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the-boy-meets-evil · 5 months ago

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34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | jww

(your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know.)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader genre: strangers to lovers, (kinda, v light) enemies to lovers | smut, fluff, angst rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.8k (idk what happened) warnings: art thief!wonwoo, secret agent!reader, brief mentions of death & bloody past (again, reader is a secret agent), mentions of past violence, mentions of weapons, food, drinking, VERY ambiguous ending smut warnings: multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, unprotected sex (don't do this), slightly rough sex, mild dom!wonwoo?, fingering, oral sex, choking, spanking, multiple orgasms, squirting, light marking, semi-public sex, food play (whipped cream, chocolate), i think that's it

a/n: this is for @svthub's world tour collab (check out the other fics here). i had so much fun writing this even if it got away from me a bit. thanks to @effortandmore for lending me her art brain. thanks to @highvern for constantly listening to me and @multi-kpop-fanfics for fit inspo. and as always, thank you to my bby @wongyuseokie for the banner & divider.

edited to add: i am considering an epilogue if that’s something anyone is interested in

tag list: @wonustars, @minisugakoobies, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @sdoulc, @wonwootakemyheart, @divinityyyy, @nightshadeinmoonlight, @imma-queencard, @jelly-n

“We’ll be landing in about 45 minutes, according to the pilot,” a voice says, interrupting your laser-like focus.

You look up from your tablet and blink at him for a second. It takes you a moment or two to register he’s even standing there. Another moment to register what he actually said to you a second ago. In the meantime, you switch the program open on your tablet.

“Oh, thanks,” you say in response.

He sits down in the seat opposite you and fixes you with a smile. “Must be a good book, you’ve barely looked up for the entire flight.”

“Guilty,” you say with a practiced smile.

Chan, you think that’s his name, seems nice enough. A little overeager and too ready to agree to something when his bosses tell him what to do. There’s that real thirst to prove himself. But, at least from what you hear, he’s got a bright future. He’s done well with what he’s been given so far, which are increasingly difficult assignments. You can see why. He’s easy on the eyes and he’s got that soft smile down. The kind of unassuming smile that makes people want to trust him. If he can keep it up, he’ll go far.

“Thanks again for letting me catch a ride,” you say to fill some of the space between you.

Chan only shrugs. “Any friend of Mr. Choi’s is always welcome. Plus, nobody really says no when the boss says something.”

A lesser person would have probably laughed at that. Hearing him referred to as Mr. Choi and the boss is a little comical to you. Not that it isn’t true because he is definitely Chan’s boss. It’s just, well, it’s a little more complicated than that.

“Honestly I don’t really even understand what Cheol does,” you lie and turn on a little bit of the charm. It’s always good to practice on people that are trained to be charming themselves.

“Do you call him that?” Chan wonders.

“Call him what? Cheol?” you ask and Chan nods, eyes a little wide. It catches him just off guard enough. “Yeah, but I’ve known him for years. What do you call him?”

“Sir, usually,” Chan answers too quickly. You can’t fully fight the smile that answer brings to your lips. “Glad to see I entertained you.”

“He’s not nearly as bad as I’m sure he seems at work,” you say like you’re sharing a secret.

The truth is that you’ve been hearing about this new agent that Seungcheol is personally training for over a year now. So, you know that eventually, you’re going to all be laughing at this conversation in hindsight and he’ll also be calling his boss Cheol. For now, though, things are a little bit different.

“He mentioned that you were heading down to do some research?” he asks and you nod.

This part has always been a little tedious to you, the part where you come up with a cover story that you even have to feed to other people within the same organization. It’s been this way for your entire career. You were recruited at 18 years old and went through special training along with obtaining a degree. The Agency had two divisions, but you only ever learned about the second one if you were recruited to work there. It was that second division you joined right away.

Training had been grueling. If it wasn’t some kind of physical endurance training, it was sitting in a windowless room studying history or a foreign language. Or it was combat training with whatever weapon was on deck that day. Or working to blend into any situation. You quickly learned that did not mean not being memorable. At least not in every situation. Sometimes that meant looking at ease in your surroundings even if eyes were on you. Thankfully, the charm seemed to come naturally to you and that was one less thing you had to worry about learning.

The Agency officially works in maintaining international relationships between countries. That can mean a number of different things. Sometimes it involves an agent or team heading out to a location as official representatives. They can help with negotiation, security concerns, smoothing out issues, anything really. Unofficially, it often involves going undercover on a mission. That can involve either division, depending on the sensitivity of the mission. If it’s simpler, then someone like Chan gets sent out to work his way into a situation and influence the outcome so that everything stays calm. In fact, he’s here to charm a wealthy heiress that’s getting a little too close to revealing confidential information on government contracts.

You, on the other hand, are officially here to study Argentinian culture and immerse yourself in local traditions. Chan doesn’t know that you work for The Agency as well. He doesn’t know that Seungcheol is like a boss to you. It’s not his preference. Seungcheol misses the days when he was by your side in the field instead of stuck in the office behind a desk. Unfortunately, several years ago he suffered a severe injury that just made field work impossible for him. It took a lot of convincing, most of which fell on your shoulders as the person closest to him, to get him to transition to his current role. Where you had never set foot in the main offices, he had been there periodically. He was known to people there. And he was so insanely smart that you pointed out he would be bored trying to assimilate into regular life. Why not get to do one of his other favorite things and tell younger agents (or even older ones) what to do? That had been the biggest selling point because he was good at being in charge. It had been a bit of a rocky transition at first, but now it’s smooth sailing.

Unofficially, you’re here tracking one of the most infamous art thieves in the world. This is the kind of thing that has to be handled with the utmost secrecy. Other agencies and your own have tried to track him down and apprehend him only to have him slip into the wind. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d assume that there had been leaks during the previous attempts. You’ve also considered that he’s just really good at making a mark and blending into his surroundings. This is one of the most secretive missions you’ve ever been sent on despite seeming relatively innocuous. How much harm can an art thief really cause, right? Except, The Agency is largely funded by private investors and several of those investors have been victims and had art stolen. Despite that, the only people that know you’re making this attempt now are Seungcheol and the head of covert operations. His counterpart doesn’t know that you’re handling it, or even who you are. Instead, the main division of The Agency has a team headed to Amsterdam thinking that they’re after the notorious thief.

Although it seems like it should be straight forward, this thief has been working in the shadows for years without anyone really knowing what he looks like beyond him being a man. The reports about what he actually looks like vary so greatly that nobody really knows what to believe. You and Seungcheol have spent months trying to put together a profile that seems most realistic and you feel as comfortable as you can. His appearance seems a little elusive, but the information that he’s going to be in Buenos Aires is the best lead you’ve gotten. It comes from someone that you worked with on a previous mission. You had been studying your profiles when Chan came over and quickly exited to a different application.

“I am. I’m working on understanding the history of Argentinian culture through the eyes of Buenos Aires for a project,” you say with all the affection of someone who was actually going to be doing that. “I’m going to spend most of my time just out talking to people, learning their stories, that kind of thing.”

“Do you, uh, speak Spanish?” Chan wonders with clear apprehension.

“I do,” you say with a light laugh. “Be a bit awkward if I didn’t, right?”

“That’s impressive,” he says.

“I speak several languages,” you say nonchalantly and then make a show of catching his eye. “I studied language and culture in university.”

“You’re not what I’d imagine for one of my boss’s friends,” Chan admits. “Especially one close enough to get added to the manifest.”

You shrug. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

“He doesn’t strike me as someone with a lot of time for friendships or someone that you can ever really know,” Chan presses and you laugh.

“Married to the job, right?” you agree. “I’m a low maintenance friend. I spend a lot of time out of town for research, immersed in local culture. We’ve probably got more in common that you’d think.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” he concedes, seeming to easily buy your cover. He stands up. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

The rest of the flight goes smoothly and you say your goodbyes to Chan and the others from the flight once you get off the plane. As is the plan, you take your suitcases to a local taxi and head to your hotel, checking in under one of the many fake names you used when on a mission. The room is nice, too, even if it’s nothing all that extravagant. It’s just another part of the cover.

Since it’s been a long day, you figure that you might as well just order room service and settle in for the night. It’ll give you the chance to start getting your body used to the local timezone. Not that your body really has a home timezone anymore with how you’re constantly on the move. But, you still don’t mind the idea of resting for the night.

You’re incredibly thankful to be in Buenos Aires in July since it’s the coolest month. It makes it easier for you to just walk everywhere. Before leaving your room for your first full day in your new city, you double check your messenger bag to make sure everything is in there: camera, multiple lenses, journal, tablet and keyboard, sunglasses, wallet, and all your little bits to make it look like a bag you wear all the time. You smile at the receptionist on your way out, letting her know that you’re going off to explore what the city has to offer. She seems happy to see that you look better rested than after your long travel day. Even if heading out is mostly a cover for your mission, it’s also a little true. This city has been on your bucket list to visit for years and you’re not going to waste what might be your only opportunity to explore. It might even make it more believable as you’re trying to blend into the crowds around you.

After spending several hours wandering around and taking in everything you could, you find yourself at a local cafe in the early afternoon to have a cup of coffee and a light lunch. The whole morning flew by in a rush of colors and culture. It’s so easy to be interested in everything that’s before you because it’s just so vibrant. So full of life. Such a juxtaposition of history, tradition, and new influences. It’s one of the first times you’ve been somewhere and had to remind yourself that you are actually on a mission. You’re not just there to sightsee and fall in love.

There are a lot of tourists in the cafe, which doesn’t really surprise you. Most places in Buenos Aires stay open during the afternoon for tourism, but you know that cafes in smaller towns would close. You figure that most locals probably avoid shops during this time of day as well. It feels lucky when you spot an open table in the corner until another patron moves and you see there’s actually someone sitting in one of the seats. It’s an uncharacteristically awkward moment for you, especially given how confident you are with everything else, that he catches you mid-decision. His eyes meet yours before looking at the coffee in one hand and the plate in the other. When he looks back down at the table, it clicks into place before you can turn around.

“You, uh, can sit…” he starts with deliberate slowness that shouldn’t be throwing you off even more.

You shake your head to clear it and smile. “It’s fine, I don’t just speak Spanish.”

“Oh,” he says with a breath of relief. “Well, you can sit here.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say and go to turn around.

“It’s busy. Are you going to just eat standing up?” he asks with a challenging raise of his eyebrow.

“Well,” you start.

“I probably won’t be here much longer anyway,” he offers.

Reluctantly, you move to sit down with him. It’s kind of insane the way he’s thrown you off your game by just existing. Usually, you’re the one that’s disarming strangers with your charm, not the other way around. As soon as you sit down, he looks back at the book he has open in front of him. It gives you a chance to figure out if he’s actually that attractive that it’s thrown you off or if you’re still just jet-lagged.

His glasses slide down a nearly too perfect nose and he pushes them up without missing a beat. His black hair is a little messy and a little long, falling carelessly around his face as he gets lost in whatever book he has open in front of him. His clothes make him look a little too fancy to be sitting in a cafe overrun with tourists like this. Somehow, he makes a cardigan over a dress shirt with nice, pressed slacks work without looking like he’s trying too hard. Everything about him just exudes calm, confident energy. Like the kind of person you would assume comes from old money. Unassuming, yet standing out without even meaning to. It reminds you of some of the landmarks you saw that morning, like rich history perfectly combined with modern needs.

Thankfully, at least some of your training kicks back in and you manage to keep it from being too obvious that you’re one step away from fully checking him out. Your new tablemate seems content to sit in silence, though, so you pick at your food while going through some of the pictures on your camera. Today is about getting the lay of the land as much as anything else. It’s not like you can just find your infamous art thief without knowing where to look.

“I’m sure you got some great shots,” he says, drawing your attention again. When you look up, his eyes are on your camera.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so hard to really capture the feeling of something through a camera, but I definitely try,” you say.

“I saw you at The Obelisk and I thought, I’ve never seen someone so focused in my entire life,” he says, except now he’s looking at you.

“There must have been thousands of people there. How did you pick me out?” you ask with a laugh.

The mystery man shrugs. “Like I said, you were focused. And not in the way a lot of influencers who travel for the perfect picture are. I knew that it was more than that for you.”

“It is,” you agree. “I’m studying the history and the culture down here. Just got in last night.”

“Can I see the picture you landed on?” he ventures.

You hesitate. Your pictures are good, sure, but you’re not actually doing anything that serious when you’re down here. Since it’s supposed to be part of your cover, you should feel confident. After a moment, you hand your camera over to him with your favorite picture in the display window.

“Be kind. My focus is language and history first, not photography,” you toss out. Another layer to the cover. It’s convenient, though. Not that you expected to be talking to someone like him about photography.

“This is amazing,” he says and seems earnest. “Can I look through the rest?”

Again, you pretend to consider. This time it’s for the sake of the persona you’re committing to. It’s not like there’s anything on there from before today since it’s a fresh SD card.

“I promise to be kind,” he presses and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you say and he smiles.

It’s hard not to notice the amount of care he uses while handling your camera. Maybe he knows something about photography and realizes it’s an expensive model. Or maybe he’s just gentle with something that clearly means a lot to someone else. It’s also easier to feel like you can appreciate things about him when his attention is somewhere else. Like he won’t notice the way your eyes map his features, noting the furrow in his brows or how smooth his skin is. Or the way his hair seems absolutely perfect without any product in it. None of it seems fair that he should just get to walk around looking like that.

“I’m surprised not to find a picture of myself on here,” he starts and it pulls you from your thoughts. There’s a moment where you wonder if he’s secretly self-centered, until you meet his eyes and see the glint there. “You know, with how you’ve been studying me.”

“I appreciate beauty wherever I see it,” you answer, trying to channel more boldness than you feel.

“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” he questions, entirely too at-ease.

“I don’t think you need confirmation on that,” you scoff and look out the window. “Besides, it wasn’t me that noticed you earlier.”

“A shame for me,” he muses. “I appreciate beautiful things as well.”

He hands your camera back with his eyes locked on you. It makes your skin feel a little flushed and you hate it. Hate that you’re always able to keep your cool in any situation and still so completely disarmed by this man. Hate that it’s him that breaks the moment, too, when he looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist with a sigh.

“Late for something?” you venture.

“Something like that,” he agrees and puts his book away in a bag you hadn’t noticed. “I’m glad you sat down though.”

“Me too,” you admit a little too quickly as he’s standing up.

“Enjoy your afternoon, beautiful stranger,” he says and you twist around.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” you call and he stops by the door. The smile he throws your way sends a tingle down your spine.

“I hope we’ll run into each other again, then,” he says.

And just like that, he’s gone. Slips into the crowd like he wasn’t even there in the first place. It makes you wonder, just for a second, if the entire exchange actually happened. Until you look back at the table and see the cup of coffee he had been drinking. Beside it, you notice a small piece of paper advertising a new installation at one of the local art museums. Not entirely out of the question, you think, for someone visiting this city and also interested in seeing your camera.

It’s then that you remind yourself why you’re actually here. You shake your head to clear it of any thoughts of the stranger, knowing you can’t make any effort to run into him again. The mission is the only thing that matters. Getting close to someone that could distract you in that way is not part of the plan. So, you can appreciate the banter and get back on track.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You continue to explore the city while always keeping your eyes and ears open for any indication of the art thief. It’s a little frustrating to not have much to go on, but you’re also one of the most patient agents and you know it’ll pay off eventually. Seungcheol keeps in regular contact, sending along each new nugget of information he’s able to find. Even if they’re seemingly insignificant, you file them all away, appreciating how hard you know he’s working given how few people know about the mission. He has to pull the relevant pieces to send to you without tipping off the team in Amsterdam.

You’re also splitting your days. Making sure to get out to experience the local culture to maintain your cover, while spending just as much time locked away in your room so that you can do your own research. Everything points to him already being in the city as well. It also seems like this next heist might be two-fold for him. It appears that he’s got a client that wants a specific piece of art and that he’s also going to steal some pieces for himself to sell at later dates. It’s a bit unusual, from what you’ve been able to tell. He usually likes to keep each job simple to reduce the likelihood of getting caught. Then again, he’s been active for years and doing just fine.

Today you decide to go to check out a museum that you’ve been putting off. It’s silly, but you didn’t want to show up there the day after that cafe since it seemed a little convenient to leave behind. You have to familiarize yourself with all the museums in the city, though, and it seems like this one could be your thief’s target. It has just the right amount of traffic. Just the right combination of popular pieces with lesser known artists.

Once you’re there, you immediately move away from the popular sections. That’s not the kind of art you’re after because it’s not the kind of art the thief ever steals. It’s too recognizable. Too hard to move. Just too risky. Once you’re in a quieter part of the museum, you fight off any feelings of being a fraud. Art has never really been your strong suit. If it weren’t for this mission being so sensitive, you definitely would not be the first agent anyone would choose. But, it is sensitive and so you have to rely on your training to carry you through any conversations that might pop up. You have to rely on the hours spent pouring over lectures about the different styles and influences, the different periods, different techniques. Hopefully your talent at rote memorization will serve you well.

“It’s a shame they keep one of the best artists tucked away in a corner like this,” a voice says from your side, pulling you from your thoughts.

You answer without even thinking much about the voice or even turning to see the person who appeared next to you nearly soundlessly. “Makes it easier to appreciate in peace, though.”

“You like surrealism, then?” he asks and it’s only then that you notice something familiar about the voice or the manner of speaking. Or the fact that he’s not speaking to you in Spanish.

Before you even turn to your side, you know who you’re going to find. He’s looking just as put together and at-ease as he did several days ago in the cafe. His hands rest in his pockets, but his eyes on you are sharp. There’s something a little hard to read about him, you think.

The smile you give him is practiced, designed to seem genuine. “I like Leonor Fini.”

“You’ve got good taste,” he says and turns back to the piece.

“I do like surrealism,” you carry on, turning back to the piece yourself as well, “but, with her work, I really appreciate the way she used female subjects through a female lens. Too many artists…”

You trail off, pretending you’re unsure if you should continue. He falls into the setup easily. “Men could only show female subjects through their own eyes, but women look different through the eyes of other women.”

“Exactly,” you say and smile at him before turning back to the painting again. “There’s something so captivating about the work she did.”

“I agree. That’s why this is my favorite piece here and in my favorite section of works,” he says confidently.

“You already have a favorite?” you joke.

“Well, I’ve been here every day for the past several days,” he shares.

This makes you turn to him fully. “Because you love this section and this work so much?”

This mysterious man actually looks down like he’s embarrassed to admit whatever he’s about to tell you. Like he’s gotten shy for a moment. “I do, but I was actually hoping to run into you.”

That catches you a bit off guard and it takes your brain a minute to remember, once again, you’re here on a mission. “It would have been easier to run into me if you just asked for my number.”

“Kind of ruins this whole mysterious thing I have going on, though,” he shrugs.

You roll your eyes and extend your hand, giving him your fake name for the mission. His eyes sparkle for a second before he takes your hand.

“Wonwoo,” he answers.

“Nice to finally get your name,” you tease.

“I figured you’d come check out the museum when I left the card there at the cafe,” Wonwoo says.

“I knew that was on purpose,” you mumble.

“Yet you didn’t come until today,” he observes.

“I wasn’t trying to make it easy on you,” you throw out quickly.

“Okay, time to switch tactics, then,” he says. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure, can you?” you ask.

“Please let me take you to dinner,” he says.

It’s a bad idea and you know it. Everything about him screams distraction. This isn’t what you’re in Buenos Aires to do. Yet, there’s something about him that has you curious. There’s also the fact that this museum seems to be the most likely target for the art thief and this man admitted he’s been here every day. A small part of your brain is sending up alarm signals to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t seem like a secret art thief, but hasn’t your training taught you how to hide in plain sight? It’s entirely possible he’s doing the same.

Your brain goes into overdrive as it often does on missions. There are a million little details in the pages of your profile on the art thief. They come flooding back to you. The profile so thoughtfully pieced together by The Agency says he’s probably unassuming. The kind of man that fits into any situation in the same way as you do, like he’s not trying to fit in and it means he doesn’t stand out as not belonging. The profile suggests that he’s confident. That he would appear calm. Most importantly, he’s the kind of person that would absolutely look at home in the midst of art. So, whether it’s a good idea or not, you know you’re going to say yes. He must see the answer in your eyes before you voice it because he smirks.

“What time?”

Wonwoo offers to pick you up at your hotel, but you insist that you’ll meet him at the restaurant. It’s safer that way, after all, being a woman traveling alone. At least that’s what you tell him. Not that anything about Wonwoo seems that threatening and you’re better equipped to handle yourself than most. You just don’t need him anywhere near your room even with everything put away. After going back to get ready, you made time to pour over the information you have. The more you consider it, the more it seems plausible that he could be exactly who you’re looking for. There’s only one issue: he asked you out. Everything you have suggests that he made agents in the past and slipped into the wind. You’re not cocky enough to think you’re too good to fall victim to the same fate. You keep your update to Seungcheol vague in case the lead doesn’t pan out.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo picks a nice place off the beaten path for dinner. It’s not overrun with tourists and it’s not too expensive. Like him, it’s unassuming but quietly impressive. You try not to let your heart skip a beat when you see him in a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants. He stands to pull your seat out for you and then settles back into his seat across from you. This is for the sake of the mission. Either he’s the person you’re looking for or you’ll have enjoyed a free and tasty meal. Nothing more to it.

His Spanish, it turns out, isn’t that great and so you help him through ordering since it’s definitely a place more for the locals. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get your help. You’re not really sure you mind either way. He makes suggestions about which wines he prefers, but ultimately lets you pick, insisting that he will take care of whatever you land on. Once you get through ordering and all the small talk, it gives you a chance to really get to know him.

“Have you been here before?” you ask.

“This restaurant or this city?” he asks.

“Either,” you shrug.

“No to both,” he answers. “Clearly, my Spanish is a bit rusty. I’m so lucky that I found someone who’s so fluent.”

“I’m not sure I believe you can’t speak the language,” you muse.

“I can speak enough Spanish to get by, but it’s not that good,” he assures you.

“Interesting place to visit, then,” you observe.

“I’d miss out on a lot of beauty if I only went where I spoke the language fluently,” he retorts and you smile genuinely at that. He’s right.

“Like the art in the museum?” you suggest.

“Or a charming stranger,” he counters. You’re impressed. “I do like the art as well, though.”

“What other beautiful places have you visited?” you ask.

“Oh, I hardly think it’s that interesting,” he dismisses.

“Humor me,” you say.

There’s a moment where he’s careful in listing off places. Like he’s weighing something that you can’t really place. He ends up listing some places that catch your attention. Each of them has some wonderful art museums and it piques your curiosity. You try to look just politely interested, commenting on how he’s lucky to be able to travel as extensively as he seems to. He plays it off with a vague comment about being fortunate with help from his family. It’s the kind of thing that you know passes on a first date. It’s not appropriate to mention money on a first date. So, that would be fine, if it didn’t also make you curious about who this man really was. After all, your art thief being well connected through family would definitely make sense.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, you try to enjoy it. Not that it’s hard to do. Wonwoo is actually a lot of fun to be around. The conversation flows easily and you’re able to connect on a lot of shared interests. At least, interests that you pretend to have for the sake of this mission. But, it feels like he might also be pretending on some of his interests. He’s just a little too calm and put together. A little too quick with his answers. A little too rehearsed with his comments. Maybe you wouldn’t think twice if you weren’t doing the same.

By the time you finish the main course, you’re pretty sure that you managed to stumble into a date with the exact person that you’re here looking for based on his stories. It may have been a guess before. It feels nearly for sure now. He mentions how you have to visit Japan when the cherry blossoms are blooming, which sounds stunning. He mentions Oktoberfest in Munich and how he barely remembers anything from that trip. Then there's the ice festival in China, Nordlysfestivalen in Norway, and a few other locations that sound beautiful. They also have one thing in common. Each place is also on your list for stolen art around the time of the events.

Once you finish dessert, you’re making a decision that you know you should really clear with someone else before making. Sure, you’re pretty sure that Wonwoo is the art thief. And yes, it’s true that keeping an eye on him is in your best interest. One way to do that is to continue with the date. Yet, you’re not stopping to check in with Seungcheol. You’re not analyzing the pros and cons of doing this. After giving Seungcheol a vague update about a lead and promising you’ll have more information later on, he should be the first person you call. He’s not swept up in the atmosphere of a foreign city with a gorgeous stranger. No, you don’t do any of that. You’re just agreeing to go back to his room with him without a second thought. He’s painfully hot and you’re incredibly attracted to him, which is wildly unprofessional. But, you’re not sure you care. At least for the night. You can figure it all out later.

Wonwoo is quietly confident without being cocky. His gaze is so penetrating that it feels like he’s undressing you without it being slimy. He can hold a conversation about seemingly anything, but he’s also just as interested in what you have to say. In fact, you have his attention the whole night, regardless of anything else going on. It’s a little overwhelming to have someone so focused on you. But, when it feels a little overwhelming, he makes a perfectly timed, slightly sarcastic joke that makes you laugh harder than you should. The smile you wear all throughout the date is genuine. You’re actually enjoying yourself so much that you’re not sure you want it to end. Life has never felt so simultaneously complicated and easy.

