a passive aggressive way, airing out Ambrose’s dirty laundry regarding his history of debts and gambling that ruined your mood altogether.

Even your mother Violet who's just behind the two of you witnessing this was so taken aback her eyes widened and her head snapped to Atticus, her eyebrow raising so high.

Ambrose fell silent, and with a tight lipped smile and one last polite bow, he walked away.

“Ambrose is a cheat. A man of any honor ensures his debts are fully paid.” Atticus remarked while scanning the whole room for anyone who dares to come approach you.

You let out a dismayed sigh, “I didn't realize–”

“Well, how could you have done that? It is the very reason I am here, sister.” He said in a convincing manner, “Let us take a turn about the room.” Your brother escorted you to roam the room, your hand securely linked to his arm as you observe every gentleman there is.

A gentleman dancing with someone on the dancefloor nodded at you, acknowledging your presence. “He is rather pleasing,” you commented to which your brother scoffed, “That’s Mr. Lewis, he is rather here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Lewis knows of your sizable dowry. Leave him be.”

You nod your head to a gentleman from a distance talking to a lady, “I presume you know of him too?” he smirked, “Mr. Worthington. Second son. We shall find better.”

A gentleman walked past the two of you, bowing his head a little to you as he passed, “He is of dubious parentage.” Atticus commented.

A familiar voice called the two of you, “Atticus! Thea!” it was Benjamin, with Caleb following him as they joined you.

“Did Mother tell you yet? About my tour? I am to begin in Greece,” Caleb announced excitedly. Ah of course, your brother Caleb has always been the wanderlust, always wanting to be free and to explore.

Maybe it is the reason why he's still unmarried. Although to be fair, all your brothers are unmarried. And if you're to secure a match this season then you would be the first one to get married among your siblings.

Your mouth fell open in happiness and surprise, “Greece? How adventurous, Caleb!”

“On guard!” Atticus hurriedly said to Benjamin and Caleb as they all scattered to turn and walk away in different directions.

But they are stopped in their tracks as the Lady Danbury approaches, her cane making thud noises on the floor with each step, “Too late. I already noted you.”

Your brothers turned around with a sheepish smile, like young boys getting caught by their mom after doing something reckless.

“Lady Danbury.”

“Good evening!”

“Lovely to see you, Lady Danbury.”

They all said in chorus while bowing. Lady Danbury is a close friend to the current Queen and to your mother, Violet. She has acted like a godmother and helped you and your siblings when your father passed too early.

You bowed to her too with a genuine smile, “Miss Bridgerton, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason why I've yet to see you on the dance floor?”

“All in good time, Lady Danbury,” Atticus answered for you, making the woman frown, almost rolling her eyes before leaning to you to whisper, “You poor thing,” before walking away.

The night falls deeper and you still haven't been asked out to dance, your brother whose arm you are holding to, successful in warding off interested men.

You looked around the room, your feet sore from doing nothing but standing. You turned to him, “I am quite parched, Atti.”

“Then I shall fetch you a glass of lemonade,” he tried to move but you stopped him, “No. You have already done so much for me tonight. I shall return in a mere moment.” You assured him and he let you go alone.

Walking to the refreshments table and grabbing yourself a glass of lemonade. You sipped from the tiny glass they came to serve the lemonade with.

When all of a sudden, an agitating voice disturbed your only alone time tonight. “Small glasses,” he simply said with a grin. You bowed your head to acknowledge him with a forced smile, “Lord Berbrooke.”

“Tiny little things, are they not?” He continued as you awkwardly chuckled before answering, “The glasses? I suppose.”

“Then the matter is settled,” he said with an even bigger smile that made you confused, eyebrows furrowing with a confused smile, “Pardon? I'm not entirely sure which matter are we discussing, my lord.”

He took a step closer but still maintained a distance, “You’ve always been so attractive to me, Miss Bridgerton. Ever since I was a twenty year old boy and you were…”

Your eyes widened, your whole body weirded out by this man, and you couldn't help the hint of disgust on your face as you continued his sentence for him, “When you were twenty and I was just… five?”

He only chuckled in response and slurped on his lemonade loudly while creepily staring at you. What the hell is wrong with this old man? You thought to yourself before thinking of an excuse to get yourself out of this situation.

“My brother, he summons me. Adieu.” You hurriedly squeeze yourself past the crowd, heartbeat quickening as you heard Berbrooke’s voice call out behind you, “Miss Bridgerton?” He repeated as you continued to walk fast and he slowly followed you, “A moment please! Miss Bridgerton?”

You turned your head to him, seeing he's following you, you quickened your pace even more. Not noticing you'd bump hard into an unfamiliar gentleman. You yelped, and your eyes widened.

“Pardon me” “Forgive me” you both said in chorus. You looked back at Berbrooke who's trying to approach you again but is getting swarmed with the other guests greeting him and trying to converse with him.

You held the arms of the gentleman you just bumped into, “Tell me your name,” you eagerly said with a panicked smile, the only thing that can ward off Berbrooke this time is if you're entertaining another man. If only your brother Atticus was here. Now you want to slap yourself for not letting him come with you.

The man gave you a smirk, almost scoffing at you, “Am I honestly to believe you do not already know my name?” You glanced at Berbrooke again and saw him getting closer so you faked a really loud laugh and hit the man's arm, pretending you're talking to him and he just said something funny to you.

The man squinted his eyes at your weird behavior and sighed, “If you desire an introduction, madam, I do believe accosting me to be the least civilized of ways.” You look at him in disbelief at his attitude, “Me? Accosting you?” He cut you off, still annoyed and cocky, “Truly you ladies will try anything to get my attention including bumping into me and pretending not to know me.”

This man. He thinks this is all a plan just to speak to him? You've only spoken to him for a minute yet he's already making your eyes twitch in annoyance, you want to take your heels off and use it to slap his face. Who does he think he is? You're a respectable lady, surely you will not try such thing just to get the attention of whoever this babbling baboon is. Does he think himself so handsome that you'd get desperate for him? He wish!

“Sir wha– who do you think you are?! What is your name?” You challenged, ready to report this man to your brothers. “Hastings!” Your head snapped to your brother jogging towards your direction, seemingly calling the man with you.

“Bridgerton!” The man responded with a joyful tone. They shook hands in a boyish way and pat each other's back, “Come here, old friend!” Old friend?! This baboon is your brother's friend?!

“I heard news of your father's passing– You're no longer just Sebastian Hastings, you're the Duke of Hastings!” Your eyebrow raised, ah so he's a duke, no wonder he's cocky and arrogant with that pretentious smile he has. “The Duke of Hastings, is it?” You said sarcastically, still glaring at Hastings.

“Right, Hastings, this is my sister.”

“Your sister?”

Atticus turned to you with a smile, “Dorothea, Hastings and I know each other from our days at Oxford. He is the nephew of Lady Danbury, who came to visit London for some business. Well I expect to see you at our club some time.”

“Indeed, Lord Bridgerton. Evening. Miss Bridgerton.” He bowed at you and your brother which you returned only out of politeness. You walked away with Atticus, leaving to retire for the night as your feet are already exhausted.

The rising sun came into view from your window signifying an early morning and you were already wide awake, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling, anticipation buzzing through you. Today would be different, you are a hundred percent confident.

A soft knock on the door broke your thoughts. “Miss, you’re awake!” Your maid, Rose, stepped inside with a bright smile.

You shot up immediately, a grin already forming on your lips. “Yes, yes, I am! Go to the kitchen at once and have the cook prepare plenty of biscuits. I’ll need enough for...” You paused, imagining the footmen overwhelmed by an army of callers at the door. “For a dozen callers today!”

The maid nodded and rushed out as you stood, quickly readying yourself for what you hoped would be a triumphant day. By mid-morning, you sat in the drawing room, perfectly poised in one of your favorite gowns, excitement shimmering beneath your practiced expression. Violet sat across from you with little Heather, and Elisa is seated next to you.

And yet... nothing. No carriage wheels on the gravel. No eager footsteps on the stairs. No callers. It's like your brother has successfully insulted every man that set their eyes on you.

You shifted in your seat, trying not to let your disappointment show. But your mother noticed, of course, and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m sure someone will call later, dearest. These things sometimes take time.”

You nodded and kept your smile in place, but the disappointment was becoming harder to ignore. Until finally, the sound of the door opening reached your ears. The footman entered with perfect posture, announcing, “There’s a caller for Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.” Your heart soared, and you couldn’t stop the eager smile that bloomed across your face. But the next words shattered it instantly.

“Lord Nigel Berbrooke.” The room fell silent.

Nigel stepped in, his usual clumsy gait and overeager grin making you instantly regret all the optimism you’d felt this morning. Your mother, always a gracious hostess, quickly covered for your stunned reaction with a polite smile. “How lovely of you to call, Lord Berbrooke,” Violet said smoothly. “We have freshly prepared biscuits and refreshments. Please, do sit.” She rose from her seat, gesturing for Elisa and Heather to move. “Elisa, perhaps you’d allow some room for his lordship?”

You tightened your grip on Elisa’s arm without thinking, silently pleading her not to go. You didn’t even have to look at her to know she understood you. Elisa smiled coyly, tilting her head. “I believe I should like to stay, Mother.” Violet’s gaze sharpened, her voice carrying an edge of authority as she replied, “I believe you should like to go.” Elisa froze for a moment before reluctantly standing, shooting you a look that screamed ‘good luck, dear sister.’

“Well then… I believe I should go,” Elisa said with exaggerated sweetness, though her eyes twinkled with mischief as she made her way to the other side of the room along Heather and Violet. And now, with nowhere left to hide, you were forced to face the worst caller imaginable. “Miss Dorothea,” Nigel began as soon as he took the empty seat beside you. That ridiculous, self-satisfied grin stretched across his face as if he thought this was his moment of triumph. “I just know, you and I were destined for each other.”

You stared at him, your mind blank with disbelief. How could one person be so staggeringly delusional? You said nothing, too stunned to form a response. From across the room, Heather failed spectacularly at stifling a laugh. The sound broke free, loud and unladylike, earning her an immediate look from Violet. Heather’s lips pursed tightly, and she sank back into the couch, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. Meanwhile, you remained trapped beside Nigel, who was oblivious to the fact that his mere presence was a form of torture.

You started to talk to yourself in your thoughts instead, why is there no one else here? Why is this... whatever creature this is, sitting beside you, thinking he has a chance? What did you do to deserve this punishment?

Nigel continued to ramble on, but you barely heard him. You were too busy questioning every decision that had brought you to this moment, stuck in your own personal nightmare.

Over the following days, the Bridgerton drawing room became emptier than a ballroom during the last dance of the night. It wasn’t due to any lack of biscuits or refreshments, nor because you lacked charm or beauty.

No, the blame for the desolation lay entirely with your older brother, Atticus, who had taken it upon himself to supervise all callers. The result? A wave of men leaving before they even stepped foot into the drawing room, their nervous apologies echoing through the halls before the footmen escorted them out.

By the end of the week, even your Mother's well-practiced optimism began to falter. The grand doors to the drawing room remained frustratingly still, while you sat in a perfectly poised manner, clutching a book you’d read far too many times to actually be reading anymore. You glanced out the window for the hundredth time, the sight of the empty drive confirming your fears.

Your heart began to weigh heavier each day, especially as the whispers of society reached your ears.

On one such morning, you stayed in bed long after you had awoken, lying still beneath the covers and staring at the ceiling as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud.

The damning words of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers rang in your head:

“Of the many young ladies making their second appearances this season, Miss Dorothea Bridgerton remains among the loveliest. And yet, one cannot help but notice her distinct lack of callers. Is it mere bad luck or perhaps a trend that will lead to yet another unsuccessful season for her?”

You knew of this, of course, because Elisa had gleefully barged into your room the day before, holding up the latest paper as though it were some treasured artifact. Elisa adored Lady Whistledown, practically worshipped her, and her enthusiasm made the sting of the remarks all the more painful.

“What nonsense,” you muttered to yourself, replaying the words over and over in your mind despite your protests. A distinct lack of callers. Unsuccessful season. Failure.

A sharp knock on your door interrupted your downward spiral. “Miss?” You recognized your maid’s voice but couldn’t summon the energy to respond. Another knock, gentler this time. “Miss Dorothea, are you well? Shall I bring you something?” You sighed and forced yourself to sit up. “No, no. I’ll be down soon. Thank you.” The maid’s retreating footsteps gave you a moment to compose yourself, though the weight on your chest remained.

Your future seemed uncertain—hopeless, even. Atticus’s overprotective interference, the whispers of society, and the damning words of Lady Whistledown were too much to ignore. You wanted a love match, a marriage like your parents had shared, but how could you hope for that when it seemed no one was even willing to call on you?

Shaking your head, you pushed the covers back and swung your legs over the side of the bed. If there was one thing you’d learned from your mother, it was that Bridgertons didn’t give up easily, no matter how bleak things seemed.

Still, as you began to dress for the day, you couldn’t help but wonder: How on earth am I to change this?

You descended the staircase, the weight of your earlier thoughts still lingering as you entered the drawing room. Unsurprisingly, it was empty once again. The silence of the grand room was almost deafening, and your steps echoed faintly against the polished floor as you paced back and forth.

Finally, unable to keep the thoughts to yourself any longer, you turned to your mother, who sat near the window, embroidering with an air of serenity that only she could maintain in such dire circumstances. “Mama,” you began, your voice slightly hesitant but growing with determination, “perhaps we should attend the upcoming Salisbury ball by ourselves. And the Merriweather tea as well.”

Your mother glanced up at you, her expression both curious and sympathetic. “You know, without Atticus,” you added pointedly, your hands gesturing in frustration. Violet sighed softly and set her embroidery aside, giving you her full attention. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, dearest.”

“And why not?” you asked, already sensing that you wouldn’t like her answer. “Because Atticus has already replied on our behalf,” she explained, her tone gentle but firm. “He’s taken it upon himself to manage all of our social events for the season. Through June, at least.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean to say for the entire season?” Violet offered an apologetic smile, but it only made your frustration bubble over. “Great,” you said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Guess I’m remaining unmarried!”

Without another word, you flopped down on the couch, crossing your arms and glaring at the door as if willing your overbearing brother to appear. And, as if on cue, Atticus strode in moments later, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

He looked from you to your mother, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s the matter now?” You didn’t answer, only narrowed your eyes further at him.

Atticus raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your silent protest. “If you’re so intent on sulking, perhaps a ride will cheer you up,” he suggested casually. You sighed, weighing your options. Stay here and fume in silence or begrudgingly agree to humor him? After a moment of tense silence, you rolled your eyes and stood.

“Fine,” you muttered, brushing past him. “But only because there’s absolutely nothing better to do.” Atticus smirked, clearly pleased with himself, and gestured for you to follow him outside.

The two of you rode side by side through the quiet, open park, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves steady and calm. It would’ve been a serene outing if not for the unmistakable tension that hung between you and your older brother. The gentle breeze did little to soothe your simmering frustrations, and as your horse trotted forward at a leisurely pace, you decided to address the elephant in the room.

“You know,” Atticus began, his tone conversational, as if he had no idea how livid you were. “Berbrooke is harmless. There’s no need to worry about him. I’m certain there will be others.” You rolled your eyes, the mention of Nigel Berbrooke only fueling your irritation. “Oh, Atti,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm, “thank you so much for your vote of confidence. But perhaps you’ve forgotten—Lady Whistledown has been writing about me.”

At this, Atticus cast you a sidelong glance. “And?”

“And,” you continued, your tone sharp, “she’s already spreading the word that I’m ineligible. That I failed to find a match last season, and that it looks like I’m failing again this season. From the looks of it, what man would want such damaged goods now?”

Atticus scoffed. “You speak of Lady Whistledown as if she’s the voice of the rest of the ton.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They’re just gossips, speculations. Hardly anything of substance, and certainly not true.” You sighed in frustration, gripping the reins tighter as your horse continued its steady walk. “But they are true,” you snapped. “And do you know why they’re true? Because of you, Atti!”

His brows furrowed, and he shot you a warning look. “I beg your pardon?” You didn’t back down. “You’ve managed to scare every single suitor away,” you said firmly, your words laced with equal parts anger and despair.

Atticus straightened in his saddle, clearly unimpressed by your accusation. “I’m protecting you,” he countered. “It’s my duty as the head of the house and as your older brother.” But you weren’t about to let him hide behind that excuse again. “And what of my duty?” you interrupted, your voice rising with the intensity of your emotions.

Atticus opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance. “You have no idea what marriage means to a woman,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “You have no idea how we live, what it feels like for your entire life to depend on one single moment. I was raised to do this, only to fail. Women are wives and that’s all they are. If they cannot find a husband, they are worthless. I am worthless.” You expressed the sad reality of being a woman in this society. A woman who's dreaming of a love match that seemed to look only more impossible to achieve now.

“Worthless?” he repeated incredulously, clearly taken aback by your words. “Dorothea, you are a Bridgerton! A member of one of the richest families in London. Impeccably rich, in fact. How could you possibly be worthless?” You turned your gaze ahead, refusing to look at him. Your tone grew quiet, the anger replaced by something far heavier. “Maybe it would be better if I were not.”

Before he could respond, you kicked your horse into a faster pace, pulling ahead and leaving him behind. The sound of the hooves striking the ground grew louder as you rode farther, putting as much distance as possible between yourself and your brother. Atticus called after you, but you ignored him, your mind racing with thoughts of frustration, despair, and a longing for something he simply couldn’t understand.

You loved your brother, truly. But his stubbornness, his refusal to see what he was doing to you, was more hurtful than protective. He thought he was shielding you, but in reality, he was only pushing you further into the shadows, away from the life you so desperately wanted to claim for yourself.

“Duke Hastings will be joining us for dinner tonight,” your mother informed you with an air of casual excitement.

Your brow shot up so high it nearly disappeared into your hairline. “The duke? Why?” you asked, skepticism laced in your tone.

Violet only grinned, an all-knowing glimmer in her eye. “Lady Danbury suggested it, I had the cook prepare a gooseberry pie for dessert specially for him. It's his favourite.” She replied simply before turning to oversee the evening preparations.

By the time the dinner commenced, you found herself seated beside Sebastian, much to your growing irritation. You picked up the knife with a bit more force than necessary, cutting into your meal with sharp, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, the conversation at the table swirled around the latest talk of the ton.

Giovann spoke up. “I still say Lady Whistledown must be one of the Fontaines. They’re too nosy for their own good.” Elisa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s absurd. Lady Whistledown clearly has wit, and none of the Fontaines can spell wit, let alone embody it.”

Sebastian observed the lively debate with mild amusement as Violet interjected gracefully. “Forgive this unruly debate, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile, gesturing toward your siblings. Sebastian waved off the comment with a charming grin. “Nonsense. I find it entertaining,” he replied, his deep voice carrying a note of humor.

Violet’s smile widened, pleased by his response. “In that case, you should join us for dinner more often, Your Grace. You are always welcome here.”

“Giovann, stop stealing my peas!” Heather exclaimed, her small voice rising sharply. “You cannot tell me what to do. I am older than you,” Giovann shot back mockingly, grinning at her indignant expression.

The table descended into playful chaos as the siblings bickered, while Violet and a few others carried on their own conversations, ignoring the commotion. Dreadfully, Sebastian has turned his attention to you even though you are focused on your meal.

“You look rather displeased,” Sebastian commented, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Your hand halted, pausing your cutting to glance at him sharply with a raised brow. “Do I?” you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sebastian smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Well, you are sitting beside me. I’d like to think that surely makes you happy,” he teased, his tone infuriating you.

You stared at him, utterly unimpressed. This man truly believed every woman was hopelessly taken by him simply because of his title.

Hah, what a thick faced scumbag, “Wow, of course,” you started sarcastically. “Because a lady is only allowed to smile when she’s seated beside a duke.” You tilted your head, gaze icy. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am anything but interested in you.”

Sebastian chuckled, raising his brows in mock surprise. “Good,” he said, his smirk deepening. “Good!” You echoed.

Your synchronized reply drew a few curious glances from the rest of the table, you didn't even notice your siblings got silent, too immersed in how annoyed you are.

You swear to God that no amount of charm or title would ever compensate for how insufferable this duke is. How is he even your brother's best friend?

The warm glow of the lanterns illuminated the grounds of Vauxhall. Music drifted on the breeze, mixing with the chatter and laughter of the ton. The lively energy filled you with wonder as you walked amidst the glowing lights, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looked up the lights.

But that peace was short-lived.

“Lord Berbrooke’s baron lineage spans over 200 years,” Atticus’ familiar voice cut through the night, making you turn toward him. His expression was firm, his tone businesslike as he approached you. “He has no debts, and he’s quite skilled at hunting,” he continued, as if reciting from a list.

You blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about, Atti?”

Atticus didn’t give you the chance to fully process his words. He cut you off with a tone that brooked no argument. “Lord Berbrooke is legitimate. He will be good for you. You are to marry him.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy fog, your breath hitching in disbelief. “What?” you managed to say, your voice laced with protest. “Atticus, no—”

“Enough,” Atticus snapped, his gaze unwavering. “It’s done. You should be grateful. I had to find you a husband, and it would be far easier for everyone if you simply fell in love with him.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in frustration and disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. Without waiting for his response, you turned and marched off, your thoughts swirling in a haze of anger and fear.

You sought refuge in a quieter part of the gardens, the cheerful music and laughter fading into the distance. Among the hedgerows and moonlit paths, you paced back and forth, your mind racing. How could Atticus do this to you? Marry Lord Berbrooke? The idea was unthinkable.

But your stolen peace didn’t last long.

“Miss Bridgerton,” a voice called, startling you. You turned sharply to see none other than Nigel Berbrooke emerging from the shadows, his awkward gait and smug expression unmistakable.

You sighed heavily, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Nigel, not now,” you said sharply, rubbing your temples in exasperation.

“Oh, dropping the honorifics so soon, are we?” Nigel said with a chuckle, his grin widening. “I don’t mind. After all, I’ll be your husband soon enough.”

You glared at him, your voice icy. “You are not my husband, and I will never marry you. My brother he– he made a mistake.”

The smugness in Nigel’s face darkened, his demeanor shifting in an instant. He took a step closer, his tone lowering dangerously. “You’d do well to thank me,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m your last hope. No one else wants you, Miss Bridgerton.”

The words hit you like a slap, but your anger quickly burned brighter than your pain. “Let me go,” you warned as his hand suddenly gripped your arm.

He ignored you, his fingers tightening. “You should—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instinctively, your hand shot up, pinching his face with such force that he yelped in pain. Before you knew it, Nigel’s legs wobbled, and with a dull thud, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

You barely had time to catch your breath when a low chuckle broke the silence of the garden. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, that was an impressive facer you planted on poor Berbrooke.”

Your head snapped up to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a nearby tree, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a smirk of amusement.

You froze in place, panic bubbling to the surface. “Your Grace, this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammered, your words rushing out in a flurry. “He—he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t mean—”

Sebastian waved a hand, dismissing your explanation. “No need to explain,” he said, still smirking. “From where I’m standing, he clearly deserved it. Though I have to admit,” he added with a playful glint in his eyes, “I didn’t think you had such a powerful right hook.”

You were silent, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, and Sebastian seemed to notice your unease. His smirk softened as he straightened up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

The knot in your chest loosened slightly at the question, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. You told him everything: Atticus’ high-handed decision to marry you off to Berbrooke, his interference with all your suitors, and the cruel whispers of Lady Whistledown’s latest issue.

“She wrote about me being ineligible again,” you finished, your voice low and strained. “This is my second season. Atticus has scared away every single gentleman, and now no one will have me. I’m ruined.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment, his sharp eyes studying you. Finally, he said, “You deserve better than that.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter what I deserve. The entire ton sees me as damaged goods now. And thanks to Atticus, they might be right.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Not necessarily,” he said after a pause.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I have an idea. A plan. A ruse, if you will. It would benefit us both. You see, I’ve been fending off overzealous mamas and their persistent daughters since I arrived in London. They’ve been throwing themselves at me like moths to a flame, and frankly, it’s exhausting. You, on the other hand, need to make yourself... unavailable. Make the men of the ton want you again. And what better way to accomplish both than a little pretend romance?”

Your brow furrowed, his suggestion catching you off guard. “You’re suggesting that we—what, pretend to be courting?”

“Precisely,” Sebastian said, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Think about it. If everyone believes you’ve caught the attention of a duke, it will raise your desirability tenfold. As for me, it will keep the determined mamas and their daughters at bay.”

He continued in a persuasive tone, “We’ll both get what we wanted. Me, unavailable, you, desirable.”

You hesitated, your heart racing at the prospect. It was a daring plan, and yet... there was a certain logic to it. “And you think this will work?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Oh, it will work. But we’ll need to sell it. Starting now.”

Before you could respond, he offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You stared at him for a moment, your nerves bubbling to the surface. But then, with a deep breath, you placed your hand on his arm and allowed him to lead you back toward the lively Vauxhall scene.

The moment you stepped into view, the music and chatter seemed to dull as heads turned in your direction. The crowd’s gaze followed the two of you as Sebastian guided you onto the dance floor, his expression calm and confident.

Your heart pounded as he turned to face you, bowing slightly before taking your hand. “Just keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, your gaze locking with his as the music began. The dance started slowly, your movements tentative as you adjusted to the attention of the room. But Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible over the music. “Look at me as if you’re in love, Thea. And I’ll do the same. We need to make them believe it.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves still thrumming, but you followed his lead. The steps of the dance brought you closer together, your gazes locked as if the rest of the world had faded away. There was an unexpected intimacy in the way he looked at you, his eyes warm and reassuring.

“Good,” he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Now, imagine you’ve just heard the most wonderful compliment. Something that makes your heart flutter. Let it show on your face.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes slightly, but you did as he instructed, softening your expression as you gazed at him.

“There,” he said, his tone approving. “You’re a natural.”

The dance continued, and with each step, you felt your confidence grow. The room was watching, and for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel daunting.

When the music ended, Sebastian bowed to you, and you curtsied in return. The applause of the crowd seemed to echo around you, and as you glanced around, you saw the intrigued and impressed faces of the ton.

Sebastian offered you his arm again, leaning in slightly as he said, “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “It was... effective,” you admitted.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Because this is only the beginning.”

The park was alive with the hum of conversation, the laughter of children, and the rustle of parasols as the ton gathered for an afternoon of leisure. You sat with your family on a neatly arranged picnic blanket, trying to feign interest in the endless chatter around you. The previous night’s events still loomed large in your mind, no matter how much you tried to push them away.

Then, as if the day couldn't get more taxing, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Lady Bridgerton,” Sebastian greeted with his usual confident ease. His presence was impossible to ignore as he approached your family, his dark eyes locking on you. “Might I have the honor of promenading with Miss Bridgerton?”

You nearly groaned aloud but quickly masked it with a polite smile. Your mother, clearly pleased, didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied warmly, glancing at you. “Dorothea, dear, go on.”

You rose from your spot on the blanket, smoothing the front of your gown as you pasted on the brightest smile you could manage. “Your Grace,” you said, your voice level, though internally, you sighed.

Sebastian extended his arm, his smirk already in place. “Shall we?”

Taking his arm, you allowed him to lead you away from your family and the crowd of spectators, the two of you stepping into the designated promenade path. As soon as you were a safe distance away, the mask of propriety fell, and you glanced up at him with a knowing arch of your brow.

“Four balls,” he said abruptly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You scoffed, your brow furrowing. “Six,” you replied firmly. Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Four is plenty. I’ll not subject myself to more than that. Any more and it would look tedious.”

“Tedious?” you repeated indignantly. “You forget, Your Grace, that this arrangement isn’t just for your benefit. Six balls, and you’ll send flowers after each one. Expensive ones, mind you.”

“Expensive flowers?” he repeated, a laugh rumbling in his chest. You tilted your chin up, your tone sharp with sarcasm. “If you were truly courting me, you’d buy out every florist in town.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re relentless, Miss Bridgerton.” You gave him a pointed look. “And you’re insufferable, but I suppose we’re even.”

“Fine” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll agree to expensive flowers every day but we will only go to four balls together. Consider it my final offer.”

You rolled your eyes but reluctantly relented. “Fine. But this arrangement stays between us, especially after last night.”

His smirk faded, his expression softening. “You’re worried about Berbrooke?”

You nodded, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “If anyone finds out I was alone with two men last night, one of whom ended up unconscious, I’ll be completely ruined.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his tone steady as he replied, “No one will find out, Dorothea. I won’t allow it.”

Though his words were reassuring, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Still, as the promenade continued, you kept your focus on him. The eyes of the ton were on you both, whispers flitting through the air like the rustle of leaves.

“Keep your gaze on me,” Sebastian instructed under his breath. “Smile like you’ve just heard the most charming thing I’ve ever said.”

You arched a brow. “You’ve yet to say anything remotely charming.”

His grin widened, but he leaned in just enough to murmur, “Pretend, then. You’re quite good at that.”

Despite your nerves, you allowed yourself a soft laugh, your expression warming as you followed his lead. The whispers grew louder as the two of you returned to the center of the ton’s attention, a picture-perfect couple strolling with easy grace.

The drawing room was abuzz with the quiet activity of your family. You sat at the piano, letting your fingers glide over the keys as you played a light melody. Your brothers lounged on the sofas, and Heather sat poised with her embroidery in hand. Violet paced near the table, sharing her thoughts about last night’s events.

“Two dances? With the Duke?” Heather asked, her voice tinged with amusement and curiosity, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Your mother nodded, helping herself to a small snack. “He was quite taken with your sister, Heather. All eyes are on Dorothea.” She walked over to you, a plate of toast in hand, her expression warm and expectant.

You paused your playing just long enough to shake your head politely. “I’m not hungry, Mother.”

From behind you, Caleb’s teasing voice broke the moment. “Are you sure they’re not eyeing her because she dances funny?”

Before you could respond, Benjamin chimed in, his laughter low and mischievous. “Or perhaps a tear in her dress?”

Your fingers stilled on the keys as you turned sharply to glare at them, your patience wearing thin. “Very clever,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes before resuming your melody, determined to ignore them.

The peaceful atmosphere shattered moments later as Elisa burst into the drawing room, her face flushed with urgency. “How does a lady become with child?” she asked, her voice loud enough to make the entire room freeze.

Your hands stuttered over the keys, the abrupt question catching you completely off guard. Violet blinked, clearly startled, and stammered, “E-Elisa, what a question!”

You furrowed your brows, the question lingering in your mind. It was, admittedly, a good one.

Come to think of it, you actually have no idea what to do to have a child, or what the actual process is. All you know is it happens when you're married.

You turned toward your younger sister and, with genuine curiosity, said, “You need to be married, right?”

Elisa nodded vigorously. “Exactly! But what do you do to have a child?”

“Enough!” Violet interjected, her voice firm yet flustered. She quickly tried to redirect the conversation. “Elisa, that is more than enough. Dorothea, dear, you were playing so beautifully. Do continue.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to the piano, though the exchange was far from over. Elisa plopped herself onto the couch between Benjamin and Caleb, her questioning gaze now fixed on them. She nudged their arms, “I take it you two know the answer?”

Benjamin pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a smile. “Do not look at me,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

Caleb, on the other hand, grinned mischievously. “Have you ever visited a farm, El?”

Benjamin immediately smacked the back of Caleb’s head, his laughter barely contained. Violet’s glare was swift and sharp. “I hope you two are not encouraging improper topics of conversation.”

Benjamin held up his hands, his expression feigning innocence. “Not at all, Mother.”

Caleb, however, stood with a sly smile. “In fact, Benjamin and I were just about to take our sticks out—”

“Caleb Bridgerton!” Violet exclaimed, her tone scandalized.

Caleb laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “A round of fencing, Mother. A perfectly proper activity.”

Benjamin chuckled as he stood to join his brother. “Of course, Mother. Nothing improper.”

Their laughter trailed behind them as they left the drawing room, leaving you shaking your head and Violet muttering under her breath about the impropriety of her sons.

A footman stepped in, bowing slightly. “Callers for Miss Dorothea, ma’am,” he announced, his tone polite but carrying a hint of surprise.

You immediately stood, your face lighting up as you let out a squeal of delight. The plan was working, and it's working better than you could have imagined.

Violet looked up, her expression both pleased and puzzled. “But the Duke– he is already calling on you, dearest,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged playfully, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Well, I suppose now I have more callers,” you replied, your voice light with amusement.

Curious, your family crowded by the window, peering out at the astonishing sight. The usually serene street in front of your house was now bustling with carriages, footmen, and gentlemen waiting to call on you.

The once-empty drawing room was rapidly filling with visitors, each gentleman carrying lavish bouquets, some of which were already being arranged in vases by the maids.

Your little sister Heather nudges you with a smirk. “You’ve created quite the stir, sister,” she teased, her tone a mix of pride and mischief.

The atmosphere turned lively, the room filled with polite conversation, though you couldn’t ignore the nervous energy building within you. It was everything you and Sebastian had planned, but you hadn’t quite expected it to be this overwhelming.

You were indulged in conversations of multiple gentlemen each waiting patiently to get a turn to talk to you.

You didn't even notice your brother and Berbrooke entering the busy scene, too emerged in your conversations.

Nigel’s face turned red with fury as he took in the crowd of gentlemen surrounding you, the extravagant bouquets scattered around the room.

“This is outrageous,” Nigel muttered under his breath before turning to Atticus. “You said you wanted this handled quickly! You gave me your word, Bridgerton!”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, his tone firm,“And I intend to keep it,” he replied, his eyes scanning the room. Atticus turned to him, his expression unreadable. “For now, you must leave as well, Berbrooke. Along with everyone else.”

Nigel’s face twisted in anger. “What are you playing at, Bridgerton? You said—”

“I said,” Atticus interrupted, his voice low and authoritative, “that you are the only one I would consider for my sister. That decision has not changed. Now go.”

The door slammed shut with a finality that made you flinch, your heart pounding in your chest. Atticus stood before you and your siblings, his face dark with irritation, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “I should like to know what’s going on,” he said, his tone sharp as his gaze swept across the room.

Violet, clearly unimpressed by his entrance, snapped back, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowing. “I would like to know the very same. Perhaps we might begin with why you chose to interrupt such an exquisite morning?”

Atticus ignored her retort, pointing directly at you. “Because she’s already engaged to someone,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your mother’s expression changed in an instant, her surprise evident. She turned to you with wide eyes. “The Duke has already asked for your hand?”

You stepped forward, meeting her gaze, your voice firm as you shook your head. “I am not engaged, Mama.”

Atticus turned to you, his glare sharp and his voice warning. “Do not be disrespectful, sister.”

That was it. You’d had enough. The frustration that had been building all morning finally spilled over. “Disrespectful?” you said, your tone laced with disbelief and fury. “I can’t imagine a greater disrespect than what you’ve done to me! Promising me to Nigel Berbrooke without my permission?!”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Violet’s eyes widened, and she let out a horrified gasp. “Atticus, tell me you did not!”