Wonwoo’s lips are hot on yours as he cages you against the door of his hotel room. That intensity you saw all dinner reappears and you feel like you might burn under his touch. He’s so in control. You’re still not entirely sure how you wound up here, but you’re not really trying to think too hard about it. The fact that he’s almost definitely the art thief becomes an issue for future-you the second he kisses you like it’s your last day on Earth. It’s not like he knows you’re tracking his movements and it isn’t exactly a bad thing to keep a closer eye on him. Nor is it the first time you’ve done something like this. It is the first time you’ve done it without thought, though, and genuinely been interested in the man you let seduce you.

He has his body pressed against yours with his arms on either side of you so there really is nowhere to go. It’s kind of hot and you’re not even pretending to be turned on. A definite bonus. Your hands quickly undo his belt so that you can pull the edges of his shirt out. The moment your hands make contact with his skin, he pulls away and hisses. They’re likely cold, not that you care. It gives you the chance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. You watch his eyes darken with lust as you run your hands up his back, scratching down lightly.

“Just who do you think is in control here, baby?” His voice is so low in your ear that it makes you swallow hard. Everything about the endearment sounds sarcastic and it shouldn’t work, but you’re only human. Then he nips at your earlobe and you actually moan.

“What are you going to do about it?” you challenge. It feels like a lot of heat between you. If your head were clearer, you might consider that it feels like two people who know they shouldn’t be fucking. Almost like he’s punishing you a little, which he might want to, given why you’re here.

“That’s a dangerous question,” he warns you.

“Afraid I can’t handle it?” you ask and watch the way it nearly breaks his composure. You press forward into him, pulling him down so his ear is by your mouth now. Barely raise your voice above a whisper. “I’m not that fragile. I can handle a little pain.”

That seems to set him off. You’re worried for a second when he pulls away, but that disappears as you watch his nimble fingers rapidly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He casts it aside and looks back at you.

“I want you stripped naked and on the bed,” he commands.

You’re not typically in the habit of taking commands but something about him makes you want to listen. Even if you want to challenge him a little. He turns his back and you do strip down. Mostly. You climb onto the bed wearing only your panties, legs spread open and waiting for him. When he turns around, you miss the flare of his nostrils at your defiance looking at his muscles. For someone so unassuming, he was certainly in good shape.

“Is this your idea of naked?” he questions.

It’s funny, since he’s still got his boxer briefs on, though they leave little to the imagination. You can already see that he’s getting hard from the lead up.

“I thought I’d leave that honor for you,” you say, injecting as much innocence as you can muster into every word.

Wonwoo looks at you for another long second before climbing onto the bed and getting between your legs. He pushes them further open and you bite down on your lip.

“You don’t get to muffle those moans from me, sweetheart,” he teases, running a hand up the inside of your thigh.

“Or what?” you challenge again.

He raises an eyebrow at you and pulls his hand away from your thigh. You’re about to whine when he brings it back in a sharp slap.

“Shit,” you hiss.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. You nod with big eyes. “Use your words.”

“Fuck, yes, I liked it,” you rush out the second his finger traces a light line up your clothed cunt.

“I can tell,” he snarks. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. He pulls his hand away and looks at you surprisingly soft for a second.

“Tell me if it is,” he repeats.

“I will,” you promise.

“Good,” he says and hooks his fingers inside the band of your panties, pulling them down your legs and casting them aside in one motion. “That’s better.”

In another surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t dive right into your cunt the way you expect him to given how frenzied everything has been so far. Instead, he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. Pausing occasionally to nip into the skin before running his tongue over the mark to soothe it. You’re writhing on the bed by the time his breath ghosts across your cunt. The chuckle is low and deep as you squirm when he moves to your other thigh. You’re going to die before he even touches you.

“Jesus fuck, Wonwoo, if you don’t start eating me out…” you start, a hand winding into his hair.

He pops up and glares at you. “You’ll what? Did you already forget who’s in charge?”

“I’ll…” you start, before cutting off with a sharp, “FUCK!”

He’s still got his eyes on you when his thumb runs quickly through your folds to press against your clit. There’s barely any movement but it anchors you in place. “That’s what I thought.”

His kisses up your other thigh are much sloppier with a thumb still in place. It only makes you squirm more, searching for some kind of relief. When he finally gets to your lips, you expect he’s going to tease you again. You’re wrong. Again. His tongue dives into your pussy while his other hand keeps you spread open. This man knows what he’s doing and it’s immediately more than you’re expecting. You can’t stop your legs from snapping closed to box him in. That is, until he pulls his hands off you to spread your legs wide again, giving him the best access to you. It’s clear that he’s in charge and he wants you to know it.

It’s everything you can do not to thrash around, but Wonwoo seems to be ready to help there. He’s got a hand on your stomach anchoring you down to the bed. You’re not even sure how he’s got enough hands to move them along your body the way he seems to. Without warning, he moves his mouth up to pay attention to your clit. And he doesn’t give you a break, sliding two fingers into you and immediately scissoring them open. He sets a brutal pace, curling his fingers to hit you where he seems to know you need him on some of the passes.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, oh my god, fuck,” you scream out.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he sneers at you from between your legs.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan. “Your fingers, oh my god.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

In the next moment, you’re coming so hard you squirt over those amazing fingers of his. Your vision whites out around the edges and your toes are curling. It’s all you can do to catch your breath as Wonwoo’s fingers pump through the high.

“I don’t remember the last time I came that hard,” you admit.

“We’re not done yet,” he shares and the tone of his voice has you nearly clenching your legs together. “Turn over. Get on your hands and knees.”

“So bossy,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You turn over anyway, though, and put your ass in the air.

“This is a really good fucking view,” he says. You feel the bed dip when he gets back in place after removing his boxers.

Wonwoo has one hand on your hip and the other is running up your back to press you down further. To help you get that perfect arch of your back. You wiggle your ass at him and are rewarded with a stinging smack. Your moan is muffled by the pillow, so you turn your head to the side. Already know he wants to hear you. When he smacks your other ass check, you nearly scream out.

“That’s it, I want to hear you,” he encourages.

“Please, Wonwoo, just fuck me already,” you beg.

“One orgasm wasn’t enough?” he asks and you can hear the cockiness in his voice. Bringing a ringing smack down on your ass again. You scream out at the sting.

“No, I want you to split me open,” you whine. In any other situation you might be embarrassed by the admission, but not now. Not with him. Not when it’s so clearly turning him on.

“Greedy little thing,” he comments. His fingers press into your cunt again and you nearly yelp.

There’s no time to adjust when Wonwoo removes his fingers and immediately lines himself up at your entrance. With one snap of his hips, he’s fully inside you and you’re hissing. He’s bigger than you were guessing, even with the outline in his boxers. And he doesn’t give you a break as he starts fucking you hard. All you can hear is the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the mingled moans from both of you. You’re sensitive from both the pace and the earlier orgasm. Your legs feel like they would collapse under you if they could.

As if the pace isn’t enough, Wonwoo snakes an arm around you to reach for your clit, rubbing circles into it at the same pace as his thrusts. You can tell he’s nowhere near close, but you’re about to lose control again and you’re not sure how to stop it.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, slower, I’m going to - fuck!” you whine out.

“You gonna come again? So soon, baby?” he taunts.

“I can’t - fuck, please,” you beg. “I’m so close.”

“I want you to make a mess of my dick the same way you made a mess of my fingers,” Wonwoo directs.

“But you haven’t…” you start and Wonwoo removes his hand from your clit. You cry out at the loss until his other hand grabs your hair to yank you back against his chest. When it’s clear you’re not going to move, his hand moves from your hair to your throat.

“I want you to come for me. Right now. Show me how good I feel inside that tight pussy,” he directs.

It’s one of the most surprising reactions, the way your body immediately responds to him. He’s got you coming just as hard as the first time and he doesn’t give you a chance to second guess any of it. As the shocks rip through your body, you notice that Wonwoo does slow down his thrusts. Doesn’t pull out of you, though. You collapse forward and arch your back again so it’s easier to meet Wonwoo’s continued pace.

“You’re so good at listening,” he praises.

“Not usually,” you mumble into the pillow through the haze.

“I must be special,” he says as he lazily fucks into you.

“Jesus Wonwoo, you can fuck me. I know you haven’t finished yet,” you grumble.

“In a rush to go somewhere?” he teases.

“No, but it must be…well, I don’t know. Hard for you,” you mumble into the sheets.

“I’ve got excellent control,” Wonwoo says, all confidence. “I’m not in a rush to end this.”

Despite your instance, he continues to lazily snap his hips into you. It’s so slow, way too slow. He reaches down to pull you up against his chest again, still keeping the pace. His hands are on your breasts, squeezing them to anchor you to him. He rolls one of your nipples roughly between his fingers to see what he gets as a reaction. Your moan seems to spur him on further. Each time pain shoots through some part of your body, it only seems to turn you on more. It’s easy to forget why you agreed to this in the first place.

For all the demands, Wonwoo is actually very attentive as well. He peppers kisses from behind your ear all the way down your shoulder and back, paying special attention to the areas that seem to get the best response from you. He’s also careful with where he nips you, never biting hard enough to leave a mark somewhere that couldn’t be easily hidden. The entire experience has been so all-consuming that there isn’t space for any other thoughts in your head. It’s just him and this hotel room that’s entirely too fancy.

He must feel that you’re starting to get worked up because he pushes you back down into the bed. His pace finally picks up again, which is good because you’re sprinting towards being too sore to actually enjoy it anymore. The pace gets much faster again, not nearly as rhythmic as before. His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts. It’s the first time it actually feels like he’s losing control.

“Oh my god,” you cry out. “I’m gonna come again. Oh my god!”

“Me too,” he groans through a stuttered breath. “Fuck, where can I come?”

“I don’t care,” you cry out. You’re about to have your third orgasm. “On my back, on my ass, I don’t fucking care, just come with me.”

You press a finger to your clit to try and help you over that last bit to tumble over the edge so that Wonwoo can chase his own relief. The second your body starts shaking, you feel him pull out. He must pump his cock a few times because there’s a slight delay before you feel something hit your back. You feel a little proud with how much cum you feel on your skin, like maybe he was a little more affected by you than he wanted to let on.

As soon as Wonwoo lays down next to you on the bed, you also collapse onto your side. The bed is soft, but your knees are still a little sore from spending so much time on them. Wonwoo immediately pulls you into him so that he can kiss you breathless. His hand is behind your head, keeping you from pulling away. The chemistry between the two of you is intense. Not something you were prepared for. It’s clear that if one of you doesn’t stop, then you’ll be fucking him again. And your body needs a break.

“I should get cleaned up,” you say when you pull back, more than slightly breathless.

“Let me just get cleaned up a little and then you can take a shower,” he says.

He presses a kiss to your temple and then gets up off the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He’s all lean lines and unexpected muscles. Nobody should be allowed to look the way he does, to look so good that Greek gods would be jealous. And yet here he is.

A few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom and arches an eyebrow at you. There’s a towel slung low around his hips in a way that should be a sin. “You’re going to make me think that you want more.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to stand,” you joke as an answer.

It surprises you a little when he comes over to the bed and helps you up. That is, until you see the way his eyes take you in. There’s nothing soft there, only predatory. Like you’re a meal he wants to return to. Your brain still feels a little slow to catch up, but registers something like he’s analyzing you. Still, he helps you get to the bathroom, points out the toiletries, and then disappears back into the room.

By the time you’re clean and wrapped in the softest bathrobe you’ve ever worn, Wonwoo is sitting at the table wearing shorts and his glasses with nothing else. He’s scrolling absently through his phone and picking at some snacks that hadn’t been there when you had gone to shower. You didn’t think you’d been in there long, so it’s surprising he was able to get something up so quickly. When he notices you’re out of the bathroom, he indicates the food.

“I ordered us some snacks and they were happy to get them up here quickly,” he says.

You take a seat across from him a little apprehensively. This is the part that you hadn’t really considered. How do you excuse yourself from the situation in a way that ensures you’ll see him again? It’s not that you want to have a repeat, though there’s part of your brain that is not opposed like you should be. It’s just…well with the room and the toiletries and the fast room service, you’re sure that this is the man you’re looking for. Which, admittedly, might make things a little complicated. But, you do have a job to do.

“I guess I am hungry,” you admit and reach for something.

“Glad you’re not going to make me eat alone,” he muses.

“You already paid for dinner and drinks, I wasn’t expecting more treats,” you admit.

“Seems fitting after the mindblowing sex,” he says and watches you, a clear glint to his eyes. “I can’t get over how insanely hot it was to watch you squirt for me.”

Your cheeks redden without your permission. He’s so free with admitting it even with the moment having passed. Maybe he’s more trouble than you realized.

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one to enjoy myself if my back is any indication,” you toss out.

“I really enjoyed the way you told me I could come on your back,” he shares.

“And my ass,” you remind him.

“I got that too,” he reminds you. “And what a nice ass it is.”

“Careful or I’ll ask you to blow my back out again,” you say, voice slightly betraying that you’re affected by his very presence.

“That makes me think you were going to head out and never see me again,” Wonwoo ventures.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you say, trying to be coy.

Wonwoo fixes you with a stare that you can’t quite decipher. It nearly makes you squirm under the intensity. Is he just like that? The kind of person that does everything with that burning look in his eyes.

“Let me ask you something, Agent,” he begins and your mouth runs dry. You do everything you can not to let him know that you’re a second away from losing it. “Do you fuck all your targets? Or am I special?”

The way he smirks at you lets you know that he knows he’s onto something. Knows exactly who you are. Or maybe who you work for, at least. He’s made you and you’re not entirely sure you’re safe anymore. You’re also not entirely sure what the best move is. Probably take half a second too long to decide if his face is any indication.

“Agent? Target?” you laugh out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” he presses. “Really, we shouldn’t be lying to each other so early in the relationship.”

“I’m here doing…” you start.

“Research, yes. That’s what you said. And you almost had me when it took so long to run into you again. Your Spanish is flawless. It doesn’t sound like someone that learned at some secret agency. You’re much better at languages than any of the other agents that have come after me. And waiting so long to meet me again, genius. It really had me second guessing who you were,” he says. “But then, you made a mistake. Do you know what it was?”

“Going on a date with someone that’s clearly a little delusional?” you ventured. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he says, confident. “I’ll tell you where you fucked up. It was dinner tonight. No, not something you said or did because you were shockingly smooth with it. It’s that you agreed to it at all. I suggested a place no researcher would ever go to. Because it used to be the site of a religious monument, but it fell into disrepair. A local crime family took it over. Only locals bother going there, but no researcher ever would.”

Your heart sinks. Through all your research and all your planning, you knew that you would never be able to get everything. There just wasn’t the time. So, you had to hope that the person you were chasing wouldn’t notice any small missteps. Or would write them off with your cover story. What you had not planned for was this. In all your careful consideration, you had not planned to go on a date with the art thief himself. He had you and he knew it. It’s hard to see the right path out of this.

It had been a gamble to get close to him the way you had. A gamble that you questioned taking and took anyway. A gamble you took without clearing it with Seungcheol. Usually, getting close to a target this way, you talk to him to make sure that he thinks it’s a good idea too. Make sure that this kind of move will fit the profile for the person that you’re chasing. This time, you’re flying blind. You had gotten a little ahead of yourself. A little sloppy. This isn’t the type of work you’re known for. It’s not the reason that you were sent down to Buenos Aires to chase him on a secret mission.

“One mistake,” you sigh with a shake of your head.

“Yeah, just the one,” he agrees.

“So why did you invite me back here?” you ask.

Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m curious about you.”

“Curious? You risked inviting me back to your actual hotel room over curiosity?” you ask, looking around.

“Who’s to say this is actually my room?” he says with another casual shrug. You clock it on his face as soon as he says it.

“No, it is your actual room. The comfort, the speed of the room service, the way things are laid out. It’s not staged. This is just where you’re staying,” you observe. That makes him smile in a way you’re not expecting.

“Good eye,” he agrees. “Now for my question. Do you fuck all your targets?”

“No,” you say shortly.

“Why even agree to go on a date with me, then?” he presses.

You sigh and sit further back into your chair. Take a piece of fruit from the table to buy yourself some time. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a good decision, obviously. I wasn’t even sure you were my target. There was just…something about you.”

“So you’ve never fucked a target before? I’m special?” he asks with a smirk.

“I didn’t say that,” you respond. “I just don’t usually fuck a target without clearing it first.”

“Who knows you’re here with me?” he asks.

“Nobody,” you answer. It’s too honest.

You’re not sure if you should have admitted that and even less sure if he’ll believe you. It is the truth, though. Nobody in the world knows where you are right now. It’s kind of a crossroads for you because Wonwoo isn’t dangerous. He’s never been violent, as far as your information shows. Despite being physically separated from your bag, you’re not exactly unarmed. And yes, he does look like he’s in shape, but you’re still confident that you can take him if it comes to that. Once again, your mind is running through a million calculations a second as you realize you definitely should have talked to Seungcheol.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he admits.

“How’s that going?” you ask sarcastically.

“Not as well as it would normally,” he says. It’s something else that’s honest between the two of you. More honest than you’re expecting. “Most people are too easy to figure out. It’s boring. Nothing about you makes sense to me.”

“And what about me is so difficult for you to figure out?” you ask, still lacing your words with sarcasm.

“You know, despite me figuring out that you’re after me, you’re actually the best agent that they’ve ever sent. You fit into your role seamlessly. You’re just the right amount of charming. You blend into your surroundings because you don’t try to do anything to dull yourself. Against my better judgment, I am impressed. And yet, you still decided to come on the date. You’re clearly the best they have and you’re still here,” he says, gaze soft but analytical on you.

“I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” you say carefully.

“Why?” he asks.

“You disarm me,” you admit. “I know so much about you and yet, here I am. Unwilling to leave even though you know what I’m here to do.”

“Do you still want to turn me in?” he asks.

“Are you going to disappear into the wind the second I walk out that door?” you counter.

He regards you for a moment. A moment too long, really. It makes you squirm in your seat. This isn’t going at all how you would have imagined. “No.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I’m waiting to see how this whole thing plays out. You haven’t said that you want to turn me in. I can see you’re conflicted about it. So, I’m going to see how this plays out,” he answers. He holds up a hand when you open your mouth. Seems to predict you’re going to ask why again. “Because…okay, look. I know this is really weird. I know you’re here to try and find me. But, you’re actually interesting and that sex was fucking good. So, I don’t know, call me cocky. I’m not ready to let you walk away just yet.”

“If I can walk at all,” you grumble.

“You were walking just fine from the bathroom. Maybe I need to really make sure you can’t walk,” he muses.

The eye contact is too much and you turn your head away. You’re positive he’s onto you, especially when you carefully cross your legs. It’s just that he’s right, isn’t he? You can sit here and pretend that you only slept with him to keep him close while you tried to figure him out. Can say that it was all just part of the job and you didn’t enjoy it. Can say that you wanted to take a different approach since nobody else has been able to catch him.

That’s also very clearly a lie.

Seungcheol likes to know what his agents are up to, particularly when it comes to agents like you that deal with secret missions. Since you started as friends before he had to retire to his desk, he’s also very protective of you. He hates it when you suggest using your charm on a target like this. So, no, this isn’t just another target. This is something else entirely. You have to admit that you actually enjoyed it. That you would like to do it again. That you actually don’t even want to leave his room because you’re not convinced you’ll ever see him again. Which is really stupid, isn’t it? You should not care if you never see him again. Unless it means that you failed your mission. That’s not why you’re worrying about never seeing him again, though.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something else, your phone chirps from your bag. It’s a sign. You know it is. The sound is tied to Seungcheol. Which means he’s looking for a check-in. Which means you’re late, something that never happens with you. You’re standing up to get your phone before even realizing it. Wonwoo’s eyes track your movements.

Cheol: hope you’re enjoying your trip! Send pictures when you can

It’s code. Sent through a normal message so that it doesn’t look suspicious. And so that it gives you the chance to ignore it if you’re not in a place where you can answer him. You don’t even hear Wonwoo approach as you’re mentally calculating how to respond to this.

“Is that code?” he asks and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his low voice by your ear. God, nobody should have a voice like his.

“It’s my handler, I guess you could say,” you answer.

“Are you going to call him?” he asks.

“He’ll worry if I don’t,” you say and realize it’s true.

Wonwoo steps around you to grab his own phone and then returns to his position at the table. “I’ll be quiet if you want to call.”

There’s something kind of hot about how he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want to let you leave. Or like it’s an order to stay. You’re not sure if you’re reading too much into it. When you look over at him, his eyes are on his phone, but his lips turn up in a smile. He knows your eyes are on him and he’s still playing a game. A game that you just might lose, for the first time in your life.

With a sigh, you shake your head and just fire off a text in response. You don’t have it in you to call Seungcheol and you also aren’t exactly sure what to say. He’s always been able to read your tone like it’s his own. After telling him you might have a lead, he’s going to know something is wrong. This is going to be a problem.

You: it’s been amazing, i’m loving each new thing i get to see in person. I’ll have some pictures to show you tomorrow!

It’s a signal that you’re not going to have anything new to share with him tonight and not to contact you again until you check in the next day. You’re not really sure if this is the right decision, but you need time to clear your head. This is the only way that you can see getting that. It’s too hard to think about making a decision when Wonwoo is still half naked and looking at you like you’re prey. At least you can assume that you could take him if you needed to. Thankfully, he’s not really looking at you like that kind of prey.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” you say.

“And what will you do tonight?” Wonwoo asks, looking up at you.

“I’m all yours, at least for tonight,” you say.

You’re surprised the look he gives you doesn’t melt you into the floor. “I can work with that.”

The next day brings more confusion than the night before. At least you’re back in your own hotel room and out of the intoxicating orbit of Wonwoo. The downside is that you couldn’t leave his bed without agreeing to lunch plans with him. Both of you wanted to get breakfast together, but hadn’t been able to get out of bed in time for that. You turned down his offer to just buy you new clothes so you wouldn’t have to leave his sight. Thankfully, he does seem to understand that you need a minute to process everything in the last 24 hours. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

That’s not what you need to focus on right now, though. You don’t have any more messages from Seungcheol, which is what you expected. Still, you need to call him before he doesn’t something to check on you. Like sending Chan to your hotel with some made up story. You don’t want to put anyone in that position. You also don’t really know what you’re going to say. When you left Wonwoo’s hotel room, he made it clear: the choice was yours. He wants to see you again and he also knows that he’s asking a lot. Too much, probably. So, he’s giving you a choice. If you show up at lunch to meet him, then you’re at least willing to get to know him a little more before deciding anything. If you stand him up, then he’ll know you can’t agree to that. It’s a major gamble for him because you know what he looks like and his real name. You have more than you need to put an end to years of his hard work.

Nothing in your life has prepared you for this. Not really. Sure, you train for missions and you perfect your skills. But, emotions have never been part of it. It’s always been so easy to separate your humanity from your job. Kind of like you just switch of anything that makes you normal and go into mission-mode. You once compared it to being an actor because you’re just playing a part. None of it is real and none of it is really your decision. This is uncharted territory for you.

Once you catch your breath, you pull a device out of the secret pocket in your bag so that you can connect it to your phone. It’ll scramble the signals and make the line secure so that you can call Seungcheol. It’s a bit of normalcy that you’re craving in the madness around you.

“Finally, I’ve been worried,” Seungcheol answers.

“I answered you right away,” you point out.

“Yes, to say that you would not be calling me,” Seungcheol presses and you sigh.

“Because I don’t have anything new to report,” you say without even realizing when you made the decision. The lie flows so easily. “I’ve been cataloging everything on everyone I see at the museums and galleries. Cross checking the names coming into the country. Surveying anyone that sticks out as I check things out.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol cuts in.

“I’m here to find him, though,” you point out. You’re not sure why you’re doing this.

“I know,” he says. “But, I’d rather you be safe.”

“I’m always safe,” you lie. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“I know, but I also know you’re competitive,” he says. “Remember, we’ve already sent no less than 6 teams to find him and they’ve all failed.”

“I don’t fail, though. That’s why you sent me,” you say. You’re not even sure why you’re arguing with him.

“Just be careful. What happened with that lead you thought you had?” he asks.

“A dead end,” you say with a practiced sigh. “Does the intelligence say he’s still in the city?”

“I can’t imagine he’d leave without taking anything,” Seungcheol says.

“Good point,” you say. “I’ll keep looking.”

“Do you want me to send back-up?” he asks.

“It’s your mission,” you say noncommittally. “If you think it’ll help and we can still fly under the radar, then by all means.”

“I was thinking of Chan since he’s still kind of in the area,” he says.

“Ah, yeah, I’m not sure,” you admit.

“You’re right, I know. I do want you to formally meet him soon, though. But, definitely not mid-mission,” he agrees. “Just be careful and keep me updated. If it goes on too long, we’ll just pull you. Maybe he got spooked.”

“Yeah, that works,” you agree.

“See you when you’re back,” he says.

“See you,” you answer and hang up.