“Oh, but he did, Mama!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with your anger.

Atticus cut you off, his tone defensive and resolute. “Nigel is a fine choice. I looked into him. He is well-connected, wealthy, and perfectly suitable.”

Violet’s voice rose, her disapproval evident as she addressed your brother. “You promised your sister to that man? Your sister has charmed a Duke, Atticus! You must know this changes everything.”

Atticus groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Do not tell me this little rebellion is because of Hastings,” he said dismissively.

“They are courting!” Violet shot back, her voice filled with certainty.

“They danced together!” Atticus countered, his voice rising with incredulity. “Caleb does the same with Pearl. That doesn’t mean they’re courting!”

“They promenaded together this morning,” Violet retorted, her tone sharp. “And he sent flowers—to both Dorothea and myself.”

“Expensive ones,” you interjected, crossing your arms as you met your brother’s glare.

Atticus sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache. “The Duke is not a serious suitor,” he said, his voice calmer but no less resolute. “I have known him since we were boys. He is my best friend, and I am well aware of him. The contract has already been drawn up. Dorothea is to marry Nigel.” His declaration was final, and without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the drawing room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

You stood frozen, your anger giving way to dread as you turned to your mother. “Mama…” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Violet moved toward you, her expression softening as she enveloped you in a reassuring hug. “Don’t worry, dearest,” she said with a confidence that you couldn’t quite share. “The Duke will handle this.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, but guilt gnawed at you. The entire arrangement with Sebastian was nothing more than a ruse.

There was no reason for him to intervene on your behalf, and you sure knew deep down that he wouldn’t.

Your arm is locked in Atticus’ in a ball. What is even new in this situation? It has always been this way.

As you entered, you were greeted by the sight of Lady Danbury, the formidable woman’s eyes gleaming with mischief as you face her.

Standing beside her is her nephew, none other than Sebastian Hastings. When his gaze lands on you, something playful sparks in his expression.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he says, bowing slightly. “A dance?”

Before you can speak, Atticus stiffens at your side, his mouth about to open but Lady Danbury with her matchmaking habits, interrupted.

“Oh, Lord Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury interrupts, her tone as smooth as the finest silk. “I do believe I saw a footman bring in a tray of ratafia. Be a dear and escort me to fetch a glass, won’t you?”

Atticus falters, clearly torn between his protective instincts and the commanding presence of Lady Danbury. She doesn’t wait for him to decide, linking her arm through his and steering him toward the refreshment table. You bite back a grin as they disappear into the crowd, leaving you blessedly free for the first time tonight.

Sebastian steps forward, extending his hand to you. “Shall we?”

You nod, slipping your hand into his. As he leads you to the dance floor, the weight you’ve carried all evening seems to lift. The music swells around you, and for the first time in far too long, you feel light. Truly light.

“I think,” you murmur as you take your places, “that we should make Nigel Berbrooke believe you’re on the verge of proposing.”

Sebastian raises a brow, a teasing smile curving his lips. “On the verge, you say? I’ll have to ensure I don’t lose my balance during this dance, then.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, the sound startlingly genuine. As the music begins, Sebastian’s hand rests lightly at your waist, guiding you effortlessly through the steps.

The rhythm of the waltz carries you both, and for the first time, you’re not counting the movements in your head or worrying about your posture.

“Are you always this insistent?” he asks, his voice low and playful as he spins you. “Six balls, expensive flowers, and now a proposal?”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with mock seriousness. “I only insist on what’s necessary, Your Grace.”

His laughter is quiet but rich, a sound that feels like it was made just for you to hear. As the dance continues, you notice the way his eyes linger on you, not just as part of the ruse, but as if he’s truly looking at you. The thought sends a strange flutter through your chest, one that you had hastily push aside.

The world around you fades, the crowd and their prying gazes melting away until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this…happy.

The ballroom, so often a source of dread and obligation, feels almost magical tonight. You don’t even care if Lady Whistledown is scribbling furiously in the corner, let her write what she will. For once in your life you are actually happy.

As the music swells toward its final notes, Sebastian leans in slightly, his voice a soft murmur near your ear. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, you do look rather convincing tonight. Almost like a lady truly in love.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze once more. His teasing smirk is there, of course, but beneath it, there’s something else. Something you don’t dare name. Your heart stirs, a traitorous thing, but you quickly force it back into submission.

“And you,” you reply with a lightness you don’t quite feel, “almost resemble a gentleman worth falling for.”

His grin widens, and as the final notes of the waltz play, he dips his head slightly, just enough to make it seem like a private moment. “Almost?”

The applause breaks out around you, and reality crashes back in. You step apart, but not before catching the amused glances of those watching. The dance has done its job. For now, you’ve ensured that the ruse will continue.

While Sebastian escorts you off the dance floor, you are wondering if it’s truly the ton you’re trying to convince… or yourself.

“Tell me, Hastings,” Atticus began, his voice low but sharp. He reached for a glass of wine, though his grip on the goblet betrayed his irritation. “Do you mean to embarrass my sister? Is this some elaborate jest at her expense?”

Sebastian leaned casually against the table, swirling his wine glass with deliberate ease. “Embarrass her? I wouldn’t dream of it, Bridgerton. In fact, I daresay I’ve done far less to harm her reputation than you have.” He tilted his head, his smirk biting. “Marrying her off to Berbrooke? That’s quite the choice.”

Atticus’ eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing at the insinuation. Before he could respond, another voice joined the fray.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Nigel Berbrooke’s figure waddled into view, his face red with indignation. He gestured animatedly, his words dripping with frustration. “I must insist you handle this situation at once. We had an agreement!”

Atticus exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. He turned to Berbrooke with a cold glare. “The matter is handled,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the din of the ballroom. “I’m just here to remind the Duke,” he added, casting a glance toward Sebastian, “that this is none of his concern.”

Sebastian arched a brow, clearly unfazed by the warning. His attention shifted to Berbrooke, the edges of his lips curling into a devilish grin. “None of my concern, you say? I beg to differ. After all, I find it rather curious that Lord Berbrooke here failed to mention the cause of his rather striking black eye.”

Berbrooke stiffened, his face paling as he instinctively reached to touch the faint purple bruise beneath his eye. “I… It’s nothing of consequence.”

Sebastian chuckled darkly, his gaze boring into Berbrooke. “Oh, but I think it is. Shall we tell Bridgerton how you earned it? Or shall we let him figure it out for himself?”

Atticus’ eyes darted between the two men, his suspicion growing. He stepped closer to Berbrooke, his voice a low growl. “What is he talking about, Berbrooke? What happened?”

Berbrooke faltered, his composure crumbling. “I—it was a misunderstanding,” he stammered.

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “A misunderstanding? You mean the part where you attempted to force Dorothea to return your affections in the gardens at Vauxhall? Resulting to her punching you and giving you that black eye?”

Atticus froze, his breath hitching as the weight of his best friend’s words sunk in. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and for a moment, the rage in his eyes was palpable.

He took a step toward Berbrooke, who immediately shrank back, “You—”

Sebastian moved swiftly, placing a firm hand on Atticus’ shoulder to restrain him. “Easy there, Bridgerton. Not here.”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, but he relented, stepping back with visible effort. His voice, however, remained icy and dangerous. “The agreement is nullified,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “I suggest you never show yourself again to my sister if you wish to avoid tasting the fists of me and my brothers. Is that clear?”

“I will bury you with my own hands if you so much as look in her direction, Berbrooke.” Atticus took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, before turning to Sebastian. “You knew about this.”

Sebastian met his gaze evenly. “I did. And I’m surprised you didn’t.”

Atticus’ face darkened, but he said nothing further, striding away from the table with Sebastian following closely behind.

As they walked, Atticus ran into you. You gave him a smile, a smile that fell when you noticed the storm in his eyes.

Atticus stopped in front of her, his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked at you with something almost resembling guilt. “Dorothea,” he began, his voice intense but apologetic, “You do not need worry about Berbrooke, he is handled now. You will not marry him.”

And without waiting for your reply, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy as though burdened by his thoughts.

Sebastian lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his expression, a knowing look that sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, realization dawning as you pieced together what had transpired.

He had protected you. Despite the charade, despite his reputation, Sebastian Hastings had stepped in to save you from ruin.

For the first time, you wondered if there was more to the Duke than you had originally thought of him.

Your hand rested delicately on Sebastian’s arm, your gloved fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve with every step.

The promenade was nothing out of the ordinary at first, a routine outing to keep appearances and escape the confines of the house.

You both are too engaged now in your conversation. “So your dream is to marry out of love and have children?” He asks to which you nodded in response, “I shall want to busy myself taking care of my husband, the house, and of course our children.”

Sebastian turned oddly silent, but you didn't press further.

“You know, my mama told me something curious the other day,” you began, glancing up at him, “that one should marry one’s best friend.”

Sebastian let out a hearty laugh, his deep voice vibrating through the air. “Your brother is my best friend. Am I to marry him, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the corners of your lips lifting despite your usual composure. “No, but I do wonder… Is that truly what marriage is all about? Friendship?”

His expression softened, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. “I imagine it’s a good start. Although, realistically, most marriages are more like battlefields.”

You furrowed your brows, pondering his words. “What I mean is, there are other things—physical or perhaps intangible—that bring a couple together.”

Sebastian arched an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Well, of course, there’s more to marriage—physical and intangible. Both.”

“Both?” you asked, a flicker of confusion and curiosity crossing your face. “But how could those two things coexist when they’re the exact opposite?”

His silence stretched for a moment, his gaze turning skyward as if searching for an answer in the clouds. Then, he laughed—a low, rich sound that sent heat creeping up your neck.

You folded your arms, pretending to pout as you quickened your pace. “Never mind. You’re a bully.”

Sebastian’s laughter grew louder, and he caught up with you in a few swift strides. “No, no, I’m not laughing at you,” he said, amusement laced in his tone. “I’m laughing at the absurdity of how little mothers tell their daughters.”

“They tell us nothing,” you admitted, glancing at him with a mix of irritation and intrigue.

He smirked. “I certainly can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place,” he replied, his tone suddenly more serious, his eyes locked on yours.

“In real courtship, yes,” you pressed, “it’s scandalous to discuss such things with a lady. But you’re not a real suitor. And besides, no one tells me anything. So how am I to find a proper husband if I don’t even know what I’m searching for?”

Sebastian hesitated, his jaw tightening as though weighing his next words carefully. “I cannot tell you.”

You stopped walking and turned to him fully, your voice dropping to a soft but firm tone. “I thought we were friends.”

“Dorothea…”

“Sebastian,” you said, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest, “tell me.”

His gaze flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—hesitation, temptation, and perhaps even desire. “What happens between a husband and a wife continues at night,” he said finally, his voice low and measured.

“At night?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “What happens at night?”

“When you are alone.”

You blinked, the meaning behind his words still eluding you. “When I am sleeping?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked into a small, almost predatory smile. “Not when you’re sleeping… When you touch yourself.”

The words sent a jolt through your entire body. Confusion and a strange sense of awareness rushed over you as you stared at him, your lips parting slightly.

“You do touch yourself, don’t you?” he asked, his voice soft yet undeniably suggestive. “When you’re alone, you can touch yourself anywhere on your body that gives you pleasure…” His eyes bore into yours, intense and unrelenting. “But especially between your legs.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, but the tension between you was undeniable. You quickly averted your eyes, unable to meet his as heat flushed your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Shall we continue our walk?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual as if nothing had transpired.

Without a word, you nodded and resumed walking, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, curiosity, and something else entirely, something you can't name.

The bustling café was alive with the hum of morning conversation, you had stepped out early with your maid to enjoy a simple breakfast.

That was, until you saw him.

Sebastian sat by the window, a steaming cup in hand, his gaze distant and contemplative.

You hesitated for only a moment before making your way over, your maid lingering behind at a discreet distance.

“Sebastian,” you greeted, your voice carrying that soft, cheery lilt you always used only with him.

He looked up at you then, and the warmth you’d grown accustomed to in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, measured expression that made you falter.

He straightened in his chair, his posture stiff and formal, as though he were a stranger greeting an acquaintance.

“It is time for us to stop all of this,” he said abruptly, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and for a moment, you were certain you had misheard him. “Stop all of what?” you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion.

Sebastian set his cup down with a deliberate clink, his gaze meeting yours with a sharpness that felt like a slap. “This… ruse. Whatever it is you think we have. It ends now.”

Your breath caught, and a lump formed in your throat as the weight of his words settled over you. “Sebastian, I don’t understand,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as though the very sight of you exhausted him. “You’ve misunderstood everything, Dorothea. We were never friends. You were merely… a convenience.”

The words struck you harder than you thought possible, and you stared at him, your chest tight with disbelief and hurt. “A convenience?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he continued. “You are clever and amusing, yes, but I indulged you because it was easier than refusing. That is all.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the room around you blurring into nothingness as your mind tried to reconcile the man before you with the Sebastian you thought you knew.

The one who made you laugh, who danced with you, the man who was always sweet, warm, and adorable with you, who teased you with a charm so disarming you hadn’t realized how deeply he had crept into your heart.

“Why are you saying this?” you asked, your voice breaking as tears stung your eyes.

“Because it is the truth,” he said firmly, though his gaze flickered for just a moment, betraying the conflict beneath his icy exterior.

He averted his gaze, unable to meet your hurt stare. “You have the attention of a prince,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but no less cutting. “A future far beyond anyone could offer. You should embrace it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak. It was all too much to process. Finally, you swallowed hard and straightened, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the ache in your chest.

“If that is what you truly think of me,” you said, your voice wavering but resolute, “then I have nothing more to say to you.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last as the tears threatened to spill. Your maid followed quickly behind, casting a concerned glance at you but saying nothing.

His heart aching, he longed for you for every step you took. For a moment, he even considered going after you to take back everything he said. But he remained still, assuring himself that this was for the best.

He is doing you a favor. It had to be done.

But you are about to make sure he's to regret this decision.

Everyone's heads inside the ballroom collectively turned toward the grand staircase at the same time, where she was descending.

You.

Star of the night. The prettiest among the ton. Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.

The lady who stood out in pure confidence rather than the usual timid attitude.

Sebastian stood still, his eyes, sharp and focused, latched onto the figure moving down the stairs as if drawn by an invisible force.

You glided down each step, your white dress a vision of pure grace. The delicate adornments along the neckline framed your features perfectly.

Your hair, styled elegantly, exposed the curve of your neck, making his throat tighten.

It was unbearable how beautiful you looked.

Sebastian could feel the room holding its collective breath, the crowd parting like the sea to make way for you. But his chest ached as he noticed the Prince of Prussia among them, his face alight with wonder as he stepped forward.

Sebastian’s eyes darken, his mind racing. He could see the way your lips curled into a soft smile, your head inclining slightly as you accepted the prince’s offer to dance.

The sight of that smile, the one that used to belong only to him, struck like a blade.

You moved with the prince to the center of the ballroom, your posture poised and practiced, each step a testament to the elegance you’d grown into.

But it wasn’t just the way you moved, it was the way the entire room seemed to orbit around you and the prince. Even the faintest flicker of your fan as it slipped from your hand seemed intentional, a moment of quiet magic.

The prince caught it swiftly, his smile widening as he returned it to you, and the applause that followed was thunderous.

To Sebastian, it felt like a declaration of your beauty, your worth, your unattainability.

When the music began, you danced.

It wasn’t just the movement; it was the connection, the way you flowed together as though the world beyond that ballroom didn’t exist. To the others, it was mesmerizing. To Sebastian? It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow as he tried to focus on anything but you. Yet his eyes betrayed him, constantly drawn back to the sight of you smiling, laughing, spinning in the arms of another man. A prince, no less.

He felt the longing rising in him like a tide, swallowing his resolve. Every curve of your movement, every flicker of emotion on your face. It was agony to behold.

He wanted to be the one guiding you, the one you looked at with such brightness in your eyes. But he knew he couldn’t. He had chosen this, hadn’t he? To step away, to give you to a world he thought he could never offer you.

But standing here now, watching you drift farther and farther from him, he could feel his decision breaking him.

His jaw clenched, even the hum of his own thoughts faded into silence as he turned away from the scene. He couldn’t bear to watch it any longer.

For the first time, Sebastian allowed himself to admit the truth that had been gnawing at him since the beginning.

He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. And now, he had to live with the knowledge that he would never have you.

But who's to blame? After all, it is his own decision that led him into this. His own decision to throw away what he had with you, because he let his fears from the past prevent him from ever imagining a marriage with you.

Could it be true? The failed Miss Bridgerton seems to be even more precious and rare a stone than previously thought due to her first season? For it now appears this treasure is set to join the likes of the queen's ever-so-cherished crown jewels themselves. The Duke of Hastings I heard was left looking rather tongue tied last night, as Miss Bridgerton seems to have finally grown tired of waiting for him to pose that all-important question. Or, perhaps, the young miss has simply traded up. Surprising? Quite. Unreasonable? Of course not. After all, why settle for a Duke when one can have a prince?

Sebastian wandered into the halls of his estate, his gaze scanning the assortment of items yet to be packed. His eyes halted on a canvas propped up against the wall.

It was a painting.

His mother's favorite painting.

He frowned, stepping closer. “What is that doing here?”

His right-hand man, Henry, appeared from behind a crate, a list in hand. “The painting, your grace?”

“Yes, Henry. The painting. I distinctly remember donating it to the gallery months ago.”

Henry hesitated before clearing his throat. “You did, your grace. But... you also ordered it to be returned to you not long after. It was no easy feat to retrieve it, I might add.”

Sebastian stared at the canvas, his brows furrowing. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall making such a request. But as he studied the painting, the memory came rushing back like a strong wave hitting him in the face.

The day Dorothea had stood by his side, her eyes alight with admiration.

“This one is beautiful,” she had said, her voice soft yet full of conviction.

Sebastian had tilted his head at the painting, unimpressed. “It’s my mother's favorite painting according to Lady Danbury. Not that I'd know, she was no longer around after giving birth to me.”

“It's empty,” he had replied. “There’s nothing there. Just a field, a tree, and a vague attempt at depicting the glow of sunlight amidst the sky. It’s boring.”

Dorothea had turned to him then, her brows arched in disbelief. “You see nothing?”

“I see what’s there. A field. A tree. Some paint trying to be sunlight.” He had smirked, expecting her to laugh at his cynicism.

But instead, Dorothea had shaken her head, stepping closer to the canvas, her eyes drinking in every brushstroke. “There’s more to it than what the eyes see, Sebastian. You have to feel the art.”

“Feel it?” he had echoed, amused. “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to feel?”

She had smiled then, a wistful curve of her lips that had taken his breath away. “It’s the feeling of being free,” she had said, her voice quieter, as if confessing a secret. “Of living a peaceful life, far away from the judgment of the sun, from the crushing expectations of society. It’s just... being. Being yourself, at peace with the world.”

He had stared at her, the painting forgotten as her words settled over him like a balm he hadn’t realized he needed.

In that moment, it wasn’t the painting he envied. It was her. Her ability to see beauty in simplicity, to long for something as pure as freedom when all he could see was duty and expectation.

Now, his fingers absentmindedly grazed the edge of the frame, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name.

He swallowed hard. “Have it packed,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm within him.

Henry gave a short nod and returned to his task.

As the Prince Friedrich guided you through another perfect dance, with eyes brimming with intention, you felt trapped. Each step was a chain pulling tighter, each smile he gave was a reminder of the question you knew was coming.

And then, his gaze softened, tender yet sharp, as though he had already decided. “I know we've only known each other for a short period of time, but I feel something for you. And if you'd grant me the honor of–” Panic swelled in your chest like a rising tide as you realize he's about to propose.

“I— I need a drink,” you lied as you hurriedly removed your hands on him and took a step back, bowing politely with a tight trembling smile. “I am parched. Please excuse me.”

Before he could respond, you turned, walking briskly away from the glowing ballroom, away from the music and the eyes of the ton. And when the fresh air of the night hit your face, the tears came. Silent at first, then spilling over uncontrollably as you stumbled into the quietness of the night.

You tried to stifle the sobs, clutching the wrought-iron railing of the fountain as if it could anchor you. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t. A marriage built on wealth, duty, and pretense wasn’t the life you imagined for yourself. You wanted love, a love you grew up with, like your Mama's and Papa’s before.

But then, a voice broke through your haze.

“Dorothea,” came the soft, low timbre. Your body stiffened, recognizing it instantly. The voice you love so much.

You turned sharply to find Sebastian standing in the shadows, his face a mixture of regret and longing.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger, frustration, and the vulnerability you hated to show him.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, his words measured yet heavy with meaning.

“For what?” you demanded. “What is the purpose of your apology? You already made it perfectly clear. We were never friends. That is what you said.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening to speak, but you shook your head fiercely, cutting him off.

“Do not bother me, Your Grace,” you said bitterly, wiping angrily at your tears. “I am to marry the Prince of Prussia. I am going to be a princess.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “Really?” he said, his voice a low murmur, tinged with disbelief and something softer, aching.

You looked away, as though his gaze burned too bright. “Yes,” you answered. “He is perfect. A good, honest man of high status. He will be a good father. He will—”

“Is that the truth?” Sebastian interrupted, stepping closer. “Or the lie you’re forcing yourself to believe?”

His words shattered the fragile wall you’d tried to build, leaving you utterly exposed. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You spun around and rushed toward the garden, the tears blurring your vision again as you fled further into the night.

“Dorothea, stop,” he called after you, his voice pleading. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Go away!” you cried, refusing to look back. But you could hear his footsteps behind you, relentless.

“Dorothea, please,” he said again, closer now. “It’s unsafe. You shouldn’t—”

“Why do you care?” you shouted, whirling around to face him, your chest heaving. “You told me we were nothing. You—”

But you didn’t finish. Because Sebastian was standing so close now, his face inches from yours, and the intensity in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could think, before either of you could think, he reached for you, his hands firm but tender as he spun you around and pulled you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate, aching, and all-consuming, like he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into you.

His lips moved against yours with a passion that left no room for doubt, no room for air, his hands wasted no time into pulling you closer and roaming on your beautiful curves underneath your dress.

Your hands found their way to his chest, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself, to feel the wild, erratic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

You felt your whole body becoming warmer as though it had been set on fire, you held the back of Sebastian's neck as he raised one of your leg and held it around his waist, your hips immediately grinding against his, the friction not even enough to satisfy the ache in your core.

You want him. You need him.

In ways that you imagined when you touch yourself every night at the thought of him ever since he taught you how to.

His kisses trailed down to your neck, sucking aggressively, as if he wants to mark you and ruin you for everyone else.

But there's a sound of hurried footsteps that cut through the hushed sounds you and him are making, and before either of you could react, Atticus’ voice thundered like a crack of lightning.

“Bastard!”

You barely had time to pull back from Sebastian’s arms when Atticus’ fist collided with Sebastian’s jaw, sending him stumbling to the ground. The sound of the impact echoed, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched in horror.

“Atticus, no!” you cried, rushing forward, but he's too deep in his fury, you can't pull him back.

“You dare lay a hand on my sister!” he roared, bringing another punch down on Sebastian, who did little to defend himself. The force of it sent him sprawling onto the gravel path, blood dripping from his split lip.

“Stop it! Please!” you pleaded, grabbing at Atticus’ arm, finally pulling him away. “It’s enough! Stop!”

Sebastian pushed himself up onto his elbows, and slowly stood back up, his face bloodied and bruised, yet somehow calm.

Too calm.

“You will marry her,” Atticus said, his voice deadly quiet now, every word laced with finality. “You will marry her and make this right.”

“Brother–” but before you could even protest, he silenced you, “He dishonored you, sister.”

You glanced at Sebastian, there was no anger in his expression, no defiance, only guilt. And something deeper, something hollow. And you can't figure out what it is.

“I cannot marry her,” Sebastian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The world seemed to crumble as the words sank in. You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully.

“What?” Atticus said, his tone sharp with disbelief, “You defiled my sister's honor and now you refuse her hand?!”

“I can’t,” Sebastian repeated, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and filled with something you still can't name.

Atticus stepped forward, his hand twitching at his side as though he might strike him again. “Then you leave me no choice, we will settle this at dawn. A duel.”

“Atticus, no!” you cried, your voice breaking.

“It must be done,” Atticus said firmly, his gaze never leaving Sebastian’s.

Sebastian nodded once, silent. He didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He simply stood there, still as a statue, while your world fell apart around you.

You turned to him, your voice trembling with disbelief. “You’d rather die than to marry me?”

Sebastian flinched, the words cutting through him like a blade. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His chest burned with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved a life free of his demons, that his past haunted him too deeply to ever love you the way you should be loved.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice heavy with unshed tears.

Atticus grabbed your arm, his touch firm but not unkind, and began leading you away. You glanced back over your shoulder, hoping, praying that Sebastian would say something, do something to stop you.

But he didn’t. He simply stood there, watching as you were escorted away, his fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of anguish.

As the garden fell silent, Sebastian’s legs buckled, and he sank back onto the ground, staring at the blood on his hands.

His past swirled around him like a storm, the shadows of every misery he went through whispering into his ears.

He thought of you, your laughter, your light, your touch. And he thought of the way you looked at him tonight, the way you kissed him back, as if he were your entire world.

He wanted to hold onto that moment forever. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Because he was not the man you deserved.

The ballroom lights felt blinding as Atticus led you back inside. Your legs felt unsteady, your heart still racing from the recent events. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, your mind a whirlwind of pain and disbelief.

You didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes, though you could feel their curious stares following you.

Atticus kept his composure, his face set in an expression of calmness, but you knew him well enough to sense the storm beneath.

When you reached your mother and siblings, Atticus spoke quickly, his tone polite but firm. “Dorothea is unwell,” he said, his words calculated and careful. “She has a headache, and I believe it’s best I escort her home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed with concern, her hand reaching out to touch your arm. “A headache, dearest? Are you sure it’s not something more? You look pale.”

You could barely form the words, the lump in your throat growing heavier by the second. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice cracked. “I just need to rest.”

Your mother nodded, though worry lingered in her eyes. “Of course, darling. Let Atticus take you.”

Just as Atticus began to guide you toward the exit, a voice sliced through the din of the ballroom, low but sharp enough to catch your attention.

“Whatever happened to you in the garden, Miss Bridgerton?”

Your steps faltered, and your breath stopped for a moment as you turned. Cressida Cowper stood there, her lips curled in a smile that was far from friendly. Her gaze bore into yours with a cruel gleam, her words heavy with implication.

Your heart plummeted, and a cold dread seeped into your chest. She knew. Someone had seen you and Sebastian.

Atticus’ grip tightened slightly, his attention snapping toward Cressida with a glare, though he said nothing. He couldn’t say anything without drawing more attention.

Your breathing quickened, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your dress. The walls seemed to close in around you, the vibrant music and laughter of the ball fading into a dull roar in your ears.

“Come,” Atticus said as he began to lead you away once more. But the damage was done. Someone had seen you and your reputation is about to be damaged if Cressida decides to run her mouth.

You became sleepless at night, turning and tossing on your bed until dawn came. Your mind reeled as you imagined the outcome. One of them is bound to die, and it's either your brother, or the love of your life. Either would shatter you nonetheless.

By the time the pale light of dawn started to sleep through your windows, you could no longer bear the agony. Your brother already warned you beforehand not to get in the middle of it, but you seriously cannot just sit there and wait for disaster to strike.

No, you have to disobey your brother. You have to interrupt.

Throwing on a coat over your nightgown, you quietly went out of your room and tiptoed hurriedly down the stairs.

The house was still quiet, the servants not yet up and about round the house. Perfect time to go out without being noticed.

There was no time for a carriage, so you ran straight for the stables, heart pounding in rhythm along with your footsteps. Your horse, a sleek white mare, whinnied softly as you approached.

“Steady, girl,” you whispered, fumbling with the reins. “We need to move quickly.” You wasted no time, mounting the horse and spurring it into a gallop. You prayed under her breath, over and over again: “Please let me get there in time.”

The moment you finally arrived, the scene before you made your blood run cold. Atticus stood a short distance away, his pistol already pointed to Sebastian, his expression one of anger. Sebastian on the other side, is armed but his gun is pointed upwards, standing tall, his face a mask of calm like he has accepted this fully.

Benedict and Giovann stood to the side, their expressions grave, while a man you didn’t recognize who is likely a friend of Sebastian, all watched in silence.

You were too late.

“No!” you yelled, urging your horse forward with reckless speed in between them.

Atticus’ arm jerked in surprise at your sudden appearance. His pistol was already mid-trigger, the shot ringing out like a thunderclap, but he managed to divert the direction of the gun upwards.

Your horse reared, startled by the sound, and you barely managed to cling on before you were harshly thrown to the ground with a painful thud.

Gasps echoed around you as the horse bolted, leaving you sprawled, your breath knocked from your lungs.

“Dorothea!” Atticus’ voice boomed as he ran to her side. Sebastian was there in an instant too, his face pale with panic as he knelt beside her.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked urgently, his hands hovering near her as though afraid to touch her.

“Perfectly fine,” you answered sarcastically, pushing yourself up with a wince. “All thanks to you idiots.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. Your brother, meanwhile, looked utterly exasperated, though there was an unmistakable relief in his expression as well.

“What do you think you're doing getting in the middle of a duel?” Atticus demanded, his tone sharp but his eyes displayed concern.

You shot him a look that could have melted steel. “I need a moment with the Duke,” you firmly said, brushing dirt from your coat.

“Absolutely not,” his tone brooking no argument. You turned to him, gaze fierce and voice steady. “I need a moment with the Duke.”

“Dorothea—”

“Atticus.” Your voice was cold, commanding in a way. You're to stand up to your brother now in order to save both of them from this madness. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Finally, with a growl of frustration, Atticus threw up his hands. “Fine. A moment,” he said, giving a warning look to Sebastian before stepping back to join the others.

Dorothea turned to Sebastian, her heart pounding not from fear, but from the weight of what she was about to say. He stood there, tense and quiet, his expression unreadable.

The tension between them crackled in the cold morning air as they stood face to face, the world around them fading into silence.

You walked away to create a distance away from the others while Sebastian follows you.

Now, it was just you and him.

“Someone saw us,” you began, your voice trembling but firm. Sebastian’s gaze snapped to yours, his expression guarded yet already tinged with a flicker of pain.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, “Cressida Cowper. She knows.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

“If she decides to tell anyone what she saw—” your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to push through, “—it will ruin me. My reputation, my life, my family’s honor. It will all be over.” You felt a tremor of desperation rising in your chest as you stepped closer to him, searching his face for a reaction. “You need to marry me.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with anguish, his lips parting to speak before he clenched his jaw shut. He looked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No,” he finally said, his voice barely audible.

The word hit you like a physical blow, and you took a step back, disbelief and hurt rippling through you. “No?” you repeated, your voice shaking.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “I cannot,” he said softly, the words laced with sorrow.

“Why?” The question burst from you, your voice raw and desperate. Your heart felt as though it were splintering apart, piece by piece, as you stared at him. “Why are you so determined to refuse me? Have I been so intolerable to you? So unworthy of your affection? Tell me, Sebastian! What have I done wrong? I swear to you I will fix it! Why don't you love me?!”

He raised his head, and the look in his eyes, haunted, pained, yet filled with unspoken longing, his voice was quiet but heavy with emotion, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then why?” you demanded, tears brimming in your eyes. “Why do you refuse me? Why do you push me away, knowing the cost?!”

Sebastian took a deep breath, “Because I cannot give you what you want,” he said finally, his voice thick with guilt.

You froze, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “What I want?” you echoed faintly.

“You want marriage,” he said, his tone cracking with emotion. “You want a family—children. That is your dream, Dorothea. And it should be. You would be a wonderful mother, and I would never want to take that from you.” He swallowed hard, his voice faltering. “But I can’t give you that. I can’t give you children.”

His confession hung in the air in silence. You stood motionless, as you struggled to process what he had just admitted.

So that is the reason. That is why he's so adamant in keeping you so close yet so far.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his shame. “This is why I can’t marry you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I won’t trap you in a life where your greatest dreams are denied.”

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but it wasn’t from rejection. No, it was from the realization of just how deeply he cared for you, enough to deny himself the very thing he wanted most.

And yet, as his words sank in, so did your own truth. Maybe you don't care after all.

“Dorothea,” Atticus’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts, “Enough of this. It's getting brighter, we have to hurry or someone might see us.”

Sebastian turned away from you, his face once again closed off, as if retreating back into himself, still stubborn. He moved to follow Atticus.

But something inside you refused to let this moment end like this. If Sebastian is this stubborn and firm, then you will be too.

"There is no need," you said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Atticus turned, frowning, while Sebastian froze in place, his back still to you.

"The Duke and I are to be married," you declared, your voice ringing out in the still morning air. Everyone froze, Atticus’ expression was one of utter shock, while Sebastian turned to you slowly, his face pale and stricken.

You met Sebastian’s gaze, your heart pounding, but you're not gonna back down. You knew what you were doing. You knew what you wanted. And you weren’t going to let fear or convention take it from you.

Even if it meant forcing Sebastian’s hand, you would fight for the love you knew was worth everything.

When you informed your mama about the news, she was overjoyed. She wished for nothing but your happiness and for you to find the true love you have always wanted, and now you're getting married to the Duke, the man she can clearly see that stares at you with a look of love.

This news spread faster than wildfire and it reached the Queen's ears in no time.

And when your license request to marry immediately came back denied, by no other than the Queen, you already know the reason why. She's upset with you for misleading her nephew.

So you found yourself standing before Queen Charlotte, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

The Queen sat perched on her throne, her piercing gaze fixed on you and Sebastian.

“It seems like your license to marry has been denied,” the Queen said, her tone sharp and impatient. She gestured with a flick of her hand, commanding attention. “Well, plead your case.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, curtsying with poise. “Your Majesty, while I appreciate the attention from your nephew, the Prince Friedrich of Prussia, I simply cannot ignore my long-standing affection for the Duke.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, a look of utter boredom spreading across her face. She sighed deeply, clearly unconvinced by what she must have deemed an overly practiced excuse.

You felt the pressure mount, but you pushed forward. “You see, Your Majesty, it was love at first sight—”

Sebastian suddenly interrupted, his deep voice cutting through your words like a blade. “It is not!”

Startled, you turned to look at him, but his gaze was locked on the Queen. There was an intensity in his expression that both alarmed and captivated you.

“It was not love at first sight for either of us,” he admitted, his voice firm yet steady. “At first, we didn’t like each other. Miss Bridgerton finds me annoying, presumptuous, arrogant…fairly so. Not to mention she is the sister of my best friend, so romance was immediately out of the question.”

The Queen’s brow raised slightly, but she did not interrupt.

Sebastian continued, his words now softer, as if revealing a part of himself he had long kept hidden. “But we found something else instead. Friendship. We’ve been fooling everyone with the ruse of us courting to drive away eager debutants and to attract more suitors for her, but in reality, we simply enjoy each other’s company so much that it became difficult to stay away from one another. I was never a man fond of flirting, let alone talking. But with Dorothea—Miss Bridgerton—conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy.”