It feels awful to lie to him, of all people. He’s one of the only people that you’ve ever trusted in your life. The only one that knows exactly who you are, knows all your demons, and still accepts you. He knows just how many people are six feet under because of you, knows the ways you’ve had to use your body, knows the lies you’ve told and the people you’ve hurt, both physically and emotionally. He knows all your scars and he accepts it. Because you know all his scars, too. It sucks to lie to him.

Sometimes they say that indecision is still a decision. That’s where you are now. You can say that you haven’t made a decision about what you’re going to do with Wonwoo. You can say that you’re waiting for more information. But, in a way, you’ve made at least one decision in his favor. You didn’t tell Seungcheol that your lead turned out to be the art thief himself. No. Instead, you’re showering and getting ready to meet him again, about to make yet another decision. Maybe you were always going to agree to lunch rather than stand him up. He’s got a lot to lose here too. It’s far more complicated than it should be.

Your head is a little in the clouds by the time you leave your room to head down to the lobby and out into the comfortable winter air. If you spend a little more time than strictly necessary making sure you look nice, well that’s your business. The only drawback is that you don’t have Wonwoo’s phone number, at your own insistence, and so he may think you decided to stand him up. That worry lasts as long as it takes for you to reach the lobby. That’s where you see him, sitting casually in an armchair with his eyes locked on you. There’s no reason for the way your heart skips over such a simple outfit. It’s just a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Why are you nearly losing your mind?

“What are you doing here?” you ask and he gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. It probably even puts your own smile to shame.

“I took a chance that you would decide in my favor,” he says and stands up.

“Confident,” you say, “but still, I was supposed to meet you at the restaurant since I hadn’t decided.”

“It’s a date. I’m picking you up,” he says and surprises you by placing a gentle kiss on your cheek .

“Isn’t that chivalrous of you,” you comment while trying to convince your heart to stop beating out of your chest.

“Shall we?” he asks and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

The chivalry doesn’t stop at picking you up at your hotel, unfortunately for you. He opens the door and then gently takes your hand. There’s a hand on your back when you step around him. He puts himself between you and any traffic. It’s the best anyone has ever treated you and you hate that you’re even noticing that. Now, you’re thinking that you should have stood him up for an entirely different reason.

Lunch feels like the most normal thing in the world. The real reason for being in this beautiful city doesn’t come up at all. Instead, you talk about life and interests. The type of music and food that you like. What you do in your free time. It’s exactly what you imagine first or second dates to be like. Not that you have much experience with actually dating.

It only gets deeper from there with Wonwoo telling you more about himself. Not about how he really makes money, but it certainly helps you understand how he got involved and how he stays under the radar. As it turns out, he comes from a lot of money. He doesn’t say it in a way that sounds like he’s bragging. It makes sense, though. Everything about him screams old money, which fits the profile you put together. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he dresses. It doesn’t feel like someone that’s made his money from stealing art. You learn that he’s involved in a lot of charities, which surprises you a bit. You also learn that he sponsors students in a video game design program in his home country. There’s so much more to him than stealing art. In fact, that seems to be such a small part of who he is. It’s more than a little surprising, which is odd since it’s usually so hard to surprise you. It’s clear that he’s grown up around art. All this time and he’s just been hiding in plain sight.

The two of you sit at lunch for so long that the servers finally, very politely, indicate that it’s time to leave. It’s never been this easy to sit with someone in your entire life. It’s a level of comfort that you should absolutely not feel with someone like Wonwoo. But, you can’t help it. You can’t help the way you feel around him. Can’t really fight the feelings that keep threatening to bubble up.

The roads aren’t nearly as busy when you walk back towards your hotel. Even though it’s a tourist city, it still quiets down in the mid-afternoon when the local businesses close down. The tourists seem to use the time to also relax or take advantage of certain monuments being quieter. It lends itself to the comfortable silence that settles around you and Wonwoo on the walk.

When you reach the lobby, you turn to face Wonwoo and your breath catches a little. The sun in July isn’t as strong, but it still provides a backlight like he’s some sort of dark angel. Which sounds insane, even if your head. There have been so many beautiful people in your life, yet this is the one that has you forgetting how to put words together. It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking when he steps into your space and takes your face in his hands. He kisses you so fiercely that you forget your name. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t look like much from the outside, but changes your entire world on the inside.

“Well how am I supposed to go back to my room and leave you now?” you ask against his lips when he pulls back. You can feel the smile on his own lips when he kisses you again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers.

“No,” you whisper back and kiss him again.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he says.

That makes you pull back sharply so that you can search his face. Does he realize how that sounds? It makes you wonder if he means more than just tonight. What is he trying to do to you? How many ways can one man make you reconsider everything you stand for? Nothing about his face looks smug or even insincere. In fact, he looks the way you imagine you feel. A little smitten and a lot unsure of what to do next.

“And what would I do instead?” you ask, though you have an idea where he’s going.

“Go pack a bag of some of your things and come stay with me for the next few days,” he requests. It’s just bordering on a demand, even though it’s clearly your call.

“Are you crazy? We barely know each other,” you protest without much heat.

“What better way to get to know each other?” he counters. He grabs your hips, pulling you close to his body so he can wrap his arms around you. “And think about it. I can see you’re still not sure what you want to do. If you’re with me, you’ll know where I am at all times. I can’t get into any trouble while you’re still deciding.”

“I suppose you do make a point,” you concede.

“I have never done anything this reckless in my life. So, I’m just asking for a chance,” he shares.

It’s a little insane for him to say this is the most reckless thing he’s done in his life. Surely, stealing art is crazier than this. Which would make you lean towards not believing him if it weren’t for the voice in the back of your head. That little voice that agrees with him. You’ve put your life in danger more times than you can count, but saying yes to the man in front of you feels like the most dangerous idea yet. Maybe it’s because you know it’s not your body you’re putting on the line, but your heart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he means too. That he’s never taken the chance to chase someone like this. Or maybe you just want to believe that you might be special.

All you can do is nod at him and watch the smile that breaks across his face. It’s honest, unguarded. It’s real. There’s nothing behind it except genuine happiness that you agreed to spend the next few days with him. Before you can second guess your decision, you give him one more kiss and nearly run up to your room.

Being separated from him gives you the chance to actually catch your breath. To focus on what you need to bring with you. Since, apparently, you’re not going to reconsider if this is actually a good idea or not. You know you should. You know that this is another one of those moments that you chalk up to indecision when your actual decision could not be any louder. Again, you’re reminded of what you’re doing here. What you’re supposed to be doing here. This man is your enemy. He’s the person you’re supposed to be arresting and bringing into The Agency to face sentencing. You’re a good agent. You always put the mission ahead of yourself, your thoughts, your beliefs, or even your relationships. This isn’t a version of yourself that you recognize and it should stop you in your tracks.

Instead, you decide which dress to pack away and what pair of shoes looks best. For the first time in your life, you’re diving in first and asking questions later. Or never.

It shouldn’t be surprising that you end up naked in Wonwoo’s bed minutes after crossing the threshold to his hotel room. Not with how things have gone so far for the two of you. Yet, what is surprising is that the sex is even better than the night before. You’re catching your breath, tucked into Wonwoo’s side, body tacky with sweat but so impossibly happy. His hand that’s around you absently traces patterns into your skin. It’s honestly like you’ve known him for years. It’s insane to realize how comfortable you feel when that’s not something you ever experience. Not like this.

It’s also shocking to you how much this man wants to share with you. He carries on your chats from lunch as if he hadn’t just fucked you into his mattress yet again. Like this means more than some dirty sex holed up in a hotel in a foreign city. Makes you feel like you might actually mean something to him, which is a very dangerous feeling to have. Both of you know that this can’t mean more than what it is. At least, you think you know that and you think he might too. But, there’s a clear understanding that you won’t talk about it. Not now, at least.

Wonwoo decides that he wants to take you somewhere fancy for dinner. The type of place that you would never consider going to while on a mission. Though, you’re always prepared for anything. When you were packing up your things in your hotel room, you even grabbed a couple nicer dresses. All they needed was a quick steam, which the hotel staff had been only too happy to accommodate. Any protests about it being too much fell on deaf ears. He was set and the two of you were going to a famous restaurant. All you had to do was shower and get ready. Your dress would be ready by the time you needed it.

It’s clear you don’t really understand the limits to Wonwoo’s wealth, if there even are any, when you arrive at the restaurant. It’s the kind of place where you usually need reservations well in advance. It’s not the kind of place you can just show up at. Despite that, the host leads you back to a semi-private area where you’re tucked into a corner booth. It’s clearly one of the nicest tables in the place. You think you catch Wonwoo sliding the host something when he shakes their hand before he turns back to you. All thoughts go out the window when he slides in right next to you, not leaving any space.

Wonwoo’s Spanish really is very remedial and so you help him decipher the menu and order. It gives you pause when there aren’t prices anywhere on the menu, but he’s quick to wave off any concerns. Insists that it’s his treat. You don’t want to think that’s something you could get used to. It isn’t like you have any real trouble affording nice things. Your salary is high and you don’t have much to spend money on. This is a different level, though. It’s even different from the times you’ve gone on a mission and charmed your target. That always feels temporary. Like you’re something of an imposter. You don’t get those feelings here with Wonwoo.

Letting him pick out which outfit you wore may have been a mistake. You discover this once you get your drinks and the waiter leaves you alone. His hand rests possessively on your thigh, against the bare skin of your leg exposed by the slit in your dress. His body is angled towards you and he’s encouraging you to continue telling your story. But, he has to know he’s distracting, too, with the way his hand slides further up your thigh. What started as arguably innocent ventures quickly into dangerous territory.

“You were saying?” he prompts. His hand is inside the fabric of your dress now, keeping you from pressing your thighs together like you want to.

“I, uh…” you stutter as he digs his hand into the soft flesh there. “Wonwoo, aren’t you worried?”

“About what?” he asks innocently.

“Getting caught,” you hiss and look down at your lap.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not worried,” he says and you glare at him, “because you’re going to be good for me and be quiet.”

“I don’t know…” you start and stop as soon as his pinky grazes along your entrance through your panties. “Fuck.”

“Doesn’t seem like you actually want me to stop,” he points out.

“I, fuck, you know I don’t but there are people,” you say softly.

“I paid good money for this table. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed,” he tells you.

“I…” you start. When he pulls his finger away, you nearly whine.

“I need to hear you say you want it,” he says.

“What?” you ask, a little louder than you intended.

“Use your words,” he directs and you glare.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, earning a chuckle out of him.

“Not yet,” he retorts.

“Fine, yes. I want your fingers inside me here in this damn restaurant,” you say.

He’s expecting this answer. It’s written all over his face. This time, he doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t waste any time because you may not have much of it. He simply pushes your panties to the side and slides his first finger into you. The angle doesn’t make it easy but his fingers are long and slender, like they were built for something like this. It’s hard to keep from making a sound, so you try to do anything to distract yourself from the way he pumps into you. Or the way he adds a second finger so quickly.

When you pick up your drink to take a sip from the straw, you watch his eyes on you. They seem to darken the second that you wrap your lips around the straw. His fingers pump into you even faster. And his lips are demanding on yours when you set the drink back down. You moan softly into his mouth without really considering if anyone is paying attention or if they can hear you. His tongue tangles with yours frantically while he tries to get you off right in that booth.

This is new for you. You definitely didn’t think you would get so turned on by the fact that anyone could walk back over to see what you were doing. Anyone could hear the noises you’re making. Anyone could figure it out. When he feels that your pussy clenching around his fingers, he pulls away from the kiss. Leans his forehead against yours so that he can whisper filthy things in the space between you. Tells you how good you feel and how he loves watching you when you’re about to come. Moans about how tight you are. How pliant you are for him. Reminds you to be quiet. Tells you he can’t wait to taste you on his fingers. That’s what finally pushes you over the edge.

Your fingers grip the edge of the booth underneath you as you come hard and fast. He lazily guides you through it and then follows through by bringing his fingers to his lips. It’s so hot that you consider asking if you can just leave and go back to the room to be fucked properly. But, then your stomach rumbles and you think better of it. It’s only another few minutes before the first course arrives with a slightly knowing look from the waiter. After that first course, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to clean up, at least a little. You deem your panties ruined and just remove them, tucking them away into your bag. You’ll have to be a little more careful the rest of the night.

This dinner is somehow even better than the first and it has nothing to do with the place being expensive, though the food is definitely amazing. You also don’t think it really has anything to do with the way Wonwoo fingered you under the table. That’s definitely a first for you. Exhibitionism hasn’t been your thing before, but maybe he’s got you learning new things about yourself. It had only taken him a minute to realize that you weren’t wearing underwear anymore. It definitely took him another minute to regain his composure.

The thing that actually makes this dinner better than the first is the man across from you. With his walls down, the entire night just feels that much more. It’s one of the only times you’ve ever felt your own guard come down. It’s not smart and you don’t care. You think you probably look a little punch drunk to anyone that can see your table. Then, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes again and think he probably looks the same. You never really have the chance to enjoy dates, but even if you did, this would still probably top them all. It’s all the little things. The way Wonwoo carefully brushes a strand of hair out of your face. The way he offers you a bite off his own plate when you say it looks good. The way he brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses feather light kisses to them.

“Are you going to insist on ordering dessert here too?” you ask after the main course.

“I was thinking we might have dessert back in our room,” he says and you raise an eyebrow.

“Our room?” you question.

“Don’t test me,” he cautions.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say and lean into him to press a slow kiss to his cheek. Your hand brushes over his lap as a way to get closer.

“Is this you not testing me?” he asks when your hand brushes across his lap again.

“What? You can make me come on your fingers but I can’t tease you a little?” you ask innocently.

Wonwoo grabs your hand and anchors it on your own thigh. “We’re getting out of here and then you can show your appreciation however you want. We don’t need to give them more of a show.”

It seems like it takes an eternity to pay the bill (which Wonwoo doesn’t let you see) and get a cab back to the hotel. The promise of something else simmers between you the entire time. Wonwoo keeps a hand on you the entire time. A hand on your lower back out of the restaurant, fingers intertwined with yours in the cab, an arm around you walking into the hotel. When you get into the elevator, he pulls you back against his chest as more people join. He masks it as affection and presses a kiss to your cheek, but you feel the desire beneath it.

The moment you cross into the room, you slip out of your shoes and turn around to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. The tension between the two of you is thick and it’s hard to remind yourself to come up for a breath. He overwhelms every one of your senses. There’s nothing but him in every corner of your brain when he kisses you like that.

It’s almost embarrassing when he breaks the kiss and you chase his lips. “How about dessert?”

“I thought that was just your way of saying…” you start and he directs your attention to the table. There’s an assortment of fruit, whipped cream, and melted chocolate there.

You’re a little hesitant when he starts to walk to the table. It just feels incredibly intimate, which is true for a lot of what's happened with Wonwoo. But, this still feels different. It feels like more, once again. Wonwoo realizes that you’re not behind him and turns back to you. He closes the space between you yet again and places a hand on your cheek, impossibly soft.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks.

“I’ve never done…this,” you say softly into the quiet between you and him.

“Pretty sure we’ve already fucked several times,” Wonwoo says to lighten the mood.

“No, I mean, this…I don’t know. The desserts and the whipped cream and chocolate. It just feels, I don’t know, intimate,” you admit.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures you.

It’s absolutely insane that you’re hesitating. It doesn’t have to be some super intimate thing. It’s not like Wonwoo hasn’t already seen every inch of you and gotten to know your body better than anyone should in that period of time. But, this is far beyond the point where you can convince yourself any part of this is for the mission anymore. This isn’t just to keep him close. This is no longer indecision, as much as you want to pretend that it is.

“Is this your go-to move, then? Have a bunch of sweets delivered to the hotel room and seduce people with being all gentle?” you ask.

“I’ve definitely never done this before,” he says and it’s too honest.

Instead of answering him you just kiss him because it’s the only answer you can think of. Somehow, knowing that this is different for him too makes it feel less overwhelming for you. You drag him back towards the table until you’re leaning against it. Your back arches into him as he licks into your mouth. His hands wrap around you to keep you tight against his body. He pulls away again and you’re ready for it this time.

Wonwoo reaches an arm behind you and dips a strawberry in some of the chocolate. He brings it to your lips and watches intently as you get your mouth around it. The first bite sends a little bit of juice and chocolate over your lips. Just as you’re about to wipe it away, Wonwoo pulls the remainder of the strawberry back and kisses it away. It’s like that one action unlocks any hang ups you have. You twist around to scoop up some whipped cream with your finger. Your eyes lock on Wonwoo as you slowly lick it off. With it still in your mouth, you kiss him hard, enjoying the way your tongues dance and the tastes.

The two of you take turns dipping fruit and feeding it to each other. The kisses become more and more desperate in between feeding each other. It’s a little messy, though, so you unbutton Wonwoo’s shirt and slide it off his arms. He undoes your dress to slide it off your body, removing your bra along the way. You rid him of his pants and briefs as well so that you’re not the only one standing there naked.

When you reach back to get more fruit, Wonwoo grabs your hand to stop you. There’s a question in your eyes that he leaves unanswered as he moves things out of the way behind you. Then, he’s sitting you on the edge of the table and reaching for the whipped cream, which also answers your question. He puts some of the topping on your breast and sucks into your skin to lick it off you. Your legs part on their own as you lean back on the table to encourage him to get closer. He swirls his tongue around your nipple before softly nipping at your skin. Without warning, he bites into the flesh of your breast and laves over the spot to soothe you.

Food should not be this sexy. Maybe it’s just that it’s Wonwoo tempting you, but you’ve never been this turned on. His tongue is everywhere across your breasts and your stomach. Covering you in kisses while also licking the whipped cream or chocolate off of you. Your nails scratch down his back each time he nips into your skin. Somehow the sensations are everywhere all at once. You wrap your legs around his waist to anchor him closer to you.

“I need you inside me,” you whine out with Wonwoo kissing along your neck.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asks into your skin.

“Feel for yourself,” you encourage.

Wonwoo pulls away from your neck and looks at you with lust. He presses his fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without even thinking about it. They’re sweet as you swirl your tongue around them. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

As if it’s confirmation, he ruts against you, seemingly hard just from all the making out and the food. You pull his fingers from your mouth and guide them to your already dripping pussy. He’s not the only one that’s gotten insanely turned on. As soon as you guide his fingers through your folds he groans again.

Neither one of you is in the mood to wait and he doesn’t waste any time angling his hand so he can pump his fingers inside you. Just presses two fingers right in and adds a third to try and open you up. It makes you scream out, praising his fingers with how quickly they work you over. He removes his hand entirely too quickly and you’re whining at the loss. Wonwoo runs a hand along his cock, pumping a couple times and catching some of the precum to spread it along his length. It’s not enough, but you don’t really care right now.

“Please, Wonwoo, I need you,” you beg.

“Feeling a little desperate, princess?” he teases, that cocky smirk back on him.

“Just fuck me already,” you whine.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else, just lines himself up and presses his tip into you. It stretches you out and you’re a little surprised that he goes so slowly. Then, you realize that it feels like more when he’s inching into you like this. His eyes watch you for any signs of discomfort. He leans forward and catches your lips in the neediest kiss of the night when he bottoms out in you. You lean back onto your elbows, bringing him along with you. The kisses get sloppier as he starts to thrust into you.

He pulls away from you to reposition and presses your leg up so that he can get deeper. You let your leg fall over his arm so that you don’t have to hold it up. The moans between the two of you are loud enough to drown out the sound of skin on skin as he fucks into you hard. You can’t help it, though, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he directs roughly.

You moan in response but tilt your head back towards him. It feels like a chore and that’s when it occurs to you. Taking hold of his free hand, you move it to your throat. For a second, his eyes go wide and his pace slows. He’s searching your face for a clue before he grabs your throat a little more forcefully.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck,” you groan out. “I’ll tap you if it’s too much.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” he utters, flexing his fingers on your throat.

Somehow, Wonwoo seems to know the perfect amount of pressure. It’s just tight enough that it makes it a little harder to breathe, but not so much that it’s actually choking you. He seems more comfortable than when he did it the first time. It also makes it easier to keep your eyes on him the way he wants. Everything feels heightened and it’s entirely too soon that you’re rushing to your high. You clench your walls around Wonwoo and he fucks you harder, groaning at the increased tightness.

“Gonna come all over my dick again?” he asks and you moan.

You can’t really say anything and you don’t want to. This is all you need. Your hand winds down your body and you look at Wonwoo with a question in your eyes.

“Go ahead, baby, touch yourself,” he directs you.

Asking for permission to do anything is unlike you, but there’s something about wanting to please this man that drives you to all sorts of new things. You rub your clit in time with his thrusts and it seems like only moments pass before you’re tipping over that edge.

Heavy breaths eventually subside to find Wonwoo slowly, almost lazily, fucking into you. His hands are now both on your hips as he waits for you to come down. You sit up with him still inside you and kiss him, slow and full of all sorts of unspoken things.

“You really are fucking amazing,” you say, voice a little hoarse. “You can move faster.”

“I was thinking we might need to get into the shower,” he says with a smirk, pressing a finger to your skin. You’re about to object when you watch him pull it away and it sticks.

“Maybe I can take care of you in there, then,” you say and kiss him softly.

His eyes seem to light up a little at that. He slides out of you gently and walks slowly into the bathroom. You meant what you said. Shower sex is definitely not your thing because it’s never as sexy as people make it out to be. It can be slippery and there aren’t really any good positions. That doesn’t mean you can’t help him out a little.

Wonwoo has other ideas first, it seems. Once the water is warm enough, both of you get in and he lathers up a loofah to gently wash all the stickiness from your body. It’s gentle in a way you’re not expecting and impossibly thoughtful. You relax against his back with his arms around you while he makes sure all the remnants are gone.

When you’re clean, you turn around to face him and kiss him hard. The water falling on your back creates the perfect sensation with the heat between the two of you. He gathers you against his body, hands sliding down to grip your ass. It’s all you can do not to melt right on the spot. You think that you could probably kiss this man for the rest of your life and never get bored. Or never fully prepare yourself for the way it makes you feel.

You drop to your knees and take his cock in your hand. He leans back against the wall of the shower as he looks down on you. It’s crazy to you how turned on this man gets (or stays) just from kissing or skin contact. No matter what, his body always seems to be ready for you. You run your tongue along his length and swirl your tongue around the tip. You’re impatient and you know he’s been waiting, so you don’t waste any time before you suck him into your mouth. You relax your throat and swallow as much of his cock as you’re able to, alternating between bobbing and hollowing out your cheeks.

“You look so good looking up at me like that,” he groans.

You hum around his dick and Wonwoo grabs the back of your head to anchor you there. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes before he releases you and you can get a breath. Even in this position, you can tell that you actually have control over this man. It’s a great feeling since he’s been in control every other time. His hips buck when you suck him back into you. It’s definitely a powerful feeling. The groans also tell you what you already know, you’re good at this. He’s putty in your hands.

With a few more bobs, he’s coming down your throat and then slumping back against the shower wall. It doesn’t stop him from helping you up off your knees. You pepper light kisses along his collarbones before he surprises you and pulls you into another kiss. It’s never been your experience that a man wants to kiss you like that, but he doesn’t shy away.

“We better get out of this shower before we run through all the hot water,” he says between kisses.

“You’re right,” you say with a sigh.

The two of you step out of the shower and Wonwoo is quick to wrap you up in a towel. It takes everything in you to tell your heart to calm down. You know Wonwoo feels all the same things you do. Even if he's not free with vocalizing his emotions, his actions tell you exactly what he’s thinking. If you know where to look, that is. You’re realizing that you definitely know where to work.

Twenty minutes later, your skin care routine is done and you’re curled up in bed in one of Wonwoo’s oversized t-shirts. You know your alarm is going to be too early tomorrow since you need to check in with Seungcheol, but all you want to do tonight is curl up and talk more with this incredibly interesting man.

Something seems to shift now that you’re holed up in Wonwoo’s hotel room with him for the next however many days. Before, he seemed hesitant to talk about the real reason you two crossed paths. You’re not sure what causes the change or why he trusts that you’re not going to just turn around and burn him. Maybe it’s just that you haven’t done it yet.

“What made you want to start stealing art?” you ask while the two of you are sitting outside on the balcony. This room really is too nice. It almost makes it hard to leave and explore.

“I don’t know if it was that I wanted to steal art,” he chuckles.

“Okay, how did you start, then?” you ask with an affectionate eye roll.

“It’s going to sound stupid,” he says with an uncharacteristic shyness. “I guess, I don’t know, I grew up in this house where nobody ever seemed to care what I was doing. I stole the first piece from my parents and sold it off to someone I’d met at this underground club. I figured my parents would catch me and then at least I’d have their attention for a minute.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t catch you,” you comment.

“They didn’t even notice it was gone,” he says with a chuckle. “How old were you?” you ask.

“16,” he answers immediately.

“So you’ve been doing this…?” you start, doing the math in your head.

“12 years, yeah,” he says. “It took awhile to get to the point I’m at now. I think for a while I was figuring that my parents would somehow catch on and give a shit about my life. By the time I was 19, I was really good at it and I’d made a lot of contacts. I still moved in all those circles so I never looked out of place at a gallery or a museum. Nobody looked twice at me.”