You felt your breath hitch as his words sank in, your shock mirrored in the way your eyes widened slightly.

“To meet a beautiful woman is one thing,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful woman is something entirely apart.”

The silence in the chamber was deafening. Even the Queen seemed to lean forward slightly, her skepticism fading.

“And it is with my sincerest apologies to Prince Friedrich,” Sebastian concluded, his voice resolute, “that I must say it took his arrival to make me realize I do not want Miss Bridgerton as my friend. I want her to be my wife. So now, I plead with you, Your Majesty, do not make us wait.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You stared at Sebastian, your heart both aching and soaring at his declaration. Never had you expected this flood of honesty, this raw admission from the man who had always seemed so guarded.

Queen Charlotte regarded you both for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she leaned back against her throne with a small, approving smile. “You are wise, and lucky enough to understand that friendship is the strongest foundation for marriage.”

Her voice was calm, but her words carried a finality that brought tears of relief to your eyes.

“I shall grant you your license,” she declared, her gaze sweeping over you both, “for an immediate wedding. In three days.”

The weight in your chest lifted as the Queen’s words settled over you, and you turned to Sebastian. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation.

The wedding soon came in just a blink of an eye.

You stand in the small bridal room, your hands trembling slightly as your maid tightens the delicate lace of your gown. The reflection in the mirror reveals your radiant beauty, but your heart is not as steady as your outward appearance.

You glance at your brother, Atticus, standing to the side.

“You still have time to change your mind,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual.

You shake your head. “I love him, Atticus. No matter what lies ahead, I know I would regret it forever if I didn’t marry him.”

Atticus looks at you, his jaw tightening slightly, but he nods. “Then let’s get you to the altar.”

The doors open, and the weight of every gaze in the church falls upon you. The sound of the organ swells, a melody of promise and solemnity. As you take your first step forward, your heart pounds, not from fear, but from the gravity of what this moment means. You look ahead, and there he is.

Sebastian stands at the altar, his face unreadable at first, though his lips press together as if trying to hold back his real emotions. His hair is perfectly combed, his tailored suit fitting him as if it were made by the hands of fate itself. Yet, what strikes you most is his eyes. They meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, his guard slips. In that single look, you see his vulnerability, his longing, and his unspoken fear.

As you move closer, each step feels heavier with the weight of your emotions, but also lighter, as if being drawn toward him by an invisible thread. When you finally reach him, Atticus gently places your hand into Sebastian’s. His hand is warm, though there’s a subtle tremble.

The ceremony begins, and the words of the officiant blend into a distant hum as your focus narrows only on him. When it comes time for the vows, Sebastian clears his throat, his voice lower than usual but steady.

“I take thee, Dorothea,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours, “to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.” His voice breaks slightly at the last words, and for a moment, you see the depth of his emotions laid bare.

Your voice wavers as you repeat your vows, but the conviction in your words carries through. “I take thee, Sebastian, to be my husband. To have and to hold… in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.”

As the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, there is no hesitation. Sebastian lifts your veil with a gentleness that makes your breath catch. The moment his lips meet yours, the world seems to still, and all your fears and doubts were forgotten.

The reception was bustling with laughter, chatter, and the faint clinking of glasses as the Bridgerton household celebrated your marriage.

You stood near the edge of the room, silently nibbling on grapes. Your gaze kept drifting toward Sebastian, who remained at a distance, engaged in conversation with various guests.

He looked just as distant as you felt. Not a word had been exchanged between the two of you since the ceremony, and the weight of the silence gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the sweetness of the fruit as Atticus approached you from behind, standing beside you.

“I spoke to the Duke,” he announced casually, taking a sip from his glass.

You let out a dry chuckle, barely hiding your frustration. “That makes one of us.”

Atticus raised a brow, his humor undeterred. “He refused your dowry.”

“Is this your attempt to raise my spirit?” you replied, your tone clipped, though you knew he meant well.

He smiled faintly. “He refused your benefit, sister. I shall put the money in trust, so you may use it how you see fit. For your children, perhaps. Certainly, you two will have a brood large enough to put Mother’s to shame.”

His jest should have brought some comfort, but instead, you felt a sharp tightening in your chest. Right, children. You struggled to breathe, your vision blurring as the room suddenly felt stifling.

Atticus noticed immediately, concern etching across his face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I am... This is all...” Your words were halting, your lungs feeling as though they’d collapsed under the weight of it all. “I must take a moment. Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and hurried toward the staircase, your legs carrying you upstairs as your mind raced.

When you reached the privacy of your room, you collapsed onto the couch at the foot of your bed, clutching the fabric as though it could anchor you. Your breaths were shallow, your hands trembling as you slowly composed yourself.

A soft knock interrupted you, and Rose, your maid, peeked inside with a smile. “Miss? It is time, they are bringing the carriages around.”

You took a deep breath, it is indeed time, you are to leave the house.

“Well, perhaps I can come with you,” Giovann suggested, his tone light and teasing as he walks alongside you, “I’ve always wanted to live in a castle.”

Before you could respond, Heather, who's walking on your other side, interjected. “If Dorothea is going to take anyone with her, Giovann, it will be me.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at their antics and pulled you into a tight hug. “The two of you are staying here until our dear sister allows us to visit.”

Benjamin stepped forward, his smile a mix of humor and sentiment. “You mean, if she allows us to visit. I’m quite sure you’ll enjoy the peace and quiet, sister.” He hugged you warmly, his words softened by genuine affection.

You smiled at them all, your heart swelling with love and sorrow. Although as chaotic as they can be, you'll miss them. “I’m going to miss all of you. Terribly.”

Atticus quirked a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Even me?” You laughed softly, pulling him into a hug. “Even you.” You kissed his cheek, and he chuckled.

Your gaze landed on Elisa, and you couldn’t help but joke through the emotion. “I’m going to miss my sister... and my enemy.” Elisa let out a laugh, shaking her head as she stepped into your embrace. “Goodbye, Dorothea.” You whispered, “Goodbye, Elisa,” holding her tightly.

Finally, your mother approached, she looks composed but the hint of sadness in her eyes betrays her as she embraces you. “Write to me as soon as you arrive, dear.” You nodded, hugging her back. “Of course, Mama.”

She reached out to cup your cheek gently. “You’re going to be a wonderful Duchess. You’re no longer Miss Dorothea Bridgerton, you’re now Duchess Dorothea of Hastings.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the gate and walked toward the waiting carriage. Sebastian stood near it, his eyes fixed on you. He gave you a slight nod, waiting patiently as you approached.

You glanced back at your family one last time, offering a faint wave from the windows of the carriage.

Sebastian offered you his hand as you got off the carriage. You looked at the grand estate with wide eyes and a smile, completely amazed at the beautiful castle.

The grand doors of the castle opened to reveal the long line of servants, all standing neatly in formation to welcome their new Duchess.

One by one, they bowed and curtsied, their smiles warm and respectful. The butler at the front, an older gentleman, stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. “Welcome home, your majesties. It is an honor to serve you both.” You offered a polite smile, though your heart still felt heavy from the farewells earlier. “Thank you.”

“This is Fred, he's been a loyal servant to the family for years.” Sebastian introduced. “Please, this way,” the butler said, gesturing for you and Sebastian to follow him inside.

The interior of the estate was breathtaking, immaculate even. The sort of place that looks straight out of a painting. As the butler led you up the grand staircase, you couldn’t help but glance at Sebastian, who remained silent and unreadable. “Both rooms are cleaned and prepared, Your Grace,” the butler said over his shoulder, continuing up the corridor.

You furrowed your brows, confused, and leaned slightly closer to Sebastian as you walked. “Both rooms?” you whispered.

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed ahead. “I forgot to inform you,” he said evenly, his tone detached. “We are to stay in separate rooms.”

You blinked, taken aback at what you just heard. Your mouth opened in disbelief. “On our wedding night?!”

Sebastian remained quiet, offering no explanation, no defense. The realization hit you like a cold splash of water, and you straightened your posture, forcing a small, bitter laugh. "Right... I don’t know why I did not expect this."

The butler stopped at a set of doors, each on opposite sides of the hall. He gestured first to the left. “This will be your room, Duchess,” he said, addressing you with a polite smile. He then gestured to the right. “And this will be yours, Duke,” he added, looking at Sebastian. “Thank you,” Sebastian said curtly, already moving toward his door.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two rooms, the space making your heart ache. You forced a smile to the butler and nodded before stepping into your room, closing the door softly behind you. The lavish room was beautiful, every detail meticulously arranged to exude elegance and comfort. Yet you feel no excitement nor any ounce of happiness for it.

You let out a long, shaky breath, this is it. This is your new reality. A love marriage indeed, but a one-sided kind.

What a life, so much for happily ever after.

You sat on the edge of your bed when a soft knock at the door disturbed you. Rising reluctantly, you made way to the door and opened it, revealing Sebastian standing there.

“We should go down to dinner,” he said formally.

You turned away without answering, retreating back into the room, your frustration bubbling.

“Thea?” he called after you, his voice softer now. “You’re not hungry?”

You stopped in your tracks, your back still to him, your shoulders stiff as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “I do not want any dinner,” you replied, your voice sharper than intended.

Silence stretched between you, until you could no longer hold your thoughts inside. “I’ve spent the last three days wanting to be alone with you,” you began, your voice trembling.

You turned slowly to face him, meeting his gaze with a mix of anger and pain. “Wanting to talk to you. Wanting to know you.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, your words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I understand that you do not wish to see me. That you would prefer to stay in your separate room and endure a wordless dinner together on our wedding night.”

“That is not what I prefer,” Sebastian said softly, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Sebastian,” you interrupted, your voice sharper now, laced with frustration.

“You are mistaken,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You shook your head, disbelief flashing in your eyes. “You have avoided my presence,” you accused, your voice rising with the hurt you could no longer contain.

“In order to allow you your liberty,” he replied, his gaze steady.

“You’ve said all but a few words to me,” you pressed, stepping closer, anger overtaking your hurt.

“In order to keep myself from saying the wrong things,” he countered, his tone softening, as if he were pleading with you to understand.

“You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly as the pain welled up inside you.

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, you saw something crack in his carefully constructed facade. “Because I could not bear witness to the misery I have caused you,” he admitted, his voice quiet, heavy with regret.

You froze, your breath catching. “You did not… I am the one who trapped you into this marriage,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I trapped you,” he replied, shaking his head slowly, his expression one of deep self-reproach. “I have spent the last three days in agony. Unable to talk to you. Unable to be alone with you. Because I knew you wanted nothing to do with me. And understandably so, after forcing you to make an unimaginable sacrifice.”

He took a slow breath, his dark eyes meeting yours with painful honesty. “You wanted a life with children. A family. You wanted a life with a man you truly knew. You wanted a love match. And yet—”

“And yet,” you interrupted, bitterness creeping into your tone as you turned away from him, your hands trembling as you began to fold the clothes from your travel trunk. “This could not be any more different. Is that what you hope to say?”

You kept your back to him, focusing on the task in front of you as the tension in the room grew unbearable. “I shall join you for dinner momentarily,” you said at last, your tone clipped, dismissing him to shield yourself from further hurt.

Sebastian didn’t move. The silence stretched between you until it was nearly suffocating.

“Everything I told the Queen was true,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of you. From the mornings to the evenings. To the dreams you inhabit. My thoughts of you never end.”

Your movements halted. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your brows drawn together in confusion.

Sebastian stepped closer, “I am yours, Thea,” he said firmly, every word laced with sincerity. “I have always been yours.”

You turned to face him fully, your heart pounding in your chest, his words echoing in your ears. “I do not understand,” you whispered, your voice shaky, as if you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling with every passing second. His expression twisted with frustration, and his tone even turned harsh as he said, “I do not know how to be any clearer.”

You flinched slightly, your eyes softening as you took in his agitated state. “Do not get angry,” you said softly, your tone a quiet plea.

“I am not angry. I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply as if trying to steady himself.

You studied him, your gaze tracing the tension in his jaw, the flush spreading across his cheeks. “You look angry and bothered,” you said gently, tilting your head. “Look at you. You are downright flushed.”

“Yes, that is what happens—” he began, his voice rising slightly in exasperation.

“When one is angry,” you interjected, matter-of-factly, your tone almost teasing despite the heavy emotions hanging in the air.

“No!” Sebastian snapped but not in a mean way. “When one burns for someone who does not feel the same.”

His words hung between you, a revelation that stole your breath away. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you stared at him, your chest tightening. “Y-you burn for me…?” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the tension in his body visibly releasing as if he had been holding his breath. “Why do you think I followed you into that garden?” he asked, his tone softer now but still heavy with intensity.

Your pulse raced as you stepped closer to him, your eyes searching his for any trace of doubt. “Why do you think I went into that garden?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your words filled with urgency.

He faltered, his expression shifting to one of confusion and hope.

“If you would have only looked at me this week for longer than two seconds,” you continued, finding your courage, “you would have seen. It is you I cannot sacrifice.”

You took another step closer, the truth spilling out of you, uncontrolled. “I burn for you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking in and finally made him snap.

You barely had time to breathe before he closed the space between you, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips crashed against yours.

He quickly picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to your bed not so far away without breaking the kiss.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was messy, unrestrained, like he’d been starving for you, and now there was no holding back.

His lips moved over yours with fierce urgency, parting them effortlessly. His tongue slid inside your mouth, tangling with yours that sent a jolt of fire through your veins.

Your back hit the soft mattress, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was him. His hands gripping your waist, his lips demanding, claiming, pulling every shred of air from your lungs.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp before soothing the sting with a slow, deliberate lick that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clung to him, your hands threading into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, guttural sound from his throat. The sound ignited something primal in you, and you kissed him back just as hungrily, your lips bruising against his as your tongues clashed and tangled.

It was chaotic, desperate. His hand slid lower, gripping your hip to pull you closer, and your bodies molded together as though you were trying to erase every inch of space between you. His taste was warm and addictive, it filled your senses.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath ragged. He didn’t move far, his forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing yours in quick, teasing pecks as if he couldn’t bear to fully let you go.

“Still breathing?” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

“Barely,” you managed to respond playfully in between pants.

His weight pinned you down, but there was no hesitation in the way his hands moved to your back, lifting you just enough to slide your dress upward. The fabric gathered between you as he tugged it over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

His eyes roamed over your fully naked form for a moment, dark and heavy with desire, before he dove back down.

His mouth found your neck, his lips trailing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin. Each kiss grew more urgent, more insistent, as his teeth grazed and nipped, leaving marks behind.

Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his shoulders as he devoured you, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue darted out, soothing the stings of his bites before returning with the same fiery hunger.

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your neck when you let out a soft moan, his grip on your waist tightening in response.

His hands did not stop. They explored every curve of your body, gliding over your sides, your hips, the softness of your thighs, and then up again, tracing your skin with a touch that sent sparks racing through you.

His palms finally settled on your mounds, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, drawing a shuddering breath from you as his kisses trailed lower to your collarbone.

“Every inch of you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and tinged with awe. “I want all of it.”

“Then have me,” you whispered before his lips found yours again, claiming them in a bruising kiss that left you breathless. His hands continued their exploration, his touch deliberate and unrelenting as though he was determined to memorize every inch of you.

He paused, his weight braced on his forearms as his eyes searched yours. “Are you sure you are ready?” His voice was low, gentle, but his breathing was still uneven, and the hunger in his gaze made your pulse race.

You gave him a firm, reassuring nod, your fingers curling against his back. “I’m sure.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and then his lips curved into a small, almost teasing smile.

He sat up, pulling away for just a moment to strip himself of the last barriers between you. With a quick motion, he discarded his clothes, leaving nothing but bare skin in front of you.

You couldn’t stop staring, your breath catching as you took in the sight of him. The lean lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin, and his length. Oh his length, it all left you in awe.

He noticed, of course. His smile turned smug, and he tilted his head, his voice laced with amusement. “Enjoying the view?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but before you could respond, he leaned back down, catching your lips in a quick, playful kiss. It was softer than before, but no less electrifying, and it left you wanting more as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his words making your heart flutter even as his hands slid down your body once more.

He shifted slightly, his hand moving between the two of you as he spat into his palm. The sound sent a jolt of anticipation through you, and your breathing hitched as he used that on his manhood to slick himself, all while his eyes never leaving yours.

With one hand, he guided himself to you, the tip brushing against your entrance with a teasing pressure that made your body tense and heat flooded your core.

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a tender contrast to the intensity of what was about to happen.

“Legs up, baby,” his gaze locked onto yours as he opened you wide for him, raising your hips off the mattress to wrap your legs around his waist, before slowly pressing forward, his movements deliberate and careful, scared to hurt you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the way his manhood entered and the veins on it grazed your soft gummy walls for the first time.

Your body instinctively tensed as you felt him inching deeper, stretching you more and more. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and his heart clenched at the sound.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his lips pressing a series of tender kisses to your temple, then your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”

His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he paused, letting you adjust.

You tried to focus on the comforting press of his lips against your skin, the gentle weight of his body, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your face. His whispers filled the silence, soft and soothing, each word meant to ease the sting.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Just a little more. I’ll take care of you.”

He continued, inch by inch, his movements still slow and careful as he gave you time to adjust.

You couldn’t stop the small, pained noises that slipped from you, but he was relentless in his tenderness, his mouth trailing over your jawline, your cheeks, your nose, everywhere he could reach. Each kiss was him silently saying that he wouldn’t rush you.

You let out a particularly loud moan, throwing your head back into the soft pillows as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. He stayed still, his forehead pressing against yours as he released a shaky breath. “Good girl, baby,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and restraint.

You exhaled shakily, your body slowly relaxing as the initial discomfort began to subside. He didn’t move, his hands stroking soothing patterns along your sides as he watched you closely. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said, his voice soft, his lips brushing over yours in a featherlight kiss.

After a few moments, you nodded softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m ready.”

His breath hitched, and he kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling back just enough to start moving.

His hips rolled into you, slow but deliberate, each movement deep and precise. The stretch still lingered, but the sting had dulled, replaced by something else entirely.

Pleasure.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing along your neck between each soft praise. “So good. Taking me so well.”

Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, his voice only fanning the flames as his movements remained controlled, careful.

His mouth moved along your jaw, peppering kisses in a trail to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

The way he worshiped you with his touch and words made you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as your breathing grew heavier.

But then you noticed it, the slight tremble in his arms, the way his muscles strained, his jaw clenched tight. His movements, though steady, were deliberate in a way that betrayed his restraint. The sounds he made were muffled, controlled, and you could feel the effort it took for him to hold back.

Reaching up, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

He stilled, his gaze snapping to yours as if he hadn’t expected your words. “What—”

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”

Something in him shattered.

His lips crashed onto yours in a fiery kiss, and before you could catch your breath, he pulled back and pushed inside you with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

His restraint was gone, replaced by something primal as his hips snapped against yours, again and again, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

You cried out, your back arching as the sudden shift sent waves of sensation coursing through you. He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and untamed, his mouth returning to your neck as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his voice ragged as his teeth grazed your shoulder. His pace was relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, his hands gripping your hips to keep you anchored beneath him.

Every movement was wild, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and now there was no stopping him. Your nails dug into his back, and he only growled in response, his lips finding yours again in a bruising kiss that left you breathless.

You were overwhelmed, consumed by him, by the way he claimed you so completely.

His head dipped lower, his lips leaving a heated trail down your neck and chest before capturing one of your mounds in his mouth. The warmth of his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin made your back arch into him more, a gasp spilling from your lips as he sucked with pleasure, toying with the bud using his tongue.

His arms wrapped around you, one sliding beneath your waist and the other gripping your backside. He held you close, hugging you tightly to him as his hips continued its merciless rhythm.

Every thrust was wild, untamed, each one pulling sounds from you that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried.

Then, suddenly, he shifted his angle. His hips tilted just slightly, and when he plunged into you again, he hit a spot so deep, so perfect, that your vision blurred.

“Hmp–Ahh Sebastian!” A cry tore from your throat so loud London could hear it.

“There,” he growled, his voice triumphant as he felt your reaction. “I’ve got you.”

He focused on that spot, his thrusts hard, each one sending shockwaves through you. He managed to fuck you so good the only thing you can see, feel, hear, is him.

The heat of his body, the way he filled you so completely, and his hips jerking you up pushing you higher and higher.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails dragging down his back leaving scratches as you clung to him, lost in the overwhelming sensation. “God baby you feel so good,” he murmured, his lips returning to your neck as he continued to praise you between breathless groans.

The coil inside you tightened impossibly, your body tensing as you clamped down around him. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts faltering for a moment before he chuckled breathlessly, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Are you close?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Tears pricked at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks at the intense pleasure.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice laced with encouragement. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deeper and harder, making you feel him in places you didn’t know were possible. Deep in your womb. “Let go for me.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and when his hand moved between your bodies, his fingers found your sensitive clit, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure before rubbing tight circles on it.

Your eyes shut tight, a loud cry tearing from your throat as his touch sent shockwaves through you.

The combined force of his deep, relentless thrusts and the skilled movements of his hand was too much, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick and strained as he pounded into you, his hips driving with a force that turned your brain into mush. “Let me have all of you.”

The tension snapped, and a wave of euphoria crashed over you, drowning out everything else. Your walls fluttered and tightened around him as your release hit, “F-fuck fuck! Sebastian! I can't–ohh,” your babbled sobs filling the room as tears continued to spill from the sheer intensity.

“Yes, that's it,” he groaned, his fingers still working your sensitive nub to prolong your high.

He soon slowed his movements until he eventually stilled, his chest heaving above you. A soft, almost smug smile played on his lips as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand brushing gently over your hair. “So perfect for me.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place.

Despite his own body tense with need, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he didn’t move to continue. Instead, he slowly eased himself out of you, his touch careful and considerate.

You sighed, your body relaxing into the mattress as he settled beside you, still catching his breath. He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin as he whispered more praises, his voice soft and honeyed.

What you didn’t know—what he had made sure you would never suspect—was that he had no intention of letting things go further. He’d lied to you once, telling you he couldn’t give you children, a story you’d accepted without question. It had been easy to take advantage of your innocence, your lack of understanding about what it truly meant to create a child.

And so, he let his desire linger, unfulfilled, content to keep the truth hidden. He watched you as you dozed off in his arms, a faint smile still on your lips, completely unaware of the secret he carried.

That was just the start of your honeymoon. Ever since you two got a taste of each other, there's no holding back anymore.

Every morning,

A sleepy groan escaped his lips, one hand tangling in your hair as you took him fully into your mouth. The warmth of you surrounded him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, raspy “Good morning, baby,” his voice still thick with sleep.

“You’re gonna spoil me like this,” he murmured, his voice amused, though his grip in your hair tightened slightly, betraying how undone he was. “I won’t ever want to wake up any other way.”

In the Library,

The library was huge and full of spaces. You were perched on its edge, your breath hitching as Sebastian knelt before you, his hands gripping your thighs like a man starved while you try to push his head away, “Sebastian, not here!”

“You taste so sweet, how could I resist?” Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his mouth worked its magic. His tongue traced slow strokes on your folds. Each flick of his tongue and gentle nip of his teeth sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured against you, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his delight in unraveling you like this.

And even outdoors beside the pond at your castle,

The gentle hum of nature surrounded you as the two of you lay on a soft blanket near the pond. It is late in the afternoon and Sebastian was behind you, his chest pressed against your back as his arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips brushed over your shoulder and up to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses, making love to you shamelessly outdoors.

Not that there's someone else around anyway.

“My pretty wife,” he whispered, while he moved slowly and passionately against you, taking you from behind.

“Sebastian,” you moaned out his name softly at how warm and big he feels inside you. It didn't take too long for you to finish.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, slowly pulling his length out of you. “I could do this forever.”

All is well until...

The kitchen bustled with life as maids moved about, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, accompanied by the soft clatter of pots and pans.

You stepped in quietly, curious about the lively chatter that echoed from within.

The maids were huddled near the counter, laughing amongst themselves. Your personal maid, Rose, was at the center of the group, her laughter ringing the loudest. None of them noticed you at first, too engrossed in their conversation.

“And then she said, ‘Is that really all it takes?’” one of the younger maids said, giggling as the others erupted into laughter.

Rose wiped her hands on her apron, grinning. “Well, it’s not as simple as that! You need to make sure he—” Her words stopped short when her gaze landed on you standing in the doorway.

“Your grace!” Rose quickly straightened, bowing her head with a warm smile. The other maids followed suit, their laughter replaced with nervous politeness.

You waved a hand dismissively, a gentle smile on your lips. “Please, don’t stop on my account. What were you all discussing so eagerly?”

The maids exchanged hesitant glances before one of them replied with a shy laugh, “Just silly things, my lady. Joking about... marital life.”

Rose stepped forward, her smile softening. “Is there something you need, your grace? Shall I prepare something for you?”

You shook your head, your curiosity piqued. “No, I don’t need anything. I was just wandering. But tell me, what exactly were you joking about?”

The younger maid from before blushed, glancing nervously at Rose. “Oh, um, just about... how to, uh, make a man finish faster to... you know, conceive children.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your head tilting slightly. “Finish? Whatever do you mean?”

The room fell silent for a moment. Rose’s smile faltered, her expression shifting to one of cautious confusion. “Finish, your grace. You know, the... the climax for men. When they release their... seed inside. It’s the essential part of bearing a child.”

Your confusion deepened, your lips parting slightly. “Seed? And this happens during the... marital act?”

Rose nodded slowly, her tone gentle as she continued, “Yes, my lady. When a man and woman are intimate, it’s important to continue until the man reaches his climax and, um, releases inside. That’s how children are conceived.”

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen as the weight of her words sank in. Your expression remained still, but realization dawned in your eyes. Pieces of information began to click together, forming a picture you hadn’t seen before.

Sebastian’s actions replayed in your mind, the way he always stopped, always pulled away immediately after you're done. You’d trusted him without question, never suspecting anything amiss.

Rose, noticing the shift in your demeanor, stepped closer. “Your grace, are you alright? Have I said something to upset you?”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, Rose. Not at all. You’ve been... most helpful.”

The maids exchanged uncertain glances, sensing the change in your mood. You turned abruptly, excusing yourself from the kitchen.

As you walked away, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Sebastian had lied to you? No, you can't fathom. You have to find the truth out for yourself. You will try and see tonight if this is true.

The bed creaked as Sebastian sat up, his face pale and his jaw clenched. The intimacy you had shared just moments ago was now a distant memory, replaced by an overwhelming storm of betrayal and anger.

You finally did it, it was true. You rode him and did not stop until he accidentally finished inside you. Your world came crashing down, you didn't even know this was possible.

“Thea!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp and accusing.

You turned to him, your body still trembling, but this time not from passion. “What?” you snapped, your voice laced with confusion and defiance.

“What did you do?” he demanded, his tone teetering between disbelief and fury.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your suspicions were confirmed. “I’d hoped it was not true,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking. “I’d hoped they were mistaken, but clearly, they were not.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, his face etched with frustration. “How could you?” he asked, his voice rising.

“How could I?” you repeated, your voice growing louder with every word. “How could I? You lied to me!”

“I did not lie,” he countered firmly, his voice defensive.

You laughed, the sound humorless and sharp as a blade. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice breaking. “I trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage of that. You seized an opportunity, and so I did the very same.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words. “I told you I cannot give you children.”

You stepped forward, your fists clenched at your sides. “Cannot and will not are two entirely different things,” you retorted. “You chose this for yourself. You chose to lie to me.”

Sebastian stood, his hands running through his hair as if he were trying to ground himself. “I did not lie,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought you were prepared. I thought you understood how a child came to be.”

Your chest heaved as tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You took my future from me,” you said, your voice cracking. “The one thing I wanted more than anything. You knew that becoming a mother one day, to have a family of my own one day, you knew that was all I ever wanted. Why?!”

Sebastian's face crumpled in sadness, “My father… cared more about the continuation of the Hastings line than anything in the world. More than my mother. More than me. He knew my mother should not have a child, but he did not care—not even when my mother died after giving birth to me. So I made a vow that his efforts would be in vain. That this line would die with me. You said I was enough for you!”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “That was before I knew you,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “I never asked for your betrayal.”

“Thea, I—” he began, his voice desperate.

“You what?” you interrupted, stepping closer as your voice rose. “You love me? No, you most certainly do not. You do not know the meaning of the word.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened, but no words came out as your accusations hit him like a blow.

“You do not lie to the one you love,” you continued, your voice breaking. “You do not trick the one you love. You do not humiliate the one you love.”

You paused, your chest heaving as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “I may not know much, as you have made abundantly clear, but I do know one thing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. “I know that is not love.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebastian stood frozen, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock and regret. But you couldn’t look at him anymore. The weight of his betrayal was too much to bear.

Turning away, you walked to the other side of the room, your shoulders trembling as you tried to compose yourself.

The man you thought you loved, the man you thought you could trust, had taken everything from you.

You are not certain if you can still forgive him.

Over the next few days, you busied yourself instead in being a great duchess to your people, checking over the town and actually attending to their concerns.

You were doing quite well already when all of a sudden, you received a letter from your mother. Requiring your presence back in the estate to settle the scandal that your brother, Caleb, got himself into.

The Bridgerton family name has been the talk of London again ever since Lady Whistledown wrote about Caleb Bridgerton being roped into an entrapment marriage planned by his supposed bride-to-be, Miss Karina Trusova. A young miss who Caleb was flirting with this season and insisted that Caleb marry her immediately.

The reason for the rushed need to marry someone of Caleb’s status? To have a husband and a father for her unborn child. She's pregnant and the man abandoned her, pushing her into a desperation of luring a young man into marriage.

Great. Another scandal that your family has to face after facing yours.

Although now with your status as a Duchess, it was definitely more simple to remedy your brother's problem. Having the power to divert the ton’s attention and the respect they have to put on the Bridgerton Family who has a Duchess as one of them.

That simple solution caused you to get back at the castle earlier than expected.

But someone did not came back home early.

You waited anxiously by the staircase, the sound of the clock as it ticked away the late hours.

The tension in your chest tightened when you heard the faint creak of the door opening, and your husband stepped inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He paused, tilting his head slightly as if the question puzzled him. “I did not think you were concerned about my whereabouts.”

The casualness of his response stung, but you ignored the sharp pang in your heart and stepped closer to him. “Are we going to stay like this forever?” you asked softly, reaching out to cup his cheeks in your hands.

His skin was warm, but his gaze remained distant, his body tense beneath your touch. “I do not want to live like this,” you pleaded. “Let’s just... please forgive each other.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he gently pulled away from your hands. “No,” he said, his voice firm, almost cold.

Your breath hitched as you stared at him in disbelief. “No?” you repeated, the word hanging heavy between you both. “What is to become of us, then?” you demanded, your voice rising in frustration. “Sebastian!”

“If you are with child,” he said abruptly, “then I shall stay and do my duty to support you both.”

The finality in his words made your stomach twist. “And if I am not?” you whispered, dreading his answer.

“Then we shall remain married, in name only,” he replied, his expression unyielding. “You will be provided for, of course, in a manner befitting the Duchess. But I shall not darken your doorstep again. Our lives will be entirely separate. This…” He gestured between the two of you, his voice breaking slightly before he regained control. “This cannot happen. This will not happen. Do you understand me?”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting deeper than you could have imagined.

The man who once burned for you now seemed determined to extinguish whatever bond you shared.

“That we will never love each other the same way again?” you said, your voice quiet but filled with heartbreak. “Yes, your grace. I understand that quite well.”

Sebastian stood there for a moment longer, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for something he could not seem to find.

Then, without another word, he turned and left, your heart heavy with the emptiness of his absence.

He no longer burn for you.

He now burns you.

The days that followed were a week of avoiding glances and sidestepping one another in the vast corridors of the castle.

It was in the late afternoon when your paths finally crossed again. From the opposite direction, Sebastian approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days.

Neither of you spoke at first, the air between you tense and uncertain. But as you stopped in front of one another, you drew in a deep breath, forcing yourself to break the silence.

“My monthly courses came,” you said, your voice steady, though the words themselves felt like a blade against your heart. “I am not with child.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps, or resignation.

He gave a small nod, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion as he said, “That is for the best.”

You tilted your head, studying him, and for the first time in days, you found the courage to push the boundary of his guarded walls. “Why?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent. “What did your father do that made you so spiteful? What has he done to warrant such... vengeance from you?”

You did not miss how his jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He averted his gaze, the muscles in his neck taut. The question had struck a nerve. “You should not concern yourself with that,” he said in finality.

“Sebastian,” you pressed, stepping closer, refusing to let him brush it aside. “If this vow you made is to define our lives, if it has already destroyed what we could have had then don’t I at least deserve to understand why?”

His gaze snapped back to yours, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “You do not need to understand, Thea. You only need to trust me. Trust that it is for the better that you are not with child.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you stood frozen, searching his face for answers he clearly wasn’t ready to give. “Trust?” you echoed bitterly, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “How can I trust a man who does not trust me with the truth?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you thought he might finally let you in, might finally reveal the pain he kept buried so deeply. But then he took a step back, his expression hardening once more.

Ah there it is, the constant cycle of seeing a hint of vulnerability only for him to harden again.

“I cannot,” he said quietly. “Not now. Perhaps not ever.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with unanswered questions.

But you are not one to give up on this. You're going to find the truth no matter what it takes.

The late duke’s office was cold and quiet, a ghost of the man who once inhabited it. Dust blanketed the furniture, white sheets thrown haphazardly over the grand desk and chairs, muting their presence. You hesitated as you stepped into the space, the air heavy with abandonment. The late Duke Hastings might have been gone for years, but the scars he left on Sebastian were still raw, still fresh, and you couldn’t help but feel that the answers you sought were buried here.

Pulling the sheet off the desk, you coughed as the dust clouded the air. You rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing but old quills, dried ink pots, and a few blank sheets of parchment. Frustration began to gnaw at you until you opened the bottom drawer.

Inside, you found something that took your breath away.

A stack of letters, bundled tightly with a frayed ribbon, lay untouched. The envelopes were yellowed with age, the Duke’s seal unbroken on each one. Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, curiosity outweighing hesitation. Carefully, you opened the first letter, the ink smudged in places but legible.

"Father, today I recited my lessons perfectly, without stumbling. Lady Danbury says I am improving. I hope you are proud of me. Please come home soon."

The letter was short, heartbreakingly simple, and heavy with yearning. You opened another.

"Father, I practiced for hours today, just as you told me. My tutor says I am doing well. When can I see you again?"

And another.

"Father, I said a full sentence today without stuttering. It was hard, but I did it. Are you proud of me? Will you write back?"

Tears pricked your eyes as you went through letter after letter, each one filled with hope, progress, and desperate longing for approval that never came. The final one you opened was the most poignant.