“Did it ever get lonely?” you ask and Wonwoo regards you for a moment. “I just mean that you were still part of all these circles. You still went to all these parties and it seems like none of them knew you at all. You were hiding in plain sight because nobody knew you well enough to see it.”

“I had the networks of people that I sold to or accepted jobs from,” he says.

“But everything I’ve ever seen says that you rarely met with those people in person. It was always online contact and leaving pieces somewhere after the money had been wired,” you share.

“I guess your agency got a few things right,” he mumbles.

“It sounds loney,” you say sympathetically.

“I wish you were a little less observant,” he says like he’s trying for a joking tone.

It’s immediately obvious that he’s a little tired and definitely lonely. You can’t really imagine that type of life. Sure, you’ve been working on your own or with a single partner for your entire adult life. But, you’ve still been part of an organization. There are people that know you at your core. There are people that you can turn to when everything in life feels like it sucks. No matter how bad things get, you know there are people out there who can support you.

Almost involuntarily, a series of images pop into your head. Wonwoo in a suit at a charity gala, the type of person that everyone wants to approach. You can imagine people whispering behind their hands about going to speak to him or ask him to dance. Maybe trying to approach him at the bar. Then you see him just as clearly at home afterwards, alone and sitting on his couch with a drink in hand. You see him perusing a museum to get the lay of the land so that he can steal it later. Once again, alone. You see how he probably sits at home communicating with all his potential buyers.

Wonwoo reads the look on your face and assures you that it’s probably not as bad as you’re imagining things. Yes, he admits that he’s lonely sometimes and that he’s alone more than he’s with other people. It’s hard for him to let anyone in. He doesn’t want to have to account for his time or trust that they won’t blow his cover. There’s nobody in his life that he can be totally himself with, at least not until meeting you. But, he insists that it hasn’t been so bad. Mostly, he prefers to be on his own anyway. He likes the quiet and the solitude. Likes to be able to enjoy his down time however he likes. He gets enough socialization when he goes to events as he’s expected to.

Which brings up a question. After over a decade of doing everything solo, why has he trusted you with all of this now? His answer comes more immediately than you would expect, yet it makes sense. You have something to lose here, too. Possibly even more than he does. After all, there have been a lot of teams that have been close to unraveling his mysterious identity. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be tracking him down. Not spending time locked away in his hotel room with him. That brings you up a little short because he’s right and you’re not planning on going anywhere.

He admits that you intrigue him. All his life, Wonwoo has appreciated a good puzzle or a good challenge. You present both to him, though it hasn’t been as much of a challenge to get you to give him a chance as he expected. It is a challenge to try and unravel you. To try and figure out what made you say yes to the date and what makes you stay now. You also meet him on a level that nobody ever has before. You nearly blush at the way he describes your intelligence and how he feels more turned on by your brain than anyone before. Normally something like that would make you cringe. But, somehow Wonwoo makes it sound both sexy and endearing. You’re just as challenged by him, too, so maybe you get it.

It also brings up some very conflicting feelings in you because it’s a reminder that you have a life entirely separate from him. You have a life that doesn’t allow you to account for this time. At some point, you have to make a final choice. It’s way too late to just turn Wonwoo in without any sort of repercussion. It’s too late to act like this is all just in the name of bringing down one of the most difficult targets you’ve had to track. In the name of getting to know Wonwoo better, you’ve also shared a lot about yourself. A lot that someone like Seungcheol would be able to clock immediately as being true. Every moment you stay with Wonwoo makes your future more complicated. Things are already too hazy.

“Okay enough heavy stuff,” you declare and stand. “Let’s go do something.”

“Such as?” he prompts.

“We’re in a beautiful city, let’s go see some of it,” you suggest.

Wonwoo wants to take a minute to actually plan something, but you veto that. He’s definitely not the spontaneous type, which you figured out before you were even sure who he was. It makes more sense now, knowing who he is. So it feels like more of a win that he relents and agrees to just go with the flow. It’s not as if you’ll be flying totally blind anyway. You did a lot of research before coming down for the mission and you know a lot of the places to see, both tourist places and some that are off the beaten path.

Once you’re outside of the hotel room, things feel different in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. Everything in the hotel room feels real in the sense of getting to know each other. The conversations can be heavy and there’s that constant need to rip each other’s clothes off. Being outside exploring a foreign city feels real in an entirely different way. None of the conversations are heavy since you’re just appreciating the sights. But, you and Wonwoo trade off in taking pictures of each other (or even snap some together) and it feels like a glimpse at another life. It isn’t a fantasy world because it does feel real, but it doesn’t feel like an actual reality either. It almost feels like a mission you’re on where you and him would pretend to be a couple. You have to remind yourself this is actually a mission and you’re running around with your target because Wonwoo isn’t your partner.

When you’re in Plaza de Mayo, you take a step back to allow Wonwoo to purchase something to eat. It’s too cute to watch him stumble through his Spanish, constantly looking over at you as if asking for help. All you can do is smile as he mixes up hombre and hambre. The older woman putting the food together only smiles softly. There’s something incredibly cute about watching this stoic man get flushed over ordering in another language.

The next few days follow mostly the same pattern. You wake up earlier than Wonwoo so that you can pretend to work on the mission and actually check in with Seungcheol. Wonwoo pretends that he’s still asleep sometimes. Other times, he gets up and works on his own things. It’s cute that he’ll do anything to make it seem like you have privacy. Breakfast in the room always comes next because it’s an easy way to get ready for the day.

The days themselves are all a little bit different. You see the Piramide de Mayo, the Floralis Generica, the monuments to Juana Azurduy and General Jose de San Martin, Teatro Colon, the planetarium and several other interesting sights. The planetarium is a personal favorite of yours because it’s just kind of weird in an affectionate way. It’s hard to truly pick a favorite though because each new stop teaches you more about the local culture. It’s the kind of place that just makes you want to fall in love with it. There’s so much beauty and so much to appreciate. Each new stop also seems to involve learning something new about Wonwoo and somehow him trying his hand at Spanish again, only to fail. You’re wondering if he does it just to entertain you.

While you’re seeing all the tourist spots, you take time to see the things the locals recommend as well. Sometimes that’s hole-in-the-wall food places or stands that someone mentions. Other times it’s a park that’s too out of the way for tourists. Even other times still, it’s a hidden access point to the beach. Thankfully, it’s still cool out and getting Wonwoo to agree to the beach isn’t difficult. You idly wonder what it would be like to try and get him to visit the beach in January when it’s the dead of summer.

You want to try as many local dishes as you can while you’re there, too. Given his way, Wonwoo would probably eat in the hotel room just as much as out of it, but you don’t know when you’re going to get this chance again. So, even though he’s worn out from spending so much time around people, he lets you drag him out again every night. He even seems to enjoy himself.

At the start of whatever this is, it was always you asking Wonwoo all the questions and trying to volunteer as little about yourself as possible. You’re still an agent and you’re still supposed to be after him. The least you can do, while you’re totally ignoring your mission, is try to better understand Wonwoo and his motivations. Even if you don’t end up turning him in, it's an invaluable experience to get to look into the mind of a criminal. When will you get another chance like this? When will you be this close to someone to ask personal questions? No part of you even considers that he’s lying to you. You’re positive that he answers everything truthfully.

Somewhere along the line, it shifts. Maybe because you know everything you want to know about the man across from you. Or maybe because you genuinely feel comfortable about him. Either way, he’s the one that’s asking you questions now. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t want to know anything about your work. He doesn’t seem to care about any of that. There’s a nagging thought that thinks he might just be trying to make you comfortable. You try to quickly brush it away, though, and just answer any of the personal questions he asks. Wonwoo wants to know the simple things like where you grew up, what your family was like, and what you wanted to do when you were younger. The things that allow him to really know you. It’s terrifying.

By the time you get back to the hotel that night, you’re exhausted. It feels like it’s been a never ending span of days in the best way. You collapse on the bed without changing. All you manage to do is take off your shoes. Wonwoo leans over you and kisses you, softly at first. But, like every other kiss with him, it leaves you gasping for air after a minute.

It’s amazing how he seems to take your breath away and even more amazing how he always seems like he’s ready to tear your clothes off. You’ve never had someone like him in your life. But, that also brings you back to reality. Wonwoo asked you to give him a few days staying in his hotel room. It’s definitely been longer than that without either of you seeming to notice. There’s a level of comfort that neither of you talk about given that this all has an expiration date. And that expiration date is rapidly approaching.

Staying with Wonwoo turns out to be longer than either of you planned and neither of you has a complaint about it. You’ve been checking in with Seungcheol every morning and Wonwoo pretends not to listen. It’s been like living in a little bubble where reality isn’t a concern.

That’s just the thing, though, isn’t it? This isn’t real life, not for you. This isn’t something that lasts long term or that you can even sustain. The reality is still there. Wonwoo is one of the most infamous art thieves to ever live and you work for a secret agency tasked with bringing criminals like him to justice. You’re not exactly sure what the last however many days have been. All you know is this is just a break from reality. A brief glimpse into an alternate life that can never be. It’s been amazing and something you won’t ever forget. You’re hoping that you’re both on the same page about that, at least.

“I should probably go back to my hotel today,” you say.

Wonwoo looks up from across the room where he’s reading while you pretend to work on your case. It helps to at least log in to the system. “To get more stuff?”

“I can’t stay here forever,” you point out.

“No, I expect at some point we’ll leave and head to the next place,” he agrees with a shrug.

“We?” you ask, eyebrows flying up.

“Yes, we,” he says like suddenly you’re slow on the uptake. “I’ve got a few places in mind that I’d love to take you, but it’s really up to you.”

“Wonwoo,” you start and your heart sinks.

You are definitely not on the same page. Probably not even in the same book, if you’re honest. Everything over the past days with him has been amazing. The perfect little escape from your reality. But, that’s all it’s been: an escape. Or maybe that’s all you’ve let yourself think it was. Anything else seems like entirely too much. His face drops as he watches you.

“You’re not coming with me,” he realizes.

“I didn’t even know you would want me to!” you state, too loud for the space.

“How could you not? I’ve been telling you all the places that I wanted you to see,” he says and that hits you harder than a physical blow. He’s been giving you all the signs that this isn’t just a bubble.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” you point out.

“Clearly,” he says, voice thick with disappointment.

“Wonwoo, come on. It’s not like I can just, what? Run away?” you say.

“Oh, no, there’s a whole life waiting for you back at your precious agency,” he says with derision.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” you plead.

“And I’ve shown you that there’s more to life than whatever this is for you,” he counters.

“I can’t just leave them,” you say with a shake of your head.

That seems to make Wonwoo angrier than you expect. “No, of course not. How silly of me. You have to get back to your handler that so clearly loves you.”

“Seungcheol does not love me. We’re friends, sure, but that’s it,” you disagree.

“Let’s pretend that’s true and it’s normal for a handler to speak to you the way he does. Or that it’s normal for him to worry so much about your safety. Who are you going back to apart from him? Who’s waiting for you?” Wonwoo asks.

The questions wash over you like acid rain. Painful and harsh and unrelenting. The worst part is that he’s right. You have wondered if there are some feelings there from Seungcheol. You also don’t have anyone waiting for you. It’s really a half-life, if you’re being honest. Less than a half-life, probably. The past few days with Wonwoo are the most alive you’ve felt since you were a child, before joining the agency.

“I can’t just…this is my job, Wonwoo. And you’re an art thief. A very famous one and…” you start.

“Have I stolen anything here?” he asks and that brings you up short.

“Well, no, of course not. You’ve been with me,” you say simply.

“And I will leave this city without stealing. I will switch careers entirely if it’s that important, though it doesn’t seem like it is since you haven’t turned me in,” he says and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve been all over the globe trying to feel something. Trying for anything. I started stealing because I could. I wanted to get the attention my parents never gave me. I kept going because I was looking for a challenge, which it is, at least sometimes. I was looking for someone, I think. Then, I find you and you’re everything I didn’t know to ask for. But, you’re telling me some job where you can’t even have a life is more important than this? That my job, which I’m completely willing to give up, is too much of a barrier?”

“I have a life,” you scoff.

“Really?” Wonwoo challenges and folds his arms. “When was the last time you went on a real date? Not with a target, but a real date just with someone you wanted to know? When’s the last time you let yourself just breathe and explore a city? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

“Plenty of people are married to their jobs,” you begin.

“I thought you were brave, you know,” Wonwoo muses. “I thought you were someone who would realize how rare this is. It’s not like everyone is lucky enough to meet a person that completes them like this. I guess I was wrong. I guess all I was really good for was fucking you and that’s all it was.”

“Of course that’s not all it was,” you disagree. There are tears threatening to spill over. This isn’t at all how you imagined it going. You weren’t prepared for him to try to fight for you. “The last few days with you have been everything I never thought I’d experience. But, it hasn’t been real, Wonwoo. It can’t be real. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Why can’t it?” he fires at you.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” you scream, tears finally streaming down your face. “Because you don’t know my scars. You don’t know the things I’ve done. You don’t know the mistakes I’ve made. You don’t know that I have demons that are constantly chasing me.”

“I’m a fucking criminal,” he points out. “Who am I to judge?”

“Exactly,” you agree but rush to finish your thought before Wonwoo can interject. “You don’t…question the decisions you’ve made. You stand on everything you’ve done. But, you also do so much good with charities and helping students and just giving back. Plus, I’ve looked at your crimes. You only ever stole from the rich to sell to other rich people.”

“Yet you still were sent to chase me,” he points out.

“Yeah, who do you think pays our salaries?” you ask flatly. “My point is that…I don’t know. I’m standing here across from you and I feel like I’m the infinitely worse person in this situation.”

“It really can’t be that bad,” he reasons.

“I’ve taken lives, Wonwoo. More than I can count. And without even questioning if our reasoning was solid for taking them out. I’ve used my body in ways that I may never recover from, thinking it was my choice at the time. I’ve done what I was told and I’ve been good at it. Too good, maybe,” you say. You’re talking to yourself more than him at this point. “I’m the one they send when they don’t want a record. I’m the one they send when nobody else can do it. I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life training and doing what I was told. It’s given me scars that you can’t see and won’t ever heal. All I know is this. They’re not just going to let me go. And even if they did, you don’t deserve all the baggage that I come with. You’re not a bad guy.”

“And you think you are? A bad guy?” he asks.

“I know I am,” you say.

“That’s all you are if that’s all you see, but I see so much more,” he argues.

“I still can’t just ask them to walk away,” you press.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you ask,” he says. “You deserve a chance to start fresh. To see what you can be without the weight of the world hanging over your head.”

“I don’t deserve anything more than what I have now,” you disagree.

“What about love? Do you deserve that?” he asks, changing directions.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“And me? Do I deserve love?” he asks.

“Yes, without question,” you answer immediately.

“So give me the chance to experience love,” he begs. “I never thought I’d love anyone and I’ve never taken this kind of chance on anyone. But, I’m asking you for a chance. Just one more.”

There’s so much tension in the air between you. So many things still left unsaid and so much emotion. The air between you and him seems to crackle. A storm brews behind his eyes as he waits for you to answer him. It seems insane to think that he could feel that for you after such a short time. But, really, what do you know? You have unquestionably never been in love before, not really. There’s never been the time or space for it in your line of work. Relationships never seem to get deeper because you’re always keeping secrets. Can’t ever tell them what you really do for work. And then there’s Wonwoo. He knows so much about you already and even though it’s barely scratched the surface, it’s still more honest than you’ve ever been. He doesn’t want to run away and that scares you more than any mission you’ve ever had.

It’s just…it’s too much to decide now. You spend your whole life having to make split second decisions, yet can’t about this. Don’t have the data that you have on missions. Don’t know the pros and cons. It’s uncharted territory. It’s scary in a way you’ve never experienced. You’ve stared down the barrel of too many guns and this still feels infinitely more terrifying. Maybe he can love you after such a short amount of time because he seems to realize what you’re going to say before you say it.

“Don’t,” he says softly when you open your mouth. “I’m going to leave the day after tomorrow. I’m going to set the flight to leave at 1 in the afternoon. That gives you time to change your mind.”

“And if I don’t reach you before then?” you ask softly.

“Don’t ever expect to find me again,” he says with a finality that surprises you. When you meet his gaze, it’s harder than you’re expecting. “I really care about you and I’d love you to come with me. But I know how stubborn you are. It’s part of why I love you so much. So I’m leaving my heart open until the day after tomorrow. Then it’s over.”

“You’re an amazing person, Wonwoo,” you say and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve challenged a lot of my ideas about right and wrong. I’ll never forget that.”

“I’m not accepting this as goodbye. I’ll still hope to see you before I leave,” he says and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

Your throat is too tight to say anything in response to that. All you can do is gather up your things and head out of the hotel room. Everything in your body feels tired from the unexpected heaviness of the conversation. It hurts to see Wonwoo looking so hurt. As crazy as it sounds, you do mean that he deserves the absolute best. You also meant it that made you rethink a lot of your preconceived notions. You actually questioned things for the first time in your adult life. Despite all of that, you still walk right out of the hotel room.

You spend nearly every minute after walking out of Wonwoo’s hotel room considering his offer. Go as far as scheduling your flight out of Buenos Aires for the same time as his. Genuinely, you’re not sure what you want to do. At least Seungcheol understood failing the mission. Somehow, he still sees it as a win that nothing was stolen from anywhere in the city while you were there. He assumes that your presence somehow spooked the notorious art thief. Thankfully he doesn’t realize just how right he is.

The biggest surprise is that Chan, the slightly overeager agent from the flight down, will be meeting you when you get on the plane. He’s only wrapping up a second mission that popped up in the area. The Agency is sending him along so that you can debrief about your actual mission and start looping him in going forward. Apparently, as great as you are and as (almost) perfect as your record is, the agency still wants to have someone for you to work with when you need them. Since that can’t be Seungcheol, he’s recommending a promising younger agent. This apparently also includes you being the one to tell him all of this yourself.

The airport is busy when you get there, an unsurprising side effect of planning flights during the afternoon. There’s also the fact that private planes have to leave from the international airport, which is always somewhat packed. Getting through customs and security is surprisingly smooth and soon you’re going to have to face your literal crossroads.

In one direction is the familiar. Nothing about working for The Agency is easy. There’s a sense of routine to it, though. A sense of generally knowing what your days or weeks or even months will look like. You know how to make coffee in the shitty break room when you’re actually on site (a rarity). You know how to play nice with the other agents. You know how all the tech works. And you’re good at the missions themselves. That’s just to say you don’t have to learn anything new. You’re lucky enough to have a semi-boss that you get along with. There’s a sense of routine to everything from mission briefings to flights to the missions themselves. There’s comfort in knowing you don’t really have to make the decisions. Sure, you have to figure out which course to take on the ground with a mission. But, that usually only means picking option A or B. All of the possible courses of action come in the briefing. You just have to evaluate the factors and figure out which pre-determined option fits best. It’s easy. As fucked up as it might be to admit, you like doing something that you know you’re good at. It’s nice to get praised for constantly succeeding. It’s the easy decision.

And in the other direction…well, it’s the unknown. Being with Wonwoo has been nothing short of the best feeling of your life. The most alive you’ve ever felt. It’s kind of crazy but part of you thinks you may love him. Can see how the whole future plays out, even if it’s not crystal clear. The two of you could start over somewhere new where he doesn’t have to steal art and you don’t have to chase criminals with questionable methods. Both of you have the funds (even if he’s better set up) to start over. Both of you clearly have the skills to disappear into the wind, too. It’s not like your legal name exists anywhere anymore. Very few people even know it, not that you would go back to it.

It’s easy to get lost in the daydream. As much as you love the sun of Buenos Aires, you can’t imagine Wonwoo in a place like that during the actual summer. Everything about him makes you think of somewhere cooler, somewhere that you’re not constantly sweating. That would let you take breaks to sunnier weather. Places where you could soak up the sun while he took refuge under an umbrella, watching you with all the affection in the world. Actually, you can picture visiting a lot of places with him. He would be the perfect travel partner to see all the beautiful corners of the world that you’ve never been able to appreciate. It’s like going somewhere for a business trip. You’re there working, not to appreciate everything around you.

There’s something kind of poetic about being at an airport as an actual crossroads in your life. It’s like you can get on a plane going anywhere. Quite literally, since you’re not sure where Wonwoo’s plane is going. Not that it really matters. If that’s the path you pick, then it’s for him rather than the destination.

The only question left is whether you’re ready to leave your entire life behind. Are you ready to say goodbye to the agency that saved you? Are you ready to cut yourself off from the few people who actually know you and accept you as you are? Can you live without having any closure on that part of your life? Would you feel guilty that Seungcheol would be left with a million questions about what happened to you? Or would it hurt you to know that he would blame himself for your disappearance somehow? Then again, maybe he would know, on some level, that you just finally reached the point of needing to walk away. That’s something you and him have talked about before, in the early hours of the morning after too much to drink. What would you do if you could walk away from this life? What would life after The Agency look like?

With a deep breath, you pick your path and you don’t look back. That’s the only way you know you’ll have the strength in your decision.

i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please reblog or comment and let me know 💕

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baby-yongbok · 6 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 + 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦

Hwang Hyunjin 𝗑 Afab!Reader

♡ Genre - Friends to Lovers

♡ CW - Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Nightmares, Alcohol usage by reader, Hyunjin calls reader rose as a nickname, One use of 'y/n'.

♡ Summary - Your avoidant tendencies have allowed the burn of pink and white to keep you Hyunjin at a safe distance until it all comes crashing down. Can the fire that kept you apart also be what brings you together?

♡ Word Count - 9.2k

♡ A/N - I went from not being sure if I liked this fic to being in love with it. I think that it's a very sweet fic and I loved writing it. I worked so hard on it and I'm so proud of it. The goal was for it to be 4k words.. then I almost posted it at 8k but now... yeah. I hope that you love this as much as I do!

♡ Playlist - Pink + White - Frank Ocean, Rainy Days - V, For Us - V, Beautiful Things - Benson Boone, Trajectories - Bruno Major

✧ Masterlist ✧

When you were six years old you punched a boy in the face on the playground. That was the first time that you ever felt the burn of genuine fear.

Your mom along with the many others came swirling around them. When your mother asked you what happened you cried. You clung to her running over to you and the crying brunette boy on the playground with a mix of emotions and explained the best you could through your tears that you didn’t like that he was chasing you, when you agreed to play tag you thought that you’d be the chaser not the one being chased.

That was the day that you learned two things about yourself, you have a habit of acting impulsively when you’re scared and you don’t like being chased. It's suffocating.

As you got older your friends described you as the avoidant type, especially in relationships. You developed a reputation for being an ice queen in your Sophomore year of university which led to you being one of the most sought after girls on campus.

You’ve lost friends because of this. Their boyfriends saw getting close to them as a gateway to meeting you. Many guys took dating you as a challenge with an end prize of overnight popularity. Unfortunately, some of your closest relationships have been destroyed because of it. You learned not to be sad about it, you’ve come to terms with it, this is just the way that it goes. Of course your other friends were all important to you but you always told yourself that you’re alright with losing them as long as you have your best friend by your side.

“More roses? Are you in love or something?” You weaved through the cluttered art studio that Hyunjin has claimed as his own. It’s on the dead side of campus on the second floor of a building that was abandoned last year. Your best friend refused to let the studio go when it was shut down, he says that it houses some of his fondest memories.

“Always in love, never loved back.” He quips, eyes still trained on the canvas. “You’re early.”

You jump up onto one of the few clear desks in the room, right behind his easel. “Chemistry ended early.” Hyunjin stands straight, eyeing his canvas for a second before looking over at you. He knows that you’re skipping class. Your last hook-up is in that class and you're trying to avoid his attempt at getting you in his bed again. If you’re being honest, the decision to sleep with him was impulsive. You blame the beer, all eight of them.

“I thought that we could go to the exhibition early.” He starts another brush stroke and silence swallows you both. “I’m excited about it and if I’m being honest I just wanna spend time with you. I’ve barely seen you for the past three days.”

Hyunjin’s steady hand wavers and he thanks his lucky stars that you didn’t see it. “Aw she misses me. She loves me so much.” The sound of your feet hitting the ground as you jump off of the desk echoes through the dusty room of stacked chairs and forgotten storage items.

Hyunjin stands and dips the paint brush covered in bright pink in the cup of water next to him. “You could’ve come to my place ya know.” You grab your stuff, swinging your bag onto your shoulder.

“Your brother is there, you know how he gets.” You scrunch your face at the thought of Hyunjin’s step brother, Jeongin. The two of you get along perfectly, almost as well as you and Hyunjin until Jeongin starts flirting. He confessed to you on New Years and you’ve been avoiding him ever since. He’s too sweet for you, you’d hate to hurt him. “I’m gonna go change, I’ll meet you by your car.”

“You brought a costume change for an art exhibit?” He asks as he starts cleaning his space.

“Of course, I need to look like art too.” You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, he rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the mess of paints and rags on the desk in front of him. He waits until he hears the door open and close behind you to finally let the corners of his mouth turn up. He chuckles to himself quietly while his mind comes up with responses that he’d never dare to utter out loud.

“This one looks like you, rose.” The year old nickname slips off of Hyunjin’s tongue like silk. You’ve never fully understood how the name stuck. You figured that it’s because roses are his favorite flower and he thought it was cute. You’ve never asked for its origin but you don’t mind the name. It’s sweet.

You turn to view the series of pink, white and green dots making up a bouquet of roses on the framed canvas in front of Hyunjin. He studies it with smiling eyes though the neutral look on his face could fool those who haven’t experienced him like you have.

“It’s pretty.” You mumble as you lean your head on his shoulder. You wrap your arm around his and the sleeve of the brown oversized flannel shirt that you picked out a year ago rides up his forearm a bit, he blames the chills running up his spine on the breeze against the newly exposed skin.

“I knew I’d see you here.” The voice of a woman next to Hyunjin startles you a bit. You stand straight and watch as Hyunjin smiles towards her. He’s cursing her in his head for interrupting the moment between the two of you but he learned a long time ago to just live in the moment when it comes to you.

“Of course, I had to see this exhibition.” He shakes her hand and you chalk it up to her being someone important though she doesn’t look much older than either of you. “You put it together beautifully.”

Ah, she owns the gallery. “Oh, please, it’s nothing. I just hope that you’re enjoying it. I actually thought about you when I put this piece up.” She motions towards the art in front of the two of you. The piece that Hyunjin says resembles you. “It looks like something you’d design. I’m still desperate to organize a local exhibition for you, ya know.”

Hyunjin laughs but it's stiff and polite. He’s being shy. He’s a very cautious person but he reaches a whole new level when it comes to his art. “I’m not quite on that level yet.”

“I disagree but I won’t bother you about it until you graduate. This is your final semester, right?” You can see her eyes smiling just like Hyunjin’s were a second ago as she checks him out. She’s shameless in her actions, the glint in her eyes is far from professional.

“Yes, just three months to go.” She nods, dragging her gaze up from his lips with a smile.

“Call me when you graduate, I’d love to have you working with us.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket and flashes one last smile before waving a reluctant goodbye towards your best friend.

Silence settles between the two of you for just a couple of seconds before you break it. “She wants to fuck you so badly that she didn’t even look at me.” Hyunjin scoffs at your whispered words as he slips the card into his pocket. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice. How old is she anyway? She looks a bit young to be in charge of this place.”

“Her father owns it.” He mumbles as he grabs your wrist and leads you over to the next piece of art.

“Oh, of course. She probably thought I was your girlfriend, ya know. She’s rude as hell for not even asking or looking at me. I know she saw me here, she’s clearly -” You’re pulled into Hyunjin’s side before you can finish your sentence. The sudden action cuts you off with a heavy thump of your heart and that painfully familiar burn rising in your chest.

“Look at this one.” Your eyes are on him but his are on the art. “This one looks like you too.” You pull your gaze away from him to view the piece. The thumping in your chest doubles once your gaze meets your own. It’s a mirror with pink and white abstract designs floating around and over the glass. The paint is so messy yet strategic. It leaves just enough room for your reflection.

“It’s messy yet elegant, don’t you think? You can’t help but to stare..” He’s visibly smiling now. The corners of his mouth turn up as he studies the art in front of him. As he studies you. “This one might be my favorite. It’ll be hard to beat it.”

“I don’t like it.” You mutter quickly, pulling away from Hyunjin and turning towards the next piece. You try your best to steady your breathing. You will your heart to calm down so that you can take a complete breath but it’s betraying you. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

You’re walking away before Hyunjin can reply. He watches you with that smile in his eyes as you disappear around the corner. He knew that what he pulled would be a risk but it was one that he was willing to take. He doesn’t call you beautiful nearly as much as he should or as much as he really wants to.

In the bathroom you’re slumped against the door of a stall while you try to catch your breath. You don’t like how Hyunjin’s words made that white hot burn in your chest kick up. You don’t like the way that his eyes being on you made you feel like you were the only two in the entire gallery. It’s suffocating.

When you step out of the stall your fingers are busy on your phone screen. You find your friend Isa’s number quickly and take a sigh of relief when she answers on the third ring. You bypass reciprocating her kind greeting and get right to the point.

“Get-together at yours tomorrow?”

You’re standing in the middle of the Pink and White art exhibition. Other viewers jumble together along the walls of the gallery and crowd the pieces. You can’t see anything but their blurred faces decorating the white walls. There’s a slow yet heavy beating in your ears but you’re comfortable. You’re alone in the middle of it all, watching everyone from a pleasant distance as you turn to study them all as if they’re the art on the walls.

The beating in your ears skips as you turn and come face to face with Hyunjin. He’s standing in front of you wearing that brown hat that you love and the oversized flannel that he bought just to share with you.

Suddenly the others in the room are quiet. All eyes are on you but Hyunjin’s gaze is the most piercing. His brown eyes are smiling at you with a softness that makes the flame in your chest burn brighter.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” You look around at everyone else but they’ve vanished along with the art on the walls. The beating in your ears picks up, it’s deafening but Hyunjin’s voice can be heard loud and clear over the noise.

“I like staring at you.” He takes a step towards you but you take two back. He frowns and steps forward again. You repeat the process until your back is against the wall. “Why do you do that?”

“I’m not doing anything.” You swallow hard as you try to push him away but he’s stronger than you. As strong as stone caging you against the stark white wall. “I can’t breathe.” You’re pushing as hard as you can but it’s no use. You’re stuck under him.

“Why do you do this?” He’s still staring down at you, a burning gaze setting your skin ablaze. “Why do you keep running?” The beating in your ears drowns out all sensible thoughts. You can feel your veins swelling with fear and the blinding white burning in your chest puffs up with the crushing pressure of having him so close. Too close.

“Back up.” You inhale the thick air, feeling dizzy. “Move.”

“Stop running.” You try to inhale but it gets stuck in your throat. You want to scream. You need to escape. You need to get out of here.

You lift your heavy arm the best you can and pull back enough to punch Hyunjin. You aim for his face but your fist goes through him just as your lungs start to burn, you take one last look at him before the wall behind you gives out and you’re falling backwards. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes are void of that sparkling smile and guilt consumes you right before you hit the ground.

You jump up with a gasp as your eyes frantically search the room around you. Your chest rises and falls heavily and sweat beads at your hairline.

It was a dream.

Friday is a late day for you with your last class ending at nine in the evening. Hyunjin always waits for you in the abandoned art studio, he waits for two hours just to walk you to your dorm across campus. It’s become a routine for the two of you but you told him not to wait up tonight. He was reluctant at first, he insisted on waiting for you but you were adamant about breaking your routine.

He agreed eventually but you could see the dejection in his eyes as he hugged you goodbye before your last class. He watched you walk away just like he always did but this time his heart was heavy in his chest. Did he do something wrong?

That question haunted him throughout the day. It was loud in his head as he collected his stuff and made his way to the abandoned studio. It echoed in his ears as he tried to finish the painting of his vibrant rose that he’s added notes of dusty pale pink to. But it was the loudest when Jeongin called him to ask if he was going to the get-together at Minho’s place tonight.

He knows that you and Minho’s girlfriend Isa are close so you have to know about this, hell, you might’ve even helped plan it and you kept it from him. You’re avoiding him.

You skipped your class to head to Minho and Isa’s place. They share a small apartment right off of campus that you often use as an escape. Isa is one of the few friends that you still have from sophomore year since her boyfriend has never once tried to get in your pants.

You sat on Isa’s bed clutching a bottle of soju that is not at all meant for one person while you laid your head in her lap. You loved being with her because there was never any pressure to fill the silence. She understands you in a way that other people just don’t. Not even Hyunjin.

“So, he called you pretty?” You’ve been telling her everything from what happened at the art gallery to the nightmare you had last night. “And now you’re avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoiding him.” You take a swig from the glass bottle and gulp hard to rush the alcohol into your system. “I’m just being careful.”

“You’re being careful by avoiding your best friend… because he called you pretty and you had a nightmare about it?” You sit up with a groan, lifting the bottle to your mouth again with a sigh. She’s not getting it.

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me. You didn’t feel the way he pulled me into him, his arm wrapped around my waist and he just stared at me with that smile in his eyes. You know the one that makes his eyes shine when he sees something pretty? He was looking at me like that and he told me that I looked elegant. Messy but elegant and that he couldn’t help but to stare. There was a softness in his voice, I swear, and he just wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. It’s like he was looking into me instead of at me it was… it was..”

“Sweet?” You tap the bottle in your hands with your nails.

“Suffocating. It was too much. It made my heart skip and it made me feel hot.”

“That usually means that you like him, ya know.” She takes the bottle from you, drinking from it a bit herself. “ You know that he’s a romantic and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this with him.” She hands the cold glass back to you while you think back to the other times that you’ve felt this. The latest being your birthday three months ago when Hyunjin whisked you away to the next city for a mini getaway.

You stayed in the same hotel room and on the night of your birthday you had a bit too much to drink. He carried you up to your room since you were too out of it to walk but you weren’t too far gone to forget the way that he handled you with such gentle care.

He brushed your hair out of your face when he laid you on your bed and took your make-up off with such a tender touch that it made you want to kiss him. You almost kissed him.

“I don’t like him like that.” You shrug and she sighs.

“Whatever you say, ice queen.” That damned nickname makes you cringe but Minho is bursting through the door before you can rebuttal.

“Jisung and Bin just got here, come on.” You stare at him with confused eyes and he crosses his arms as he stares back at you. “Well? Get up, you wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” You look over at Isa who’s already getting up from the bed.

“Did you not call her asking for a get-together? People are getting here so come on. I’m not hosting this by myself.” Your heart drops and you stare over at Isa who looks back at you with her own look of confusion until it all sinks in.

“You meant for it to be just us, didn’t you?”

Hyunjin is a cautious person, anyone who knows him knows that about him. He doesn’t like when things go wrong because of him. It eats him alive until he can fix it and if he can’t he lets the anxiety consume him until a part of him dies with the memory of it all.

His cautious nature is what prompted him to drive home after he got that call from Jeongin. It brought him right to his bedroom where he dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and laid back against the mattress with a death stare set on the dull ceiling. It stared back at him, reflecting his thoughts back to him for him to analyze.

His brother left for the get-together as soon as he walked through the door and Hyunjin was tempted to follow him down to Seungmin’s car.

He was tempted to drop his bag and turn on his heels and come straight to you but he knew better. He knew you better than you knew yourself. If he shows up at that get-together you’ll avoid him like the plague. You’ll feel trapped by his presence and any hope that he has of fixing this situation will die right in front of his eyes.

His cautious nature is what’s keeping him on his bed. It’s what’s grounding him to this spot and sating the burning desire to chase you. The problem is that the fire in his chest is bigger than he can handle. He’s seen how you treat the men you want to avoid on campus, he’s seen you take the long way home just to avoid a conversation and the thought of you doing that to him makes him wilt. He can’t let that happen.

His feet are carrying him across his room before he can even fully process it. He opens his closet and pulls out the brown flannel along with his brown beanie. They’ve become comfort items for the both of you at this point, especially the flannel. It feels like a thread connecting you to him and him to you. He needs to save that connection.

He sloppily throws on the items while he checks the clock. He’s nearly two hours late but there’s still time.

Hyunjin has never gotten a speeding ticket but he was nearly positive that he’d get one tonight. He made it to Minho’s place in record time but he’s panting when he knocks on the door like he’s ran there. His heart is hammering when Isa answers the door and the look on her face when she takes him in only makes his heart beat faster.

She forces a smile, inviting him in and telling him where everything is but he already knows all of that and she knows that he does. “She doesn’t want to see me does she?” Isa sighs, giving him a look that answers each and every one of his questions all at once.

“Thanks for letting me in.” He walks past her with a nervous huff, making his way into the small party and searching for you immediately. He finds Changbin and Chan before he can find you and the two quickly drag him into a conversation about gods know what while wedging a glass bottle of mystery liquid into his fist.

Hyunjin’s eyes wander in an attempt to find you as he ignores his friends' conversation. Luckily it didn’t take long for the sound of your loud laughter to echo through the room. His eyes were on you in an instant once he heard it. You’re right in front of him sitting in the truth or dare circle with a can of something strong in your hand. You’re always the loudest in the room but right now you seem to be the drunkest too, you shouldn’t be playing that game you’ll do something reckless.

He wants to go over and pull you up, he wants to tell you that you’re going home and that you need to sober up. He wants to get you to talk to him but he ignores everything he wants and watches you instead. He stays cautious and keeps his distance.

“Y/n, truth or dare.” One of your few girl friends, Harvey asks from across the circle. You answer ‘dare’ with a wide smile, it’s no surprise, you always pick that. The raven haired girl looks over to Mingi for assistance since she’s known for picking terrible dares. After a couple seconds of deliberation the blonde perks up with an idea.

“I dare you to kiss whoever this bottle lands on.” Mingi dares with a nonchalant smile and you shrug, the alcohol in your system is surely boosting your confidence but it’s not like you’ll remember any of this tomorrow so who cares, right?

He spins the bottle in the middle of the circle and everyone watches with quiet anticipation as it lands on the copper haired boy sitting three people away from you. It’s Jeongin.

He stops in the middle of sipping from his cup and flashes you a small innocent smile but what you return to him is nothing less than a look of raw seduction. You’re on your feet in an instant, making your way over to him with low and hazy eyes. You straddle him swiftly, getting comfortable in his lap like you’ve done this a hundred times.

“You sure about this, noona?” His hands rest on your thighs, he brushes his thumbs over the bareskin and you can feel a shiver down your spine. It almost reminds you of how Hyunjin touched you on your birthday.

“Do you not wanna kiss me?” You tease him with a slight slur to your voice. You know he wants to kiss you, everyone does except for Hyunjin, right?

Just as that thought passes your eyes flicker up and meet those of the very man on your mind. He’s watching you with an angry gaze as he fists the neck of the glass bottle in his hand. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in, when did he get here? You feel stuck staring at him, everything around you is suddenly muted and the people around you disappear. It’s only you and Hyunjin.

Both of your hearts are pounding in your chest.

Both of you feel like you can’t breathe.

Both of you are about to do something that you shouldn’t.

“Kiss her already!” Ryujin instigates from across the circle and you snap out of your haze and blink down at Jeongin. You both share a smile, one more genuine than the other, before he’s leaning into you. His lips just barely brush against yours before you’re interrupted.

A firm grip on your shoulder startles you and the man under you. You both look up to meet the eyes of the angry Hyunjin above you.“Get up.” He practically growls with a slight tug on your arm. You stare up at him with glassy eyes though you are feeling a bit more sober now. “Get. Up.”

You’re being pulled up before you can process it. Your feet fight to keep up with him as you stumble towards the bedroom he’s leading you to. You can feel all eyes on you, you can feel the room getting smaller once he locks the bedroom door behind the two of you and pulls his flannel off to drape over your shoulders, something that he does to comfort you.

“What the fuck?” That’s all you can manage to get out of your mouth as you stare over at him. He stares back with his arms crossed and his chest rising and falling with what you perceive as anger but he would describe as anxiety. Pure fear.

“Do you understand what you were about to do?” Hyunjin tries to be mindful of his tone. He tries to limit the waver of his words and calm the frantic thoughts in his head. He’s trying. “Why would you kiss him?”

“I didn’t.” The alcohol in your system takes over again and you thank the ridiculous amount of soju you’ve consumed for coming to the rescue. You tug on the flannel resting over your shoulders, pretending that its warmth would protect you from the buzzing in your head and inevitable burning in your chest.

“You would’ve if I didn’t stop you. What happened to you not being into Jeongin? What happened to you not wanting to hurt him?”

You groan, stomping your foot like a child being scolded by their guardian. Like the little girl who punched the brunette boy in the face for chasing her. “Why don’t you mind your business?”

Hyunjin scoffs, his anxiety grows in his chest and he takes a step back. “You are my business.”

It’s silent for one, two, three heartbeats before the dizzying emotions burning in your chest fill in the silence for you. “Well maybe I shouldn’t be. You’re way too attached to me.”

Hyunjin feels frozen even though he’s stepping back from you. He’s creating more space between the two of you just like you seem to be doing. What do you mean by that? You’re rambling on before he can ask. “You do all of these things that make me feel like I can’t breathe. You call me pretty and you touch me softly and you hold me close and… and you just make me feel hot. You suffocate me.”

Hyunjin whispers through the bubbles forming in his throat. He’s gentle with the way he speaks, he is a cautious person after all, especially when it comes to his art. “Is this about what I said at the gallery?”

His question goes in one ear and right out the other. Your brain formulates words quicker than you can process them, creating a violent episode of word vomit that threatens to spill over your lips and onto the carpet but you swallow hard and condense it all into one simple yet seering sentence. “You keep making my heart race, it’s not fair. You need to go, just go.”

Hyunjin’s blood runs cold and his temples throb like you’ve hit him. Like you’ve punched him in the face. Anxiety bubbles in his veins and swells behind his eyes. It’s his turn to ramble, the word vomit seems to be contagious.

“I’m not leaving.” His gaze is frantic, cautious, scared. “I am too attached, you’re right. I have been for a while. I’ve loved you for a while and I tried to hide it but I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t be scared that I’ll lose my best friend if I tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“No, you are not confessing to me right now. Don’t you dare do that.” You pace to the left then the right in a hurried attempt to escape his words before they could reach you. He can’t be doing this right now. You needed to get out of here.

“I am. I am confessing to you. I need you to hear me say that I love you because I do and it scares me just as much as it scares you but you are the reason that it’s scaring me. Losing you is the reason that I’m afraid and I need you to tell me that that isn’t going to happen.” His voice is shaky just like your hands. He watches you like a dog being dropped off at the pound as you physically try to escape him. He knew this would happen, this is what he was afraid of.

“Stop. Just stop it, Hyunjin. You’re doing it again, I can’t breathe when you’re this close to me.” He stares over at you from the other side of the room and you stare back at him. This doesn’t make any sense. He isn’t next to you but you still can’t breathe. It doesn’t make any sense. “I have to go - I have - just… just leave me alone.” You turn towards the bedroom door but he speaks up before you can make your escape.

“I’m not going to chase you.” Hyunjin is unmoving. His feet are still planted to the floor like a statue as he slips his fists into his pocket. “I don’t want to push you further away but don’t you dare go home and convince yourself that I don’t care just because I let you go.”

You listen to him over your hammering heart with your back turned to him and your unsteady gaze trained on the worn door knob. “I’m letting you go with the hope that you’ll come back. You know where to find me.”

Your feet threaten to betray you, they try to turn you around and drive you over to him but your heart is screaming. That white flame is burning in your chest and begging you to run. Run as fast as you can and find safety, but your safety is standing behind you. It’s watching you with teary eyes that are desperate to meet yours.

A tear slips down your cheek as you grab the doorknob and pull it with a quick twist. You follow your heart and rush out of the room with tears decorating your face and your hand over your mouth. You let the burning win again.

You rush past everyone, Isa tries to stop you and Minho even catches you for a minute but you fight him off of you and make your way to the front door. You don’t get too far before the last layer of your resolve snaps, You turn onto the next dark block and sink to the ground. Sobs rip through you as Hyunjin’s words hang in your head. He loves you. He wants you but you left him. You left everything you’ve ever wanted behind you.

A heavier sob escapes you as the truth of it all comes crashing down. You love him too, don’t you? You’ve loved him for so long. Since your birthday and beyond that but you’ve been avoiding it. You’ve avoided your feelings just like you have everything else. You’ve punched yourself in the face, you’ve chased yourself into a corner and now you might just lose everything you have left. You might lose your best friend.

The storms over the next two days swirl the skies into mysterious clouds of pink and white as rain soaks the grass the same way that you’ve soaked your pillow for hours. You’ve opted to stay in, avoiding anything or anyone that could remind you of Friday’s catastrophe.

You’ve debated texting Jeongin and apologizing for what you remember of the situation. You almost called Isa to spill the fears bubbling in your lungs to her so that she could help you sort through them but she can’t. This is up to you. You need to make a choice. Will you run away from the fire or towards it?

On the other side of campus Hyunjin sits in the abandoned studio with paint stained hands and dried tears on his cheeks. He’s left his previous painting incomplete. The bright blushing rose sits across the room with the others just like it while he touches his brush to the canvas and smears a smoky mauve to the pristine white flesh. His lines are messy and uncalculated. Far from cautious.

For a moment he considers that he was only ever careful because of you. Your lack of control over your emotions inspired him to fill in the blanks for you. Now there’s no need for caution without you.

The rain carried into Monday along with the emptiness in your chest. You’ve typed and deleted paragraphs to Hyunjin who has done the same as he sat on the studio floor.

He stayed in the dusty room until midnight each day that he was without you and you stayed up well past then. He poured himself into painting and you poured yourself onto the carpet of your dorm room. You made lists and mapped your emotions until it all started to make a bit more sense. Until the love that burned alongside your hot white fear was glowing pink in the mirror.

You skipped your classes on Monday, your feet drove you over to the dead side of campus through the violent rain. You stood in the hallway outside of Hyunjin’s studio. The worn copper doorknob stared back at you like it knew what you were here to do. Like it was daring you to go inside. You suck in a breath as you grab the metal, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

The studio is empty when you walk inside. The fading warm light of the lamps that you and Hyunjin bought and snuck in illuminate the space the best that they can given the dull pink skies. Your eyes catch on the new piece sitting up on his easel. It’s dark and runny, it’s raw and it feels like it’s calling your name.

“Hi.” Hyunjin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. His voice is small and surprised as he stares over at your frame clad in that famous brown flannel and sweatpants.

“Hi.” You whisper back. He looks like a mess. Brown hat, pulled too far over his head and his hair spilling from every exit it can find. “More roses?”

He stares passed you and over at the wilting petals on the canvas with a sad smile. “It’s like I’m in love or something.”

Your guilt tinged heart beats a bit faster when he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. He drops his bag next to the door and stares at the dinghy tile with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. For everything, for the party and everything with your brother and for everything that I said.”

The word vomit is back. It spilled over your lips before you could attempt to swallow it back but you’re almost thankful for it. You have no clue how you’d get your words out otherwise. “You just made me feel… I just felt..” You kick at the cracked tile as if it holds the answers you’re looking for but Hyunjin beats you to it.

“Suffocated.” His eyes are on you now, they’re low and shadowed in a longing sadness. “I’ve seen this happen a million times to other guys and I thought that I was being careful enough to avoid it.”

“This is nothing like the other guys.” Your bag slumps off of your shoulder and you carelessly allow it to hit the floor. “Your confession just -” He cuts you off with a tight smile.

“I know. It ruined everything.” He sighs, sad eyes examining the space between the two of you. “I ruined everything and I’m sorry for that, rose. I really am.”

“It didn't. It didn’t ruin anything, it just scared me. I felt suffocated, yes, but not by you. It was by what I felt for you. That’s why this isn’t like what happened with any of the other guys. I never wanted them. Avoiding them was easy but you… avoiding you..” Hyunjin watches your heaving chest with the caution that he thought had abandoned him. He’s quiet, allowing you time to gather your thoughts. He doesn’t want to corner you, he just wants to hear you.

“Why do you call me that?” You whisper once your breathing has steadied. “Why did you start calling me rose?”

Suddenly he’s looking past you then down at the tile under his feet. He leans against the door behind him, a faint smile decorating his sad face. “You were wearing one in your hair on the day that I realized I love you.” He looks over to where his easel is set up. “We were sitting right there and you had a pale pink rose behind your left ear. You picked me one to match and I told you that it was my favorite flower because in that moment it was. It was beautiful but you…your beauty is hard to beat.”

Your heart is thumping in your ears, it’s a sound that you’ve grown comfortable with over the past few days. The clutter of the abandoned room almost seems to disappear as you process his words. The burning in your chest makes itself known along with the newly identified pink flame. The white walls of the studio almost seem brighter as you receive Hyunjin’s confession. You let it sink in and drown out the tension little by little. “So when you paint them…”

“I’m painting you. I’m always painting you.” The thumping is deafening but Hyunjin is clear over the noise. He has always been the only one who can cut through it all, even in your dreams.

You can feel yourself falling just like in your nightmare only it’s forwards. You’re falling forwards as your feet carry you to him. You run. You run to him and you fall into his arms that have been desperate to catch you for months. The burn in your chest is paralyzing, it’s seering and fighting the pink flame for dominance.

You cry into his chest, you sob as the pain of running into the fire engulfs you. It swallows you whole and you stand in it with him, you cling to him before you burn to ash and he holds you like he knows it all. He cradles the back of your head like he can feel the fire ripping your flesh apart.

You’re flush against him, tears soaking his shoulder and burning all over until he does what no one has done before. He puts it all out. A simple kiss to the top of your head dowses the flame and reduces it to a measly spark of fear overshadowed by an uncontainable pink and white glow of love in your chest.

You gasp at the cooling effect. Air rushes into your lungs and you can finally breathe, he’s the oxygen you needed. He’s everything you’ve needed but now you want to give your air away again. You want to give it all to him.