"Father, I will not trouble you with letters anymore. I will do as you wish and make you proud in silence. But I will still hope. I will always hope."

Your heart shattered. These letters were the voice of a child begging for love, a child who had been cast aside for not meeting impossible expectations.

You could only imagine your husband as a child, longing and begging for his father's attention and love only to be ignored and have his efforts not recognized.

Oh the thought made your heart ache so much you feel physically sick, you cannot bare the thought of it. It all makes sense now.

The sound of footsteps startled you, and you turned quickly, clutching the stack of letters against your chest. Lady Danbury stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her sharp gaze softened by understanding.

“Your Grace,” she greeted. You quickly placed the letters on the desk, brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had spilled. “Lady Danbury.”

Her eyes flickered to the letters. “Did you forget we were to come and help with preparations for your ball? Your Mama is waiting in the parlor.” You nodded, your voice shaky. “I shall be there momentarily.”

But as she turned to leave, you called after her. “Lady Danbury,” you said hesitantly, gesturing toward the letters. “Did you know about these? The ones the Duke seems to have written to his father as a boy?”

She paused, then gave a small nod. “I did. And now, apparently, so do you.” You swallowed hard, glancing back at the letters. “I had no idea that Sebastian had trouble speaking as a child.”

Lady Danbury’s expression softened, though there was still a sharpness to her tone. “He worked very hard to eliminate that difficulty. He was so very proud. It is why he wrote those letters in the first place.”

“To keep his father informed of his progress,” you murmured, shaking your head. “The late Duke never even deigned to read them. How could... What kind of father—”

Lady Danbury’s tone turned steely. “One that demands perfection in his son. And when that was not achieved… Well, I shall leave it to you to imagine.” Your throat tightened with anger and sadness. “You helped him overcome his impediment,” you said softly.

She gave a small smile, her head tilting as though recalling those years. “I merely showed him what he was capable of all along. And if he needed some encouragement, a push from time to time, that was something I was happy to provide. But, at the end of the day, the Duke’s triumph was his and his alone. It had to be.”

You looked down at the letters again, your emotions were a mix of sadness for your husband, and hatred for his father. You hadn’t fully understood until now.

The first dance of the ball to honor the marriage of the Duke and Duchess had been perfect.

But as the second song began, the heavens opened, and a sudden downpour brought the evening to an abrupt end.

Guests scrambled for shelter, their gowns and suits quickly soaking through as the rain poured relentlessly.

You stood at the center of it all with Sebastian, watching everything unfold as people hurriedly retreated to their carriages.

Soon, it was just the two of you, soaked to the bone under the unrelenting rain.

“I am so sorry,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice heavy with regret.

You turned to him, rain dripping from your hair and lashes, giving him a puzzled smile. “For what? Even a Duke cannot control the weather.”

“I know,” he sighed, his expression strained. “But I know this is not what you had envisioned for the evening.”

You paused, the rain mingling with the flush on your cheeks. “Certainly not.”

“And for that, I apologize—”

“It is better,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft yet firm.

Sebastian froze, his brow furrowing as he studied you, confusion flickering in his eyes.

You stepped closer, your heart racing as your trembling hands reached for his. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “I know why you made that vow to your father. I found the letters you wrote to him as a child, and I read them.”

Sebastian stiffened, his body tense under your touch, but you refused to let him pull away.

“Just because it’s not perfect,” you continued, your voice breaking with emotion, “does not make it any less worthy of love.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with surprise, pain, and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Your father made you believe otherwise,” you said despite the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “He made you believe that you needed to be without fault to be loved, but he was wrong. If you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.”

You released one of his hands and pressed your palm lightly to his chest, right over his heart.

“I am tired of pretending,” you admitted. “And I cannot continue acting as if I do not love you. Because I do”

“I love all of you. Even the parts you believe are too dark and too shameful. Every scar. Every flaw. Every imperfection. I love you.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with a mix of emotions, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. He cannot form a single sentence.

“You may think you are too damaged and too broken to ever allow yourself to be happy, but you can choose differently, Seb. You can choose to love me as much as I love you. That choice is not up to anyone else. It can only be up to you.”

The rain fell harder, soaking both of you, but you didn’t care. You smiled up at him, your heart laid bare to him.

Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, his walls crumbling with every word you spoke.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek. His touch was warm despite the cold rain, and his lips parted as he whispered, “Dorothea…”

Your smile widened, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. “It’s up to you,” you repeated softly, your voice trembling with hope.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. Though he didn’t speak further, the way he held you close said more than words ever could.

He stared into your eyes with happiness, love, and… lust.

His thrusts grew increasingly messy, each one harder and deeper but lacking the rhythm they once had.

His groans turned into desperate whimpers, his forehead pressing against yours as he fought to chase his high.

His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, his body trembling as his need completely consumed him.

You whimpered beneath him, your body still sensitive and overstimulated from your own orgasm, every thrust sending jolts of sensation that had your nails digging into his shoulders. “It’s too much,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

He panted, his hips snapping into yours with a bruising grip on your waist. “Just a little bit more, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained and desperate. “You can do that for me, right? Just hold on for me.”

The sound of his voice, thick with need, made you shudder even as your body ached from the intensity.

He buried himself in you again and again, his pace erratic and unrelenting as his grip tightened on your hips, sure to leave marks, “I’m close… f-fuck gonna give you that baby you so wanted.”

Then you felt it—his cock twitching uncontrollably inside you, his breath hitching as he stilled for a brief moment before delivering one last, harsh thrust that sent the headboard slamming against the wall with a loud crash.

His hips pressed flush against yours as his body tensed, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. “Shit take it, take it all. Milk my cock out, just like that.” He groaned, his voice thick with pleasure as he threw his head back, eyes closed and lips parted, lost in the sensation.

You gasped at the feeling of him pulsing inside you, his release coming in hot, thick waves that filled you completely. His body shuddered against yours with each rope of his release, his grip digging into your skin as he rode out his high.

You felt it inside you, drowning your walls in his warm seed. He finally came inside you, and the feeling is incomparable. It made you blush and glow like no other.

He collapsed onto you gently, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his lips brushing over your damp skin. “I love you so much.”

If there is to ever be a grander finish to a season than the one provided by the Duke and Duchess of Hastings this year, this author will need to feast upon her own words. For it was this couple's memorable affair that brought another scandalous London season to a close. As many now leave the city behind for greener pastures, some endings seem more happy than others.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the Bridgerton House, its familiar architecture as comforting as ever. It had been two years since you last visited, but the sight of your childhood home felt like stepping back into a world that had remained unchanged.

Sebastian stepped out first, holding little Amelia in his arms. The one-year-old giggled, tugging at the collar of her father's coat as he grinned down at her. Turning back, he extended a hand to help you down, his other hand instinctively resting on your arm to steady you.

Your pregnancy was beginning to show, the rounded swell of your stomach an obvious visible sign of another life growing within. As you stepped onto the stone pathway, the doors of the estate opened wide, and your mother, Violet, appeared, her face lighting up with joy.

“My darling!” Violet exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace you. Her arms wrapped around you carefully, mindful of your condition. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled warmly, leaning into her embrace. “It’s good to be back, Mama.”

Amelia squirmed in Sebastian’s arms, her tiny hands reaching out to Violet. With a laugh, Violet took the child into her arms, cooing and pressing kisses to her rosy cheeks.

Behind her, your siblings began to spill out of the house one by one. Atticus, followed by Benjamin and Caleb, both of whom greeted you with teasing grins. Elisa, Giovann, and Heather trailed behind, their excitement evident as they called out.

Atticus stepped forward, “Welcome home, sister,” he said, his voice warm. His gaze flickered to your rounded belly, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “I see congratulations are in order again.”

You laughed softly, resting a hand on your stomach. “Thank you, Atticus. And how have you been? Still busy avoiding the marriage mart?”

For the first time, he hesitated, his expression softening. “Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought. I believe it’s time for me to settle down.”

Your brows lifted in surprise, a delighted smile breaking across your face. “Truly? That’s wonderful news!”

Atticus nodded, his composure unshaken. “I plan to participate in this upcoming season. It’s time I find a wife and start a family of my own.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect.”

“And I’m proud of you as well,” he replied, his tone gentle. “You’ve always been strong, but seeing you now, with a family of your own,” he paused, observing you with a smile and proud eyes, “It suits you, sister.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could respond, Amelia’s squeals of laughter filled the air. Turning, you saw Sebastian spinning her gently in his arms, her giggles echoing across the front lawn.

Atticus followed your gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He seems to adore her.”

“He does,” you said softly, watching your husband with a fondness that could not be contained. “And she adores him.”

“Congratulations, sister,” Caleb stepped into the conversation with a smile that you mirrored, “Thank you. And what of you, Caleb? What are your plans?”

Caleb's smile only widened as he informs you of a great news, “I am to leave London in a few days to explore and travel Greece.”

“Oh that is amazing! You better keep writing to us when you get there,” you exclaimed and hugged your brother.

The rest of your siblings crowded around you, showering you with hugs, questions, and congratulations.

Dear Readers,

My story was not without its trials. Some would say my husband and I weathered storms that would have capsized even the strongest of unions. There were moments of doubt, of tears shed in the dark, and of truths we were unprepared to face. Yet, through every challenge we faced, one constantly remained with us: love.

We now have been blessed with five lovely children that we so adore. Amelia, Bernadeth, Caroline, David, and our newborn, Eros. They are the final pieces of our puzzle, completing a family that, against all odds, found its happily ever after.

Looking back, it feels almost surreal to think of the hardships we endured. All the secrets, the misunderstandings, and the moments of despair. Yet, those very challenges are what forged the unbreakable bond we now share.

To any who may doubt the power of love and perseverance, let this be a testament: happiness is not something handed to you, but something earned through faith, effort, and a willingness to embrace imperfection.

As I pen these final words, I am reminded of how far we have come. From the innocence of our beginnings to the trials that tested our resolve, we have emerged stronger and wiser.

Anyhow, I shall get going, the house is a mess with my husband joining in on the chaos in the drawing room instead of making the children behave. And I can hear our little Eros starting to cry and being fuzzy once again in his nursery room. It is time for me to feed him.

But may this tale inspire you to face your own challenges with courage and hope. After all, dear reader, love is definitely worth every battle.

—From Dorothea, Duchess of Hastings, to you.

[mixxzxzx]

BETWEEN THE LINES - LEE HEESEUNG.

❝ Hate looks a lot like love when you stare at it for too long. ❞

𓂃 ୨୧ PAIRING — Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader 𓂃 ୨୧ GENRE — Academic rivals to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, drama, humor, written format. 𓂃 ୨୧ WARNINGS — 18+ smut, swearing, alcohol consumption, tension, teasing, rough sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, minor manipulation, jealousy, possessiveness, brat taming, light dominance, dacryphilia, power play, marking (hickeys, bites), dirty talk, praise & degradation mix. Fictional work. Do not romanticize real-life toxic behaviors. MINORS DNI.

✎ SYNOPSIS — You always thought Lee Heeseung was your worst enemy. The two of you have been competing for years—class rankings, debate club victories, even the last iced coffee at the café. Every interaction was a challenge, every glance a silent battle.

But when you’re forced to work together on a year-long research project, the tension between you reaches a breaking point. And it turns out, Heeseung is a lot more dangerous when he’s not fighting you—but flirting with you.

At first, it’s a game—sharp words and lingering touches. But when you realize he’s not just messing around, when your heart starts racing at the sound of his voice… who’s really winning now?

𓂃 ୨୧ TAGLIST — Open! Comment or send an ask to be added. 𓂃 ୨୧ STATUS — Coming Soon.

✦ ✦ ✦

CHAPTERS:

🖇 PROLOGUE 🖇 CHAPTER 1 (Coming soon!) 🖇 CHAPTER 2 (TBA) 🖇 CHAPTER 3 (TBA)

(More updates soon…)

✦ ✦ ✦

© mixxzxzx. 2025

[nishiriksss]

who is that? ch. 1

summary: riki was your childhood bestfriend up until you were 13, but you ended up moving to the US. you lost contact with him and never thought you would see him again, until you saw an edit on your fyp of a guy that looked suspiciously like him. you end up at every single enhypen concert, as close to the front as possible, trying to reach him. you comment on every post, every live, hoping he still remembers you.

genre: childhood bsfs to lovers, angst, fluff, slowburn

word count: 1.2k

warnings: none

not proof-read masterlist

it had been 4 years since you had seen riki, you were 17 and had almost given up on ever finding him.

you sighed as you opened up spotify, putting on waiting room by pheobe bridgers, your favorite song to listen to when you missed riki. you hadn't been able to make friends that ever compared to riki, every connection you made felt shallow, everyone already had their close friends when you met them so you felt like a second option. you thought about riki, all the jokes you guys made, you thought about how he would comfort you when you were sad. you wished he was here, he would never let you feel like a second option. you fell asleep wishing he was there, you dreamed about him. nothing weird, you just dreamt that he was there.

little did you know, he missed you just as much. he had debuted in enhypen about 3 years ago, a year after you left. he told his members about you, they were tired of hearing your name. 'do you think she has been to any of our concerts?' 'what if she was there and i never saw her?' 'what if she knows who i am and just can get to me?' he never shut up. he always thought about you, his members know you probably better than you know yourself. everything he saw led back to you, everything reminded him of you. he searched up your name on every social media platform he could think of. still nothing.

you woke up the next morning, your eyes still a little red from how much you had cried the previous day, your cheeks still tear stained. you picked up your phone 7:31am you cursed under your breath as you sat up. it was monday and you had school in 30 minutes. for some reason you missed riki a lot more this morning, you couldnt stand, you just sat on the edge of your bed. tears fell from your eyes again, you couldnt stop it. you fell back on your bed, it was all you could bring yourself to do. after 10 minutes you finally got up, you wiped your nose and put on your uniform. you walked downstairs, waving at your mom as she grabbed her keys to drive you. you grabbed your backpack and went out to her car. you sat down as you grabbed your airpods, putting the right one in and putting on your riki themed playlist. 'yn, whats going on, you look so sad these days' she asked sadly, looking at you as she started the car. 'i just, miss riki.' you replied, resting your head on the window. 'i know, honey.' she paused, not knowing what to say, 'i bet he misses you too.' she finally states. 'yeah, i bet.' you whisper and get out of the car, walking into school.

you went to your class, even though there was still a few minutes till the bell. you looked at the board and grabbed your notebook as you sat down. you covered your airpod with your hair, and leaned back, turning up the music to cover the sounds of everyone else with their friends. it was your routine, every day mushed together. your 'friends' would come in with a few seconds until the bell rings, still laughing from something with their other friends. it always reminded you of riki, you would always have to run to your class as fast as you could, almost being late everyday. you would still be laughing over something he said, you would sit by your other friends, who had already been there. this is what it felt like to be on the other side of it. you turned your music back down when the teacher started talking, you sighed as she said to get in partners. your three other friends started arguing over who should go with you, like you werent right there. you waited for them to decide, eventually the nicest of the three, karina, said she would go with you. she smiled with you as she switched seats with yuna. you got your chromebook out and put your phone behind it, going on tiktok. you looked at the screen, it was an edit, of this guy, you didnt know who it was, but it looked like riki, if he was grown up. you favorited the video to look at later and put your phone away. you and karina worked on the assignment, you didnt talk much but she was nice company. once you finshed, you sat in silence, you couldnt get your mind off the tiktok guy.

it was finally last period, you could almost go home. you sat in class while your teacher talked about whatever. you understood chemistry all too well, you didnt need to listen, especially on a day like this. you couldnt focus on anything, you wondered who that boy was, you wondered if it was riki, you wondered if it was just false hope. you kind of knew it wouldnt be riki, you knew it was most likely just a guy who happened to look like him. but something told you it wasnt. something said it was really him, and you couldnt keep your mind off the possibility. your teacher called on you to answer some question you werent listening to, and he gave you lunch detention the next day for not listening. you almost cried right then and there, you were so overwhelmed. you knew it was just a lunch detention, its not very serious but the whole day had just been too much. 'sorry sir.' you managed to choke out with your voice breaking, and he went on with his lecture.

when you got home you immediately went on tiktok. you found the edit from that morning and looked at the caption 'i bet ni-kis so sad hes leaving the US' you read the name over and over 'ni-ki?' you muttered to yourself, 'ni-ki' you repeated the name, 'it sounds so much like riki', you thought to yourself. 'he looks so much like riki too.' you checked the caption '#enhypen #ni_ki #nishimurariki' you almost missed the last tag, nishimura riki. riki. riki. it was really him. you ran downstairs 'MOM' you yelled, 'MOM' you yelled again. you couldnt contain your excitement. 'what happened, honey?' she asked as she grabbed the remote to pause her show. 'mom i found him.' you panted out, sitting next to her 'who?' she asked and you looked at her, deadpan. 'are you serious, riki, i found riki.' she looked shocked. 'well, let me see.' you silently showed her the phone, the edit you had found this morning 'wow, is he famous?' she asked 'i think, it says hes part of this boy band, enhypen?' you mumbled, 'well, whens there next concert?' she looked at you, knowing what you were gonna ask. 'i actually dont know.' but you immediately grabbed your phone to check. 'they just had their last US show two days ago.' you groaned 'well, looks like we might be in for a flight then.' your mom joked. you looked at her and couldnt help smile 'you would do that, for me?' you asked, 'find out where the next show is before i change my mind.'

[lhswon]

CRAZY TIPS = CRAZY FEELINGS

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: yandere!lee heeseung x tsundere!fem!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: non!idol, enemies (one sided) to lovers troupe, kinda slow burn, teeth-rotting fluff, heeseung is a softie, you and enha are in the same age for the sake of the plot

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: cursing, not proof read, typo/grammatical errors

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙖/𝙣: yeyy! chapter 2 is finally here! sorry if i couldn't update last night, i was so busy. anyway, happy halloween, loves! 👻

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @ily6968 @kyunlov @strawberiiiiess @riribelle @nshmrarki

chapter 2

you keep on lightly tapping your ballpen against the table while impatiently looking at the wall clock from time to time. it was almost lunch break and you need to find lee heeseung to give his money back. your professor was talking about your upcoming group project and all you could think was heeseung's actions last night. it was odd for you since you and heeseung never really had any real interaction inside or outside school despite being in the same university for years.

"i expect your projects to be submitted to me next month, alright?" the professor said as the bell rang.

"yes, sir." the whole class said in unison. they all stood up, chattering and mumbling about other things while you hurriedly exit yourself in the classroom.

you went straight to the cafeteria and looked for him, jake sim. in order to find lee heeseung, you must find jake sim first to ask for his friend's whereabouts. heeseung doesn't go to cafeteria that often, god only knows what he's doing every lunch break.

you knew where heeseung's friends sits every lunch, they have their specific space and no one even dares to sit where the reigning kings of the university sits. the thought makes you scoff, really. why? because they're just a bunch of spoiled-rotten guys with massive superiority complex. at least that's what you think about them.

wandering your eyes as you arrived at the cafeteria's door, you searched for jake sim's tall figure including his friends'. when you saw him lining up to get his food, you were shocked to see lee heeseung standing just right behind him. it was like a miracle seeing him here at lunch.

without further ado, you walked towards their direction. jungwon who was behind heeseung saw you walking towards them so he nudged heeseung who quickly looked at your direction when jungwon pointed at you. you saw how a sly smirk formed in heeseung's lips. it was like he was amused to see you here, walking towards them.

the moment you arrived in front of them, you cleared your throat, you even catched jake's attention now who gave you a confused look. you didn't even acknowledge his presence or even his other friends except heeseung who you faced with face full of bravery and a little hint of irritation because of heeseung's expressions. with force, you extended your arms that is holding a small paper bag where you put heeseung's money.

"aw, is that a gift for me?" heeseung teased. jake turned into heeseung's direction with his face looking even more confused.

"stop bullshiting me and just take your money back so i could eat my lunch in peace." you said which made jungwon and jake's eyes grew big.

no one even really dared to speak to them or to lee heeseung like that, just you, and heeseung's friends are starting to wonder what's going on with the two of you. your sudden interaction with lee heeseung made his friends and the students around you looking like it was some kind of a miracle.

"eat lunch with me then." he said full of confidence. his annoying smile never leaving his gorgeous face.

you got taken aback by his words so you spaced out a bit before rolling your eyes at him. realizing that heeseung wouldn't take your words seriously, you put down the paper bag beneath him and turned your back to him, ready to leave.

just when you were about to walk away from them, you almost crash with a tall and beautiful girl holding a tray. only strong hands wrapping around your wrist to pull you back stopped the crash from happening. you bumped into the man's chest due to force and when you looked up, you almost cursed yourself out when it was lee heeseung.

"careful." he said thickly without looking at you, he was looking at the girl who you almost bumped with. you almost didn't know who he was talking to. the girl and heeseung locked eyes for a whole minute before you realized your position right now so you quickly backed away from lee heeseung, making heeseung look at you instead.

you were so embarrassed and the judging stares of other students didn't help at all. the girl cleared her throat which made you look towards her direction, you just noticed how gorgeous she is. she could pass being a princess just by her visuals alone.

"i'm sorry about that." the girl said, even her voice sounded so angelic.

"i'm sorry, i was so reckless." you said as you bow your head towards her. she chuckled a bit before waving her hand cutely. she looked at heeseung behind you one last time before leaving with her friends.

you stood there not moving an inch while thinking what you'll do next when heeseung dragged you to the line. he squeezed you in between him and jake. you gave him a confused and irritated look.

"what the hell do you think you are doing?"

"woah calm down, tigress." jake in front of you mumbled after hearing your harsh tone.

"i said, eat lunch with me." heeseung said. he reached for the paper bag beneath him and handed it back to you.

"i ain't doing that." you said, brushing his hand away from your arms. he clicked his tounge before grabbing your arms again.

"i said, eat your lunch with me." he said slowly, emphasizing every words. heeseung looked at you intimidatingly with his dark eyes. impatience slowly creeping his eyes.

you sat at their table silently. heeseung was sitting closely next to you while peacefully eating, his friends were eating in silence too. you started thinking that your presence was the sole reason why there's a big elephant in the room right now.

"so.. you're y/n, right?" you turned your head towards sunoo who flashed you with a warm smile. you slowly nodded.

"since when you're friends with heeseung hyung?" ni-ki suddenly asked. sunoo elbowed him making him groan. even jungwon gave their youngest a threatening look.

"oh, we're not really friends. i just want to give him back something that belongs to him." you shook your hands lightly at ni-ki. his other friends darted their gaze at heeseung who was silently eating his lunch next to you.

"what do you mean? i gave it to you so it's yours now." heeseung said in a "matter of fact" tone.

"no, it's not!" you retorted.

"woah, alright. before you two fight again, let me just ask where you met heeseung?" jake asked. he must've been really curious, specially since jake has known you for years and despite not being friends with him, he always acknowledges your presence compared to his other friends.

"none of your business." before you could even answer, heeseung said. you looked at him suprisingly while he just ate like he didn't care.

with a defeated sigh, you started digging into your own meal that heeseung ordered for you. hunger started eating your state so you ate slowly while thinking what would happened next and what will you do to lee heeseung.

he's just driving you nuts at this point.

you walked side by side with heeseung while his friends were walking in front the two of you. they were teasing each other while the two of you followed silently. your grip tightens around the strap of the paper bag, trying to find the courage to give him back his money again. he's been awfully silent since that encounter with the girl, he even started acting differently.

"heeseung." you started.

"don't even think about giving it back to me again." he said seriously, you felt a shiver run down your spine with just how cold his tone was.

you stopped on your tracks and took a deep sigh. he stopped a few meters away from you and looked at you lazily.

"why did you give me this money?" you asked again. wishing that his answer will clear your mind.

"it's a tip. you served me so i tipped you." he said, bored. you didn't realize that his friends left already, you were left with heeseung at the empty hallway.

"heeseung, it was just one glass of rum, i wasn't the one who even made it. the amount you tipped was too much." you said, obviously in distress.

"the old man tipped you a hefty amount just for a bottle you didn't even serve and you took it without saying anything, why can't you do the same for me?" he raised an eyebrow at you.

so now he's starting to give you attitude?!

"i told you, he's my regular! he tips me everytime and i accept it everytime as per my manager's request and for my own benefit as well!" you explained. you looked at his expression but it looks like he's not buying any of your bullshits.

"and i also told you that i'll be your regular starting that night."

"t-that's not how it works. just please take your money back, i don't want to owe you anything." you said lowly.

he stared at you for a minute before sighing. just when you thought that he finally gave up and ready to take his money back, he flashed a smirk and you already know that what's his going to say next will cause you even greater amount of stress.

"do me a favor then." he said. your heart started thumping with anxiety. you waited for what he'll be saying next with anticipation. just when you're about to ask him what favor, he said-

"date me, y/n."

you felt like the world stopped when he said those words.

"WHAT?!"

chapter 1 here

short update for my cupcakes :D the fun starts at chapter 3 so stay tuned for my next update!

[heelvng]

EXTRA CREDIT, EXTRA FEELINGS— JAY

┊ academic rivals to lovers · fake dating · fluff with tension

“you didn’t have to defend me in there,” “i wasn’t defending you. i was defending us.”

synopsis

you and jay have been academic rivals since freshman year—always one-upping each other, always toe-to-toe in class debates. but when your psychology professor assigns a semester-long project on relationship dynamics… and pairs you together?

you’re forced to fake date. for extra credit.

you both hate it. until you don’t.

pairing ⟶ jay x female!!reader

genre ⟶ academic rivals au, fake dating, slow burn, fluff w/ tension

word count ⟶ 4.9k

💌 heelvng note : though this took me forever to finish (bc im the biggest procrastinator in the world), my heart is so fuzzy and warm every time i read this. may your heart be just as warm and fuzzy like mines, happy reading everyone !!

—

you started to think professor park had it out for you. there was no way, no actual way, you were going to survive a whole semester of this.

it had been one week since the project started, and already, jay was getting on your last nerve.

“you walk so damn slow,” jay grumbled as he walked beside you down the quad, hands stuffed in his pockets.

you shot him a glare. “then walk ahead of me. no one’s forcing you to stay by my side.”

“oh, but they are, sweetheart,” he smirked.“professors orders. we have to act like a couple, remember? it be weird if I just left you behind.”

you scoffed. “the only weird thing here is you calling me sweetheart. never do it again.”

jay let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re so fun to bother. this is going to be great.”

“you mean miserable,” you corrected, rolling your eyes.

“Same thing.”

the two of you had to meet up at least three times a week—in public—to convince people you were “dating.” professor park insisted that this wasn’t just a private assignment; your classmates needed to see the relationship progress over time. which meant you had to be seen together, talking, walking, eating—hell, you even had to sit next to each other in lectures now.

“okay, let’s get this over with,” you growled as you reached the campus café.

jay raised an eyebrow. “you say that like I’m not the best fake boyfriend you could’ve gotten.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I would rather date a lizard.”

he put a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “damn. you really know how to flatter a guy, yeah?”

you ignored him, pushing the café door open. as expected, the place was packed with students grabbing their usual coffee fix. you spotted beomgyu in the corner, already watching you with an amused grin. he was way too entertained by all of this.

jay noticed too. “your little fan club is watching,” he murmured. “time to sell it, babe.”

you froze. “enough with the pet names. my stomach can’t handle you saying it.”

“but babe.” his smirk deepened. “gotta make it convincing, right?”

you clenched your jaw so hard it hurt. but before you could curse him out, he did something worse—he threw an arm over your shoulders.

your entire body stiffened. “get. off..”

“nah,” he said casually, steering you toward the counter. “couples don’t stand a foot apart like they hate each other. relax.”

you wanted to strangle him but your peers were m watching, along with a handful of other classmates who had heard about the project.

if you shoved jay off you now, it’d look suspicious.

instead, you plastered on the fakest, most sickeningly sweet smile you could manage and turned to him.

“jay?”

“hm?”

you grabbed his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you pried his arm off your shoulders, he lets out a small yelp from your sharp nails digging into his flesh.

then, you leaned in just enough to keep up appearances—your voice dripping with venom.

“if you touch me again, i will make sure you don’t live to see the end of this semester.”

jay, the absolute menace that he was, just grinned. “damn. threats already? we’ve only been fake-dating for a week, babe.”

you smiled even wider, “it feels like forever!” you sarcastically exclaimed, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the cafe food.

jay only chuckled, stepping forward to place his order. you could already tell—this project was going to be the death of you.

–

you’re now six weeks into the project and things couldn’t have gotten any worse. he had to dorm with you—and goodness, does he know how to ruin your space.

it was five minutes past seven and you were doing your skincare while he was in the shower. you had on your avocado mask and a fluffy headband holding back your hair.

the shower water shut off, and you paid no mind to a half-naked jay stepping out. it didn’t even cross your mind what it would feel like to drag your finger down his abs. you suppressed those thoughts. they’d only get in the way of the assignment.

“that coconut vanilla shampoo does wonders,” he said, rubbing a towel through his jet black hair.

you shot up immediately. “you used my shampoo?!” your blood was practically boiling.

“yeah? i didn’t take a lot,” he said, motioning to his hair. “i don’t have that much, babe.”

you groaned, falling back against your pillow.

jay walked over to the microwave, where his ramen—well, your ramen now—was supposed to be waiting. he opened the door to find it empty, only the faint scent of broth lingering.

“did you eat my ramen?” he asked, eyes locking on you instantly. a small smirk curled on your lips.

“that was my last ramen!” he dragged out, sighing like the world was ending.

“then you should’ve labeled it, genius.”

“why can’t this assignment just be easy? why do you make it harder than it should be?”

“because i don’t like you, jay. simple as that.”

he went quiet for a beat.

“why don’t you like me? i haven’t done anything wrong to you except be an academic rival. during this whole assignment, i’ve treated you with nothing but care. and i’ve even let you treat me horribly.”

you stared at him. his face full of emotion—serious in a way you weren’t used to. you couldn’t handle it.

your phone vibrated, reminding you to take off your mask. you took that as your escape, walking briskly to the bathroom and shutting the door behind you, leaving jay standing there, confused and alone.

—

a few hours later, jay was strumming his guitar softly. the tune was… calming.

it made your shoulders relax without permission, and you hated that. you turned to face the wall, pretending to scroll through your phone.

he started humming to the melody, and as good as it sounded, it somehow irritated you more.

“can you not play the guitar like you’re in a movie? some of us are trying to ignore our feelings.”

he chuckled under his breath. “you’re the one who ran away, not me.”

“i didn’t run. i just needed a second,” you said, still turned away, your eyes tracing the cracks in the wall like they could give you the words.

“okay. so… what’s really going on?” he set the guitar down and sat up, giving you his full attention.

the room fell silent. the heavy kind. the kind that filled your ears until your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear.

“i always thought you were better than me,” you said finally, your voice low. “you make it look easy. you never have to try. you walk into a room and people pay attention. professors love you. you get everything right—without even breaking a sweat.”

jay looked confused. “is that what you think?”

you turned over to face him. your chest tightened.

“i’ve been killing myself trying to measure up in every class. and then you show up—perfect, smug, smart—and suddenly none of it matters. i feel like i can’t succeed when you’re around.”

his eyes dimmed. like you’d knocked the light right out of him.

“i never meant to make you feel like that,” he said quietly, his thumbs fidgeting in his lap.

you didn’t know how to respond. it wasn’t like jay to be so serious, so in tune. and now that he wasn’t hiding behind his usual grin, you didn’t know where to look.

neither of you spoke after that.

but the silence didn’t feel tight anymore.

it felt softer. like something heavy had finally been placed on the table—and for once,

neither of you were rushing to pick it back up.

you stayed like that, facing each other in the low light.

and maybe that was enough.for now.

—

it’s been nine weeks into the assignment, and after that big confession in the form, you and jay suddenly got closer. the kind of close where people couldn’t tell if the relationship was real or not. the kind of close where even you couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.

“professor park wants to see us—evaluate us super quickly,” you told jay, your head resting on his shoulder as the two of you sat outside, watching the campus.

“when?” he asked, his hand wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“in the next five minutes. we better get going since we’re a little far from his office.”

you and jay walked into professor park’s office a little out of breath. you were adjusting your sweater as you both took a seat in front of his desk.

professor park looked up, smiling slightly.

“you two have gotten… comfortable.”

you and jay glanced at each other. honestly, he wasn’t wrong. but neither of you said anything—because what was there to say? it had gotten comfortable.

then he leaned back in his chair and added, “there’ve been a few murmurs about your relationship. some of your peers think you’re playing it up too much… that it looks unrealistic.”

your chest tightened. that familiar self-doubt crept back in, sharp and sudden.

“is it unrealistic to care about someone?”

the room stilled.

jay didn’t look at you. his gaze was fixed on professor park, voice calm but firm. “i don’t care what they think. they’re outsiders. we’ve done everything you asked us to—but this? this isn’t just for a grade anymore.”

you glanced at jay from the side, your heart uncertain of what to do in this moment.

professor park studied the two of you—your words, your body language, your silence—before picking up his clipboard and jotting something down.

“you’re dismissed,” he said, still writing.

after you left the office, you were too stunned to speak. jay didn’t say anything either, not until you both stopped just outside the door.

he finally turned to you. “i meant that, by the way.”

“which part?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“all of it. every last word.”

you let that settle between you. it wasn’t a full confession, but it felt like one. and the scariest part? you didn’t want to run from it.

instead, you said, “you didn’t have to defend me in there.”

“i wasn’t defending you,” jay said, and for a moment your heart dropped—until he added, “i was defending us.”

you stared at him. he stared back. and for the first time since the assignment started, the space between the lines began to fill with something true.

—

the walk back to the dorms was silent, but comfortable. it felt spacious, like there was more to say, but the moment wasn’t asking for it yet.

you and jay didn’t speak—just walked side by side. your fingers brushed once, then again. the third time, he took your hand in his without a word.

it felt easy. it shouldn’t. but it did.

the campus was softer now, less crowded, and the sky was a dusty blue—the kind of blue that suggests something’s about to happen, especially with the breeze picking up.

jay didn’t let go of your hand.

and neither did you.

when you reached the dorm, you both stopped—like stepping inside would shatter whatever this moment was.

“you sure about earlier?” you asked, not looking at him.

“completely.”

you nodded once. barely.

you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. you didn’t look up—until you did.

and when your eyes finally met, the tension returned. it was quiet. full. almost too much. your body moved before your thoughts could catch up. you leaned in, slow—giving him time to move away if he wanted to.

he didn’t.

your lips brushed against his once—hesitant, questioning. and then again, more certain.

it wasn’t a grand kiss. not rushed or greedy. just soft. slow. like a quiet truth exchanged between mouths instead of words.

his hands moved without thinking—one gently at your waist, pulling you in just enough. your hand curled in the fabric of his hoodie, the other resting on his chest where his heartbeat stuttered under your palm.

jay didn’t push. he didn’t exaggerate the moment. he just kissed you like he meant it. like he’d been waiting for this moment to mean something.

when you finally pulled back, it was barely an inch. eyes still locked. the wind moved around you both—a gentle reminder: this just happened.

his forehead rested against yours. noses brushed.