You pull away from his shoulder in one swift motion, your eyes are shut tight as your lips find his and you pull him into a hard and messy kiss. The sound that escapes you both is desperate and beautiful. His lips move with yours in an uncoordinated rhythm that makes your lungs burn comfortably. They burn the way that they’re supposed to.

Hyunjin cries into the kiss. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cradles you against him like you’d vanish if he didn’t. He drinks it all in, he allows himself to live in this moment that he’s been dying to have with you for what feels like an eternity before he reluctantly breaks the kiss.

His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He whispers to you, careful not to crack the shell of this delicate moment. “I thought you -”

“I don’t want to keep running. I can’t, I need you. I can’t lose you.” Your eyes flutter open at the same time as his. He stares down at you with that smile in his eyes. That smile he has when he sees something beautiful, when he’s utterly enamored by the sight before him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do any of this, I only know that I want to do it with you.”

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds before a smile sneaks up on him. It fades just as quickly as it came and his eyebrows pinch together. “You want me?” You nod and the smile shows itself again.

“I want you.” He leans back in, cupping your cheek as he kisses you hard. His body pushes against yours and you move with him as he walks backwards towards one of the few empty desks and lifts you onto it.

His hands explore every inch of you that he can reach. He balls his fist over the baggy flannel hiding your body from him while your fingers tangle in his hair and scratch over his shoulders and up his arms.

He breaks the kiss to run his lips over the flushed flesh of your neck, he whispers into your skin between each kiss “Tell me to stop.” He pulls at the collar of the flannel to kiss the curve of your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this, please tell me to stop. Tell me to wait.”

You push his head further into the crook of your neck as you tilt your head further to give him better access. “I don’t want you to.” He sucks a mark into the skin right below your ear and you pull his tucked in shirt from his pants with an elated moan.

His clumsy fingers fight to unbutton the oversized flannel as yours attempt to unbutton his jeans. You reach your goal before he does and waste no time capitalizing on your victory. You dip your hand in just enough to fish his growing erection from his briefs and wrap your hand around it.

Hyunjin moans at the stimulation, leaning his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. “Fuck, please don’t, I wont - I can’t last.”

You kiss his temple softly, whispering reassurance that you don’t care to have him last, you just want to have him. Once he’s centered himself again he continues his struggle to expose your body to him. The final button falls open like the curtain to a play and he stares down your scantily clad torso like an audience in awe.

His hand moves on its own as he admires you. It dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and swipes over your clothed clit.

Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder with a quiet moan as he groans into the air. Your grip on his cock tightens a bit in response to the sensation and he hisses. “Please tell me I can feel you. Is it okay? Can I?”

He doesn't want your first time to be here but he wants you. He needs you.

Hyunjin hooks a finger into the damp gusset of your panties and pulls it to the side just enough to slip a finger into your waiting cunt. You pant in his ear, wanton moans bubble over the brim of your lips as his free hand cradles the side of your neck. “Look at me, please look at me, baby.”

He runs his thumb over your cheek, brushing over the path of your dried tears. “So pretty, this must be a dream.” You shake your head. Speaking between moans. “Not a dream, baby.”

He slips in another finger as you circle your palm over the head of his cock and you both moan. “Please tell me I can.” He leans his forehead against yours, his desperate eyes reflect the look in your own.

“You can. Please, I want you to.”

“Have you ever thought about it?” He’s asking before he can process it and you’re shaking your head before he can even finish his sentence. A shy glaze washes over your desperate gaze as you watch him undress you.

“You’re all I ever think about.” He whispers as he hooks his thumbs into the band of your pants. “You’re all I’ve wanted for the past year.”

“I’ve loved you since my birthday.” You blurt out, vulnerable eyes peering into his. “Maybe even before that.” He runs a finger over your clothed cunt and you shudder under the touch.

“I wanted to kiss you the night of your birthday. You looked so beautiful but you were wasted. You wouldn’t have remembered. I just stared at you, I took your make-up off and I brushed the hair from your face and you stared back at me. I was just dying to kiss you. I was dying to confess.” Your hand runs slowly up his shaft and he swears that he feels electric.

“I wanted to kiss you too.” He’s quiet, staring back at you with a smile. “That’s why I was staring”

“I kissed your forehead when you fell asleep.” He pulls your panties down your legs, allowing them to pool at his feet with your sweatpants. “I knelt by your bed and whispered my confession to you.”

His fingers are filling you again and you gasp while staring into his eyes. “I wanna hear it.” You whisper through a moan.

“You want to hear my confession?” You nod, your gently fucked out gaze stares into his like your hypnotized by the moment. He scissors his finger into you, stretching you out just a bit before you’re gasping from the stretch of him replacing his fingers with his length.

“Fuck, you’re inside of me.” Hyunjin stills with a groan. His forehead rests on your shoulder while he silently begs himself not to come undone just yet. He sucks in a breath before he recites all that he can remember.

“You’re everything that I thought it would be to fall in love.” He whispers as he pulls back, thrusting into you slowly. “You really snuck up on me, I don’t know what I expected though.” He lifts his head to look at you as he sinks back into you. “You became my world so quickly. So effortlessly.”

You cup his face with both of your hands as you bite back your moans. You want to hear him loud and clear. You want to remember every word. “I should’ve known that I’d fall in love when I first met you.” He picks up the pace, falling into a messy rhythm that’s accompanied by a fit of moans and grunts.

He struggles to keep his eyes on you. They flutter shut with each thrust as he feels himself float closer and closer to his climax. “Baby, I won’t last.” You wrap your arms around his neck and one of his wraps around your waist while the other rests on your thigh before creeping over to softly pinch and rub your clit.

“Hyune, you’re gonna make me - gonna -” He cuts you off with a sloppy kiss, his tongue brushes over your parted lips to request access before making room for itself against yours.

“If you tell me that you’re gonna cum I won’t last another second.” He whispers against your lips and you moan against his.

“What if I tell you that I love you.” Hyunjin’s eyebrows pinch at the confession. That’s way worse than telling him that you’re close. “I’ve loved you back for as long as - as long as you’ve loved me.”

“Rose, baby, you’re gonna -” It’s your turn to kiss him now, it’s a mess of teeth and tongue but you love it. You love him and him you.

You both pull away in tandem, twin moans ripping through your chests as you both announce yourself to the other.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Hyunjin pulls out of you, painting your thighs in his sticky white release while his fingers toy with your clit to ride you through your orgasm. It’s loud and messy and beautiful. A romantic elegance that you want to live in for as long as it’s available.

Once you’ve both come down from your high Hyunjin kisses your sweaty forehead and you kiss his. He pulls his bottoms up before grabbing the cleanest paint rag he has to clean you up. A comfortable silence settles around you as you ground yourself and take in the space.

“You didn’t finish that one.”

He follows your gaze over to the painting of the pale pink rose. The middle of the canvas contrasts the rest with nothing but dull line art to show the completed picture. It looks like a work in progress. “I know, but I think I like it like that.” He looks back over at you and you at him.

“It looks like you."

It’s been seven months. Graduation has come and gone in the middle of your blooming relationship with Hyunjin and you’ve dedicated each and every second of your budding love to taming the flame.

Each kiss from him has kept the spark of fear at bay and each touch has taught you how to stop running. It’s been a slow and cautious process that he is more than proud to be a part of. He takes pride in it. He takes pride in being with you.

The smooth breeze of late summer brushes against your skin as you step out of your car. The white dress that Hyunjin picked out for you sticks to you like paint on a canvas as you make your way up to the art gallery.

It’s buzzing inside, people stand and stare in awe at each piece while whispering and pointing to their favorite details. You stop and stand in the middle of it all, taking it all in with a slow spin on the balls of your feet. You take in every corner until you turn around completely and you’re met with the face of the artist himself.

“Hi.” Hyunjin smiles down at you, brown baggy flannel hanging from his shoulders.

“Hi.” You stare back at him with a gleaming smile in your eyes. You take in every inch of him, scanning him like he should be framed and hanging on the walls around you.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Hyunjin wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I like staring at you.” Your response makes him beam a shy smile.

“You should be staring at the art. The artist might get sad if you don’t.” He kisses your forehead before letting you go. Some people around you stare over at the two of you with curious eyes. They’re eager to put a face to the muse of the showing artist.

You take his hand and lead him over to the piece that a couple is walking away from. You stand in front of it hand in hand as you study it for what feels like the millionth time. “This one is my favorite.” The incomplete pale pink rose stares back at you.

“And why is that?” Hyunjin has that smile in his eyes as he stares up with you. The memory of this piece's origin plays behind his eyes like a memorized movie.

“I’ve been told that it looks like me.” You lay your head on his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. A chill runs up his spine and he blames it on you. You and the love he feels glowing pink and white around you.

“There you are.” History repeats itself as the lady that you’ve come to know as Dalia interrupts the two of you. “I wanted to check in with you, how does it feel to finally have your own exhibition?”

Hyunjin smiles at her politely, turning towards her a bit with his fingers still threaded through yours. “It’s amazing. Thank you, you’ve done a wonderful job putting this together.”

“Oh, please, it’s nothing. This is all you.” You watch her as her eyes smile just as they always have. Her hand brushes over his arm in a carefully calculated move. She’s still shameless and unprofessional. “This piece is my favorite. The unfinished look is unique and raw. What inspired this one?”

You grin to yourself as you listen to her. She’s trying so hard that it’s difficult not to laugh.

“Actually.” Hyunjin pulls your hand a bit, leading you forward so that you’re right next to him. It’s impossible for Dalia to ignore you now. Her eyes scan you reluctantly and the smile on her face falters for a second before she pulls it together. Gosh, that's gratifying.

“My lovely rose here is the inspiration for it all.” Hyunjin looks over at you with a glow that is unmatched even by the largest of flames. “None of this would be possible without her.”

It’s like Dalia disappears once Hyunjin looks over at you. You’re the only two in the room as far as you’re concerned. “Oh, well that’s just - that’s wonderful.” Her staggered speech pulls you both out of your loving haze.

“Such a … sweet profession of love.” She glares over at you though you’re sure that in her head she’s doing a wonderful job at hiding her contempt. “I should make sure that everything is running smoothly. Please excuse me.”

She clears her throat awkwardly before she departs, you and Hyunjin both bid her smiling farewells before turning to each other with wide smiles. “Show off.” You push his shoulder playfully and he laughs.

“I didn’t do anything.” You roll your eyes as you both wander over to the next piece on the wall. You stare up at the two pink roses in a lone vase, a shadow of sunlight casts down on them both as they rise towards its shining glow.

A comfortable silence blankets the two of you while you listen to the soft buzz of the people around you. You squeeze his hand softly and he squeezes back just as you open your mouth to speak.

“She still wants to fuck you.” He smiles

“Shut up.”

Thank you for reading! I'd love to know what you thought about this fic! Leave a comment or send an ask to let me know! ❣️

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

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yellowocaballero · 8 days ago

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There's a genre of post that I see pretty frequently, which can overall be summed up as, "Modern fandom has a culture problem where fanfic authors are treated as content producers instead of community members and their fanfic is treated as a commodity to be consumed instead of a high-effort labor of love that deserves attention and compliments given directly to the author". I agree with 3/4ths of that. I find the part I disagree with very interesting, the same way I find a lot of writeblr interesting, because it's a perspective that I had to work very hard to actually understand.

Because the posts have such a warped view of what writing is and why we post our writing! They say that fanfic fights against the commodified internet we live in, but all they're doing is changing the currency of payment in this attention economy. Another way you can summarize about 70% of these posts is, "My payment for writing and posting my fanfiction is compliments, and if you do not give me those compliments you are not paying. If you give those compliments behind my back, or talk about them privately without giving them to me as well, then you are stealing from me." I don't want to put it like that, but a lot of these posts use words like 'deprive', as if the reader who enjoys the fic without commenting is withholding something from them that they deserve. They use the word engagement, and they do talk about how part of that engagement is just the joy of talking about AUs and ships with other people, but when people say that comments are their motivation to keep writing, what they mean is that validation is their motivation to keep writing. Which is compliments.

I understand that, because I understand that fanfic writers are not immune to the attention economy. But I don't understand how almost every one of these posts talk about how this lack of attention makes them stop writing - that this act of theft is killing their desire to write. I could understand this if they meant 'desire to POST fic' (I don't post fic I think zero people would read.), but they talk about how lack of payment stops them from writing at all.

IMHO, that is what creates a commodity from fic. People want to treat fic as art, but an artist makes art for themself. Art is made because we want to hold parts of skills and ourselves in our hands. If you won't make art if you get no payment, then you have devalued the art completely.

We think of AO3 as this unique site that's born entirely from passion and is filled with fics written for love of the game. But guilt-tripping posts that shame people for not commenting on a fic they enjoy, and that describe how there's no point in writing fic if it's not getting attention, are directly contributing towards the culture of treating fic like a commodity.

I also really want a fandom culture where the relationship between artist and reader is reciprocal, where it feels like a community, and where I get to talk about my fanfic with people. My favorite part of posting fanfic is rambling about it on my blog, because I can talk about my art all day and I love it when people stop and listen. But I love that because I love my own art. If you love your own art, then it'll always have value.

Also Google your username, just trust me, that's how you find The Secret Discussions. Someone made a TikTok fansong of me once. WHAT?

#ftr wanting comments bc you're a newbie writer and you want reassurance that your fic doesn't suck is #the most normal and reasonable thing alive and everybody feels that way #im not saying it's bad to want comments. everybody wants comments. i want comments.#but i disagree with saying that people who don't comment are Killing Fandom America #i get that we want to build a healthy community and culture but a culture that focuses on making everybody fall in line #with the way they think things should be #isnt a community i want to be a part of

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neowinestainedress · 4 months ago

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wave | lee donghyuck

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, mentioned weed consumption, alcohol use, fingering, oral (receiving), unprotected sex, public sex, jealous sex, bickering, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 22.4k (out of 42k)

a/n: finally i’m back! i started this fic more than a year ago so seeing it finally come to life means everything to me. i had so much fun writing it, so i hope you’ll love it too. please, let me know with comments, reblogs (that also help reach more people), or anon. i love knowing what you think. enjoy! also if there are formatting mistakes please let me know cause i’ve been having problems posting this and i copied it without editing it once again.

masterpost (with visuals and playlist) (i can’t post the link or else the post doesn’t show up in the tags, but you can find it on my profile)

Being number one in your academy isn’t a want, but a need.

You didn’t spend your entire life crafting your skills and splitting yourself between the books and the training room for all of that to be swept under the rug when you finally made it to your dream university; Neo Arts Academy.

Surely, with the prizes promised to those on top, you aren’t the only one with that racing passion to drive you through each day. Tons of people try their best, and even put their health at risk to reach the biggest success, but you manage to focus on yourself and keep your life in a pretty healthy balance.

You managed to focus on you… until something, well, somebody, started to come into your way.

Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, his stage name —if he ever made it big in the industry he wanted to be already known.

You never paid him much attention. Honestly, you never paid attention to anybody, your only goal was to take care of your small garden and top everybody else, but when his competitiveness got the best of him, you just couldn’t push him in the back of your mind.

Apparently, his goals are the same as yours, and that isn’t a nice thing considering how competitive your world is. You first truly glanced at him during a songwriting lesson, when he huffed a bit too loudly behind you while he announced to his friend, probably named Mark, that he sucked at writing songs. However, you only chuckled mindlessly that time and went on with your day.

That was your first year there and everything went fine. Then the second year arrived and you applied for your minor degree in dance and that was when Donghyuck’s presence started to be louder. You had nothing against him, but you quickly learned he couldn’t stand you for some reason. Rumours were quick at flying around, being passed from mouth to ear and you knew them.

You simply couldn’t care.

Yet.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. He could never do that. After all, he doesn’t even know you. But he does know something about you. He knows your name, and how it is always on top of his in any ranking. He knows you will always win the contests he wants to win so badly. He knows you are good at theory and practice. He knows he just can’t win with you.

He also knows nothing can touch you. Not because you are unreachable and believe you’re superior to others. Actually, you are very modest about all your academic success, but you always walk straight on your road with the goal perfectly in the line of view.

Haechan doesn’t hate you. Though, lately, he has a strange feeling in his body every time he sits at his desk to study and his only motivation is to surpass you. Nothing different than the first months there, he got pretty soon you were going to be a tough but nice competitor, but fuck he never imagined you would be so hard to beat. Now that after a year he never won or got the top grade and always came second after you, you aren’t motivating him, you are driving him insane.

He doesn’t have many distractions, but he has friends, some hobbies outside of university, and even a part-time job. But you? Is there something that is distracting you? Is there anything that could distract you? He has no idea, not now that he is watching you walk into the room, ready for the classical ballet history class —yes, of course out of all the minors, you had to choose his— and sit a few rows in front of him, all alone as always, taking out your lilac book note and your pen.

Haechan has no idea, but he is going to find out something that can easily distract you and push out of your path.

You know people think of university as a moment to socialise, but being on your own has never been a problem for you. You have contacts with some of your hometown friends, and most importantly, you don’t mind doing things alone; you can go to the cinema when you want, you can pick whatever restaurant you like, you can take a walk, or stay at home.

You’ve always been comfortable in your bubble, and you’d like to keep it that way, but life has strange plans.

“Damn, always on a rush.” You recognize Haechan’s voice, but you don’t bother turning around because you’re sure he’s not addressing you. You think it’s weird he’s sitting next to you, but you blink the surprise away and grab your tablet from your bag. “Whoever put music theory at 8:30 in the morning on a Monday needs to go to jail.”

You chuckle at his comment, subtly rolling your eyes before opening the note app to go where you left it in the previous lesson.

“You write a lot.” This time you’re quite sure he’s talking to you, so your neck turns to look at him and you find him closer than you’d like him to be.

“I annotate, it’s just the essentials.”

He scans the notes quickly before scoffing. “The essentials? I don’t write as half as that.”

“Well, I think this is essential, but we all work differently,” while you’re answering him, you don’t even notice that his friend is not beside him, and you get lost in him for a second, mostly in the scent that’s filling your nostrils now that his brown jacket is so close to you.

“The professor talks too fast, how the fu— how do you get everything?” He stops himself from cursing and backs away, finally making you breathe some air that is not filled with his intoxicating perfume.

“I rewrite phrases. And, to be sure, I record the lessons, so I can re-listen to them in case something doesn’t make sense when I study them. And then I also re-write the not—”

“You record the lessons?” He almost snarls with his eyes bulging out of his skull as he, once again, stands too close to you.

“Is it illegal?” Your head tilts to the side as genuine curiosity blooms on your face.

“No, it’s… it’s…” he sighs, throwing his head back and cursing something under his breath in a tight dialect you don’t recognize. “I never thought about it.”

“Oh, well, it helps me a lot. Sometimes when I’m too tired to read I just play the lessons and memorize stuff while I do other things,” you smile, moving your hair to one side of your neck before grabbing the pen when the professor walks in. “You should try.”

“Oh, you can be sure I will.”

Haechan can’t be so stupid. He can’t believe he can be so stupid. Why didn’t he ever, ever, think about that? That’s a smart idea, better than crying and cursing when he tries to understand what he wrote down on paper when he revisits the notes, or asking Mark if he wrote some phrases he had marked down with several question marks or dots to fill —dots that he never fills.

But he’s still sure he can’t be a terrible student, he had always been on top of his classes, always aced them and his study method worked… but what if yours worked better? Given the results of the past year, and the start of this one, the answer is clear: yours do work better.

But he doesn’t think that it’s the only reason you are beating him in everything. What if you have other tricks?

Haechan is going to find out.

You always believed your only competition was yourself. You never liked to engage with other people and fight them or fear them. But Haechan had given you no choice.

It was an open threat at you when he purposefully told you a different day to turn in an assignment when you were sick, you had no choice but to fight back.

That was when Haechan truly became your rival. He had always been, you two were always at the top, fighting for the first place and the big prizes, but now it was a matter of pride.

Haechan had officially made it on top of your blacklist, at least he could arrive number one in something, not like there was a big competition to be in there, in fact, you didn’t even have one before he pushed your last nerve.

Fucking it up with you wasn’t Haechan’s plan, he wanted to befriend you and trick you into giving him some magic tricks, but things went… wrong. With Mark by his side, it was impossible to sit next to you. During songwriting you got up and sat on another seat in the middle of the lesson with the excuse of ‘not seeing from afar’, and he couldn’t approach you in any other circumstances. So, when you got sick for three days, he thought he could, for once, steal your spotlight.

He wasn’t sure you were sick, but he was sure enough you weren’t going to miss lessons days to study or work on projects; you never needed extra time, unfortunately, he knew it well. So the only thing that could lock you in your place was an illness of some kind. He did feel bad when you came back four days later and asked him if you missed something, he could see you still weren’t at your best, and he could’ve tried his luck by telling you the truth, hoping that the precarious state you were in was going to make you come up with a terrible essay on an instrument of the 18th century, but his eagerness got the best of him, and he lied.

So he had officially screwed his plan of getting closer to you.

“You are an asshole,” you scream, slamming the books in front of him on the table in the garden, not caring about his friends staring at you in shock. “And don’t look at me with that face of ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ because you know what I’m referring to.”

“I don’t, though…” he whispers, trying to keep a distance between you because you look scary —half bent on the table, furrowed forehead, pointing finger— and he thinks you are very motivated to reach over his neckline and strangle him.

You roll your eyes, groaning in annoyance. “You told me Professor Kim left an essay for Monday, I thought I could use the weekend to do an amazing job and he called me to his office because I was three days late.”

Haechan gulps, and the table goes silent, you feel his friends’ gazes on you but they are the last thing in your mind.

“Mind to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it on purpose?”

“You have to ask me if you are an asshole because your mother didn’t put a brain in your skull?”

“Hey, take it back!” He warns with a pointing finger, glaring at you.

“No,” you retort, crossing your arms on your chest and standing up straight. “You sabotaged me.”

“You are making things up. Maybe you should be in the creative writing major,” Haechan taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.

You gasp offended, clenching your fists to avoid wrapping your hands around his neck. “You — you — ugh,” you huff. “This paper was graded! And you knew it, it’s part of the mid-course work he adds to our final grade. Why would you do that to me?”

“You think I did that on purpose?”

“When did you turn it in?” You ask and when his eyes widen you scream at his face. “See! You turned it on time. I fucking hate you!”

“I didn’t answer,” he tries to defend, a challenging edge in his voice, getting to your nerves more than the look on his face.

“First of all, I can see it in your face. You’re trying to look surprised and even scared, but you’re having the time of your life because, guess what, you can’t surpass me if you don’t play your stupid games.”

He snorts offended, gulping before leaning closer. “You think I can’t beat you?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the rankings say, it’s what our professors say, and it’s what all the external opportunities I’ve got say. But if you want to try to prove facts wrong, bring it on,” you shrug, grabbing your things and taking a step back. “No more dirty games from now on, Lee Donghyuck. Trust me, you don’t want me to start playing them too, you might not even see the top three if I do.”

The months to come are fire. You should keep minding your business but as soon as he opens his mouth in class you can’t press your lips together and fake it. You try, every time, but you fail.

“I just mean that the melody is what attracts people,” he argues during a discussion in the songwriting class.

You huff, shaking your head. “People care about the lyrics more.”

He scoffs loudly and the professor glares at him for the reaction but he still goes on. “People won’t listen to a song if the production sucks.”

You turn around, eyebrows pressed in a furrow. “And they won’t listen to a song if the lyrics are dumb, or tell a bad message.”

“Really? Catchy pop music is a thing even if you want so badly to maintain the purity of the art of music with only lyrical depth.”

“I love catchy pop songs, but there’s something objective in music and something subjective, if you paid attention to any of our classes you should know, right?”

The class holds back a laugh and the professor coughs, making you utter an apologize, more addressed to her than your enemy.

“Oh, trust me, I paid attention to class,” he retorts, mockingly smiling at you. “And we’re not talking about the quality but the appeal. People remember the rhythm of the song or the tune more than they remember the words.”

“And words can hold so much meaning for someone they will stick to them forever. Also, lyrics can have different interpretations and if you’re a good writer you can make one song fit for more occasions.”

“That’s dumb,” he says, looking at you up and down after scoffing. “Notes can transfer different emotions, what you said just doesn’t make sense, please.”

“Can we tone it down?” Professor Park warns, glaring at the both of you.

You nod and mutter another apology before speaking up again, “I believe that a good melody can easily attract people at first listen, but if we talk about the long run, a memorable song also needs good lyrics. And Mariah Carey herself said how being a songwriter makes your career last more, so I think it’s telling coming from one of the best voices ever.”

“I think you both make a great point,” the professor cuts the conversation off before you can jump at each other’s throat again. “It would be interesting to make a deeper analysis and maybe break down songs and compare data over time. If it was possible to keep the decorum…” she whispers the last word and you want to disappear because you hate the scene you gave. “But we need to move on with our lesson, so, as I was saying…”

Out of all the heated discussions you had in class, the one about the importance of production and lyrics, led to your worst nightmare, working on a project with him. Professor Park was so nice to pair you together because she wanted to see how your different points of view would’ve worked in the song you had to write and produce and even if you smiled and said, ‘it will be really motivating,’ to avoid yelling at her face, now you want to die.