“was that okay?” he asked, voice low.

you nodded. “yes.”

and it was more than okay. it was real. terrifyingly real.

you stayed like that for a moment—hands tangled, hearts too loud. then, quietly, jay opened the door.

but this time, when you stepped inside, it didn’t feel like something was ending.

it felt like something had just begun.

—

it’s been thirteen weeks in the assignment and tomorrow is the exam and you’re currently doing math work from your other professor. your brain is fried from the numbers and letters clashing together on paper and it’s bothering you.

you want to call jay over to help you but every time you think about asking for help you feel less highly capable of doing things by yourself and it takes you back to where you’re confessing your feelings to him.

jay sensed your frustration and creeped over to your side of the room.

“need help?” he offers, his hand resting on your bed frame.

you needed the help but you knew you were highly capable of doing the work. “no jay, i’m fine. thanks,”

jay’s face softened. “don’t shut me out like that, let me help you.”

your pencil stilled. you could hear the sincerity in his voice, quiet and steady.

you stared down at the numbers again, blurry and jumbled on the page like as if they were laughing at you.

“i just—“ your voice cracked. you swallowed hard. “i hate the feeling like i can’t do it when i know i’m capable. i know it’s stupid… but when i ask for help it feels like i’m failing.”

jay didn’t say anything to you. instead he crouched, eye level now.

“asking for help isn’t failure,” he said softly. “you’re one of the most capable people i know. seriously. you don’t have to prove that to anyone, not even me.”

you looked at him surprised by the earnestness in his voice.

“but i always feel like i do,” you admitted. “like if i’m not the best than what am i? and when i see you—it’s like everything just comes easy to you. i feel like i’m constantly catching up.”

jays eyes didn’t move from yours. “you’re not behind me. you’ve never been behind me.”

you blinked, a lump in your throat formed and your eyes daring to spill tears. you hated crying over your own flaws.

“then why does it feel like i’ve been running this whole time?”

jay reached out, taking your pencil from in between your fingers and placing it aside. then he took your hands in his.

“maybe you’ve been running,” he said, “but not because of me. maybe you’ve been running because nobody told you that it’s okay to rest. breathe. and ask for help,”

your hands stiffened in his.

“you don’t have to prove yourself to me,” he continued, voice lower than a whisper now. “you already got my respect. and more.”

you eyes widened.

“more?” you echoed.

he gave a faint, bashful smile. “yeah, more. i think somewhere between all the pretending , it stopped being pretend to me.”

your heart skipped a beat. you knew. you’d known. but hearing it? it shifted somewhere deep in your heart.

“me too.” you said quietly, “i stopped pretending weeks ago.”

the silence that followed was light and comforting.

“so,” he murmured brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “can i help you with the math now?”

you let out a light laugh. “only if you promise not to correct me too smugly,”

he grinned. “deal!”

—

the next day arrived faster than you wanted it to. despite the emotional gravity of the night before, there no time left to process it. not when professor park scheduled your evaluation in-front of the entire class.

you stood outside the lecture hall with jay by your side, heart thudding loudly in your chest. the door was already open. students were chiming in, curious and excited. this was the finale part of the experiment: a verbal demonstration of what the couple had learned.

no scripts. no notes. just honesty.

jay nudged you with his shoulder. “ready?”

you have a small shake to your head. “no. you?”

“not even a little,”

but his smile was reassuring.

when your names were called, the two of you stopped in-front of the door together. your classmates started whispering and you weren’t sure if they were waiting for drama or a love confession or perhaps both.

professor park folded his hands. “you’ve completed thirteen weeks of this

project. today, we ask one simple thing. what have you leaned about each other.”

the room was silent.

jay looked at you, then turned to the class.

“i’ll go first,” he said.

your heart clenched.

“when i started this, i though i’d just annoy her for a few weeks, play the part, and get it over with. but something changed,” his voice was calm but full. “i started paying attention. to how she always pushes herself harder than anyone else. to how she doesn’t ask for help, not because she’s proud, but because she’s afraid of being less than perfect. to how she shows up, again and again, even when she’s tired, even when she’s overwhelmed.”

he paused.

“she’s the smartest person i’ve ever met. not just academically but emotionally. she feels everything deeply and on another level, even when she’s tries to hide it. and along the way i stop pretending to care about her.”

jay looked at you—then really looked at you.

“because i do. i care about her. a lot.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat saving that for another time before you faced the class.

“i hated him.” you said bluntly, earning a few laughs. “he walked into every class with this stupid snarky smirk on his face and an even more perfect gpa, and i thought he was everything i didn’t want.”

you glanced at him, eyes softening.

“but then he started helping me. not just with school, but myself. he made me realize that it’s okay to ask for extra assistance and that it doesn’t make me weaker. he never made me feel small, even when i was spiraling. he just stayed. patient. steady.”

your voice lowered

“somewhere between the fake dates and late night studying, i started looking forward to everything—just because he’d be there.”

jay’s gaze flickers to yours, full of

something warm and bright.

professor park took a few scribbles on that same clipboard , but the room

stayed silent. almost breathless.

“thank you,” he said at last. “you’ve both exceeded expectations.”

the class broke into applause. a few people even whistled. but all you heard was the sound of jay’s breathing next to you. steady. grounding.

—

later that night you find yourselves back where it all started—the quad, now quiet under the golden wash of the campus.

jay had his hands in his pockets, walking slowly beside you.

“so,” he said eventually, “assignments over.”

you nodded. “guess we can stop fake dating now,”

“yeah we could,”

you turned to look at him. “unless…”

he stopped walking and you did too.

jay pulled his hands from out his pocket, stepping infront of you. “unless we don’t stop.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“i meant what i said in-front of everyone,” he continued, voice low. “i meant every word last night too. and i don’t want this to be pretend anymore.”

you felt your breath catch in your throat.

“so,” he said pulling something from

behind his back—a single sheet of paper.

your heart sank. “what is that?”

he grinned. “your last fake dating report.”

you opened it and read:

final evaluation : y/n is officially the person i want to stop pretending with. if she’ll let me, i want to keep dating her—no project, no professor. just me and her. will you be my girlfriend?”

you looked up, blinking fast. “you wrote this?”

“yeah…just didn’t want professor park took a grade it.”

your laugh broke through the lump in your throat.

“so,” he asked stepping closer. “will you?”

you didn’t hesitate. “yes. yes i will be your girlfriend jay.”

jay smiled so big it felt like this whole semester had been worth it for this moment alone. he leaned in, and you met him halfway—this time, with no tension lingering, no blurry lines.

just a kiss that felt like the beginning.

and it was.

—

[enhaflixer]

pjs - Signed, Sealed & Undone. - Part 1

A TIME TRAVEL CONTRACT MARRIAGE FIC -PART 2 OUT NOW

Synopsis: Fake marriage proposals are a tired billionaire trope.

But when Jay Park—former golden boy of Park Industries, now chaebol exile—comes back from disgrace (and back in time), he’s got one goal: rewrite the past before it destroys him.

When you, an unassuming journalist with nothing to lose, get an offer of a lifetime, you’re sure it’s a mistake.

A contract, a relocation to Seoul, and one fake wedding later, you’re still trying to convince yourself none of this is real. The only problem? Neither of you seem to remember where the performance ends and something devastatingly real begins.

Release Date: 8th March, Part 2 - Monday 10th March

WC: 13K CW (18+ MDNI) : fake marriage, slow-burn romance, power dynamics, corporate intrigue, arranged marriage trope, emotional angst, unresolved sexual tension, longing glances across boardrooms, contract loopholes, financial manipulation, morally gray billionaire!Jay, forced proximity, family expectations, betrayal, public displays of affection (for the cameras, obviously), enemies-to-allies-to-lovers, suppressed feelings, business politics, one bed trope (but make it corporate), dramatic confessions, late-night whiskey-fueled arguments, high society drama, backhanded compliments as flirting, dramatic departures followed by even more dramatic returns, lingering touches that mean too much, feelings clause not included in the contract, deep intimacy, power dynamics in a romantic context, possessive tendencies (but soft), light dominance/submission themes, clothing being undone at a painfully slow pace, tension so thick it could shatter glass, breathless dialogue, interrupted kisses that lead to frustration, and the inevitable realization that this was never fake at all.

-

The Original Timeline

Five Years Ago

The first and only time you met Jay Park was at the gallery opening of your college roommate's photography exhibit in New York. You wouldn't have been there at all if Priya hadn't practically begged you to help her make up the numbers.

"Just mingle for an hour," she'd pleaded over coffee that morning, eyes wide with artistic desperation. "Drink free champagne, eat expensive hors d'oeuvres, and pretend to understand modern art. I need this exhibit to succeed. My parents are still convinced I should have become a doctor."

So you'd ventured out into the crisp October evening to a renovated warehouse in Chelsea that now housed the Klein Gallery.

The moment you walked in, you regretted your decision.

The gallery was crowded with Manhattan's elite—people whose casual conversations name-dropped summer homes in the Hamptons and winter getaways in Aspen. You recognized a few faces from glossy magazines—a popular actress, a tech entrepreneur, a fashion designer.

You spotted Priya across the room, surrounded by attentive listeners, looking nothing like the frazzled artist who had practically lived in sweatpants throughout college. Tonight she was transformed—elegant in a silk jumpsuit, her long black hair swept into an artful updo.

Not wanting to interrupt her moment, you moved toward the bar, securing a glass of champagne that definitely wasn't the top-shelf variety promised. Glass in hand, you began the obligatory circuit of the room.

Priya's work had always struck you as technically skilled but emotionally distant. Tonight's collection—titled "Urban Dissolution"—featured black and white images of city landscapes in various states of decay. To your untrained eye, several looked like artistic shots of garbage.

You were examining one such photograph when someone spoke beside you.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?"

The voice was pleasant—a warm baritone with just the slightest hint of an accent.

You turned to find a man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit studying the same photograph with thinly veiled amusement. He was handsome in that polished, untouchable way of the extremely wealthy—perfect hair, perfect posture, everything about him screaming old money.

Under normal circumstances, you might have nodded politely and moved on. Men who looked like him rarely engaged in genuine conversation at events like these.

But something in his expression—a hint of genuine mischief beneath the polished exterior—made you respond honestly.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied diplomatically. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we can still recognize it when we experience it." He gestured toward the photograph with his champagne flute. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you, drawing disapproving glances from a nearby couple examining the same piece with exaggerated intensity.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said, lowering your voice.

"Ah." He didn't look remotely embarrassed. If anything, his smile widened, creating a small dimple in his left cheek. "Then I assume you're here out of obligation rather than appreciation."

You studied him more carefully. There was no malice in his expression, only genuine amusement and refreshing honesty.

"Isn't everyone at these things?" You glanced around the gallery. "Half the people here couldn't distinguish between a masterpiece and a child's finger painting, but they'll all have very strong opinions."

"Touché." His smile reached his eyes, transforming his face from merely handsome to genuinely compelling. "I'm Jay."

"Just Jay?" You raised an eyebrow. "No family name? No title or position that should impress me?"

"Tonight, just Jay." He seemed to appreciate that you didn't immediately offer your name in return. "And you are?"

"Just someone who defends her friends' artistic endeavors, no matter how questionable."

"Loyalty," he nodded, as if noting something important. "An underrated quality in rooms like this, where allegiances change with the season's trends."

There was something wistful in his observation, a flash of genuineness beneath the practiced charm. Before you could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew your attention.

A group had arrived, their entrance causing a ripple effect through the crowd—backs straightening, conversations pausing, attention shifting.

"Duty calls," Jay murmured, his expression cooling. The playful stranger who had joked with you was vanishing, replaced by someone more controlled. "It was refreshing to meet you, Just Someone."

And then he was gone, moving toward the new arrivals. You watched as he transformed with each step—shoulders squaring, chin lifting, smile shifting from genuine to practiced.

He bowed respectfully to an older couple at the center of the group, clearly his family. The woman—elegant, with silver-streaked black hair—examined the gallery with the cool assessment of someone accustomed to making judgments that mattered.

It was only when Priya rushed over that you realized who you'd been talking to.

"Do you know who that was?" she hissed, gripping your arm. "The Jay Park. Park Industries! The Korean conglomerate that's expanding into American markets. Did you get his number?"

"We just talked about your photographs," you said, suddenly feeling out of place in your carefully selected but obviously off-the-rack dress. "He called them visual food poisoning."

Priya's expression didn't even flicker. "Jay Park insulted my work? That's practically a career highlight!" She snapped a discreet photo. "Wait until I tell my parents—they'll finally believe this wasn't a waste of my education."

You watched as Jay circulated through the room with practiced ease, his charisma deployed with strategic precision. The man who had stood beside you making irreverent comments might as well have been a different person entirely.

As you left the gallery hours later, you glanced back once to find Jay watching you from across the room. For just a moment, his public mask slipped, and he gave you a small, conspiratorial smile.

You never saw him again. Not in person, anyway.

Three Years Ago

"PARK HEIR ENGAGEMENT ANNOUNCED: JAY PARK TO WED ITALIAN HEIRESS"

The headline splashed across your phone screen during your morning subway commute. Normally, you'd have skipped past such celebrity gossip, but the name caught your attention—that brief memory of champagne and honesty in a New York gallery.

Curious, you tapped the article.

"Jay Park, 29, heir to the Park Industries empire, announced his engagement yesterday to Seraphina Visconti, 26, daughter of Italian shipping magnate Giorgio Visconti. The match unites two of the most influential business families across continents after a whirlwind romance of six months.

"'Seraphina represents everything the Parks value—business acumen, family loyalty, and global vision,' said Chairwoman Soo-min Park in a statement.

"The couple met during Park Industries' expansion into European markets. Sources suggest the marriage will cement a strategic partnership potentially worth billions."

Below the text was a photograph of Jay with his arm around a stunning woman with olive skin and a camera-ready smile. He looked exactly as you remembered—handsome, composed, untouchable. But something about his eyes seemed different. Harder, perhaps. The smile that had crinkled their corners in the gallery was nowhere to be seen.

You stared at the image longer than was reasonable for someone who had spoken to the man exactly once. There was something almost theatrical about the pose, the smiles, the carefully framed opulence.

"Good for him," you muttered, closing the article as the subway reached your stop. "Hope they're very happy together."

You found yourself wondering if he'd made that woman laugh genuinely, or if their relationship was built on the kind of performance you'd witnessed when his family arrived at the gallery.

You didn't think about Jay Park again for a long time.

Last Year

"PARK INDUSTRIES HEIR DISGRACED: JAY PARK REMOVED FROM FAMILY COMPANY AMID SCANDAL"

This headline caught your eye during lunch break. The photograph showed Jay leaving a building, face partially obscured, expression hidden behind dark sunglasses. Even in disgrace, he wore an impeccably tailored suit, though his tie was loosened and his normally perfect hair disheveled.

Something tightened in your chest at the image. You tapped on the article, pushing your salad aside.

"Jay Park has been removed from his position following allegations of corporate espionage and fraud. The Seoul Economic Prosecutor's Office confirmed yesterday that Park is under investigation for his role in the controversial merger between Park Industries and Hanjin Global.

"'Evidence suggests Mr. Park orchestrated the theft of proprietary information to facilitate the merger on terms exceptionally favorable to Park Industries,' stated Chief Prosecutor Kim. 'This represents a serious breach of corporate ethics and possibly criminal misconduct.'

"Sources revealed that Chairwoman Soo-min Park, Jay's mother, personally signed the termination papers. 'It was like watching an execution,' said one executive. 'The family cut him off completely. No defense, no second chances.'

"Adding personal tragedy to professional disgrace, Park's engagement to Italian heiress Seraphina Visconti was terminated shortly before the scandal broke."

You frowned at your screen. Something about the story felt wrong—the swiftness of his family's abandonment, the convenient timing of the broken engagement, the way everyone seemed to distance themselves simultaneously, as if following a coordinated script.

But what did you know? You'd met the man once, years ago. That brief interaction hardly qualified you to judge the situation or the complex dynamics of global corporate politics.

Still, you couldn't shake the memory of his genuine smile, so different from the corporate mask he'd worn for his family. The way he'd spoken about loyalty as an underrated quality.

"Rough fall from grace," your coworker commented, noticing the article on your screen. "Guess even the mighty Parks can't escape karma."

"I guess not," you agreed absently. But privately you wondered what karma had to do with it. From what little you knew of chaebol families, they created their own destinies—and occasionally, their own destruction.

Over the following months, you occasionally saw follow-up articles. The investigation seemed to drag on without clear resolution. Some outlets questioned aspects of the evidence. Others suggested political motivations behind the prosecution.

But as the story faded from headlines, you found yourself wondering sometimes what had happened to the man who had once made you laugh in an art gallery—the man who, for a brief moment, had seemed genuinely human beneath the wealth and privilege.

Four Months Ago - Jay's Perspective

Jay Park stood at the window of his empty apartment, watching Seoul's lights glitter below. The city looked exactly the same as it had before his life imploded—indifferent to his disgrace. Photographers still camped outside his building, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fallen heir.

The penthouse that had once been featured in architectural magazines now echoed with emptiness. Most of the art and furnishings were gone—some seized in the investigation, others reclaimed by his family when they'd cut him off.

His phone—a new one, with a number known to fewer than five people—vibrated on the counter. He ignored it. The nearly empty bottle of scotch beside it held more appeal. He poured another measure into a glass that didn't match the crystal tumblers he'd once collected.

Jay took a long sip, noting with detached interest that his hand no longer shook. Progress, of a sort. The first few months after his downfall, he could barely hold a glass steady.

The evidence against him had been impeccable. Each document, each testimony, each transaction record forming a perfect constellation of guilt. So perfect that, had he not known with absolute certainty he was innocent, he might have believed it himself.

That was the elegant brutality of it—the case was built not on crude forgeries, but on actual actions he had taken, actual meetings he had attended, all recontextualized to tell a story of corruption rather than innovation.

By the time he understood what was happening, the narrative had solidified. His former fiancée had disappeared back to Italy. His family had closed ranks against him. His so-called friends had vanished overnight.

"You always were too trusting, Jongseong."

His mother's words, delivered as she personally collected his company credentials. Not in private—she had ensured there were witnesses. The perfect chairwoman, putting corporate ethics above family loyalty.

He'd spent his entire life trying to prove himself worthy of the Park name, only to be discarded the moment it became expedient.

His phone vibrated again. A text from his attorney: "Prosecutor offering deal. Meet tomorrow."

Jay didn't bother responding. There would be no deal. Not because he was noble, but because accepting a deal meant accepting guilt. And while the world might believe him guilty, he refused to validate the lie.

He returned to the window, scotch in hand. Somewhere in that landscape were the people who had orchestrated his downfall. Were they celebrating still? Or had they already moved on to their next target, his destruction just another successful transaction?

One photograph lay face-down on the counter—Seraphina smiling beside him at their engagement party, her eyes fixed on the camera with practiced warmth. The perfect couple. The perfect alliance. The perfect lie.

"I never saw it coming," he murmured. "Not from you."

That was the truly unforgivable part—not the betrayal itself, but his blind failure to anticipate it. All the signs had been there: her sudden interest when the Hanjin merger was first discussed, her questions about his meetings, her friendship with his cousin.

But he'd been too enthralled with the idea of her—the perfect partner who fit the plan he'd constructed for his life.

Jay drained his glass. He should sleep. Tomorrow would bring more meetings, more denials, more evidence of his spectacular fall.

He was turning from the window when it happened—a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes, so intense he dropped his glass. It shattered as he clutched his head, the pain expanding outward like a supernova.

The room tilted sideways. His hand passed through the wall as though it were mist. The familiar contours of his apartment seemed to dissolve, replaced by swirling darkness.

His last conscious thought was strangely clear, cutting through the pain:

I would do it all differently.

Jay opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.

No—not unfamiliar. His old curtains, from his suite in the family compound. The heavy navy drapes his mother had replaced three years ago.

He sat up with a jolt, banging his head against the headboard with an undignified thud.

"What the—" he muttered, rubbing his forehead while blinking at his surroundings.

This room had been redecorated after he moved out. The traditional furniture, the blue walls, the precise arrangement of his diplomas—all of it had been erased when his mother decided the space needed to "reflect the modern sensibilities of Park Industries' future."

Jay scrambled out of bed, tangling himself in sheets he hadn't slept in for years—1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton in navy blue, not the minimalist white linens of his apartment.

He stumbled to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror made him grip the countertop until his knuckles went white.

"Impossible," he whispered.

The face was his, but not the one he'd seen yesterday. No dark circles. No stress lines. No gray hairs at his temples. This was him from... before.

"I've lost my mind," he announced to the empty bathroom. "This is what a psychotic break feels like."

He splashed cold water on his face, half expecting the hallucination to dissolve.

Back in the bedroom, his phone chimed. Not the anonymous device he'd been using since his disgrace, but his old phone—the one with the Park Industries logo, the one seized by prosecutors.

He approached it like it might explode, picking it up between two fingers.

The calendar notification made him drop the phone directly onto his foot.

"Son of a—" he yelped, hopping awkwardly.

He snatched up the phone again and stared at the date.

Five years in the past.

Another notification: "Meeting with Chairman Kang's team at 11. Merger exploration talks. Confidential."

Kang. The first domino in what would become his downfall. The meeting that would eventually lead him to Seraphina Visconti.

"This can't be happening," he said, running his hands through his hair until it stood in a manner his perfectly-coiffed future self would find horrifying.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open. Jay yelped and grabbed a decorative pillow to cover his chest.

His mother's executive assistant, Mrs. Joseph, stood in the doorway, her expression somehow even more judgmental as she took in his disheveled state.

"Mr. Park," she said with glacial formality, "your mother wishes to remind you that the board meeting begins in forty-five minutes."

"Mrs. Joseph," Jay managed, clutching the tasseled pillow, "what day is it today?"

One perfectly plucked eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"It is Tuesday, Mr. Park. The 17th of October, 2018."

Five years in the past. Confirmed by the human calendar that was Mrs. Joseph, who had never been wrong about a date in twenty years.

"Thank you. Please tell my mother I'll be there."

Mrs. Joseph nodded and closed the door.

Jay stood frozen before bursting into motion, pacing and gesturing wildly.

"Time travel isn't real," he informed his empty room. "This is a complete psychological break."

He stopped in front of the mirror, pointing an accusatory finger at his reflection.

"You are having a nervous breakdown."

His phone chimed again. A text from his cousin Danny: "You look like hell on the security feed. Board meeting in 44 minutes. Pull yourself together."

Jay glanced at the discreet camera in the corner, then back at his phone.

Other people could see him. Other people were interacting with him. This wasn't just in his head.

"I've gone back in time," he whispered, testing the words. "I've gone back in time!"

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his chest. He had a second chance. A chance to avoid Seraphina. A chance to prevent the merger catastrophe. A chance to protect himself from betrayal before it began.

Then he froze, composing himself. If this was real, he needed to be strategic.

"Park Jongseong," he told his reflection sternly, "pull yourself together. You have a board meeting in forty-three minutes. And then you have a life to completely rebuild."

As he headed for the bathroom, he caught himself whistling. Park Jongseong didn't whistle. Park Jongseong was dignified, serious, and focused at all times.

But then again, Park Jongseong also didn't time travel. So perhaps some new rules were in order.

Forty-two minutes later, Jay found himself seated in the most uncomfortable chair in Seoul—not because of its design, but because of who surrounded it.

The Park Industries boardroom was exactly as he remembered it from before its renovation. Twenty-four seats around a massive mahogany table, each position equipped with a recessed screen and an elegant portfolio. The room smelled of sandalwood and concentrated power.

And around him sat the very people who would one day abandon him without hesitation.

His mother, Chairwoman Soomin Park, presided at the head, her silver-streaked hair in a severe chignon. His father sat opposite, expression fixed in the distant contemplation that had always characterized their relationship. Next to him was Uncle Jiho, whose vote would be first to condemn Jay when the time came. Beside his mother sat Aunt Mina, who would publicly declare his actions "disappointing but not surprising."

They were all watching him. Or perhaps he was just paranoid. Hard to tell which was more reasonable when you'd time-traveled into your younger body.

"The Q3 projections for the semiconductor division," droned CFO Yun. "As you can see, we're exceeding targets by 4.3% despite supply chain challenges..."

Jay nodded mechanically, trying to appear engaged while his mind raced. He kept catching himself staring at people who shouldn't be noteworthy—like Director Kang, who would later introduce him to Seraphina Visconti.

"Jongseong."

He jerked upright, realizing his mother had addressed him directly.

"I—" he began, having no idea what had been asked. "Could you repeat the question?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his mother's face. "I said, do you have the projections for the European market expansion? The ones you insisted were ready for board review?"

Right. The European expansion. The document that would eventually lead to the Visconti partnership. The first step in his downfall.

"I've been reconsidering those projections," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears. "I believe we should focus on domestic consolidation before extending into Europe."

A heavy silence fell over the room. In the original timeline, he'd aggressively championed European expansion for months.

"You've been... reconsidering," his mother repeated, each syllable precisely weighted. "Since last night's strategy meeting, where you presented a seventy-page report detailing exactly why European expansion cannot wait?"

Jay cleared his throat, tugging at his suddenly tight collar. "I've had some... insights."

"Insights," she echoed flatly.

"Yes. About... market volatility." Jay caught sight of his reflection in the darkened screen—he looked like someone trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts. "And geopolitical considerations. Brexit currency fluctuations. You know. Business... things."

Director Kang frowned. "But your analysis specifically addressed Brexit concerns, concluding they presented opportunity rather than obstacle."

"Well, people can change their minds," Jay said, a bit too forcefully.

His mother set down her pen—never a good sign. "Are you feeling well, Jongseong?"

"Perfectly well. Never better."

"You look flushed. And you're sweating."

Jay reached up, mortified to find his forehead damp. Park Jongseong did not sweat in board meetings.

"It's rather warm in here."

"It's sixty-eight degrees, as always," his mother replied. "Your grandfather had similar symptoms before his stroke. The disorientation. The contradictory statements."

"I'm not having a stroke," Jay said, horrified that this conversation was happening in front of the entire board.

"He said the same thing," contributed his aunt helpfully. "Right before he tried to sign a merger agreement with a potted plant."

"I know what day it is," Jay offered as proof of his mental faculties. "It's Tuesday, October 17, 2018."

This did not have the intended effect. If anything, his mother's concern deepened.

"Yes," she said slowly. "Most people with calendars know the date. More relevant is your explanation for this sudden policy reversal."

Jay scrambled for a plausible explanation that wouldn't sound like 'I've seen the future and it ends with all of you betraying me.'

"I received some... intelligence," he said finally. "About certain European partners. It requires verification before we proceed."

This, at least, was the language of business his mother understood. Her expression shifted from concern to calculation.

"What intelligence, and from whom?"

"I'd prefer to discuss that privately," he said, finding his footing. "After I've confirmed some details."

His mother studied him, then gave a slight nod. "Very well. We'll revisit the European strategy next week."

As the presentation resumed, Jay exhaled slowly, only to catch his father watching him with an evaluative expression he couldn't quite interpret.

His phone vibrated. Grateful for the distraction, he discreetly checked the message.

From Jake: Dude, what was THAT? Your mom thinks you're having a stroke, and Danny says you were talking to yourself this morning. Also, Priya's exhibition is Friday, don't forget you promised to come. Her parents are visiting from Mumbai and she's freaking out.

Jay blinked, momentarily confused. Priya? Jake's girlfriend. The photographer. The exhibition.

A distant memory stirred—something about an art gallery in New York, some terrible photographs, and...

He frowned, trying to recall. There had been someone there, hadn't there? Someone he'd spoken to briefly. He couldn't remember a face or name, just a vague impression of a genuine laugh and an honest conversation.

He typed back: Not having a stroke. Just reconsidering some strategies. What time Friday?

Jake's reply came instantly: 8PM, Klein Gallery in Chelsea. Wear something that makes you look less corporate robot, more human person.

Jay tucked his phone away, the half-formed memory already fading as more pressing concerns demanded his attention.

"Jongseong, do you have anything to add to Director Park's assessment?"

Jay looked up to find the entire board staring at him again. He hadn't heard a word of what Director Park had said.

"I think Director Park's assessment is... comprehensive," he managed, having no idea what he was endorsing.

"He asked for your input on canceling the Daewon acquisition."

"Right." Jay straightened. The Daewon acquisition—a company they had purchased and later sold at a significant profit in his original timeline. "I believe we should proceed with the acquisition. Their patent portfolio alone justifies the investment."

Director Park nodded approvingly. "Exactly my point."

Jay relaxed marginally, only to tense again when his mother spoke.

"That's interesting, considering Director Park just recommended we cancel the acquisition due to their overvalued patents."

The room fell silent. Jay felt heat creeping up his neck.

"I was... testing to see if anyone was paying attention?"

His mother's sigh could have withered steel. "We'll take a ten minute recess. Jongseong, my office. Now."

As the board members filed out, his father paused briefly beside him.

"Whatever's going on with you, fix it before your mother decides you need medical intervention. Or worse, reassignment."

With that less-than-comforting advice, Jay followed his mother to what would undoubtedly be the most awkward conversation of his newly-regained past life.

"Close the door," his mother instructed as they entered her office, a minimalist sanctuary of glass and steel.

Jay obeyed, steeling himself for the dissection that was about to occur.

"Sit," she commanded, taking her place behind a desk large enough to land a small aircraft.

He complied, automatically adjusting his posture to the rigid formality expected. Twenty-nine years of conditioning didn't disappear even with temporal displacement.

"What is happening with you?"

"Nothing serious, I assure you. Just a temporary—"

"That was not a board performance worthy of a Park," she interrupted. "You contradicted yourself, failed to pay attention, and gave the impression of someone who is either incompetent or unwell. Neither is acceptable."

"I apologize, Mom. It won't happen again."

The moment the word left his mouth, Jay was surprised at his own casualness. Mom. Not "Mother" or "Chairwoman" as he'd taken to calling her in professional settings.

His mother's expression softened almost imperceptibly—visible only to someone who had spent a lifetime learning to read her minute facial cues.

"It's been a while since you've called me that in this office," she noted, neither disapproving nor sentimental. The Parks might be ruthless in business, but family was family. "Though it doesn't exempt you from explaining your behavior this morning."

"I'm simply... reconsidering certain aspects of my approach."

"Your approach," she echoed skeptically.

"Yes. I've been thinking that perhaps I've been too rigid. Too focused on following a preset path without questioning whether it's the optimal route."

Her expression shifted subtly. "And this revelation came to you when, exactly?"

"Recently," he hedged.

"I see." She tapped one nail against her desk. "And does this 'reconsideration' include your personal life as well?"

Jay tensed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you've spent five years claiming to be too focused on your career for serious relationships, despite my repeated reminders that a suitable marriage is an essential component of your position. If you're reconsidering 'preset paths,' perhaps this is an area you might prioritize."

And there it was. In the original timeline, this conversation had led to his first introduction to the Visconti family.

"I don't believe my focus should be on marriage at this time," he said carefully.

"And yet you're now suggesting we delay European expansion, which leaves you with considerably more bandwidth." She opened a drawer and removed a slim folder. "I've taken the liberty of updating your candidate dossiers."

Of course she had. In his mother's world, suitable marriage partners were assessed with the same due diligence as potential acquisitions.

"I appreciate your thoroughness, but I'll handle this aspect of my life myself."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "You've been 'handling it yourself' since graduation, with no results. The Kang family has been quite direct about their interest in an alliance through their daughter."

Jay suppressed a grimace. Se-yeon Kang. The woman who had introduced him to Seraphina at her father's request.

"The Kangs are not a suitable match," he said sharply.

"On what basis?"

On the basis that they were integral to his destruction, he thought bitterly.

"I have concerns about their long-term business ethics," he said instead.

"Interesting." She made a note on her tablet. "I wasn't aware you had investigated the Kang operations."

"I make it my business to be thorough."

"Perhaps you're not as distracted as you appeared in the boardroom, then."

Jay recognized the familiar pattern—his mother testing him, probing for weaknesses. In his first life, he'd been so desperate for her approval that he'd missed the manipulation.

"I should prepare for the Kang meeting," he said, rising. "I'll need to review the materials given my reconsideration of our European strategy."

She nodded, dismissing him with a wave. "Don't embarrass yourself again. The board already thinks you're following in your grandfather's neurological footsteps."

At the door, he paused. In his previous life, he'd walked out of this office and directly into the trap being laid for him.

"One more thing," he said. "Who originally suggested the Visconti Group as a potential European partner?"

If the question surprised her, she didn't show it. "I believe Chairman Kang mentioned them at the economic forum in Davos. Why?"

"Just mapping connections. It helps me visualize the relationship web."

Her eyes narrowed slightly—the look she gave when recalculating her assessment. "Your grandfather used to say something similar. Before the stroke, of course."

With that parting barb, she dismissed him.

As Jay left, his phone vibrated again. Another text from Jake:

Almost forgot—Priya says to bring that friend of yours from the investment firm if he's still in town. She needs all the connections she can get.

Jay frowned. What friend from what investment firm? He didn't recall...

And then it clicked. The half-remembered interaction from the gallery. There had been someone else there that night—not just the person he'd spoken to, but someone he'd been introduced to later.

If he attended this exhibition, he might run into that person again—the one whose laugh he vaguely remembered. Not that it mattered particularly. Just a curious coincidence in his reshuffled timeline.

He pocketed his phone, mind already turning to more immediate concerns. The Kang meeting. The European strategy. The trap he needed to dismantle piece by piece.

A random stranger he'd once met at a gallery was hardly worth dwelling on when he had an entire future to reconstruct.

Autumn in New York welcomed Jay with crisp air and streets still gleaming from an afternoon shower. He stood outside the Klein Gallery in Chelsea, straightening cuffs that needed no adjustment.

The city felt different now—full of possibility rather than the shame and failure it would represent in his original timeline. Here, five years before his downfall, no photographers lurked hoping to catch the disgraced Park heir. He was just another wealthy visitor, anonymous in a city that specialized in ignoring the important.

The past three days had been a calculated offensive against his future ruin. Altered procurement strategies. Reassigned personnel. Extensive documentation that couldn't be manipulated later. He'd even faced down Kang himself, politely declining the European expansion that would eventually lead to his destruction.

All while maintaining the perfect Park Jongseong façade.

This trip to New York offered both strategic cover and unexpected relief. For a few precious hours, he could breathe without the weight of his name.

He checked his watch. He was early, deliberately so. Jake and Priya would arrive in twenty minutes, giving him time to assess the gallery and determine if his half-remembered encounter would repeat itself.

But the vagueness didn't matter. What mattered was the opportunity to alter one small variable in the equation of his life.