You’re sure the first two knocks on the door don’t even reach the other side; your hits are too weak and the small apartment in that complex is too loud for anyone to hear. Is this the environment you have to work in today?

You roll your eyes and knock again, this time making sure it’s impossible for them not to hear you. You wait there only for a few seconds and then the door opens, revealing a boy your age you can’t remember.

“Oh, hi,” he cheers, big toothy smile beaming at you. “You must be here for Hyuck, right?”

You hum, nodding and murmuring, “Yes, I have to work on a project with Haechan.”

“Come in.”

You step inside the house and look around briefly before your eyes fall on the table in the small living room; there are books everywhere, headphones on the ground, boxes of food and empty water bottles, and most importantly talks too loud for four boys that were supposedly studying.

“Mark, can you lower the music?”

“Music is what I’m studying, I can’t,” the man you know well replies. “Why don’t you keep your pencil close to you? Jesus, there’s graphite everywhere.”

“You’re so annoying, I can’t go in my room, Jeno still didn’t take down the light boxes,” the brown-haired replies, sending a death glare to the boy at his side who quickly replies to his defence.

“Hey, I finished shooting half an hour ago and now I have an essay to write, leave me alone.”

“They’re entertaining, aren’t they?” Haechan’s voice brings you out of the haze of his bickering friends, their conversation fades in the background while your anger level rises just seeing his face when you turn around.

“Surely more entertaining than you,” you retort before taking a step forward, pretending to know where to go in that house.

Haechan rolls his eyes, thanking his friend who opened the door —Jaemin— and coming next to you. “You don’t know where my room is yet, so if you’d like to follow me.”

You trail behind him, waving at the men around the table but it’s clear that none of them even noticed your presence. Luckily for you, Donghyuck’s room is at the end of the corridor and the mess that goes down in the other room is not hearable enough to make your day a living hell.

“So, do you have anything in mind?” He asks after you sit at one of the chairs at his desk.

You shake your head, fixing your skirt and pulling out some things you might need from your bag. “Wanted to hear from you first. Since the melody is so crucial, we should start from that,” you mock in a fake-sweet tone, and you feel his glare on your skin.

“You truly are a pain in the ass, you know?” He scoffs, moving his hair out of his face, gaze fixed on you.

“And for what? Because I agreed with your theory?”

“If you have a melody in mind it’s easier to make the words flow.”

“If the melody has nothing to do with the idea, you only have some notes and not a song.”

Now that there aren’t rows of chairs dividing you, the heated argument has led you face to face, literally. And you feel your heart pound in your chest from the anger and, also because it’s weird to be this close to a stranger you can’t stand.

“Okay, Miss Taylor Swift, why don’t you enlighten me and show me what you got?”

You glare at him but he’s unfazed, holding the eye contact proudly. “My lyrics will be better than your production.”

“And are those lyrics in the room with us?”

“God,” you groan, throwing your hands in the air and your head back. “You drive me insane.”

“And you are pretentious and still never prove all the things that that little, bratty, annoying mouth of yours says.”

Deep creases show on your forehead, and you have to turn around because if you see his face for a second more you will slap him. But you want this project done, you have four weeks to turn it in, but you want this torture to be over as soon as possible, so you know you have to put the pettiness aside.

“If we want a great result and good grades, we need good lyrics and a good melody,” you say, calmly facing him again, slowly watching as his face softens. “My words and your production. I don’t care what comes to us first, if you think it can be useful, we could even brainstorm some tunes and catchphrases and then build it around it.”

“Now you’re making some sense,” he exclaims, smiling widely before patting the top of your head. “So that head is not empty.”

“Oh, seriously? I’m trying to have a truce, and you fuck it all up again?”

“No, sorry, I just think you’re really smart when it comes to college but a bit annoying when it comes to life.”

“You’re just mad you can’t beat me.”

“I can,” he retorts smugly.

“Then why don’t you do it?” You tease, cocking your head to the side.

Haechan scoffs, lips twitching in a quick smirk before he wets them. “I didn’t yet, but are you so sure I won’t?” He whispers, breath colliding with your lips and nose brushing yours, your brain doesn’t even register his hands on your legs right away, only when his fingers caress your bare skin right above the hem you wake up from the haze of having him so close.

“Time will — time will prove us,” you say, turning to the desk and scratching your neck. “Time will tell us, not prove us.”

Haechan snickers, moving closer to see on your tablet where you opened the notes, and smiles smugly. He thinks he found a way to distract you.

The project isn’t done in the first week, and to put a cherry on top, Professor Park decides to make it the big project for the end of the class, adding a cover for the single, a plan to sponsor it, and, if someone feels brave enough, even to record it. Even if you wanted to, a thing this big, and now with so much weight on the final grade, can’t be done in one week.

Yet, you think you’ll have to deal with Haechan only on your weekly meet-ups for that project and during lessons, you never imagined you would have to deal with him even during your library study on Wednesday.

“Why are you studying in the middle of the week?”

“You know, if I had to replicate a sound every time we start a conversation it would be ‘and now, I just want to sit back and relax and enjoy my evening, when all of a sudden I hear this agitating grating voice,’ and that is the sound that plays in my mind, actually.”

“Grating? Really?”

“Well, it’s the quote but it fits,” you reply sternly, bringing your attention back to the book. “Also, the question is not, why am I studying, but why aren’t you? How will you beat me if you don’t?” You wink, laughing under your breath. You don’t even need to see his reaction; you know his jaw tenses and his nostrils flare for a brief second every time you tease him.

You hear the chair in front of you scratch on the floor, and deeply hope he’s not sitting on it. But Haechan is sitting on it, staring at you as if he could steal the information from your brain and pass it to his.

“I am studying.”

“No, you’re not,” you reply, eyes widening when he rips a page from your notebook and a pen from your case. “So, what have you learned since now?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes to the sky and instead run a hand on your face while sighing deeply. There’s just no way to get rid of him, right?

“You don’t even know what I’m studying.”

“Sound design,” he replies promptly, and you look down to see if he could’ve gotten a grasp from your books but there’s a paper on it and there’s not much written on it. Haechan smiles and moves to the chair next to you. “It’s because I started it too, there are too many notions, it would be a suicide to wait for the finals.”

“Oh, so you do something else other than think about me,” you tease, nudging him with your leg.

“Hey! I don’t think about you,” he replies firmly, frowning.

“Sure,” you huff, waving him off. “So, what do you know?”

“Well, all the basis we learnt last year, so the definition of sound, the path it follows, how it’s perceived based on the medium and how fast it travels through them, slowest through gases, faster through liquids, and fastest through solids, and that temperature effects it as well.”

You smile, content with the reply but you want to test him more. “What about the five characteristics of sound?”

“You think that’s a difficult one?” He asks, almost disappointed at the easiness of your question.

“Well, if you want to impress me so bad, I could ask you to list all the types of compressors?”

“You already know that?” He questions, quirking a brow, trying to think why he doesn’t remember them. “Wait, we didn’t do that in class.”

You laugh. “See, you’re witty. No, we haven’t done that yet, but since you love producing so much, I thought you knew it as personal knowledge.”

“Why do you talk as if you don’t want to do the same job as mine?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, but there’s genuine curiosity in his eyes.

You shrug, pressing your lips together before diverting your gaze.

Haechan gasps. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what you want to do, yet, because I won’t believe it.”

“It’s not that I don’t know,” you reply, a low huff leaving your lips. “I’d like to try different things out, being a PR manager sounds interesting too. And I’m also pretty good at dancing, so that could be a career path.”

“It’s a shame we didn’t start practical courses, I would love to see you dance.”

“Yeah, sure, so you can mock me some more,” you groan.

He shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t enroll in a program if you weren’t absolutely perfect at it, so I can’t come at your skills.”

“You’re so kind, I think I might love you,” you mock, moving closer to him and pouting before pushing him away with a light push on his chest and focusing on your papers again.

“And by the way, I know the characteristics of sound,” he says, right next to your face.

You smile and think to yourself that this might be fun. “Good, go on and tell me.”

You don’t get why Haechan’s roommate bicker so much. Not that you could lecture them when, as soon as you walk inside his room, your talks won’t be much different than theirs (worse, probably). But you think you and Haechan, at least, have a reason to fight so much. His roommates are… weird. They are close. They all are, in an annoying way almost, always moving in packs and breaking their back to meet up even if their institutes are scattered around in the Academy. Yet, they get heated pretty easily when they sit in the living room, and you can only blame it on stress as you chuckle, standing against the countertop with a glass of water in hand.

“Donghyuck left you all alone?” Jeno enters the kitchen, distracting you from Renjun screaming at his painting and Mark cursing while he tries to come up with a melody for a small assignment you decided to not worry about —you have Haechan to worry about now.

“Yep, told me to be here at 2 pm just to be in the shower instead,” you reply with a tight smile on your face that makes him laugh and scroll the black hair out of his face.

“My fault,” he explains while pouring himself a glass. “I convinced him to stay at the basketball field when we finished and he couldn’t meet up with you smelling like rotten leftovers forgotten under the august sun.”

“Creative writing?” You ask after you chuckle at his description.

“Nope, photography, Renjun’s worst nightmare.”

You laugh. “It’s because you leave all those big things around his room, right?”

“Our room,” he says, empathising on the first word.

“Okay, communism king, your room but I don’t think your comrade is happy about it.”

Jeno laughs, and hums before gulping down a sip of water. “I’m not rich yet to afford a studio so he’ll have to deal with his bestie working, sweating, and crying his way to the top.”

“You could’ve been a nepo baby and have everything handed to you.”

“Sucks not to be one. I wouldn’t even bother being in Uni, just leaving my best life with my camera and daddy’s money.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Haechan says entering the kitchen, hair still damp and casual housewear on.

“None of your business,” you reply, placing the glass in the sink and walking to the door. “Come on, we have a song to create. It could be our first Billboard number one.”

Haechan sighs, snatching the bottle of water from Jeno’s hand, briefly confused at his grinning face, and then follows you quickly.

“Are you trying to hit on my friends?” He asks, closing the door behind.

“Would you mind?”

“Yes, I’d hate having to deal with you in our group hangouts.”

“You already deal with me. More than you should since you always come to me even when we could not be together,” you say, tilting your head to the side, and sitting on your assigned chair. “Are you perhaps jealous? Do you want me all to yourself?”

“Nah, you can go and fuck all of them right no—”

“Okay,” you don’t even let him finish and you’re at the door, but he springs after you and stops you.

“What are you doing? I was kidding!”

“Why? Since when you can tell me what to do?”

Haechan groans and drags you back to your place, but he doesn’t sit just yet, he’s bent over to be close to you. “I need you here with me to work on this goddam song, and then you can go and have a gangbang in the living room, I don’t care.”

“You’d be mad you won’t be part of it,” you joke, having the time of your life watching his pissed-off expression as he stomps loudly back at his place. “Accept that you will never win with me, and maybe you won’t be so triggered every time we talk.”

“Shit, it’s late,” you murmur, lifting your head from the lyrics you’re trying to write down. Now you got the theme —it’s a love song that you hope won’t turn lame— and even a faint idea of a tune, and while Haechan tried to get inspired by other songs and tried instruments he wants to add to the track, you worked on the words.

“Don’t you think we’re trying too hard?” He whispers, placing the guitar on his bed before standing up and stretching.

“What do you mean?” You ask, lifting your neck so you can look at him after you turn around on the rotating chair.

“Music should come to you, it should be… spontaneous.”

You’d want to roll your eyes, mostly for the spontaneous part, but he’s right. Most artists don’t think about the songs they make, the song comes to their mind when they’re not thinking about it.

“Yes, but do you think we’re doing such a shitty job with this?”

He shakes his head, walking closer to you. “Not totally, I just think that if we want to be on top, we have to work around it differently.”

You gulp when he hovers over you and grips the side of the chair tightly. “Like?”

“We should… relax. Take our mind off of it and just wait for it to come,” he glances at the desk, studying the crumpled tries you gave up on and the only three phrases you were happy with written on the tablet. “We should get inspired,” he whispers, and you’re once again so focused on his face that you don’t feel his hand on your thigh, under the long black skirt you’re wearing, it surely must’ve been on you for a while if the fabric was already crumpled up and his fingers teased the hem of your panties between your hips and stomach.

“Is — is this how you inspire people?” You ask, glancing down with a rising chest but for some reason not pulling away.

“Don’t know, I’ve never done it before,” he chuckles, slowly moving closer to your core, observing the small signs of your body. “Should we see if it works?”

You hate him. You should be working on that lyric for the last half hour you have left. You hate him. He’s making it impossible for you to stick to your ‘minding my business’ plan that had worked through all your school years. You hate him, you do, and yet you nod, humming a feeble ‘yes,’ in response.

“Good,” rolls out of his lips, and it sounds so different from his usual tone, you can’t help but feel hot.

Your nails sink in the chair when his fingers slip right against your clit after he had your consent and starts teasing it.

“So, it’s a love song…” he says, and you frown, heart pumping louder as for a second you think he led you on and you looked like a pathetic horny loser, but his hand is still playing with your pussy and his face is still close to yours. “Chose that because you have somebody in mind?”

“We literally picked it for a reason last week, you —”

“God,” he shushes you up, pushing the panties to the side and teasing your entrance, it’s already damp, but not enough how he wants it. “Can you stop being so rational for once? I know why we picked it; remember I’m trying to inspire you.”

“Wait, you really think some fingering can inspire me to write a love so—” your words shut down when he places a hand on your mouth, eyes widening but pussy leaking an embarrassing amount of cum.

He quirks a brow in surprise and, shortly after, a smug smirk curls his lips. “Oh, so you’re into that?”

You can’t reply, but even if you could’ve, you’re not sure you would’ve said anything.

“So, anybody in mind?”

You shake your head. Your love life has been anything but exciting, and after a few tries, you were sure it wasn’t what you needed to focus on, especially because nobody sparked your interest. Nobody was worth moving your focus from your studies.

“Great, so I guess that’ll have to be me.”

“What?” You mutter muffled, closing your legs and moving on the chair.

Haechan rolls his eyes in his skull, keeping you in place. “Oh, come on, you can fake it for a few minutes. Don’t act disgusted, I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he says.

“Not yet.”

“I’m knuckle-deep inside you,” he retorts after he pushes into you with two fingers, staring right into your eyes.

You bite back a moan and a curse under your breath. “Fine, but I don’t want to think,” you say. “Just, prove it to me. If you’re good, I’ll be inspired and I’ll come up with the lyrics, if you suck, we’ll go back to our original method.”

Haechan hates that he constantly has to prove things to you, and he hates even more that he does it, almost as if he’s your dog and he has to follow your orders while you keep him on a leash. But if this will work to come up with a great song, and in his outer-songwriting-course-plan to distract you, he won’t complain.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain even if it only meant to finger you. He might want to fight you every time he sees your face but, damn, what a face.

“Shit,” you moan. You don’t want to give him too much satisfaction, but he knows what he’s doing and it’s been way too long since someone touched you like that. Damn, even since you touched yourself like that. Maybe the whole ‘staring at your goals’ was taking some funny things away from you.

“Do you want to turn the song into a Hozier song?”

You huff, you just asked him one thing and his mouth is running again doing the opposite. “You wish you were this good to inspire a Hozier type of song.”

“Really?” He taunts, pressing his thumb on your clit, starting to tease the throbbing nub in circles.

“Yes,” your voice trembles, but your face shows confidence.

Haechan snickers, quickening the pace of his fingers, watching you fight against yourself to not show how much you’re loving it. “One second of this mouth on your pussy and I’d make you change your mind,” he whispers right against your ears, hot breath fanning your skin. “It’s a shame you don’t deserve it.”

You groan, head rolling back in disappointment, and that makes him laugh.

“You have to think twice before running that mouth, babe. Especially with me.”

“Never,” you talk back, opening your eyes and regretting as soon as they meet his. His gaze is too intense, and your brain is too far gone to keep it up.

Haechan only grins, enjoying your wrecked face and the sounds your pussy is making as his fingers keep working on you. You might try to deny him, but your body is speaking to him, and deeply so are you. It’s in your eyes, and your lips trembling, and in the beautiful moans that are rolling out of your tongue.

“Are you close, brat?”

You don’t have it in you to complain, or retort, the orgasm is right around the corner and you fear he would ruin the experience if you said something out of line.

“Answer me,” he orders, lightly slapping your thigh.

“Yes,” you breathe out, biting your lower lip to prevent the whole house from hearing you.

“Good,” he replies, smiling proudly and starting to move faster in and out of you, hitting your sweet spot every time he reaches the base, and torturing your clit with his thumb. And when it’s too much for you, you come. Body trembling against the chair, and legs pushing up as the shocks of pleasure run through you.

“Acid when you talk but sweet to taste,” he hums after pulling out his fingers from his mouth and you only glare at him as you quickly try to get yourself together again.

“It’s late,” he says, staring at the clock. “Go home and let me know if this was useful somehow. And not by replaying it in your mind at night wishing I was there with you.” He winks and you slap his shoulder hard. “What the hell!”

“I won’t come up with anything on purpose, and I swear if you keep being so annoying, I’ll be terrible at this.”

“You would never, this makes up like 80% of our final grade.” He challenges you with a glare.

“If I go down, you go down with me,” you retort, face to face, fiercely looking into his eyes.

“It’s not smart of you.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you smile sweetly before it drops from your face. “It’s a threat.”

It’s not like you’re trying to avoid him after what happened, but that’s exactly what’s going on. You don’t regret the act per se, you just can’t believe it was so easy for you to agree to do that with him. And you know he will use it against you for eternity.

A very dumb move from your side to give him the possibility to tease you even more and about something you couldn’t defend yourself from.

But if you try your best to change corridors when you see him from afar, walk quickly back to your dorm room, and sit on the opposite side in class (you fail at keeping your mouth quiet, but you need to discuss with him during lessons), it seems like he’s doing everything he can to be on your path.

“I’m starting to believe you’re a stalker,” you huff, clearly scaring him when you stop abruptly in the middle of the library and make him stop in his tracks.

“I’m not.”

You raise a brow, staring at him until he huffs and throws his hands up in the air. “Fine, fine, I was following you but only because I wanted to know what you will study.”

“Why do you care so much about what I study?”

“So I know how to beat you?”

“Isn’t it more exciting if you beat me only using your brain by putting some knowledge in it without seeing my cards?” You say, pushing a finger on his chest and making him walk backwards until his back hits the bookshelf behind him.

“I think sneaky games are funnier, though,” he whispers, hand moving to rest on your side. “Especially with you.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and taking a step back, freeing yourself from his hold. “The games you’re playing are not sneaky. Why are you always in my business?”

He shrugs. “Why not? So, what are we studying today?”

“We are not studying together.”

“Why? Isn’t it funny? The same study method, same hours, but one of us will be better than the other. That’s a truly equal comparison.”

You run a hand on your face and keep walking to find what you need. “If you didn’t distract me every two seconds, I would’ve already been like five pages into my studying session.”

“Oh, please, you are wondering around the library anyway. I’m just keeping you company.” His body follows yours like a shadow, his heat radiating so close to your skin that you think you might go insane.

“I don’t want your company,” you say, moving your eyes swiftly over the books in front of you as you try to find what you are looking for in the sociology section. When you finally find it, reminding yourself you have to buy it so you can annotate directly on yours, you walk back to your table, but Haechan is still beside you like a puppy on a string. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I could, and I’d want to, but I can’t,” he says, sitting at your side, smiling widely when you glare at him.

“This is a useless lesson for you,” you try to dismiss him.

“Is it? Because we have the same ones.”

“Jesus, okay, fine,” you give up, throwing your head back and raising your voice enough to make some heads turn in your direction. His biggest talent is to exasperate you. “But we give ourselves a timing, and then when we’re done, we’ll have to answer five questions.”

“And who answers to them all?” He asks, there’s a taunting edge in his voice, and a grin on his face.

“Is the best,” you reply as if it’s obvious.

“Yeah, but there should be a prize.”

“Being better than you is the prize.”

Haechan scoffs, and he hates to admit in his mind that he finds your snarky remarks so fucking hot, if you weren’t in a public library and if his job on earth wasn’t to detest you, he would’ve already had you bent on the table.

“I love how you’re always so sure of being better than me.”

You snicker and send him a flying kiss. “Honey, I am better than you.”

“Wait, I just left out a detail!” You almost scream when you compare your answers for the nth time because you can’t believe he has done slightly better than you.

“That detail is important,” Haechan replies unfazed by your indignation.

“No, it’s not. We would have the same score if this was graded,” you insist, feeling more angered than you should. It’s nothing serious, it shouldn’t be serious, but with him, there’s your pride on the line.

“But this is between me and you, so I win. Also, my phrasing in the second answer is better than yours.”

“Shut up, it’s not.”

“It is, and you just have to admit you lost,” he insists, leaning over, staring at you with a challenging raised brow.

You swallow, eyebrows furrowing, and then you sigh. “Your advantage is minimal. And you only won a battle, because I’m winning a war.”

“Fine, Napoleon, I still won and you’re coming to my place even Saturday so we can do this some more.”

“Hey, Napoleon sucked! He lost the most important battles, the only ones he should’ve won.”

“That’s why I called you that,” he winks, clicking his tongue mockingly.

“Oh, you think you will win the war? You’re wrong, honey, Waterloo is yours.”

Haechan laughs, standing up after putting his things in his bag. “I’m waiting for you on Saturday…” he says and before you can complain he starts singing, “Waterloo, I was defeated, you won the war…”

“Oh, shut up!” You say, hitting his arm as you push him away, but he giggles and walks away continuing with the tune.

“Waterloo, promise to love you forevermore. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to…”

And you think that if only he didn’t try to sabotage your final grades in Music History, you might even find him funny.

Haechan hates you.

If he was sure he didn’t before, he is sure that he does now.

He can’t wrap his head around the fact that you, Miss zero social skills, and negative 100 friends, can be so good at debating. On every fucking topic. You’re well-spoken, witty, smart, somehow it looks like you know everything about everything. And even when you don’t know (and you always specify it — which he shouldn’t find so hot, but he does) you always come up with perfectly thought theories and analyses coming from the small knowledge you have on the topic. The thing he also hates is that you never sound like you’re showing off your skills, it’s just really nice to listen to you and —when he’s not the one intervening against you— you’re the sweetest person ever and everybody in every class absolutely adores you.

He wonders if you’re a robot. Maybe you’re some sort of artificial intelligence sent there to conduct studies on humans’ stupidity, and he was unlucky enough to start a fight with you. You just don’t seem real. And he’d love to dig deeper but he doubts he will find anything relevant.

You might be smart, but you also look incredibly boring. He tried to find out if you had interests, or anything that could distract you, but his research led nowhere. The biggest problem is that he hates you, but not to the point that he wants to get you suspended from University, so he has to find another way to make you slip.

Apparently, you’re playing the same game, but even at this, you are thinking faster and smarter.

“Where the fuck are all my anthropology notes?” Haechan mutters as he looks through his library, moving books and notebooks around, thinking he has gone insane. “Mark!” He screams, rushing to the desk to search again but he knows where he left everything; on the second shelf of the small library in his room, on top of the music theory book that hasn’t moved since a week.

“Yes?” His housemate peaks from the door only with his head.

“Did you mistake our notes?”

“What notes?” Mark furrows, backing away from his friend who looks out of his mind.

“The anthropology notes,” he says, voice full of annoyance because, why does Mark never know anything? He’s in the same course and, yet, he’s always somewhere else with his head.

“Man, I don’t even take notes during that lesson.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Ugh, never mind,” Haechan groans, rolling his eyes because he can’t believe he can’t count on anybody. “Have you seen them somewhere?”

“Nope,” Mark replies, entering the room. “I mean, I don’t know what they look like.”

“You know right we have a test tomorrow? The winter break is close, and some courses have it. You are studying, right?”

“Yeah, just not every…thing…”

Haechan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Why don’t you like it? I mean, I know it’s not really music related but it teaches you so much about other cultures and there’s a whole part about how music is different from culture to culture.”

“Next semester, we didn’t get there, yet. It’s a bunch of complicated terminology and theories I just don’t get,” Mark defends. He never understood why Haechan loved studying so much. He is only there for the music, and a few other theoretical lessons, but some courses don’t make any sense to him.

“So you plan on being terrible tomorrow?”

“I just want a decent result; I don’t strive for perfection like you and your girlie.”

Haechan almost chokes on his saliva. “My girlie? Who’s my girlie?”

“That girl in class you always get into heated arguments with, and then she comes here and I’m pretty sure you make out when no one’s watching,” Mark says so calmly it infuriates Haechan more than if he was teasing him.

“Shut the hell up! She’s my mortal enemy and while you have been paired with Yangyang for the song project, Professor Park thought it was nice putting her and me together.”

“Yeah, you can still make out with your mortal enemy,” he snorts, hitting his friend with a playful elbow hit.

“Mark, shut up and leave, I have to study,” he tries to cut short, pushing his friend out of the room.

“With what notes?”

“I don’t know. I left them on the shelf, and nobody entered my room since Saturday when she — Oh, my God.”

When your name resonates in the empty classroom after you’ve taken the anthropology test, your blood freezes for a second.