Since his mother had mentioned marriage in her office, a strategy had been forming in his mind. In the original timeline, the months following this trip had seen increasing pressure about his relationship status. His mother had begun introducing him to eligible candidates—all with their own agendas, all connected to the world that would eventually close ranks against him.

And then came Seraphina. Perfect, beautiful, accomplished Seraphina. The woman who would eventually help orchestrate his destruction.

But what if he removed that variable entirely? What if he preempted the whole process? Elementary business strategy: block your opponent's best move before they make it.

Inside, the gallery was minimalist—white walls, polished concrete floors, strategic lighting. Jay moved through the space with practiced ease, accepting champagne from a passing server.

Priya's work was exactly as he remembered—technically proficient but emotionally distant. Black and white urban landscapes hinting at decay and renewal. He paused before one he remembered discussing in the original timeline—the one he'd compared to food poisoning.

"Considering an acquisition?" a voice asked. Not yours. The gallery owner—Klein himself.

"Just appreciating the composition," Jay replied smoothly.

He scanned the room peripherally. The space was filling with the expected crowd—moneyed New Yorkers performing interest in emerging artists, critics with studied expressions of judgment.

But no sign of you.

A flicker of concern crossed his mind. Had his earlier manipulations altered the timeline so significantly that you wouldn't attend?

"Mr. Park!" Priya approached with nervous energy

"The exhibition looks excellent," Jay said, offering Priya a polite air-kiss. "Your work has evolved considerably."

A kind lie. Her work was exactly as he remembered it.

"That means so much coming from you," Priya gushed. "Jake said you've been impossibly busy with the European expansion plans."

Jay shot Jake a warning look, but his friend merely shrugged.

"Sorry, forgot it was all very hush-hush and corporate espionage-y." Jake clapped Jay's shoulder. "You look terrible, by the way. In an expensive, tailored way, but still terrible. Are you sleeping these days?"

In his first life, Jay would have bristled at such criticism. Now, after everything, he felt unexpected gratitude for Jake's honesty. He'd forgotten this about their friendship—how Jake treated him as a person, not the Park heir.

"Sleep is for those without quarterly projections," Jay replied dryly.

"You're not fine, you're just good at faking fine. The Park family specialty." Jake surveyed the crowd. "Speaking of fake, look at all these people pretending to understand Priya's art when half couldn't tell profound commentary from pictures of garbage."

Priya elbowed him. "My parents will be here any minute. Please pretend to be cultured."

"Fine. I'll practice my 'this speaks to me spiritually' face." Jake grinned and headed for the bar.

"He's impossible," Priya sighed affectionately. "But he's been amazing with my parents. Even learned Hindi phrases for my father."

Jay nodded, remembering with a pang how Jake and Priya's engagement had been "postponed" after his disgrace. No one wanted ties to a pariah, not even his oldest friend.

"Jay?" Priya studied him. "Are you okay? You seem... different somehow."

Before he could answer, the gallery's atmosphere shifted—the crowd parting for Priya's parents. She excused herself, leaving Jay alone.

His mind returned to his strategy. He needed someone who could occupy the space Seraphina would fill, disrupting the timeline ending in his ruin. Someone far removed from his world.

You—if you showed up—would be perfect. Not for any particular quality, but for what you weren't. You weren't connected to his family's web of alliances. You had no ties to competing conglomerates. You carried no hidden agenda.

Your ignorance of his world wasn't a liability—it was your greatest asset. You couldn't be manipulated by the forces that orchestrated his destruction because you existed outside their sphere.

It wasn't personal. He didn't need a soulmate; he needed a shield. The fact that he remembered your laugh was merely incidental. A convenient connection point for his strategy.

The gallery door opened, admitting a gust of cool air and a latecomer—you.

Recognition hit immediately. How had he forgotten so many details? Your self-conscious movements. Your genuine curiosity instead of affected boredom.

Jay moved toward you before consciously deciding to, drawn by the chance to rewrite this small piece of his past. He intercepted you at the photograph he knew you'd examine—the one you'd defended despite its quality.

He reminded himself: this was strategy, not sentiment. Business, not emotion. This was about survival.

"It's quite terrible, isn't it?" Jay said, repeating his original words.

You turned, and he was struck by your direct gaze—no calculation, just human curiosity.

"I wouldn't say that," you replied, amusement tugging at your mouth. "Art is subjective."

"So is food poisoning, but we recognize it when we experience it." He gestured with his champagne. "This is visual food poisoning."

A startled laugh escaped you—genuine, unguarded. The sound hit Jay with unexpected force. For a moment, his calculated facade cracked, replaced by a genuine impulse to connect.

He pushed the feeling aside. Focus on the objective.

"That's my friend's work you're insulting," you said quietly.

"Ah. Then you're here from obligation rather than appreciation?"

"Isn't everyone?" You glanced around. "Half these people couldn't distinguish masterpieces from finger paintings, but they'll have strong opinions borrowed from the last opening."

The conversation unfolded exactly as before—eerie yet comforting.

"I'm Jay," he said, memorizing your face.

"Just Jay? No impressive title?"

"Park. Jay Park. But I'd prefer to be just Jay tonight."

You assessed him with refreshing directness. "And what does Just Jay do when not critiquing photography?"

Another deviation from the original timeline. A small ripple that could grow into a wave.

"Corporate strategy," he replied vaguely. "Nothing as interesting as defending questionable art. And you are...?"

The gallery door opened, and Jay felt a cold jolt as his family entered, causing the usual ripple through the crowd. His mother, father, relatives—all unaware they would eventually abandon him when convenient.

This was the moment. Originally, he'd left without your name, swept back into the path leading to Seraphina and his destruction.

Not this time.

"I should warn you," he said conspiratorially, "I'm about to transform into someone less honest and more boring. Corporate obligation." He nodded toward his family. "But before I do—your name? In case our paths cross again."

Behind this casual request lay his entire strategy. Your name would be the first stone in his new foundation.

As he waited, his gaze intensified slightly. To you, it might seem like normal interest. To him, it was the focus of someone placing extraordinary significance on an ordinary exchange.

This wasn't just about a name—it was about architecture. The careful redesign of his future. And you, unknowingly, were about to become a cornerstone.

"Y/N"

-

The syllables hung in the air between them for a moment. Jay's smile shifted—genuine now, not the practiced expression he deployed at corporate functions.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Y/N." He reached for your hand, a brief, professional clasp. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

He slipped you his card—not the formal Park Industries one, but a sleeker personal version with just his name and private number. A deliberate choice. The first move in his new game.

"Perhaps we'll cross paths again," he said. His tone casual, but his gaze wasn't. It held yours a moment longer than social convention dictated.

Then he was gone, transforming with each step toward his family. Shoulders squaring. Expression cooling. The brief glimpse of honest humanity tucked away beneath the polished exterior of Park Jongseong, corporate heir.

You watched him bow to his mother, exchange handshakes with other family members, fluidly inserting himself into their formal orbit. The man who had made irreverent comments about art seemed to evaporate entirely.

"The exhibition demonstrates impressive technical skill," Jay's mother observed an hour later, champagne flute held at a precise angle. "Though the subject matter is rather... conventional."

This assessment came after a methodical circuit of the gallery, during which the Park family had drawn considerable attention without seeming to notice it.

"Priya has potential," Jay replied diplomatically. "Her composition exhibits strong understanding of negative space."

Art criticism wasn't the point of this conversation, and they both knew it. His mother was watching him carefully, calculating something behind her perfect smile.

"I spotted you speaking with someone earlier," she mentioned with practiced casualness. "Before we arrived."

And there it was. Nothing escaped her notice.

"A friend of the artist," Jay said, matching her casual tone. "We were discussing the merits of contemporary photography."

"I see." His mother's gaze swept the room, locating you within seconds where you stood chatting with Priya near the bar. "Not the usual social circle you frequent."

"Perhaps that's refreshing." Jay sipped his champagne, strategic in his mild defiance. "One tires of the same conversations."

His mother's eyebrow arched slightly—the equivalent of open surprise from anyone else.

"Interesting," she said, recalculating variables in her mental dossier. "Does this relate to your sudden disinterest in the European expansion?"

"Not directly," Jay replied. "Though both reflect a broader reassessment of paths worth pursuing."

She studied him with the penetrating gaze that had intimidated business rivals for decades. "You've changed, Jongseong. Since when, I'm not certain. But something is different."

"Growth isn't change, Mother. It's evolution." He'd never spoken to her this way in his first timeline—confident but not confrontational. "The core remains the same."

His father approached, ending their private exchange. "The Visconti Group's representative just arrived," he informed his wife. "The one you wanted to meet."

Jay's pulse quickened. In the original timeline, this casual introduction had been the first seed planted. The beginning of his eventual destruction.

"Another time, perhaps," Jay interjected smoothly before his mother could respond. "I promised Jake I'd speak with some potential collectors. His girlfriend would be devastated if the night wasn't successful."

His father's expression registered mild surprise at this unusual prioritization of friendship over business.

"Of course," his mother said, analyzing this new data point. "Family supports family's associates. That's the Park way."

The subtle reminder of obligation came with her practiced smile. Not a reprimand, but a note being filed away for future reference.

Jay inclined his head respectfully and moved away, circulating through the crowd with practiced ease. He exchanged pleasantries with critics, complimented the gallery owner, and strategically positioned himself near a group of potential collectors, laying groundwork for a purchase that would help Priya's career.

All while remaining acutely aware of your location in the room.

-

Two hours later, Jay found himself in a strategic position near the coat check as you prepared to leave. The gallery had begun to empty, the initial excitement of the opening fading into the routine pattern of a Thursday night in Chelsea.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, timing his approach to appear coincidental.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face. "Just Jay. I thought you'd be trapped in corporate obligation all night."

"A temporary reprieve." He smiled. "The family business discussions have moved to dinner at Le Bernardin."

"Very fancy," you commented. "I'm headed for much humbler fare—the subway and takeout."

Jay glanced at his watch. "Actually, I find myself with an unexpected hour before I need to join them. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a proper dinner? There's an excellent place just around the corner." He kept his tone casual, the invitation seemingly spontaneous.

You hesitated, studying him with that direct gaze he found so refreshing. "Why would you want to have dinner with a complete stranger when you clearly have more important places to be?"

The directness of the question caught him slightly off-guard. In his world, people rarely questioned Park Jongseong's motivations to his face.

"Because you're the only interesting conversation I've had all evening," he replied, allowing a hint of genuine feeling to color his words. "Everyone else is either trying to sell me something, impress me, or secure an introduction to my mother."

You considered this, head tilted slightly. "And what makes you think I'm not doing the same?"

Jay laughed—a real laugh, not his polished social chuckle. "The fact that you just asked that question, for starters."

Something in your expression softened. "One hour. And it had better be good food."

"I never compromise on quality," Jay assured you, suppressing the satisfaction of a well-executed strategic move. "The restaurant is just three blocks from here."

As you walked together into the crisp autumn evening, Jay maintained the perfect balance of professional distance and personal interest. He asked about your work (freelance journalism), your history with Priya (college roommates), your thoughts on New York's cultural scene (overpriced but occasionally transcendent).

Each piece of information carefully filed away. Each response analyzed for potential complications or advantages to his developing strategy.

The restaurant—an upscale Italian place with discreet lighting and well-spaced tables—provided the ideal setting for his purposes. Impressive without being intimidating. Exclusive enough to require his name for a last-minute table, but not so ostentatious that it would make you uncomfortable.

"So," you said once you were seated and had ordered, "are you going to tell me what Park Industries actually does? Or am I supposed to pretend I don't know you're practically royalty in South Korea?"

Again, that directness. Jay found himself genuinely smiling.

"Technically, we do everything from semiconductors to shipping," he replied. "But that's hardly dinner conversation. I'd rather hear more about your work. Journalism must give you a unique perspective."

"Nice deflection," you noted, but allowed the conversation to shift.

For fifty-three minutes, Jay executed a perfect performance of genuine connection. He asked thoughtful questions. Shared carefully selected personal anecdotes. Displayed just enough vulnerability to seem authentic without revealing anything truly significant.

He studied your reactions, adjusting his approach subtly based on what resonated. When you responded to his dry humor, he offered more. When certain topics sparked genuine interest in your eyes, he explored them further.

A strategic seduction—but not a romantic one. He was securing an ally. Establishing a connection outside the corrupted network that had eventually destroyed him.

When his phone vibrated with a text from his mother, he allowed himself a calculated show of reluctance.

"Duty calls," he said, echoing his words from earlier in the gallery. "I've enjoyed this conversation more than you know."

"It was surprisingly pleasant," you agreed with a hint of amusement. "Despite the suspicious circumstances."

He signaled for the check. "Suspicious?"

"Wealthy heir suddenly interested in random gallery-goer? That's either the beginning of a romance novel or a cautionary tale." You smiled to soften the words. "I'm still deciding which."

Jay laughed again, caught between strategic calculation and genuine appreciation of your perception.

"Perhaps neither," he suggested. "Perhaps just two people enjoying conversation without agenda."

"Everyone has an agenda," you replied, gathering your things. "Even if they don't recognize it themselves."

How right you were. If only you knew the elaborate mental chess game he was playing, with you as a central piece.

Outside the restaurant, he made his final move of the evening—perfectly calibrated for maximum effect without seeming too eager.

"I'll be in New York for another two days," he said casually. "If you're free tomorrow evening, perhaps you could show me a part of the city tourists don't usually see. Something authentic."

The invitation was designed to appeal to your evident independence and local knowledge. To position you as the expert rather than the pursued. A subtle flattery that didn't register as manipulation.

"I might be available," you said, considering. "Depends on my deadline."

"Of course." He nodded respectfully. "You have my number. No pressure either way."

As he hailed a taxi for you, he allowed his hand to brush yours briefly—a manufactured moment of connection carefully designed to seem accidental.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said as you stepped into the cab. "I hope to hear from you tomorrow."

You smiled through the window, giving a small wave as the taxi pulled away.

Jay watched until the taillights disappeared into Manhattan traffic, then straightened his tie and hailed his own car. His expression shifted seamlessly from warm interest to cool calculation.

Phase one: complete. You had been introduced into the equation. A new variable with the potential to disrupt the entire sequence leading to his downfall.

As his driver navigated toward Le Bernardin, Jay mentally mapped the next steps. He would need to provide his mother with enough information to satisfy her curiosity without triggering her strategic instincts. Plant seeds with his father about potential advantages of connections outside their usual network. Begin building documentation that would position you as a completely independent connection, not part of any competing corporate interest.

His phone buzzed with a message from his cousin Danny: Mom says you're acting strange. She wants intel on whoever you were talking to at the gallery.

Jay smiled tightly. The family machine was already turning its attention to this unexpected development. Exactly as he'd anticipated.

He typed back: Just making connections. Nothing significant.

Let them underestimate this move. Let them dismiss you as a casual interest, a temporary distraction.

By the time they recognized the strategic importance of what he was building, it would be too late. The timeline would be irreversibly altered.

And Jay Park would never again find himself standing alone in an empty apartment, betrayed by everyone he had trusted.

Another message appeared on his screen—this one from an unknown number.

Tomorrow, 7pm. Wear comfortable shoes and nothing that screams "I'm worth kidnapping for ransom." – Y/N

Jay allowed himself a moment of genuine satisfaction. The pieces were moving exactly as he'd calculated.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

-

The next evening proved Jay's instincts correct. You were indeed the perfect variable to introduce into his equation.

You arrived at the designated meeting spot in Washington Square Park wearing jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and boots that suggested you actually walked places rather than being chauffeured. Jay had followed your instructions, trading his usual bespoke suit for dark jeans, a cashmere sweater, and shoes that would survive more than a board meeting.

"You clean up nicely," you said, appraising his attempt at casual attire. "Almost pass for a normal person."

"My greatest performance yet," he replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Where to first?"

"That depends. What's your tolerance for authenticity? Real New York isn't exactly five-star accommodations."

Jay's smile widened. "Test me."

And you did. For the next three hours, you led him through a New York he'd never seen despite countless business trips. Hidden speakeasies accessed through fake phone booths. A Ukrainian diner where the servers scowled and the food defied description but somehow tasted like memory. A rooftop garden secretly maintained by an elderly couple who'd been cultivating it since the 1970s.

Throughout the evening, Jay maintained his careful balance—genuinely enjoying himself while strategically gathering information. Your job prospects (promising but unstable). Your family situation (supportive but financially modest). Your relationship status (refreshingly unattached).

Each piece of data confirmed what he'd hoped: you were the perfect candidate. Independent enough to make your own decisions, stable enough to be reliable, ambitious enough to appreciate opportunity, and disconnected enough from his world to be safe from manipulation.

"Admit it," you said as you sat on rusty chairs atop the secret garden, city lights spread before you. "This is better than whatever fancy restaurant your family's at tonight."

"Infinitely," Jay agreed, and meant it. The evening had been unexpectedly liberating. Here, he wasn't Park Jongseong, heir and corporate prince. He was just Jay, a guy experiencing New York's hidden corners with an interesting woman. "Though my mother would need smelling salts if she saw these chairs."

You laughed, the sound still as honest as he remembered. "Why do I get the feeling you're not often allowed to just... exist? Without expectations or performance metrics?"

The observation was so accurate it momentarily disrupted his careful strategy. For a second, he considered telling you everything—the time travel, his disgrace, his desperate plan to rewrite his future.

But of course, that was impossible. Who would believe such madness?

"The privileges of my position come with corresponding obligations," he said instead, allowing a rare glimpse of genuine feeling. "My path was charted before I was born."

You studied him in the dim rooftop lighting. "And you've never considered drawing your own map?"

Jay looked out over the city, contemplating how to answer. The strategic response would be something vague but intriguing. But something about this night—about you—made him unexpectedly honest.

"I'm attempting to redraw certain sections now," he said quietly. "It's... complicated."

"Family complications or business complications? Or are they the same thing for you?"

"Inextricably intertwined," Jay confirmed. "The Parks don't separate business from family or family from business. It's all one ecosystem."

"Sounds suffocating."

"It can be," he admitted, surprising himself again with his candor. "But it's also... secure. Structured. There's comfort in knowing your role."

"Until the role becomes a cage," you observed.

The conversation was veering dangerously close to truth. Jay redirected gently.

"What about you? No family business directing your path?"

You shook your head. "Just student loans and rent directing my career choices. Not exactly the same scale of problems."

"Different cages," Jay said. "Different gilding."

A comfortable silence fell between you. Below, the city pulsed with energy—millions of lives intersecting, diverging, each on their own trajectory.

"I should probably get you back to civilization," you said eventually. "Before your security detail reports you missing."

Jay checked his watch, surprised to find it was nearly midnight. The evening had passed with unexpected swiftness.

"I've dismissed security for the night," he said, rising from the rusty chair. "But you're right, it's late. Let me walk you home."

You shook your head. "That defeats the purpose of me showing you hidden New York. I'll walk myself home like a proper New Yorker."

"At least let me get you a car."

"The subway is faster this time of night."

Jay smiled at your stubbornness. Another quality that made you ideal for his purposes. "Then I'll accompany you to the subway."

As you descended from the rooftop, Jay made his decision. The evening had confirmed everything he needed to know. You were perfect—self-sufficient, perceptive, and most importantly, unconnected to the web that would eventually try to destroy him.

It was time to set his actual plan in motion. Earlier than he'd originally calculated, but the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.

Outside the subway entrance, you turned to say goodbye. "This was surprisingly enjoyable, Just Jay. You're not at all what I expected."

"Is that a compliment?"

"An observation." Your smile took any sting from the words. "Maybe I'll see you next time you're in New York."

It was the opening he needed. Jay took a calculated breath.

"What if it were sooner than that?" he asked, carefully casual. "What if I had a proposition for you?"

Your eyebrows rose slightly. "A proposition sounds suspiciously like business."

"Perhaps a merger of interests," Jay said, watching your reaction closely.

"I'm not qualified to consult for Park Industries, if that's where this is going."

"Nothing to do with the company. This is personal." Jay paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow? There's something I'd like to discuss that could be mutually beneficial."

Wariness crept into your expression. "That sounds ominous."

"It's not illegal or immoral," he assured you. "Just... unusual. But I think you might be the perfect person for it."

"Now I'm definitely concerned."

Jay smiled, allowing genuine warmth to show. "Trust me enough for one more dinner? If you hate the proposal, we part as friends with an interesting story about the time a Korean businessman made you a strange offer."

You studied him for a long moment. "Fine. But a public place, and I reserve the right to walk out if things get weird."

"Perfectly reasonable terms," Jay agreed. "I'll text you the details."

After you disappeared down the subway steps, Jay hailed a car back to his hotel. His mind was already composing the proposal, weighing phrases and possibilities. The timing was delicate. Too direct, and you'd be justifiably alarmed. Too vague, and you'd dismiss it as absurd.

But if presented correctly, with the right incentives and assurances...

It could work. It had to work.

-

The restaurant Jay selected for their final evening was elegant without being ostentatious. Private enough for serious conversation but public enough to meet your safety requirements. He arrived early, ensuring the perfect table—secluded but visible, with clear sightlines to exits.

You arrived precisely on time, wearing a dress that suggested you'd taken this meeting more seriously than yesterday's casual exploration. Good. It indicated you were intrigued enough to make an effort.

"I half-expected to be stood up," Jay said as you sat down.

"I considered it," you admitted. "But curiosity won out. I spent all day trying to imagine what this mysterious proposition could be."

"And your theories?"

"Either you're recruiting me for corporate espionage, or this is an elaborate setup for asking me on a real date."

Jay smiled. "Neither, though the second option is less absurd than the first."

The waiter brought menus and wine recommendations. Jay ordered for both of you—not to control, but to expedite. The sooner pleasantries were addressed, the sooner he could present his case.

Once the preliminary course was served and privacy assured, Jay leaned forward slightly.

"Before I explain, I want to establish context," he began. "My family situation is... complicated. As the heir to Park Industries, certain expectations exist regarding my personal life."

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"Among these is the expectation that I'll marry strategically. Someone who enhances the company's position, preferably from a compatible business family."

"Arranged marriage in the 21st century?" You raised an eyebrow. "That seems archaic."

"It's framed as 'guided choice,'" Jay explained. "But the outcome is essentially predetermined. The candidates all fit a specific profile, vetted extensively by my mother."

"And you don't want that," you guessed.

"I've seen where that path leads," Jay said carefully. "It's not favorable."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

Here was the critical moment. Jay took a measured breath.

"I'm proposing an alternative arrangement. A marriage of convenience, with clearly defined parameters and mutual benefits."

Your expression froze. "Excuse me?"

"I know how this sounds," Jay said quickly. "But please hear me out before deciding."

You sat back, arms crossed. "I'm listening, but this better be good."

"What I need is someone outside my world. Someone my mother can't manipulate or compromise. Someone with no hidden corporate agenda or family ambitions." Jay held your gaze steadily. "Someone like you."

"And what exactly would I get from this arrangement, besides the obvious headache?"

"Financial security," Jay said simply. "Complete financial independence. A generous settlement that would eliminate your student loans, housing concerns, and career pressures. You'd be free to pursue your writing without worrying about making rent."

He could see the calculation happening behind your eyes. The journalist weighing an unbelievable story.

"This would be a temporary arrangement," he continued. "Two years maximum. After which we would part amicably, with your financial future secured and my family obligations satisfied."

"You're serious," you said, realization dawning.

"Completely."

"But why me? You could find countless women willing to make this deal."

"Because you don't want anything from me except what we explicitly agree to," Jay explained. "You don't care about the Park name or legacy. You have no connection to our business rivals. You're honest, independent, and most importantly, you see me as a person, not a position."

You were silent for a long moment, processing.

"What would this arrangement involve... practically speaking?"

"A legal marriage. A public relationship that appears genuine. Attendance at certain family and business functions. Cohabitation in Seoul, though with separate living spaces." Jay outlined each point precisely. "No romantic or physical obligations whatsoever."

"And after two years?"

"A quiet divorce with a generous settlement. You return to your life with complete financial freedom. I gain time to secure my position without my mother's interference."

You studied him intently. "What aren't you telling me? This seems too... calculated."

Jay hesitated. How much could he safely reveal without sounding deranged?

"My mother is pushing me toward a specific alliance that would be disastrous," he said finally. "I need to block that move decisively. Your presence provides that blockade."

"Corporate chess using marriage pieces," you murmured.

"An apt metaphor."

The waiter arrived with the main course, forcing a pause in the conversation. Jay waited patiently as you considered his proposal.

"I'd have to move to Korea," you said finally. "Learn a new language, navigate a completely foreign business world, pretend to be in love with someone I barely know."

"All significant challenges," Jay acknowledged. "Hence the substantial compensation."

"How substantial?"

He named a figure that made your eyes widen slightly.

"Plus all living expenses, travel, and a housing allowance upon our separation," he added. "Financial security for the foreseeable future."

You took a sip of wine, buying time to think. Jay remained silent, giving you space to process.

"Why should I trust you?" you asked finally. "No offense, but this sounds like the beginning of a thriller where the protagonist never returns from Seoul."

"A valid concern." Jay reached into his jacket and removed a USB drive. "This contains a draft contract outlining everything we've discussed, plus insurance clauses to protect you. Have your own lawyer review it. Make any reasonable amendments."

He placed the drive on the table between you.

"I don't expect an answer tonight," he continued. "Take time to consider. Research me, the company, the arrangement. I'll be in New York three more days."

You didn't touch the drive. "Are you always this prepared?"

"I don't propose convenient marriages on a whim," Jay said with a hint of humor. "This is a strategic decision for both of us."

"And if I say no?"

"Then we enjoy this excellent meal, I thank you for considering it, and we part as friends with an unusual story."

You finally reached for the drive, turning it in your fingers thoughtfully.

"Two years of my life," you mused. "Pretending to be someone I'm not."

"Or two years experiencing a world few ever see from the inside," Jay countered. "With material for the book you mentioned wanting to write. And afterwards, complete freedom to pursue whatever you wish."

He could see the writer in you considering the possibilities. The practical side weighing the financial security. The cautious part still suspicious of his motives.

"I'll think about it," you said finally, slipping the drive into your purse. "That's all I can promise right now."

"That's all I ask." Jay raised his glass slightly. "To unusual propositions and careful consideration."

You hesitantly clinked your glass against his. "To whatever the hell this is."

The rest of dinner passed in lighter conversation, Jay deliberately steering away from the proposal to give you mental space. As they finished dessert, he sensed you had more questions brewing.

"Just ask," he said gently. "Whatever you're thinking."

"Why marriage?" you asked bluntly. "Why not just date someone your mother doesn't approve of until this mysterious alliance threat passes?"

A perceptive question. Jay had prepared for it.

"Because dating is easily dismissed as temporary infatuation. Marriage is definitive. It removes me completely from the candidate pool and blocks the specific alliance my mother is orchestrating."

You nodded slowly. "And there's really no romantic component to this? No hidden agenda where you're hoping for more?"

"None whatsoever," Jay assured you. "This is a business arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. Any personal friendship that develops would be separate from our agreement."

Outside the restaurant, you paused before parting ways.

"This is insane," you said, shaking your head slightly. "Completely insane."

"From a conventional perspective, yes," Jay agreed. "But sometimes unconventional solutions are necessary for unusual problems."

"I'll call you," you said. "After I've thought about it. And possibly had my head examined."

Jay smiled. "I look forward to hearing from you, whatever your decision."

As you walked away, Jay allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. You hadn't immediately rejected the idea. You'd taken the contract. You were considering it.

Phase two: initiated.

The path to avoiding his destruction was unconventional, certainly. But with each step, each calculated move, he was redrawing the map of his future.

And for the first time since waking up five years in his past, Jay felt something akin to hope.

-

"He asked you to what?"

Priya's voice carried across the café, drawing glances from nearby tables. You winced, motioning for her to lower her volume. Two days had passed since Jay's proposal, and you'd finally broken down and called Priya. Some things were too bizarre to process alone.

"Keep it down," you hissed. "I haven't decided anything."

"Sorry," Priya whispered dramatically, leaning across the table. "But you can't drop 'Korean billionaire wants me as his contract wife' and expect normal volume control."

You stirred your coffee absently. The USB drive sat heavy in your bag, untouched since the dinner. Every time you considered plugging it in, reality reasserted itself. People didn't just get propositioned for fake marriages by corporate heirs. Not in real life.

"Maybe I imagined it," you said. "Stress-induced hallucination."

"Honey, you don't hallucinate trust fund provisions and prenuptial terms." Priya tapped the table emphatically. "And Park Industries is the real deal. My cousin works in finance and says they're basically royalty in Korea."

You sighed, glancing at your phone. Three missed calls from your editor about a deadline. Two emails from your landlord about the rent increase. A notification about your student loan payment.

Normal life, insistently demanding attention while some alternate universe beckoned from a USB drive.

"What would you do?" you asked.

Priya considered this, stirring her chai thoughtfully. "I'd wonder why me. Of all the women in New York—hell, in the world—why pick someone he met at my mediocre exhibition?"

"He said I don't want anything from him. That I see him as a person, not a position." You shrugged. "And apparently I'm not connected to any rival companies."

"That's... oddly specific." Priya frowned. "Like he's running from something."

A memory flashed—Jay on the rooftop garden, talking about redrawing sections of his path. The wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned roles becoming cages.

"Maybe he is," you murmured.

"Look, Y/N, this is either the strangest fantasy or the most interesting opportunity of your life." Priya grabbed your hand. "But either way, you should at least read the contract. Writer curiosity, if nothing else."

You nodded slowly. She was right. Whatever this was—elaborate joke, midlife crisis, legitimate offer—you couldn't make a decision without information.

"What about Seoul?" you asked, voicing one of the hundred practical concerns cycling through your mind. "My life is here."

"Your life is a studio apartment with questionable plumbing and editor who underpays you," Priya said bluntly. "Seoul has universal healthcare and a subway system that actually works."

"And a language I don't speak."

"And a completely fresh start, financial security, and material for that book you've been talking about writing since college." Priya squeezed your hand. "I'm not saying do it. I'm saying don't dismiss it without considering the insane possibility that this fever dream might actually be real."

Your phone pinged—a text from Jay:

No pressure on your decision. But if you'd like to discuss further, I'll be at the same restaurant tonight at 8. Whether you come or not, I enjoyed our time together.

Priya peered at the message. "Polite. Not pushy. Gives you space." She raised an eyebrow. "For a corporate shark offering a fake marriage, he's surprisingly... decent?"

"That's what makes this so confusing," you admitted. "He seems genuine, even when discussing something completely manufactured."

"Maybe that's why he thinks you'd be good at this. You're both honest about the dishonesty." Priya sat back. "So, are you going tonight?"

You stared at your phone, the mundane world of deadlines and bills momentarily suspended as you considered stepping further into whatever alternate reality Jay Park occupied.

"I guess I'll start by reading the contract," you said finally.

Priya grinned. "That's my practical journalist. Verify, then trust."

"I didn't say I trust him," you protested.

"Honey, you wouldn't have called me if you weren't already halfway to saying yes."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. She wasn't entirely wrong.

Whatever this was—fever dream or opportunity—you couldn't shake the feeling that Jay Park had seen something in you that even you hadn't recognized. Something valuable enough to upend both your worlds.

And despite every rational objection, part of you wanted to find out what it was.

-

After accepting Jay's proposal, everything moved quickly, but not without moments that made you question the purely contractual nature of your arrangement.

The first time you caught yourself actually looking at Jay—not as your contractual fiancé but as a man—was during a video call about logistics. He'd just finished a workout, answering your call in a fitted t-shirt damp with sweat, hair disheveled in a way you'd never seen before.

"Sorry for my appearance," he'd said, seemingly unaware of how the thin fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, revealing a physique usually hidden beneath perfect tailoring.

"It's fine," you'd replied, fighting to keep your eyes on his face rather than the defined muscles visible through his shirt. "We were just discussing flight details, right?"

You'd blamed your distraction on the strangeness of the situation. Just a natural reaction to an objectively attractive man. Nothing more.

-

Your Korean lessons began three weeks after you'd accepted his proposal. The language was challenging, but Jay insisted on joining occasionally, his pronunciation impeccable as he demonstrated sounds your English-trained mouth struggled to form.

"Fuck," you muttered one evening, dropping your head to the table after another failed attempt at a particularly difficult honorific. "I'm never going to get this right."

Jay looked up from his laptop, eyebrows raised. "I've never heard you swear before."

"I'm usually more professional," you admitted. "But this language is kicking my ass."

He closed his computer and moved to the chair beside you. "Try again. It's all in the tongue placement."

You made another attempt, mangling the syllables spectacularly.

"No, like this." Jay demonstrated slowly, exaggerating the mouth movement. You found yourself staring at his lips, noticing their perfect shape, the way the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top.

After your third failure, he sighed. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward your face.

You nodded, not entirely sure what he was asking permission for.

He reached out, placing his thumb gently against your lower lip. "You need to press your tongue here, behind your teeth, not against your palate."

Heat surged through you at the unexpected contact. His thumb lingered, moving slightly against your lip as he demonstrated the position. Your eyes locked, and something shifted in his expression.

"Try again," he said softly, his voice lower than before.

You attempted the word, hyperaware of his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw.

"Better," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your mouth. "Almost there."

The air between you thickened. His hand should have moved away by now. It hadn't.

"Jay," you said, barely audible. Not a question, just an acknowledgment of whatever was happening.

For a moment, you thought he might lean in. Instead, he blinked and withdrew his hand, clearing his throat.

"That's enough for today," he said briskly, returning to his original seat. "You're making progress."

But that night, alone in your room, you caught yourself touching your own lip where his thumb had been, replaying the moment when his professional demeanor had briefly cracked.

-

Three weeks in, during dinner at a restaurant in Tribeca, Jay brought up the public aspects of your arrangement.

"We need to discuss how we'll appear as a couple," he said, his tone practical but not cold. "Physical boundaries. Forms of address."

"Like pet names?" you asked, taking a sip of wine.

"Exactly." He seemed relieved you understood. "In Korea, especially in my position, excessive public displays would seem inappropriate. But certain... intimacies are expected between engaged couples."

"So hand-holding, yes. Making out in boardrooms, no." Your joke earned a genuine smile from him.

"Precisely." He hesitated, then added with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "And regarding names..."

"What do people usually call you? Besides Jay or Mr. Park?"

His expression shifted subtly. "My mother calls me Jongseong. Business associates use Mr. Park. No one has ever used anything... affectionate."

The admission felt strangely vulnerable coming from him.

"What would you be comfortable with?" you asked.

His eyes met yours directly. "I've always thought 'babe' or 'baby' seemed... nice. Natural." The words seemed difficult for him to say, as if admitting to a secret preference. "But only if it feels comfortable for you."

The request surprised you – this controlled, strategic man wanting something so ordinary, so human.

"I can try that," you said, watching as relief softened his features. "Might take practice to say it without feeling weird, though."

"We have time to practice," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

-

Shopping for your new wardrobe didn't happen in a fairy tale montage. Instead, it involved practical discussions of events you'd attend, climate considerations, and cultural norms.

"These social signifiers matter to my family," Jay explained as you examined a designer dress that cost more than your rent. "But your comfort matters to me."

"To our arrangement," you corrected gently.

He paused, meeting your eyes. "Yes. And to me personally."

The statement hung between you, neither acknowledged nor dismissed as you continued through the high-end boutique. The personal shopper brought Jay a selection of suits to try as well, and despite your best intentions, you found yourself watching as he emerged from the fitting room in each new outfit.

The last one—a charcoal gray suit cut to perfection—made you momentarily forget the contract entirely. The tailor knelt, making adjustments to the trousers while Jay stood in front of a three-way mirror. The jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the tailored pants fitting perfectly across his ass.

You didn't realize you were staring until Jay's eyes met yours in the mirror, one eyebrow raising slightly. You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks at being caught.

When you glanced back, the corner of his mouth had lifted in a small, satisfied smile.

-

Your parents were understandably shocked by the engagement announcement. The video call with them and Jay could have been disastrous, but he navigated it with surprising warmth.

"I understand this seems sudden," he told them, his formal demeanor softened. "I value your daughter's independence and perspective. Those qualities are rare in my world."

Later, alone, your mother had texted: "He's careful with his words around you. Watches how you react. Not sure if that's good or concerning."

"Still deciding," you'd replied honestly.

Six weeks after your agreement, you found yourself helping Jay pack for Seoul in his hotel suite, the reality of what you'd committed to finally sinking in.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, noticing your silence.

"Seventh or eighth, at least," you admitted.

You expected a strategic reassurance. Instead, he sat beside you on the edge of the bed, not touching but close.

"I have them too," he said quietly. "This arrangement... it's unusual for both of us."

"You seem so certain about everything."

"I'm certain about what I'm avoiding," he clarified. "Less certain about what we're building."

The honesty was refreshing. Not romance, but genuine transparency.

"Let's try something," you suggested. "Just to see how it feels."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You cleared your throat, feeling slightly ridiculous. "Could you pass me that folder... babe?"

The pet name hung awkwardly between you. Jay blinked, then a small, genuine smile formed.

"Here you go," he replied, handing you the folder, then hesitating before adding a tentative, "...babe."

You both laughed at the strangeness of it, the tension breaking.

"That was terrible," you admitted.

"Catastrophic," he agreed, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "But it will get easier."

It was the first time you'd seen him truly laugh. Something shifted subtly between you – not love or even attraction necessarily, but the foundation of something human and real beneath the contractual arrangement.

Eight weeks after the proposal, you boarded his family's private jet bound for Seoul.

As the plane leveled off, Jay handed you a thin folder. "Key family members and dynamics. Not a test, just preparation."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding that you wanted to succeed at this, whatever "this" was becoming.

"Thank you," you said. Then, after a moment's hesitation, added, "...baby."

It still felt strange, but less forced. Jay's expression softened in response.

"You're welcome," he replied, his voice warm in a way it hadn't been during those first calculated conversations weeks ago.

Neither of you were in love. That wasn't part of the contract. But as the plane carried you toward Seoul, there was a growing sense that whatever performance awaited might be built on something more substantial than just legal terms.

Not romance, not yet. But a partnership forming its own unique shape – part strategy, part genuine connection, and all uncharted territory.

-

Arriving in Seoul felt like stepping into another dimension. A fleet of black SUVs with tinted windows. Security personnel with earpieces. Photographers kept at a careful distance by a team of efficient PR staff.

"Ready?" Jay asked quietly, his hand finding yours as the plane door opened.

You nodded, though "ready" seemed an absurd concept for what awaited.

The moment you stepped onto Korean soil, Jay transformed—his posture impeccable, his smile exactly the right blend of pride and discretion. His arm slid around your waist, protective but not possessive.

"Perfect," he murmured, his lips close to your ear. "Just like that."

The performance had begun.

to be continued.

-

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[yeonmuse]

SYNOPSIS — Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like involving himself with those at Chaconne academy, but when he finds out his little sister’s music teacher attends and she starts getting a little too close she forces him to let his guard down. Now he’s gotta juggle new people and new emotions entering his life and she’s got to face her past in order to hold tight to him and her future.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, angst non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎻

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . Strong angst themes, slow burn but mostly fluff. I’m not sure where this idea had come from considering I have 4 unfinished series out right now but I wrote this in 4 days so lets fucking go i guess??? Includes Choi Yeonjun, Bae Jinyoung, Kim Sunwoo, Jung Wooyoung, Shen Ricky, Xu Jiaqi and Asaya Jurin. Wc is 4.1k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | ENDING

After what felt like the longest weekend ever you’d finally be starting your official first day. It had been nice getting to know Jurinand the others but now it was time to actually get to work, you were sure your father had worked hard to get you into the school and you wouldn't waste the opportunity. While you were making your way down campus, heading towards building A you tried your best to follow the steps you’d previously taken with Sunwoo. You had eventually made it to the entrance when the man himself had also been entering the building the same time as you.

“Well look at you made it all the way here without me i'm impressed.” he teases

“Yes yes, once I finally seemed to learned that it’s literally just a straight shoot from the girls dorms.’’ you being annoyed at yourself for finally having come to that obvious realization earns a laugh from him.

“Well after you then.’’ He opens the door allowing you to slip inside, you’d found that you both had been heading in the same direction so it only made sense that the two of you would walk together. You’d been completely invested in the conversion, so invested you failed to recognize the person blocking your path in the hall. Before you knew it your body collided with a broad back sending you straight to your ass, though some people did choose to mind their business and just pass up the two of you in the hall a few onlookers observed the scene.

‘Fuck this is so embarrasing.’ you thought to yourself as you looked up to apologize to the person you’d bumped into only moments ago, your eyes widened as they landed on none other than Park Sunghoon, the guy you'd met only yesterday. As Sunwoo helped you up you stood up dusting your clothes. At first you said nothing but neither did Sunghoon, you’d been too busy struggling to find the words to say. Sunghoon on the other hand, as shocked as he was to see you, just chose to remain as stoic as ever. Last night he’d told himself that maybe you weren’t so bad, that maybe you were someone good for his sister ( maybe also good for him) but seeing you here at this school of all places he was starting to think he was wrong.

“I’m sor-” before the words could properly leave your mouth both him and his friends had already walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall watching him leave like an idiot.

“Well you met Sunghoon. I wouldn’t dwell on what happened just now too much, he acts like an ass with everyone here.”

But dwell you did, you spent the entire day thinking about the interaction. Did you say something wrong friday night? Or maybe it was that he didn’t remember you? You’d spent the entire day thinking about what you could have possibly done wrong for him to just completely ignore you and walk away.

Eventually the time came for your next lesson with Yoari and she’d been excited to see you, her brother on the hand not so much. You’d greeted him as you caught him walking up the stairs when you entered the house. A greeting he had simply chosen to ignore which made you slightly disappointed.

“I want to show you what I practiced.’’ Yoari instantly takes your hand into her own and drags you to the scene room where the two of you had practiced days prior. Yoari had practiced so much over the weekend while you were gone she had been more than excited to show off everything she learned from you. You found it endearing, not only did she learn fast but it was obvious that she had a passion for music, it reminded you a lot of yourself when you were younger. Taking a momentary pause as you spotted Sunghoon making his way into the kitchen, you allowed Yoari to take a short break, pushing yourself up from your seat and you decided to join him in the kitchen. When you’d stepped in and opened your mouth to speak you realized you hadn’t exactly thought through what it was you wanted to say to him, so you simply stood there in silence until he decided to break it himself.

“Shouldn’t you be with Yoari?’’

“Well yea but I just- I didn’t know that you went to Chaconne..? Earlier I didn’t mean to-”

“You should get back to my sister. My parents pay you to teach her not to talk to me.’’ and with those words he left you standing there.

That night you went home feeling worse than when you had arrived there. You weren't sure what you had done to piss off Sunghoon but it bothered you nonetheless.

Eventually Jurinand Jiaqi joined you where you sat in the living room with a pout on your face and bowl of ramen in hand.

“What’s got you so pouty?’’ Jurin questions as she takes a seat next to Jiaqi, flattening out the face mask on her face before taking a handful of Jiaqis popcorn.

“Do you guys know Sunghoon?’’

“Uh as in Park? Sunghoon Park?’’

“Yes? I teach his little sister music and I thought that he was warming up to me a little before I left their house Friday, but today we bumped into each other in the hall and he just completely ignored me like he didn’t even recognize me. Then today when I went over for Yoaris lesson he just completely shut me down.’’

“Oh honey, he’s like that with everyone. You’re no different than anyone else on this campus he completely ignores.” Jurin responds before stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

“What do you mean?’’

“Other than Jake and Jay he doesn’t talk to anyone, no matter who flirts, no matter how many party invites he gets he doesn't accept. He’s been like that since he came to the school. Don’t know if he’s one of those loner types or if he’s just a dick but it’s not even worth figuring it out. I wouldn’t think too much about it’’

-

A week had gone by since then, you’d go to Sunghoons place every day for the lessons. Yoari had grown so used to you coming over and being there that she’d often stand right outside the door and wait for your arrival. Your lessons had become the highlight of her days and yours as well. And though Sunghoon wouldn’t admit it he’d gotten used to you being there as well. Though the atmosphere between the two of you had been quite tense lately, Sunghoon would occasionally come down to eat with you and Yoari or watch her play, you’d even see him crack a smile every now and then at the smallest of interactions between you and his sister. Even though Sunghoon was still completely unsure about you he knew one thing for sure, you made his sister happy and for that he was grateful to you.

Sunghoon had now been so accustomed to you having been there that he even let Yoari convince him to wait outside with her, five minutes turned to ten and ten turned to twenty. Eventually Yoari realize you weren’t coming and Sunghoon was finally able to convince her to come inside. Seeing the disappointment on his sister's face, Sunghoon wasn’t sure what to think. Right when he had begun to warm up to you again you’d bailed.

-

The next day at school Sunghoon had found himself unintentionally looking for you, he’d only been snapped back to his senses once Jake and Jay had arrived.

“Were you expecting someone or something?.....Did you finally ask out Yuna?’’ Jay can’t help but snort at Jake's instant need to jump to conclusions.

“I was looking for the two of you you idiot.’’

“Oh how sweet he missed us.’’ Jake teases, making kissy faces at Sunghoon at which Jay just shakes his head and Sunghoon pushes his face away.

“Anyways are we still on for tonight?’’ Jay interrupts, pushing Jake off to the side.

“That depends is your cousin Jungwon still coming down from seoul.’’

“He’ll be down with a few friends of his, Niki and Sunoo I think.”

“Well yeah we’re still on, other than my sisters music teacher my parents will be gone so the house is ours.’’

“Your sister has a music teacher? Why didn’t they just ask you or Jay?’’ Jake questions earning a shrug from Jay.

“Some bullshit about wanting me to pay attention to my own studies.’’

“Well is the teacher hot, wait is she on the older side. You know what it doesn’t even matter if she’s both?’’

“Dude?’’

“What? For all we know she could be old and wrinkly.’’ While Jay and Jake continued to go back and forth their voices had eventually drowned out into background noise as Sunghoon got lost in his thoughts once again. Thoughts of you and how you had already disappointed his sister once yesterday night.

He’d expected his sister to already be waiting outside the door as he arrived home, yet she wasn’t. In fact she wasn’t home at all. He found his mom sitting at the island counter of the kitchen, laptop placed in front of her and phone to her ear as she munched on a bowl of grapes. As he stood on the other side digging his own hand into the bowl his mom gave him an adorning smile before finishing up her call.

“Hi sweetheart, how were your classes.’’ Sunghoon shrugs in response, giving her the same answer as usual. “They were okay.’’

“Wheres Yoa, I thought she had a lesson?’’

“Of course your father didn’t tell you, He took your sister out to get a few things for yn.’’ Sunghoons brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Yn called in sick yesterday, we told her to take a few days off until she was feeling better and Yoari wanted to get her some things to cheer her up.’’ There Sunghoon was feeling like a complete asshole, He’d been ready to judge her again, thinking she simply just bailed on Yoari when in reality she wasn’t even feeling well enough to show up.

Now there Sunghoon stood outside your dorm, his sister's hand in his after having been forced to cancel his plans and take his sister to give you all the things she had bought and made for you.

-

You had been locked in the confined space of your room, as Jiaqi wouldn't allow you to step out of bed to do anything other than pee. The last two days have been completely miserable for you. Stuffy nose, sneezing and coughing, headaches, fevers and throwing up almost non stop. You’d felt so terrible for having to call and cancel on Yoari but Jiaqi and Jurin had refused to let you step foot out of the dorm the moment they found out you were sick.

A knock at the door followed by Jurins loud screaming down the hall woke you from your sleep.

“I got it, it might be Yeonjun and Wooyoung with the-’’ She stops mid sentence upon seeing none other than Park Sunghoon outside the door.

“Did they bring the movies.’’ Jiaqi asks, making her way to the door only to freeze on an instant upon seeing Sunghoon.

“Hi is yn here!?’’ Yoari asks, pulling Jurin and Jiaqis gaze off of Sunghoon and onto her.

You hadn’t known if the sick brain had finally gotten to you and you were full on hallucinating or if you’d actually heard what sounded to you like Yoaris voice coming from the living room. Poking your head out the doorway, only then did you realize that not only was Yoari here but so was Sunghoon.

“Yn!’’ Before they could even be invited in, Yoaris hand slips from Sunghoon and she runs inside immediately running to you, catching each of you by surprise. You and her sat in your room for an hour, Yoari having shown off everything she made for you and brought you to feel better. She had even gotten Sunghoon to record videos of her practicing in just those two days you hadn’t been there. Sunghoon on the other hand just sat on the couch quietly unsure what to say to you or the other two girls that had also been watching the videos of her playing. It went without saying that although they couldn't say the same for her brother, the girls were completely smitten by Yoari. Another knock at the door interrupts them, this knock being who all of you assumed to be Yeonjun and the others. As Jiaqi gets up to let them in Sunghoon found that as the perfect excuse to leave.

“We should get going Yoari, we should let her rest.’’ he interrupts, earning a pout from Yoari who hadn’t been done telling you about how she’d learned two new songs while you were away.

“But i’m not dome showing her.’’ At that time the others came flooding in, all of them seemingly just as confused as Jurin and Jiaqi had been when they first saw Sunghoon standing outside the door. Jurin gave a look that said I’ll explain this all later before looking at Sunghoon.

“You and Yoari are welcome to stay, we were just about to eat dinner and watch movies, today's disney night, since Yeonjun won Uno last night.’’ Sunghoon was confused as to what the correlation between the two topics had been but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Before he could open his mouth to refuse his sister interrupts.

“Can we please!?’’ He couldn’t say no to her, he could never tell his sister no, no matter what it was she asked of him. So that was exactly how he ended up spending his night eating and watching disney movies with you and your friends, a night he’d actually come to enjoy.

Eventually everyone had returned to their dorms, Sunghoon finding himself being one of the last ones there and the only one awake. Jurin and Jiaqi had passed out on the floor and as his eyes fell upon you he found you fast asleep wrapped in the blanket Yoari had gotten you. Yoari had been clinging to your side, her head resting on your shoulder as she slept peacefully. It was then that Sunghoon realized he was royally fucked. He could no longer avoid being close to you because you were starting to mean something to Yoari, and though he didn’t realize it yet you’d soon mean something to him too

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle @gaytron3000 @heesunghooney @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @enaile23 @ivyvioletcarson @kristynaaah @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @brianashiftz @starbyeol1512

[twilght-talks]

Center Stage

Part two

Part three

Ni-Ki x Reader

Genre: Slow burn, Friends to lovers?, TENSION, fluff, slight angst.

You met Riki in middle school.

Back then, he wasn’t an idol—just a boy with too much energy, a love for dancing, and an undeniable talent that made everyone stop and watch. You were the same, drawn to movement, rhythm, the way music could shape a body’s motion. It was natural that you gravitated toward each other, becoming dance partners in every after-school practice, challenging each other, pushing limits.

Then I-LAND happened.

You remembered the day he told you. How he sat next to you, legs bouncing, eyes lit up with excitement and nerves.

“I’m going for it.”

And just like that, he was gone, swept into a world that you could only watch from a screen. But he never forgot you. He never let go.

When he made it into Enhypen, his career took off like wildfire. And then, one day, a message from him appeared on your phone.

Riki: You still dancing?

You: Of course.

Riki: Good. I need a backup dancer. Come audition.

It was ridiculous, almost laughable. You had danced together since you were kids—why should you have to audition? But you went anyway, and when you stepped into that studio, locking eyes with him for the first time in years, it was like nothing had changed.

Except, everything had.

He was taller. Sharper. His movements had refined into something powerful, magnetic. He wasn’t just Riki anymore. He was Ni-ki, Enhypen’s maknae, a performer in his prime. And yet, when you danced together, it felt like middle school again. Like it was just the two of you.

So, you stayed.

At first, you blended into the background—just another dancer in the crowd, barely noticeable. But then Bite Me happened.

And everything changed.

More Than Just A Dance

“I want her.”

You froze.

The room was silent as the choreographer looked between you and Ni-ki, brows raised. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Your stomach flipped. It wasn’t uncommon for idols to have a say in their dance partners, but the certainty in Ni-ki’s voice made your pulse jump.

That was how you found yourself front and center in Bite Me—not just another backup dancer, but his partner. The choreography was intimate, electrifying. Every step brought you closer, hands brushing, bodies aligning in perfect sync. You knew it was just performance, just acting. But the way his touch lingered? The way his gaze burned into yours?

It felt like something else.

And then the fans noticed.

Edits flooded the internet—clips of you and Ni-ki, the stolen glances, the way your bodies moved together with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible. Comments speculated, theories ran wild.

“They have to be dating.”

“The chemistry is insane. You can’t fake that.”

“They look at each other like they’re in love.”

Ni-ki brushed it off at first.

“They ship me with everyone,” he said, scrolling through the comments. But his voice lacked conviction, his fingers tightening around his phone. And when he glanced at you, there was something unreadable in his eyes.

Then came Artist of the Month.

When he asked for you again, no one questioned it. You were his first choice, his only choice.

Late-night rehearsals became routine—just you, him, and the music, the weight of unspoken words pressing against your chest. The tension was suffocating. Every moment felt charged, the space between you growing smaller, the air growing thicker.

And then, one night, it happened.

Both of you were playing around, doing random dances and having fun. Then came a dip in the choreography. His hand on your waist, yours gripping his wrist.

Your faces inches apart.

Neither of you moved.

The music kept playing, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. His breath fanned against your lips, his eyes dark, searching.

And then—

“Whoa—”

The door creaked open, and Sunghoon’s voice shattered the moment.

You and Ni-ki jolted apart like you’d been burned. Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Did I interrupt something?”

Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Shut up.”

Sunghoon just laughed. “You two are unreal.”

The rest of the night, Ni-ki barely looked at you.

And you? You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he almost kissed you.

A line crossed:

After that night, things were different.

The rehearsals still happened. The performances still went on. But something had shifted.

He touched you differently—more careful, more aware. His teasing was softer, his gaze heavier. It was like he was trying to pull away and hold on at the same time.

Then, one evening, after another late-night practice, you found yourselves alone in the studio.

“You’ve been acting weird,” you said, arms crossed. “What’s up with you?”

Ni-ki exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He looked at you then, and something in his expression made your breath catch. Frustration. Hesitation. Something dangerously close to longing.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked quietly.

Your throat tightened. “About what?”

He stepped closer. “Us.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Ni-ki—”

“I think about it all the time.”

Silence.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “We can’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Why not?”

“Because this—this isn’t how things work.”

His gaze flickered to your lips. “But it could be.”

For a split second, you thought he might kiss you. And for a split second, you thought you might let him.

But then you took a step back.

And the space between you felt colder than ever.

To be continued…

A/n: Hi my lil monsters!! How we likey? I’ve been wantin to write some slow burn so here it is! Hope yall like it and I just might write a part two.

Love ya, Twilight!

Tags:

@amoristt @lousypotatoes @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @takuma-talkz @sxmmerchxld @multifandomgirllol @gizaspicebag @truefandemonium

[morganaawriterr]

Drunk Confessions; Sunghoon

SYNOPSIS ➺ After a quiet night in, your peace is interrupted when your brother Heeseung shows up with a very drunk Sunghoon at your place. Left to take care of him, you find yourself flustered by Sunghoon’s unexpected warmth and vulnerability. But when his drunken state leads to a sudden confession of feelings, you are left wondering if his words are just alcohol-fueled — or the truth you’ve both been avoiding.

PAIRING ➺ fem!reader X loser best friend!Sunghoon

GENRE ➺ brother's best friend trope, best friends to lovers, slowly burn (?), fluff, sunghoon is a shy nerd; roommates to lovers; a tiny bit of angst;

WORDS ➺ 8k

WARNINGS ➺ Mentions of alcohol, mentions of throwing up, tiny tiny tiny bit suggestive;

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ It took me a WHOLE WEEK to write this! It's very sweet and cute. It's shorter than i wanted to, but I was growing tired of it after all these days. I like it a lot, tho. I hope you guys love it too!! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you so much! Masterlist

You had just finished taking a long, hot shower and changed into an oversized shirt and sweatpants when your apartment door was almost knocked down by whoever was on the other side. Your bedroom was quiet and cozy; the cheap projector you bought on Amazon was playing Netflix on your wall. Startled by the loud banging, your first instinct was to hide under the covers, afraid someone was trying to rob your place.

Your heart pounded violently against your rib cage. From beneath the covers, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to ignore the sounds, but they didn’t stop for a whole five minutes. Then it hit you: Sunghoon had gone out with your brother Heeseung today, and that could be them. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you slowly got out of bed and made your way to the front door.

The banging had finally stopped, but you could hear muffled voices from outside. You shook your head and cursed under your breath, already promising yourself you’d beat up your brother when he got inside. As your hand slowly turned the doorknob, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d witness.

“Help me!” your brother complained, struggling to keep Sunghoon on his feet. “He’s heavier than he looks.”

Unfortunately, despite his plea, you stayed still, arms crossed over your chest. A smug smile tugged at your lips as your eyes traveled to Sunghoon, who was weakly resting against Heeseung for support. His head was down, his hands stuffed in his pockets, looking far too adorable for someone this drunk.

“Why are you just standing there? Help me!” Heeseung whined, clearly annoyed by your amused expression.

“I told you he could barely hold his alcohol, and you still took him out. Maybe you should just deal with him yourself,” you teased, arching an eyebrow. You turned to leave, but your brother quickly grabbed your wrist.

“Please, YN I know you’re right. But I really need to puke, and there’s no way I’ll make it in time if you don’t help.”

Your sleepy eyes studied your brother’s face, and the way his hairline was damp with sweat and his skin looked pale as paper made your stomach drop with worry.

“Fuck… okay. Hand him over,” you muttered, your heart sinking at the state Heeseung was in.

Your brother struggled to pass Sunghoon’s weight to you, his arms almost giving out. But the wasted man didn’t move an inch. His eyes stayed shut, his body slumped like dead weight, but you knew better than to think he was asleep.

“Come on, man. Cooperate,” Heeseung grumbled, giving Sunghoon’s face a few gentle slaps. “It’s YN. She can take care of you.”

At the sound of your name, Sunghoon’s eyes finally snapped open. His head lifted sluggishly, his face flushed from his ears to his neck, a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion. His lazy, unfocused gaze found yours, squinting like he was trying to make sure it was really you.

“Hoon, let me take care of you,” you said softly, offering him a gentle smile. You watched as his face relaxed instantly, and without hesitation, he stumbled forward toward you.

His heavy arm slipped off Heeseung’s shoulder and landed on yours, his body leaning into you for balance. Clumsily, his feet tangled beneath him, and before you could stop it, he tripped, falling forward. You caught him just in time, your arms slipping under his shoulders, but his face landed right against your chest, inches above your boobs.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but to your luck, Heeseung was already sprinting to the bathroom, completely missing the awkward scene. Sunghoon slowly lifted his head from your chest, his red eyes looking up at you, dazed and unfocused.

“I’m sorry about that,” he mumbled, his words slurring as his tongue rolled lazily.

You didn’t respond, mostly because your heart was beating way too fast. He was closer to you than ever before, and despite the obvious scent of alcohol, traces of his cologne still lingered, making you even more flustered. How did he manage to still look so adorable, even while wasted? You hated how easily he charmed you without even trying.

“Let’s get you to your room,” you murmured, helping him stand properly and guiding him forward with slow, careful steps.

Sunghoon didn’t dare look at you, knowing damn well that if he did, he’d end up spilling his guts. But even without looking, the scent of your peachy body wash clung to your skin, and since he was taller than you, he could catch the faint fragrance of your expensive shampoo. It was familiar and comforting. Without even realizing it, he leaned down slightly, his nose brushing closer to your hair as he inhaled softly.

You noticed the way he kept sniffing at your hair, and while it was kind of weird, you brushed it off, blaming his drunken state. Still, the walk to his bedroom felt like it took forever; your body was already tired from supporting his weight. Heeseung wasn’t lying when he said Sunghoon was heavier than he looked. Potentially it was because, underneath the baggy clothes he always wore, his body was well-built with strong muscles defined beneath the fabric.

Sunghoon’s a shy nerd — you’ve known that ever since you met him years ago. Because of his reserved nature, he rarely walks around the house shirtless, but on the rare occasions he does, you do your best to ignore it, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. Even though you’ve been friends for years and have seen each other in swimsuits before, Sunghoon’s always been a respectful man. He knows it’s not exactly right to just wander around half dressed, the same way you don’t walk around without shorts or pants, so he rarely does it. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable around you; it’s that he respects you and cares about your comfort.

Sometimes, though, you wish he wasn’t so careful. Sometimes you wish you could just lounge around in an oversized shirt without a second thought. And you wish he’d just do whatever he wanted, but he’s too much of a gentleman for that.

When you finally reach his bed, you throw him onto it without an ounce of grace, your arms, and legs aching from carrying most of his weight. Sunghoon flops face down onto his perfectly made bed, and a giggle escapes your lips.

“Hoon, you think you can take care of yourself now?” you ask, circling the bed and bending down near his face.

He turns his head toward you, his dirty blonde hair falling over his precious eyes, blocking his view. Without even thinking, as if reading his mind, your fingers gently reach out and tuck the strands behind his ear, letting his eyes meet yours clearly.

Your hair was still damp, the heavy ends soaking little patches of your sleeping shirt. Sunghoon thought it was adorable how you always wore his old shirts to bed; the fabric was way too big on your frame. Your face was calm, a soft smile playing on your plump lips. He could feel your warm breath against his skin from how close you were, and he couldn’t help but let his feelings take over.

“Help me undress,” he murmured, rolling onto his back.

“Sunghoon—” you whispered, your face already heating up. “I… I can’t do that—”

“Why not? I can barely keep my eyes open. The room’s spinning, and your smell is everywhere. My head’s a mess. Please,” he insisted, lifting his head just a little, his hazy eyes focused on your flustered face.

You stayed frozen in place, panicking over his bold request.

“Come on, YN. Start with my trainers, then the pants. I’ll try to get the shirt off,” he said, his sudden confidence making your heart skip a beat. The alcohol was clearly making him bolder.

You took a deep breath and, with shaky hands, started to undo the knots on his trainers. You wanted to scold him for forgetting to take them off before stepping inside, but you knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference, not when he was this far gone. Holding his ankle with your left hand, you pushed his trainers off his feet with your right. When you finally glanced up again, you realized he’d already shrugged off his hoodie, leaving him in a sleeveless shirt.

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” Sunghoon complained, his lips forming an exaggerated pout.

“Please don’t. We don’t have another bed, and Hee’s probably passed out on the couch,” you pleaded, your face twisting at the thought of the mess that would cause.

“I could sleep in your bed,” he offered, his voice soft but unmistakably teasing.

You froze, completely caught off guard, but you managed to keep your cool.

“You wish, dummy,” you shot back with a laugh, brushing off the comment as you reached for the belt on his pants.

You avoided his face as much as possible after that, not wanting him to see the way your cheeks burned.

“Yeah… I do,” you heard him mumble quietly.

Your hands stilled midair, your fingers barely brushing against the buckle. Slowly, you lifted your head just enough to sneak a glance at him, but his right arm was draped over his eyes, hiding his expression.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe. His words replayed in your mind on a loop. “Yeah, I do.” Was he… was he implying he actually wanted to sleep next to you?

Once again, your heart stumbled over itself, and you realized his drunk self was far harder to handle than you’d expected.

You forced yourself to focus, your fingers finally undoing his belt and working his pants loose. Sunghoon felt every slight movement, hyper-aware of your touch and your closeness. When he lifted his hips just enough to help you slide the denim down his legs, you gripped the fabric tightly. Your eyes squeezed shut, doing your absolute best not to stare at your ridiculously hot best friend lying there in just his underwear.

To calm your nerves, you turn around and neatly fold the clothes he just took off, placing them on the chair at his desk. As you do, you hear him move, and when you turn back, he’s already under the covers, sitting up against the headboard, his eyes fixed on you.

“Can you come here, please?” Sunghoon asks in a low, tired voice, searching for your gaze. But you keep avoiding his eyes.

He doesn’t understand why you’re acting so distant and shy. Usually, you’re the confident one, the one who leads him. Your confidence is what draws him in the most. When your eyes meet his for the briefest moment, he swears there’s something hidden behind those beautiful brown irises.

“Sunghoon, you need to sleep. You’re drunk,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers.

“No, wait, Y/N,” Sunghoon calls out, your name rolling off his tongue like a needy plea. “I need to tell you something,” he insists.

“No, you need rest.” You force a small smile and look away, already turning toward the door.

But Sunghoon feels like if he doesn’t say it now, he might never say it at all. So when he sees you walking away, he jumps out of bed and rushes toward you, his warm fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in place.

“I like you,” he confesses, no shame or hesitation in his voice, his heart hammering against his chest. He lowers his head slightly, trying to catch your gaze, but you turn away, staring at the floor.

“You’re drunk,” you respond, refusing to look at him, your voice betraying you.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Sunghoon insists. His head remains lowered, still trying to meet your eyes, but you keep turning away. “Don’t date Jay. Please.”

So that’s what this was about. That’s why he’s been acting strange all week. He must have overheard you talking to your friends about Jay and about your date. The truth is, you didn’t tell him because you weren’t sure how he’d react. And besides, you and Jay weren’t even together yet. He had taken you out twice, but that was it.

Every time you think you might like someone new, Sunghoon begins acting weird and distant, making you feel guilty enough to pull away. But this time, he was going too far. Lying to you, saying he liked you? He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t play with your feelings like this.

“Sure. Tomorrow, you won’t even remember saying any of this, so I’m just—” You take a deep breath and finally lift your head. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say anything.”

Before Sunghoon can say anything else or even take a proper look at your face, you pull free from his grip and leave the room. He just stands there like a fool, hands sweating and chest tightening at your absence.

You walk quickly to your bedroom, which is just across from his. You don’t even glance at the living room, but you know your brother is still asleep on the couch, his soft snores echoing through the quiet house. Carefully, you close the door and rest your back against it, your heart pounding in your throat, tears welling up from the weight of it all.

As his confession lingers in your mind, you slowly slide down the door until you’re sitting on the floor, the warmth beneath you offering the faintest comfort. Your hands feel clammy, and your legs are weak like jelly. You want to believe his words were a lie, but there was something about the way he said them. You felt it in the way your heart raced the moment the words left his lips, the way a shiver ran down your spine when your eyes met his, even for just a second.

Finally, you squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, letting your lungs fill to their max before slowly exhaling. But it’s useless. The memories of him flood your mind, drowning you completely. And before you know it, you’re pulled back to the day you first met him.

Your brother had just stormed into the house, a basketball in his hands, his hair damp with sweat. You were sitting in the kitchen, eating an apple, and reading a book. As Heeseung walked in, he greeted you with a big smile.

Behind him, a taller boy followed; his hair also dampened, sticking to his forehead. His laugh was deep, his smile revealing a pair of pretty fangs that made him incredibly attractive. For a moment, your eyes locked with his, and time seemed to slow, just like in a romantic movie. He smiled at you, then his cheeks flushed pink.

The air was sucked out of you, and you felt an instant pull toward him and that pretty smile. But the moment passed as he quickly hid behind your brother. You arched an eyebrow, looking at Heeseung.

“He’s a little shy,” Heeseung teased, handing him a cup of water. “He’s that guy I met at the park—the one who likes basketball,” your brother reminded you.

“Ah… right… It’s Sunghoon, isn’t it?” you asked, your gaze drifting back to the tall boy beside your brother. Sunghoon just nodded, offering you another faint smile.

You were sixteen when you met him. He was sixteen too, and your brother was nineteen. After that day, Heeseung and Sunghoon were inseparable. They played video games together at your house, spent weekends at the park playing basketball, and your brother even gave him rides to school sometimes.

At first, you thought of Sunghoon as just a cute boy who liked sports. But as the years passed, you realized he was so much more than that—a complete nerd who just happened to have an unfairly attractive face. Even though he’d been around you countless times, he remained just as shy as the first day you met, which somehow made him even cuter.

Back then, he was just your brother’s friend. You had a boyfriend at the time, and you stayed with him until the day after your seventeenth birthday. That day was a disaster. You found out your ex had been cheating on you with an older girl.

You still remember Heeseung’s furious expression, his hands gripping your ex’s collar, practically lifting him off the ground. His neck was red, his entire body trembling with anger. Sunghoon had appeared just in time to stop Heeseung from doing something reckless.

That summer, Sunghoon and Heeseung stuck by your side. They dragged you out with them, forced you to play PlayStation, and did everything they could to cheer you up. Looking back, you’re sure it was one of the happiest summers of your life. Days filled with laughter and warmth, healing your broken heart piece by piece.

Heeseung always tried to distract you from your feelings, but whenever you found yourself alone with Sunghoon, he let you talk about whatever weighed you down. He was a good listener, always paying attention to the details and asking the right questions, making you feel truly heard.

That was when you first felt it. That little tingle in your chest as you gazed into his brown eyes. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Sunghoon had the prettiest eyes you had ever seen, and the way they sparkled under a star-filled sky only made them more mesmerizing.

Ever since that day, you’ve been hiding your feelings for him.

You didn’t quite understand them at first. You had just gotten out of a relationship, and Sunghoon had always been sweet and caring—it was easy to mistake gratitude for something more. But when he started university and suddenly all the surrounding girls became interested in him, you knew it wasn’t just a silly crush.

You used to tease him about how popular he was, but he’d always brush it off with a shy smile, never believing a word you said. And despite all the attention he got, he remained quiet and reserved.

A few years have passed, and now you’re in your last year of college. The reason Sunghoon became your roommate is actually pretty funny. This final year is packed with important exams and projects, and since you had to commute back home every day, losing hours in transportation, you decided it was time to get a place of your own.

That turned out to be way harder than you thought because the rent was ridiculously high, and even though you were working part-time at a local coffee shop, it wasn’t nearly enough to cover both food and rent.

It was Heeseung who gave you the idea of finding a roommate, and you liked it. So you spread the word that you were looking for a female roommate. Turns out, not a single person was interested, and you were in trouble. The deadline to pay the first month’s rent was creeping closer, and you barely had enough money to eat.

That’s when Sunghoon offered to be your roommate, way too excited about the idea of spending more time with you. Heeseung loved the idea too, since it meant he’d have an easier time hanging out with both of you.

You were hesitant at first. After all, he was a man. But then you realized you’d lived with a man your whole life, your brother Heeseung. After a serious conversation about chores and responsibilities, you finally agreed.

It turns out Sunghoon was cleaner than you expected. The house was always tidy and smelled nice, and even better, he was always there with you. That’s when the regular movie nights started happening, and the two of you got closer than ever. You learned that when Heeseung wasn’t around, Sunghoon became more touchy and relaxed, his usual shyness melting away bit by bit.

He started making breakfast for both of you every day, waking you up with the smell of freshly made food. But the best part was the sight of him cooking with that cute pink apron tied around his waist. He always greeted you with a warm smile and a soft kiss on the top of your head—a little gesture that never failed to make you melt inside.

Those small things made it impossible to forget him.

Sunghoon wakes up with a massive headache, each throb pounding violently every time he opens his eyes. He curses under his breath and shuts them again, curling his knees up to his chest under the covers. Outside the blankets, his head takes a deep breath, and he’s met with a faint, familiar scent.

Your peachy body wash.

As soon as his nose recognizes the smell, the memories from yesterday flash before his eyes like some tragic, pitiful movie. “Fuck, that was such a bad moment to tell her how I feel,” he thinks, groaning as he lightly knocks his fist against his forehead.

Sunghoon never meant to make you push other people away. He tries so hard to smile and listen when you talk about other guys, but no matter how much he pretends, he can’t help the jealousy that coils in his chest.

Still, deciding not to skip his usual routine of making breakfast, he drags himself out of bed, throws on a pair of sweatpants, and slowly makes his way to the small kitchen. But to his surprise, you’re not there. That’s strange because you always wait for him so you can go to campus together.

Frowning, he grabs some hangover pills he stole from Heeseung out of the fridge. As he swallows them, his body slumps against the counter, the cold surface offering little relief.

The sun outside is shining brightly, filling the apartment with warm golden light. Sunghoon walks over to the windows and opens them, letting the fresh air sweep inside before calling out for you.

“YN?”

No response.

He checks the bathroom; the door’s wide open and the lights are off. The uneasy feeling in his stomach twists a little tighter as he moves to your bedroom. After knocking a few times and getting nothing, he pushes the door open, only to find a perfectly made bed and an open window, clear signs that you’ve already left.

On his way back to the kitchen, it dawns on him that Heeseung who was supposed to be sleeping on the couch, is gone too.

Debating whether he should go to class or stay home, Sunghoon eventually decides to skip. Besides the pounding headache and the queasy feeling in his stomach, there’s an ache in his chest telling him something’s wrong.

With a heavy sigh, he runs a hand through his messy, dirty-blonde hair and drops onto the couch. His only plan is to sleep the bad feeling away. It doesn’t take long, and within minutes, his tired body gives out, and he falls into a deep, restless sleep.

Meanwhile, hours pass, and you find yourself bored out of your mind in class. Though your eyes stay glued to the whiteboard, your thoughts are light years away. You feel guilty for leaving early this morning, but you just couldn’t face Sunghoon yet, not after his drunken confession.

In your head, none of it makes sense. How could he suddenly like you? He never flirted back, never initiated any kind of intimate touch, never did anything out of the ordinary. He was always respectful and caring. A constant, safe presence.

Before you know it, you’re chewing on your pen cap, and you quickly shake your head, weirded out by your own behavior.

The warm rays of sunlight streaming through the windows spread across your skin, lulling you into an almost drowsy state. When you glance at the clock on your wrist, you realize it’s almost midday, which means it’s time to head home for lunch.

But your thoughts wander as you picture walking through that front door. You wonder how Sunghoon’s feeling; his hangover must be brutal, considering how wasted he was last night.

Shoving the rising nerves aside, you leave the classroom the second your teacher dismisses you and head to the nearest supermarket. You grab lunch and some extra things you know the apartment needs, and before long, you’re standing at the front door.

The moment your hand grips the doorknob, your heart starts racing, but to your surprise, when you step inside, the apartment is silent.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen and set the grocery bag on the counter, and that’s when you spot him. Sunghoon is curled up on the couch, fast asleep, his body pulled in on itself like he’s trying to chase warmth.

A small smile tugs at your lips at the sight. Despite everything, there’s something so comforting about seeing him like this.

Carefully, you reach for the fluffy blanket resting on the side of the sofa and drape it over him, watching the way his body relaxes with a soft, sleepy sigh. Then, when you reach out and press your hand against his forehead, your heart sinks. He’s burning up.

Worry blooms in your chest as you hurry back to the kitchen, pulling out everything you bought for him: his favorite ramen noodles, some medicine, and a special seaweed soup meant to help with hangovers. Because no matter how complicated things feel right now, you can’t just sit back and watch him suffer.

You sit quietly at the kitchen table, eating your ramen as silently as possible, careful not to wake him. You’re relieved he’s still asleep; facing him right now would be too hard, with your mind still overthinking and making excuses for what he said last night.

Would it really be so bad if he liked you? No — after all, you’ve had a crush on him for a while, too. But it just doesn’t make sense in your head. Sunghoon is handsome and smart. You’re sure there are plenty of interesting girls who want him. And then there’s your brother. He’d probably be furious if he found out. He’d told you both, very clearly, not to get involved—he said it would ruin the friendship between the three of you.

The soft sound of Sunghoon’s breathing fills the room as you finish your food, then you grab your books for your afternoon classes, and slip quietly out of the house.

Sunghoon wakes up around five p.m., still confused and with a heavy headache pounding in his skull. The soft material of the blanket brushes against his face, and the realization hits him— you’ve already been home and left again. He sits up slowly, his eyes landing on the things you bought, neatly arranged on the counter.

Next to them, there’s a small, handwritten note:

“Please eat everything and take the medicine; you had a fever when I checked on you.”

A silly, lopsided smile creeps onto his lips as he reads it, his heart giving an involuntary flutter. He takes a moment to admire your beautiful handwriting before folding the note carefully and slipping it into his pocket.

He does exactly as you instructed: eats the food, takes the medicine, then lies back down, his body still craving rest. Sunghoon grips his phone tightly in his hand, determined to stay awake so he can talk to you when you get home. But exhaustion wins, and before he knows it, he’s fast asleep again.

The day slips by faster than you’d like. Despite the sun still hanging in the sky, the air has grown colder, making goosebumps rise on your arms. As you walk through campus, your eyes drift over the crowd of students talking, laughing, and going about their lives. And you wonder if any of them know the ache of falling for their best friend or not being able to overcome it, no matter how hard they try.

When you step inside the apartment, silence greets you once again. A quick glance at the couch shows Sunghoon still curled up, fast asleep. The empty packets from the food you bought sit abandoned on the coffee table.

Carefully, you tiptoe around the table, gather the trash, and throw it out. Then, worried about him, you kneel beside the sofa and gently press your palm to his forehead. The fever’s gone; the medicine worked.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as you tug the blanket higher over his body, making sure he stays warm. With a quiet sigh, you head to your room, already thinking about the mountain of studying you need to catch up on.

The air in your room smells fresh, and you notice the window’s been shut. Sunghoon must’ve done it. You settle into your comfortable chair and take a deep breath, determined to focus. It’s been nearly impossible all day, with everything swirling around in your head.

Reaching for the headset hanging on the side of your desk, you slip it on, hoping the music will help you concentrate. Luckily, it works. Soon, you’re completely lost in a sea of books and exercises.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon wakes up again, this time feeling a lot better. The ache in his head has dulled, and his body no longer feels like lead. He stretches with a lazy yawn and checks the time on his watch at eight p.m.

The realization hits him like a truck.

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his messy hair. He’s slept the whole day away.

Panic creeping in, he heads toward your bedroom. But when he gets there, his feet stop in front of the closed door. His palm hovers just inches from knocking, but he can’t seem to do it.

His heart pounds faster, his mind whispering all the worst possibilities.

Maybe she needs time. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see me. What if she’s uncomfortable now? What if she hates me? What if she wants me to leave?

The voice in his head wins, and the guilt weighs heavier on his shoulders as he turns away and heads to the kitchen.

Deciding to cook something, Sunghoon distracts himself with the familiar rhythm of preparing food. The scent of marinated pork belly fills the air as it sizzles on the stove, but his mind drifts far from the kitchen. What if you really do want him gone?

The thought tightens his chest, and that’s when the burning pain snaps him back to reality.

“Fuck!” he hisses, jerking his hand away from the pan’s hot edge and rushing to the sink. Cold water rushes over the burn, but the sting doesn’t fade easily, and neither does the frustration building inside him. He takes a deep breath, fighting back the tears threatening to well up in his eyes.

Once the pain eases, he dries his hand and applies a thick layer of burn cream from the fridge. With his injured hand still throbbing, he checks the pork belly, taking it off the heat just in time.

He plates everything carefully: a bowl of fresh rice, slices of perfectly grilled pork belly, a side of kimchi, pickled radish, and a sprinkle of sesame seeds just the way you like it.

Proud of his little masterpiece, he balances the tray and walks toward your bedroom, but once again, he finds himself frozen outside your door. His fingers hover near the wood, his heart pounding too fast. He’s never been here before, never confessed to anyone, never been this vulnerable.

And the fear of what you might say — of what you might feel — keeps him stuck right where he stands.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that everything’s fine. You’re YN, his best friend, not some stranger. His knuckles tap against your door a few times, but after waiting a few moments with no response, his hand moves to the cold knob, and he slowly turns it.

Sunghoon finds you completely focused on your studies, the room dimly lit, your headphones snug over your ears. He notices the empty water bottle at the corner of your desk and the crumpled cookie wrappers scattered nearby.

You barely even register his presence; it’s the subtle shift in light that finally makes you glance up, your eyes landing on your best friend.

“I… I made dinner for you,” he says, his voice quiet and hesitant as he holds up the tray. “And… thank you. For taking care of me today.”

You stay silent, your eyes flickering across his face, unsure and guarded. After a moment, your hands reach out, taking the tray from his grasp and setting it on your desk, pushing your books aside.

“Thank you… and you’re welcome. I will always take care of you.” you murmur softly, your gaze fixed on the food in front of you.

“Yeah... you’re welcome,” Sunghoon echoes hesitantly, his hand brushing the back of his neck. His eyes stay on you as you pick up your utensils and start eating, though you never once meet his gaze.

The silence that fills the room is thick and suffocating. It presses down on him, making it hard to breathe, his chest aching with the weight of it. He watches you, and the way you deliberately avoid his eyes cuts deeper than he expected. But deep down, he knows it’s fair — his actions last night weren’t exactly his finest. With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Sunghoon makes a decision — maybe it’s better if he just leaves.

He moves toward the door, his footsteps slow and hesitant. But before stepping out, he glances back one last time, hoping, possibly, that you’ll stop him. That you’ll tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

And when the door clicks shut behind him, the silence in the room remains.

The weekend passes unbearably slowly. Since you only work on weekends, Sunghoon finds himself alone on Saturday and Sunday, his only company being his pile of missing assignments and his computer. He spends most of the day holed up in his bedroom, either sleeping or studying. The only times he comes out are to use the bathroom or greet you when you get home.

Sunghoon tries to talk to you during those brief moments, but you always excuse yourself, saying you’re tired and need to rest. And so, your best friend lies in bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling, feeling lonely and heartbroken. He hates this brick wall you’ve been building between the two of you; he worked so hard to overcome his shyness around you, and now it feels like it’s all falling apart.

A frustrated sigh escapes his lips as he rolls onto his side, his eyes landing on the artwork you’ve hung around the house. He admires the pieces, but his mind inevitably drifts back to you. He can’t figure out what’s going on, and that’s what terrifies him the most. Do you not feel the same way? Are you scared? He’s desperate for answers, but all he’s met with is silence.

You, on the other hand, were grateful for the weekend; it gave you the perfect excuse to avoid Sunghoon. Work was slow, which wasn’t exactly helpful because it left your mind too much room to wander back to him. You busied yourself with filler tasks just to avoid standing idly behind the counter, lost in your thoughts.

But eventually, your panic started giving way to logic. You realized that, no matter how awkward things had gotten, Sunghoon was still your best friend. He was still the only person who truly understood you and cared for you.

So, on your walk home Saturday night, you rehearsed a few things to say—words that would clear the air between you. But the moment you stepped inside and saw his sleepy, soft expression, every carefully crafted phrase vanished from your mind.

He was moving around the kitchen, maybe making a late-night snack. He wore a pair of gray sweatpants and an oversized navy blue hoodie, his blonde hair falling straight into his face. His pretty moles dotted his skin, accentuating his tired eyes and pouty lips. When he heard your footsteps, his head snapped toward you, but instead of the usual sweet smile he always greeted you with, he just pressed his lips together and went back to what he was doing.

A sharp pang of guilt twisted in your chest. You knew your avoidance had hurt him, and you wanted to apologize, but despite that, your legs had a mind of their own, carrying you straight to your bedroom without a word.

Unknowingly, the two of you ended up the same way that night, lying in your separate beds, staring at the ceiling, thinking about each other but too afraid to reach out. When Monday rolls around, you find yourself alone in the apartment. Sunghoon has classes all day, and you have none. So you decide to take advantage of the rare solitude and indulge in a little self-care. You paint your nails, make a lazy lunch with no protein, and binge a few episodes of a new drama on Netflix.

Since Sunghoon won’t be home until six, you take the freedom a step further, walking around the apartment in nothing but your underwear and one of his oversized shirts, the collar still faintly smelling like him despite being washed.

Currently, you’re in the kitchen making a smoothie, music blasting through the speakers as you sing and dance around without a care in the world. Your loose curls bounce with every move, your hips swaying in time with the beat. You belt out the lyrics to the latest Sabrina Carpenter song, completely unaware of the door opening behind you.

Intrigued by the loud music, Sunghoon quietly makes his way down the hall, stopping at the end to peek into the kitchen. The sight in front of him makes his breath catch.

You’re completely oblivious to his presence, twirling and singing your heart out as you move around the room. Sunghoon leans against the wall, his eyes following the sway of your hips and the curve of your legs. You look so carefree and happy, so unlike the distant, guarded version of you he’s been seeing these past few days.And for a moment, he just stands there, watching you, his heart aching and his mind racing.

“AHH, WHAT THE FUCK?!” you scream, jumping slightly when your eyes finally land on Sunghoon. “Jesus, Sunghoon, you scared the shit out of me,” you complain, your hand clutching your chest as you try to steady your breathing.

“I’m sorry. You just looked so beautiful, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he says shyly, his cheeks flushing red at being caught red-handed.

“Next time, text me when you’re coming home early! I would’ve changed…” Your hands tug at the hem of your oversized shirt, trying to pull it further down, aware of just how little you’re wearing underneath.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Sunghoon murmurs, his voice carrying a teasing edge.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Where’s my shy Sunghoon at?” you ask, no longer caring that your bare legs are on full display.

“I’m still here,” he mumbles, his hand reaching back to scratch his neck. A nervous habit of his and the familiar gesture makes you smile.

“Can we talk?” you both blurt out at the same time.

A brief silence falls before you break into laughter, and Sunghoon follows suit. Just like that, the tension begins to lift, and the house feels warm and easy again, playful and familiar, like it always was. You gesture toward the sofa, and he sits down across from you.

You notice his knee bouncing and his hands fidgeting in his lap. The sight brings a wave of fondness; his nervousness has always been endearing to you.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you these past few days,” you start, your voice soft. “I was confused. My heart was a mess, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“No, YN it’s my fault,” Sunghoon says quickly, his warm brown eyes fixed on your face. “I shouldn’t have said what I said… or, at least, not like that. You deserved something more thoughtful, more romantic. But I guess… I’ve just been so desperate to tell you.”

As your eyes meet his, Sunghoon’s mind drifts lost in memories of you, of all the little things you’ve done that made him fall so hopelessly for you. Things you probably never realized meant so much to him, but he never forgot them.

He remembers your old bedroom in vivid detail—the collection of books lined up by the window, the cherry-scented candle on your nightstand, and the way the soft blue light of the moon reflected off your face that night. The night when everything changed.

“I’m serious, YN. I wasn’t going to keep giving her false hope,” he’d said, his voice firm. “So I just… told her I wasn’t interested. And yeah, I guess it wasn’t the best timing, but I wasn’t trying to be mean, just honest. Still, she ran out of the canteen sobbing.”

“You can’t be serious,” you’d replied, eyes wide. “She’s the most popular girl on the dance crew; how could you reject her like that?”

“Because I’m not interested,” Sunghoon insisted, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“You do know there’s more to life than ‘League of Legends’ and ‘God of War,’ right?” you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“You’re twenty, Sunghoon. In the first year of college. You’re supposed to go out, get wasted, hook up, and live a little.”

“Not even you do all that, you only work and study.” he shot back. “Besides… I like someone else. And I can’t even think about anyone else when she’s around.”

He thought he was being obvious after all; it was just the two of you in your room, your shoulders brushing as you sat side by side.

But the smile slipped from your face, and when you looked away, his heart sank.

“Maybe you should go back,” you said quietly. “My brother can’t know you sneaked in here.”

But Sunghoon wasn’t ready to let you shut him out. His fingers tilted your chin gently, guiding your face back toward his. His eyes searched yours, taking in every detail — the way the moonlight cast a soft glow over your skin, the uncertainty in your wide, startled eyes.

But then reality crashed back in. He realized what he was doing and let go, his hand falling away as he stood up abruptly.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he muttered, his face flushed. “I should go.”

He slipped out of your room and back into Heeseung’s without making a sound, but his heart was pounding so loudly it felt deafening. Despite his embarrassment, he smiled to himself. Even if he’d chickened out at the last second, the image of you — bathed in moonlight, your face inches from his. It will forever burn in his memory.

That was the last time he tried making a move on you. He’d mistaken your silence for rejection, convinced you didn’t feel the same way.

But the truth was… his eyes had always lingered on you longer than anyone else’s. He loved the way your face lit up when you talked about things you loved and the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him. And no matter how hard he tried to push those feelings down, they always found their way back to you.

Only recently did he realize how close he was to losing you to another man, and that made him open his eyes. When Heeseung invited him out for barbecue with his other friends, Sunghoon initially declined. He knew they usually drank a lot, and he could barely hold his alcohol — but when he heard Jay’s name mentioned, he quickly changed his mind. Sunghoon had never seen Jay before, only heard about him. And he’d heard about him from you.

You’d been talking to your best friend, and since your bedroom door was open, Sunghoon ended up overhearing by mistake. That was enough to make him curious and a little jealous. The day of the barbecue night out finally came. Heeseung was waiting in the living room, chatting with you about some family stuff.

Sunghoon can still remember the way your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened when you saw him. He might’ve dressed up a little more than usual, but he needed to meet Jay, and more importantly, he needed Jay to know how close you and Sunghoon were. Maybe then Jay would back off.

“Woah, Hoon…” you said in a flirty voice, his favorite. “You look so handsome.”

You stepped closer, smoothing his clothes with your hands. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, black baggy jeans, and a long black trench coat. Sunghoon looked smart and attractive, making your heart flutter.

He felt himself flush at your touch, warmth blooming in his chest. You were so clueless about how many moments like this meant to him.

“Thanks, YN,” he replied with a shy smile.

“Let’s go then?” Heeseung asked, standing up.

“Don’t let him drink too much; you know he can’t handle alcohol,” you teased, sparing a playful glance at Sunghoon.

“I’m not going to drink. Don’t worry,” Sunghoon assured you. Your brother gave you a tight hug and kissed your forehead.

Sunghoon awkwardly stepped closer too, but under Heeseung’s watchful eyes, all he dared offer was a soft head pat and a smile. You giggled at his weird behavior and guided them to the door, saying goodbye one last time before it closed.

The barbecue place was lively, packed with laughter and chatter in the air, blending with the sound of meat sizzling on the grill. Heeseung’s friend group was no different, cracking jokes and drinking while the food cooked.

But Sunghoon only had eyes for Jay, studying his every move, trying to figure out if this guy was even good enough to deserve your attention.

To Sunghoon’s dismay, Jay was everything he feared. Polite, charming, and attentive, always making sure everyone was eating, serving drinks, and keeping conversations light and fun. The jealousy Sunghoon had been feeling twisted into something darker: insecurity. Jay was the kind of guy people gravitated toward—confident, well-spoken, and social. Sunghoon felt like the opposite. A nerd, awkward, and embarrassed more often than not, despite literally living with you.

“How’s everything going with YN?” Heeseung asked Jay suddenly, snapping Sunghoon out of his thoughts.

Wait, even Heeseung knew about Jay? But Sunghoon didn’t?

“We’re taking it slow,” Jay replied with a gentle smile. “She’s a wonderful woman despite being your sister.”

“Hey!” Heeseung rolled his eyes, laughing. “Oh, speaking of YN this is Sunghoon! He’s my best friend, but YN’s too. We’ve been friends for years now!”

Sunghoon cursed silently. Did Heeseung really have to make this about him? Now everyone’s eyes were on him, waiting for a response, and he could feel his palms start to sweat.

“Yeah, me and YN, we’re… friends,” he said awkwardly, taking long, uncomfortable pauses between the words.

“Good. I’m glad you’re just friends,” Jay teased. “It would be weird if you had a crush on her or something.”

Sunghoon choked on his water.

“Nah, Sunghoon likes someone else, right?” Heeseung added, patting his friend’s back to help with the coughing.

Sunghoon’s face burned partially from embarrassment, partly from the lack of air. He just nodded, which made everyone laugh and reach for the soju bottles. And that’s when it hit him—maybe drinking wasn’t such a bad idea. Potentially, it would help him calm down. That’s how Sunghoon ended up wasted.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by your voice calling his name.

“Hoon?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you be honest, please?” you ask softly, your eyes searching his face.

“About what?” Sunghoon blinks, realizing he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Come on, don’t joke around right now. I need to know the truth about what you feel for me.” Your voice is quiet but serious, and your fingers are nervously picking at your cuticles.

“I’ve told you already. I love you, YN. I always have,” Sunghoon confesses, the words spilling out before he can stop them.

“You were drunk.”

“I was aware of what i said. I love you,”

The silence that follows is strangely comfortable. You avoid his eyes, like you’re trying to piece together your own thoughts.

“Sunghoon—” you start, but he interrupts.

“You don’t have to love me back. I just needed you to know. It was time I finally told you. You have no idea how hard it is to hear you talk about other people when all I want is you.” The words pour out faster than he can think to stop them. But for once, he’s grateful.

“No, wait, the thing is… I love you too,” you admit, your heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.

“Wait, you do? I thought—”

“Why did you think I flirted with you all the time?” you ask, tilting your head.

“I thought that was just your personality,” Sunghoon says, clearly confused.

You burst out laughing. “I mean, I am a flirty person, but only with you.”

Your eyes meet his, and you see the way his soft brown iris expands, his entire expression softening.

“I don’t understand how you like me, though,” you say. “You never showed it.”

“You’re joking, right?” Sunghoon looks at you in disbelief. “I cook for you every morning. I kiss your head to say good morning. I let you ramble about your K-pop idols for hours. Not only that, but I let you cuddle me when we watch TV. How was that not obvious?”

“I thought you were just being a good best friend,” you mumble, feeling heat rise to your face. You both shake your heads, laughing at how oblivious you’d been to each other’s feelings.

The sun outside fades, casting the room in soft blue shadows, and you can’t stop staring at the boy in front of you, so flushed, shy, and beautiful.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you lift yourself up and slide onto his lap, settling on his thighs. Sunghoon’s eyes track your every movement, his breath hitching. He watches how his shirt rises higher in your thighs, exposing more and more of your skin.

Your hands cup his face, and gathering all your courage, you press a soft kiss to his lips. But it’s over too quickly, and Sunghoon isn’t satisfied with just one. His hand finds the back of your neck, guiding you back into another kiss.

This time, it’s slow and lingering, full of quiet desire and the kind of happiness that only comes with finally having what you want.

When you pull back, your eyes stay locked on him. When Sunghoon's eyes open, you both start laughing like two teenagers in love.

“We’re so screwed,” Sunghoon murmurs, still grinning. “Your brother’s going to kill me.”

“We can figure that out later,” you tease, tugging gently on the his hair. “Can we go back to kissing?”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” Sunghoon whispers, his lips chasing yours eagerly once again.

Happy that you are finally his, and he is finally yours.

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[kittysarchive]

Untouchable desires

warnings- au, sub reader, dom Sunghoon, stripper reader, Mafia Sunghoon, lap dancing, attempted SA, mentions of drunk man,

word count- 2k

“Y/N your up” Your grumpy manager calls you over, his gruff voice commanding you to the stage. Nodding your head, you didn’t want to ruin tonight’s schedule.

Carefully walking onto the stage, a round of applause follows. Eyeing out the crowd, you see the same basic faces. Men of all age cheering you on, whistling, begging at you to start. Switching on, you hold onto the pole. Dancing to the beat, you swing around the pole, spreading your legs out to the crowd in front of you. Swads on cash follow as you shake your but as the music intensifies.

Letting go of the pole, you walk around the stage, giving a tour of tonight’s outfit. A tight white lacy body suit glitter with pearls and small white leather plates compliments the shiny white glitter that coats your body. Cheers engulf your ears as you continue your next routine. Getting close to the crowd, your eyes latch onto a man. In a suit, not unusual. However, he holds no smile.

Almost frowning, his eyes stay on your body, watching it move to the beat. Having no idea who this strange man was, you turn away, finding another man to dance to. Minutes fly by and the beat slows down, signalling you to get off the stage.

High heels clattering off the stage you make your way backstage. Passing men who stick cash through the openings of your body suit, you finally make it to the somewhat quite and empty dressing room.

Falling onto the cold leather couch, the cheers of the horny men become muffled in your ears. Not knowing when you next dance was, you try you best to fall asleep. Just as you feel yourself slipping away from reality, you hear your manger walk in.

“Rest up quick Y/N” His normally gruff voice is no where to be heard, causing you to lift your head up.

“Why? My dance should be in about half an hour?” You sit your body up, letting your need for sleep to go.

“This guy paid big money to see you. Lap dance he wants” You eyes narrow to the cash in his hands. Two bundles, easily a few hundred dollars. Wanting the money, and wanting to become more popular, you stand up.

“What room is he in?” You manger shakes his head towards a door. Closed, the lights are on. He is already inside. Walking up to your vanity, you take a quick sip of water before walking towards the closed door.

Opening the door, you quickly recognise the man. With the same dead expression, he tilts his head up, watching you enter the room. With his back slouched against the leather couch, he almost cockily waits for you.

“Took you long enough” He pipes up with a small laugh. His hands which once lay beside are brought behind his head. You quicky apologise, closing the door and making your way over to him.

Not uttering another word, he stares at you, waiting for you to make the first move. Not wanting to get told of by your manager, or taken advantage of, you begin the lap dance.

Placing yourself down on his lap, you start to rub your ass against his thighs. After a moment you turn your body, facing him. Placing your hands on his broad shoulders, you sway you hips against his bugle.

“What your name” You start the conversation while your hands trace his collar. Noting the change in hand placement, a smile forms on his lips. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t handsome.

“Park. Park Sunghoon” At such a proximity to him, it was hard to resit kissing him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you rub your ass against his bulge.

“What’s yours” His soothing voice sends shivers down your spines. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you quickly answer.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N” You knew you weren’t supposed to give that information away. But something about Park Sunghoon made you want to follow every order he gave you.

Turning your body around, your back now faces his chest. Rolling your ass back onto his thighs, you feel his hands grab your hips. A light grip, his hands tickle you. Slowing down, you rest your head onto his shoulder. Never getting this close with a customer, you weren’t sure if you were even allowed to do this.

Finishing the dance, you slide against his bulge once more before getting off his lap. Turning around to face him, Sunghoon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. Taking his eyes off you, he answers the phone.

“You can’t go an hour without me?” Not wanting to be in his business, you walk out of the room. Hearing his voice raise on the phone call, you were glad you weren’t in the room with him.

Making a beeline to the dressing room, you got ready to go home for the night. Placing a large and warm coat over your lacy and revealing body suit, you go to take off your makeup.

Changing out of the high heels, you slide on sneakers. Looking back up at your vanity, you notice the wad of cash. Less then half of what your manager was holding. At least he gave you extra tonight.

Counting the notes in your hand, it was enough to cover this months rent. Storing the cash away and zipping up the coat fully, you existed the club through the back. You didn’t want to walk through the drunk and horny men. Holding your handbag close to your for some warmth, you descend into the cold night.

Streets dark, the few cars which drive pass offer enough light to walk by. Small steps, you try to stay warm. Walking on the slippery pavement, you only had a few more blocks until you were home, a few more and you could finally rest up.

Steps slightly speeding up, enough not to slip, you pass a corner. Feeling a strong grip on your shoulder, your shoved against the closed shops brick wall. Air nocked out of your lungs; the man doesn’t have to cover your mouth.

“Where going this late at night baby?” Swaying from side to side, this man was drunk. Trying to squeeze past him, his hands stay on your body.

“Just g-going home” You answer, not wanting to upset him. His eyes linger on your body as his hands sneak onto your zipper. Pulling it down, it reveals the lacy bodysuit you wear underneath.

“What type of work do you do?” He laughs. Pushing his hands away, you quickly zip up you jacket, finding  enough space to squeeze past him, you make a run for it.

Slipping on the slippery pavement only a few feet away from him, the cars are no where to be seen. No one is around to call out to.

The drunk man struggles to walk to you, each step tripping over his own feet.

“Where are you going?” Hearing the familiar car engine beside you, the man lifts his head. Eyeing out the vehicle behind you. Coming to your sense, you quickly stand up as the car door opens.

Hopping out of the way, a man steps out of the car, walking towards the drunk man. Only facing his back, you have no idea who your saviour is. Stepping closer to the man, he punches his jaw, sending him to the wet ground.

Stepping away from the drunk man, he faces you. It takes a moment for you to realise who it is. Park Sunghoon, the one who you lap danced. At a loss for words, you finally thank him.

“T-thankyou” Your body shivers in the cold. Turning to face you, he is quite for a moment. Try to figure out his next actions.

“Why are you walking out at night…. alone?” He steps closer to you. His large frame hovers over you. Clutching your handbag, you answer him.

“I d-don’t make enough money, so I must walk home…. It’s not far” Sunghoon scoffs. If it wasn’t far, you’d be home by now. He walks to the black vehicle, gesturing you to follow him. Not knowing much about him, you didn’t budge.

“I’ll drop you home” Not wanting to waste a ride home….and a ride with him, you step in the car.

Closing the door lightly behind you, awkward silence engulfs both of you. Glancing to your left, you see Sunghoon busy on his phone. Looking away, you keep you eyes on the window, you wanted to make sure you got home.

Minutes fell by and you alert the driver. The car coming to a stop, you thank him before existing the car.

Stepping away and walking towards the apartment building, you hear him follow you. Turning around, he has no shame in following you.

“I want to make sure you got inside” You smile and keep walking. Stepping through the doors, he continues following you. Did he wan to see you get in your apartment?

Waiting at the elevator, you try to start conversation.

“What type of work do you do that need a suit….and fancy car?” Sunghoon’s eyes look down at you, though you’re not sure what emotion they hold.

“Business….” His answer is vague. The elevator doors open, and he steps in with you. You press your apartment floor number.

“What like the mafia?” You laugh to yourself. He chuckles next to you.

“You could say that” Still with a small smile on your face, you had no other way to continue the conversation. Short seconds pass and the elevator opens. Stepping into the familiar hallway, you walk until you reach your door.

“This is me…. thanks again” You smile at him. Placing the keys into the door, you easily unlock it. Walking through your apartment, you close the door behind you. Feeling it not close, you look behind you. His shoe blocks the door.

“I’m going to need a better thankyou then that” Heart racing, what could he possibly want. He wouldn’t need money, he wouldn’t want food, would he want sex?

Stepping through the door, he closed it fully behind. While you stood still, watching his every move, Sunghoon slid off his jacket along with his shoes.

“Don’t think I didn’t see those looks you were giving” You did want to kiss him, and you did think he was handsome but having sex.

“Not now…..When you’re up for it I want the proper thankyou” Nodding your head, what were you supposed to do. Turning away from you, he slid on his shoes and places his jacket over his arm, before making a swift exit out of the house.

“Fuck” You curse as you hear Sunghoon walk away. What could you do? You wanted him so badly now, who cares if this was only for a thankyou. Walking towards the door, you swing it open. Whipping your head around, Sunghoon was only a few steps away.

“I’m ready” Turning around, he holds a sly smile on his face. Walking back through the door, he closed it shut.

Arms pulling you close, his lips latch onto yours. Chasing each other, you lead him to your couch. Pulling apart for a breath, you fall in love with him all over again. Sharp jawline, pretty eyes, cute haircut, his lips…..was this a dream?

Coming back to reality, you see Sunghoon stripping. Matching his speed, you quickly undress yourself. Falling back onto the couch, Sunghoon’s lips latch onto your neck. Sucking hard, your hands find his hair, softly pulling at it’s locks.

“S-shit” You breath out, Sunghoon’s lips pull away. Panting above you, his eyes gaze into yours. Nodding your head, Sunghoon spreads your legs apart. Already smiling, he could see how wet you were for him.

“I don’t even need to prep you” Sunghoon chuckles, his fingers grazing your wet folds. You whine at the contact. Gripping his cock, he ready’s himself at your entrance. Sliding in, he allows you to adjust to his size.

“more” You moan out, wanting more of him. Sliding more of his cock into you, it doesn’t take long for Sunghoon to ram into you. Fast and deep thrusts, he toys with your tits while slamming into your pussy.

“Made for me” He mutters, closing his eyes and he relishes the feeling. Holding back your own small whines, Sunghoon pulls you into another kiss.

More passionate then the other, you try to catch your breath as his lips latch onto to yours. Lips becoming suffocating, you open your mouth, allowing his tongue to enter. Exploring your mouth, his hips speed up.

Giving more energy to fuck you, his hips slam down onto yours. Out of breath, he pulls away from your mouth.

“You look so good in white….makes me want to cum all over you” Sunghoon grunt as he gazes at your body. The memories of you in white earlier and the remains of white glitter causes him to finish earlier.

Pulling out of your heat, he releases over your chest. Covered in his white, sticky cum. Cock becoming soft in his hand, your body continues to radiate heat.

With enough energy to stand up, Sunghoon follows you to the bed, collapses with you as you are finally able to sleep.

Chapter 2?