“Haechannie,” you cheer cheekily, turning around and pushing your tote bag far up your shoulders.

“Don’t,” he warns, lifting a finger to stop you from starting anything. “I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, the test was easy, right? You might have beaten me this time,” you say but you have to hold back a laugh when you scan his furious, pissed-off expression.

“Yeah, if you studied, it was,” he retorts venously.

“And you surely studied,” you say, faking innocence.

“You can study when you have something to study on,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and you do,” you still play dumb, but when he calls your surname, you know he’s not joking anymore. “Yes?”

“Do you, perhaps, know where the fuck my notes are?”

You look around, shrugging. “Where are your notes, Donghyuck?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you for a reason,” he retorts, plastering a fake smile that doesn’t reflect in the darkness of his pupils.

“They might’ve mixed up with my stuff when you invited me over Saturday?” You sing-song, tilting your head to the side and shrugging.

“Might’ve,” he repeats, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “It was just a coincidence.”

You shrug again, pushing your lower lip in a pout. “Sometimes… things happen.”

“And if it wasn’t on purpose, why couldn’t you just text me?”

“Because I didn’t notice,” you reply innocently, batting your lashes, knowing it will get on his nerves even more.

He groans, closing his eyes to calm himself down before he speaks again, “then how do you know?”

“Don’t know, just making assumptions,” you say. “It turns out I’m really good at it.”

“I swear, I — I want to… I want to —”

“To what? Choke me because I got my revenge? Oh, it turns out it’s really not that funny when someone plays with you?” You mock, and in doing so you get closer to him.

“Goddamn,” he groans before your back meets the hard wall of the room and his lips meet yours in a heated kiss, his hands on your body and yours limp at your side as you’re too shocked to react. “I want to — I want to kill you, actually.”

You smirk, chuckling straight at his face. “Filled the space with the wrong letter, ‘cause you’re kissing me.”

“Maybe my kiss is lethal, maybe there’s poison on my lips.”

“Oh, you’re so romantic you’d die for me?” You coo, placing a hand on your heart.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back. “Why are you always so, so, so, God,” he curses, running his fingers in his hair. “I want my notes back, now.”

“I don’t have them,” you say, grinning because he looks wrecked. You know it wasn’t very morally mature for you, but it was only fair. Also, you know he doesn’t arrive last minute with anything, he had already studied everything and you’re sure he had answered everything on that paper, he just couldn’t revisit.

“My notes back when you pass by for the project or it’s war.”

“It’s already war,” you retort when he walks past you to leave.

Haechan turns around, locking his gaze with yours. “Oh, honey, it can get so much worse than this.”

You felt like testing your luck when his notes weren’t back on his desk, but you had no idea it could get worse than that, until it got.

When he deleted an essay from your computer and you had to remake and finish the work of five days in five hours, so you cancelled a project he was working on for another assignment you had. And then he erased the recording of a course from your phone, so you ripped his notebook in front of his eyes (and his roommates too). The list of petty things is long, and you’re not really proud (you’re sure not even Haechan is) of what you did, especially when things started becoming personal. You two want to destroy each other, but you are honestly just killing yourselves in the meantime.

Your book slams closed so hard that you almost zip your hands in it, and by protecting your fingers you lose track of where you’ve been. “Get lost,” you whisper bitterly as soon as you recognize the hand that did that.

“No thanks,” he replies, sitting next to you.

“I’m trying to read a book in the quiet of the library, so can you leave me alone?”

“It’s a public space, I can sit wherever I want,” he replies, leaning back into the chair, and widening his legs under the table. You know ‘cause you feel his knee push against yours and you have to retract your leg to avoid the contact.

You glare at him, breathing deeply through your nose because you can’t make a scene here. You two almost got kicked out of a class two days ago, and that was humiliating enough. So, you think that ignoring him is the best thing you can do.

“Wow, so you have a bit of self-control and don’t talk back. Never thought I’d see that day,” he replies sarcastically to your silence with an amused grin that curls his lips.

You hold back a scream and huff loudly, “I truly need you to get fucked right now.”

“Nevermind,” he jokes, pulling a tight forced smile and you close the book again, now too annoyed to even focus on the words on the paper. “I came here in peace, by the way.”

“Yeah, your peace is war in my country,” you reply bitterly, trying to shift away but those damn chairs make the loudest sounds at the smallest movements.

“That’s because you’re full of prejudices.”

You inhale deeply, rubbing your temple to soothe the headache you know is about to arrive. “Haechan, tell me what you want and then leave me alone.”

He smiles, happy you are finally willing to listen, before he clears his throat. “Okay so, I have to say that some of this is funny. I mean, only the debates and these random talks, but I’m not the biggest fan of all the other stuff we’re doing, so why don’t we bring it back?”

“Bring it back? As in?” You question, raising a brow in confusion.

“I liked it better when we would just compete without tearing ourselves down. If you cancel, ruin, or save one of my projects with the word boobs in it before sending it to the professor another time, I will go insane.”

You hold back a chuckle. You have to admit it was your lowest move, but it was quite funny when Professor Choi had a whole talk in class about being careful before sending out finished projects and exposed him in front of the class.

“No, it wasn’t funny,” he mutters sternly, watching you fight with all the muscles of your face to don’t break into a laugh.

“No, sorry, it was,” you defend, voice trembling, threatening a chuckle to come out. “Like Iloveboobsdemo1 is the best thing I’ve ever come up with. That could be the title of our song.”

“If you want to get expelled from all the academies in the world that would be a perfect idea,” he says, trying to be serious because seriously it wasn’t funny, but when you stare into each other’s eyes for too long none of you two can hold back the laughter anymore. “Okay, fine. It was funny, but I don’t want that to happen again.”

“So? Do you give up?” You taunt, tilting your head after placing it on your palms.

“I’m not giving up, we are changing strategies of our combat.”

“Oh, okay. You will lose anyway in the end, so if this can be more beneficial for me in the meantime, it’s fine.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples, and you chuckle. “Don’t laugh,” he whispers distraught. “I… could you sometimes at least pretend to give me some kind of chance of winning with you and not feeling like you’ll always have the last laugh?”

“I just replied.”

“No, a reply would’ve been ‘Yes, Haechan, don’t worry, we can change it.”

“Too wordy,” you comment, waving him off with a movement of hand.

“You said like ten words more,” he replies, voice breaking in his throat in a whine, but you decide to act as if you don’t notice.

“It still flowed better. See, that’s why the lyrics are in my hands. You’re really not good with words.”

“You keep doing that,” he groans, slamming a hand on the table, attracting some curious eyes on you before you glare them away. “But it’s fine, okay, so… no more dirty games? No more sabotaging?”

“Yes, no more. Well, not like this, but we can still play a bit, right?” You ask, retracting your hand right when you’re about to hold his to seal the deal.

“Yes, but nothing weird, or you know what I mean.”

You hum, reaching out again and shaking his hand. “It’s a deal, then?”

“It’s a deal.”

The deal somehow turns into Haechan always being next to you. He’s like a shadow, sitting next to you in class, studying with you in the library, and so on. You don’t mind him when he minds his business, but he rarely does. Especially during lessons when you need to focus on what the professors are saying.

You roll your eyes when Haechan sneaks a paper next to your notebook and you read ‘how would a dog wear pants’ with two badly drawn different options on it.

“Does it look like the right moment?” You whisper under your breath, side-eyeing him, and trying to keep your focus on the lesson. You see him nod and decide to mark the second option, thinking that he’d be happy with it, but he has the urge to hear a whole dissertation on something that will never happen, right now.

“Why?” He asks as if you’re not in the middle of a lecture.

“Not now.”

“But this lesson is boring,” he whines, poking your side with his elbow.

You huff, covering it with a cough when you realize it is too loud, and then take a sip from your bottle of water.

“You didn’t answer,” Haechan insists, this time poking your arm with the cap of the pencil.

“I picked one,” you mutter, pointing at the paper with your head.

“Elaborate and change my mind.”

“You think it’s the first one?” You say in disbelief, the utter shock causing the tone of your voice to be louder than you expected.

“Any problems there?” The Professor asks, and you feel your blood freeze.

“Mh, no, nothing, my pen has no more ink, I was asking for another one,” you lie, thanking God you two are sitting far in the back of the class and the Professor can’t hear and can’t see that your pen isn’t dead at all. So, with a suspicious nod, the middle-aged man goes on with the lecture while Haechan giggles beside you.

You glare at him, and he shrugs raising his hands. “If you kept quiet, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you let me concentrate on the lesson instead of asking dumb questions, it wouldn’t have happened,” you retort, and he laughs under his breath again, but doesn’t ask more questions. He still ruins your notes with ugly flowers and other drabbles and you let him be because at least he’s being silent and paying attention.

“So, you really are giving up,” you say when the bell rings and the class starts emptying.

“What makes you think that?” He asks, putting his things in his bag, just like you.

“You didn’t write anything down.”

Haechan shrugs. “Why would I? I have your notes.”

“No, you don’t,” you say but before you can realize he rips the notebook from your hands and snaps a picture of the two pages you wrote. “Hey! That’s not fair. That’s my work.”

“Your amazing summarizing skills and my artistic skills. I don’t gift beautiful sunflowers to just anybody.”

“Beautiful sunflowers?” You snicker, starting to walk down the stairs, pushing the notebook into your bag as Haechan follows at your side. “If Renjun saw them he would have a heart attack.”

“Can’t compare Vang Gogh to Picasso.”

“Keep Picasso out of your mouth,” you say threateningly.

“Still, aren’t you happy you will think of me while studying?” He bats his lashes, and you hold back an entertained grin.

“Can’t wait to go through the absolute most painful ulcers every time I glance down on those things.”

He gasps offended, bringing a hand on his chest. “See, this is what happens when you spend all your days on socials and your brain doesn’t know how to appreciate real art anymore.”

“You are so annoying, and distracting. Next time if you sit next to me, I’ll push you off the chair,” you warn, and only when a colder blow of wind hits you, you realize you’re walking back to your places together.

“Right!” He says and you think it’s the good time he leaves you alone, but no, he’s not done. “You didn’t explain why the dog would wear it only on its hind legs.”

“Is it really that serious? Why do you want to know so badly?”

“It’s funny. I’m sick and tired of hearing you only discuss music, sociology, and the media and other stuff.”

You sigh. But you still have a bit to walk, so you might as well have to deal with him and his hypothesis about dogs. “Because pants have to cover your lower body, so legs, and ass and everything else. If you wear them like the first option, half of the ass is out. And also, the back limbs correspond to our legs, we’re divided in half horizontally, not vertically.”

He doesn’t reply right away, processing your answer. And you think you broke him.

“Oh!” You exclaim. “Zootopia, animals wear clothes like the second picture.”

“Really? You had a whole statement that made perfect sense and then you added a cartoon to your thesis?”

“But it still makes sense,” you argue back. “And, most importantly, I made you agree with me,” you wink before stopping when you reach your complex.

“Fine, fine, you’re right,” he gives up before looking behind you. “You live here?”

You nod, searching for the keys in the tote bag, and you think it’s time to stop pretending that’s Mary Poppins’ bag and throw away some useless stuff.

“I thought there were only rooms here,” he states, looking at the big complex a few meters away from the university.

“There are common dormitories, and then there are some one-room flats. I got one with a scholarship when I graduated. It’s less expensive than an apartment and I get a small place all to myself.”

“Oh,” he whispers. He doesn’t know why he thought you had roommates. “So, you’re alone, alone?”

“No, you can’t come in,” you say.

“I didn’t ask that,” he frowns, offended you would even imply that. “I thought you… well, oh, never mind.”

“Yes, I’m alone, so I can do whatever the hell I want. If I want to cook, I cook. If I want to stay up all night to study, I do that. If I want to dry the clothes in the middle of the living room, that is also the bedroom and the kitchen, I do that.”

“Is it really that small?”

“It’s decent, I guess. It’s spacious enough to live in it comfortably but not big to the point I have to waste days cleaning it.”

“Maybe we could study there, no loud roommates screaming in the living room.”

“I like the mess of your place, and I’ll be there Friday.”

Haechan rolls his eyes. “Come on, I hate the library. Can’t we for once study at your place?”

“I never invited you to my studying sessions,” you groan.

“But you love it.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have an orgasm every time you know something better than me.”

“Please, shut up,” you wave him off, starting to walk away.

“I don’t care, I’ll be here tomorrow,” he screams when you’re too far, clearly running away from him.

“And I’ll be at the library!”

You never go to the library, to be honest, you were just unlucky enough that the washing machine thought it was the right moment to leak all over the floor and Haechan found you at home with your coat on the couch, the tote bag next to the door and your jeans half soaked as you tried to fix the mess on the pavement.

From that moment, your meet-ups become more and more periodic, whether it’s at your place, his or at the library. You hate to admit it, but the competition drives you forward, and you love seeing his face every time you defeat him somehow.

“Are you busy this Saturday?” He asks while he strums with the guitar to come up with a chord progression for your song.

“Yeah, why?” You reply, poking the cap of the pen to your cheeks, drifting your eyes on him.

“Want to go out with me?”

“What? Saturday is my day to study and do my things like I want to,” you say. It was the only day, along with Sunday, you had to fix all your notes without being wrecked from the lessons of the day, or listen to lessons while cleaning the house, and so on. You tried to squeeze everything there so Sunday could be your free day and you could dedicate it to your hobbies and to write for the magazine you worked for, nothing too serious, just some money to add to the survival costs that your parents would send you, and the monthly entrance you had when you would get called to help a dance studio downtown.

“Great, we’re going out tomorrow.”

You huff, slumping back on the chair. “No, we’re not. I’m busy.”

“You can take one afternoon for me,” he replies, placing the instrument next to him. “Come on, it will be fun.”

“Where would you even take me?”

Haechan smirks. “It’s a surprise.”

When Saturday afternoon arrives, you don’t know how to feel. You spent the whole night trying to find a positive thing about it, and the good thing is that for once you are leaving the house to do something funny —you hoped so— not all by yourself. The bad thing is that the person you are going to do this thing with is Haechan.

You try not to worry about it too much, he’s not that bad when he wants to, and he’s funnier than you’d like to admit, so maybe taking a small break from the obsessive studying and tidying, will do you some good.

When you hear the knocks on the door, you grab your coat and your bag and head to open it.

“Hi,” he says. “Anything to fix before we leave?”

“Don’t say that, they will hear you and break all together.”

Haechan laughs, briefly looking at your body, mostly covered because it’s still cold outside and you have way too many layers on you. “Toy Story for home appliances?”

“Yeah, that would be my life,” you reply, closing the door behind you and walking outside of the complex. “So, where are you taking me?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” he says. “Don’t expect anything big, I just don’t want to hear you nag about it.”

“Hey, I appreciate almost everything.”

“Yeah, it’s the almost that worries me,” he says. “Hop in the car.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah, it’s right in front of your eyes,” he answers, gesturing to the space next to you.

You turn around, holding back a laugh when you see the old blue car, it’s surely a Hyundai, you have no idea about the model, but you know for sure it’s falling apart. “This is the car?”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m poor.”

“It will get us killed,” you say opening the door, letting out a breath of relief when the handle doesn’t stay in your hold.

Haechan rolls his eyes and sits in. “Can you don’t be overdramatic for one second?”

“I’m stating facts. Are the airbags still working? Is the oil level high enough? The battery? And the water for —” Your eyes widen when his lips crash on yours. At first, it’s a harsh attempt to shut you up, but then his lips shily go for more, moving along yours with a small flame of need.

“I won’t kill you, but please shut up,” he begs when he pulls away, sooner than you want to, later than he should’ve.

You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness and the way his kiss made you feel lightweight. You might occasionally still want to wrap your hand around his neck but he’s quite good at being a charmer.

“I’m giving you the privilege to pick the music,” he says once you’re on the open road, the lights of the city shine against the windows and the other cars pass beside you.

“Yeah, can I connect my Spotify to the car? Oh, wait, this model from the future directly brings the singers into your backseats so you can have a live concert,” you joke after seeing the car radio.

“Wanted to take the metro?”

You laugh. “No, I’m just… why did you say that as if I could connect the aux or the Bluetooth? It was funny.”

“Fine, you’re forgiven,” he says. “Just play it through your phone.”

You hum, already deep into the scrolling of your music catalogue. “Can I put my driving playlist?”

“You have a car?”

“No, I have a driving playlist.”

“Why would you have a driving playlist if you don’t have a car?”

“Because right now it comes useful,” you wink, pressing play without waiting for his answer.

Haechan smiles, quickly glancing at you before his attention is fully on the road. “Baekhyun?” He asks with surprise when the second song starts. “You listen to Baekhyun?”

“Everybody should listen to him,” you reply, already getting defensive because his next words could be the last straw of your ‘relationship.’

“Oh God,” he whispers.

“If you tell me you’re a hater I’m jumping out of the running car and changing the trajectory of your life forever,” you warn, turning to the side to have a better view of him.

“Me? A Baekhyun hater? He’s my father! I just can’t believe you have some sort of sense and taste.”

You slap his shoulder, making the both of you break into a light-hearted laugh.

“You scared me for a second,” you say, placing your hand on your beating heart.

“Sorry. So, it turns out we have one thing in common,” he jokes, creases creating at the corner of his eyes as his features soften and a genuine smile blooms on his face.

You shrug. “I mean, we have many things in common, actually. That’s why we get along so badly. Maybe it’s true, opposite attracts and that’s why we don’t attract.”

“I think we do attract… proved it a few times.”

“Once,” you reply immediately.

“Twice, with the kiss…”

“You did that to shut me up.”

“I don’t shut up just…” anybody… “I felt like kissing you.”

You smirk, loving watching him struggle. “Nothing wrong to admit you find me attractive,” you tease.

“Unfortunately, your mouth ruins everything.”

“My mouth is the thing that attracts you the most about me, or else you wouldn’t keep lingering around me like bees on honey.”

“Bees make honey, they’re not attracted to it. Bears are.”

“Yeah, you look like a bear, you know?”

He glares at you, and you laugh. “Bears are cute.”

“And attracted to honey.”

“And do I look like honey?” You ask teasingly. “Wait! You always call me honey!”

“It’s a mockery honey, not a sweet honey. You’re not my honey.”

You think about it. “You’re not my honey… could be a line of our song.”

“No academy talking today. It’s forbidden. You have to forget about uni.”

“Fine, I’ll forget about it just for today.”

The dates with Haechan, you can call them dates, right? Well, anyway, whatever they are, they become more common. At first, you tried to reject his weird, most of the time, last minute, proposal, because they would throw in the air all of your plans, but after a while, you somehow still found a way to go back on track without screwing up your academic goals.

“Why don’t you stay?” Haechan asks. It’s another Friday afternoon, and you two met up to go on with the song’s project. Much to your dismay, you have to admit you are the one who’s holding you two back. It’s like words can’t come out of you, not like you want to, at least. But Haechan’s not mad at you. Actually, you like the atmosphere around you when you lock in his room for those sessions. One time, he even made you try edibles to see if you could come up with something, but you ended up making out on the floor instead, so you stopped going for that path.

“I don’t know,” you say, huffing when you glance at the words in front of you and remind yourself that they don’t make sense. “I was thinking of going home and maybe listening to your tracks and…”

“Come up with something?” He drags the chair closer to you and steals your papers to read them. “It’s not as bad as you made it to be.”

“Yeah, it’s a good song, but it’s basic. And I feel like it’s a bit… cliché.”

“You do know that everything has already been written?” He jokes, but it’s not a teasing remark, it’s the truth, and he’s genuinely trying to lift your spirit.

“I know, but it’s not my style, this is not how I usually write, I —”

“You write?” He stops you and only then you realize what you said. “Like, you have written songs before?”

You nod, shame pervading you when he stares at you with an expression you can’t comprehend. “Are you going to make fun of me?”

“No, I just thought you preferred lyrics over production, but I had no idea you were a lyricist.”

“Now, lyricist… I try, sometimes…”

Haechan smirks, poking your tummy making you cover it with your arms. “So there is something you’re insecure about.”

“Oh, I knew you were going to have a ball about this,” you groan, rolling your head back.

“No, hey, it’s just… I’ve never seen you like this about something you do. You are confident, usually,” he explains with no hint of mockery in his voice.

You sigh, looking at your feet tapping the ground and then look back at him. “It’s just… very personal,” you confess. “I think it’s clear I don’t have lots of friends. I used to, back at home, but here I’m alone. But even back then I’ve always felt like there was something I couldn’t completely let out. That’s why I love dancing, I can express myself in a different way, but I found out it still wasn’t enough and when I started playing the piano again I… started writing. It started almost as a joke, and it was a cheesy break-up song when my ex cheated on me, like the cheap version of drivers license,” you joke and he laughs with you.

“But it was still better than this, I guess?”

You hum, shaking your head. “Nah, my first song was a mess, but then it was like I just couldn’t stop writing, so my songs became my diary. Every time something happens, I write about it.”

He hums, moving the chair closer until your legs intertwine. “So, to write a love song you would need to fall in love?”

You’re taken aback by his question, and don’t reply right away. “No, I just need to be inspired. I’ll watch some movies, and it will come to me.”

His face twists in mild disgust as he shakes his head. “Movies are fake, it’s better to live things on your skin.”

“I don’t have time to date, and I can’t just find someone that easily,” you say laughing. “But don’t worry, I won’t make us fail. I’ll try to edit this and make it work if I really can’t come up with anything else.”

Haechan is not convinced, it’s clear in his face and the way his leg is bouncing nervously, but he doesn’t get back on the conversation. “Are you staying?”

“I have some notes to edit and —”

“You have tomorrow,” he cuts you off. “Come on, I have to do it too.”

You groan, hating the way you can’t say no to his big eyes staring at you. “Fine, but not too much.”

It’s useless to say that none of you get those notes written better.

“God, are you fucking Professor Kim?” Haechan growls, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in the college corridors right out of Music History class, the last lesson of Tuesday.

“What?” You babble out, surprised by his angry tone and his speculation.

“No cause you’re his favourite and it’s driving me insane,” he utters under his breath, glaring at you.

“I’m his favourite?” You tease, tilting your head to the side, loving the fire that turned on between you two. It had been three calm months, the bickerings were too intellectual and you missed this.

“Yeah, I gave him the exact same answer and he found the tiniest thing to say I wasn’t right, just so he could hear yours instead and praise you.”

“Oh, poor baby boy, Professor Kim didn’t give you head pats and now you’re mad?” You pout, patting his head in a mockery gesture.

Haechan groans, throwing his head back, and pushing you into the nearest empty class, closing the door behind.

“Haechan, what are y—”

“Shh,” he says, shushing you with a stern gaze and a squeeze of your wrist. “You passed by his office the other day, didn’t you? Needed extracurricular help ‘cause you didn’t understand something,” he mocks with a high-pitched voice. “Taught you how to play his flute in a historically accurate way?”

You’d love to laugh at his terrible blowjob-music reference but when his gaze darkens, you only chuckle, and that’s enough to drive him mad.

“God, for you is just a game, isn’t it?”

“You really think I fucked Professor Kim?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure he fantasizes about having you bent over his desk and, fuck, it drives me mad.”

“You wish he fantasized about having you bent on his desk?” You joke, smirking.

He groans. “No, I hate the way he looks at you, and talks to you, the last thing he had to do today was to call you a good girl in front of the whole class.”

Your lips curl in an amused grin, but your heart —and something else— flutter at the way he says ‘good girl,’ you try not to show it and go on with your teasing. “Not my fault I’m good, and I’m interested in his subject.”

“Your fault you lick his boots,” he groans, pushing you flat against the door, standing so close to your nose. “I know you’re smart and you don’t need to ride a dick to be first in class but…” he stops, inhaling your scent, and leaning against your forehead.

You lift his head with two fingers under his chin, and lean in, whispering, “you still want to see me bent over a desk, and you want to be the one railing me, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, not verbally at least. The only answer is a guttural moan and two arms lifting you, making your legs wrap around his waist as he kisses you roughly.

“Hyuck,” you moan into the kiss when he starts walking toward the desk, sitting you on the edge.

“Yeah?”

“We can’t — we — this is, we can get expelled…”

He snickers. “Be quiet and nobody will even hear us.”

“What if they lock us inside?”

“Shut up,” he groans again, kissing you another time as his bag drops on the floor. “You drive me so fucking mad, you have no idea.”

You snicker under your breath, but your heart loses a beat when his hands roam on your thighs, moving closer and closer to your heat. “Wait,” you whisper.

“Wait, what?” He hums, cupping your chin and lowering your head, staring straight into your eyes. Haechan scoffs when your thighs squeeze against each other and he can see you gulping. “Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he whispers, leaning closer to your lips, making you believe he’ll kiss you, but you only get a taste of his thumb rubbing over your full lips, “don’t act like you don’t want me.”

“Haechan!” You scream when he rips off your tights, the tear of the fabric resonating in the room as you look down in shock. “I’m gonna kill you,” you groan but he’s not bothered in the slightest.

“They were getting in the way, and I get rid of everything that gets in my way,” he says with a smirk.

You laugh mockingly. “Then why am I still here?”

His brows furrow and a small pout forms on his face but he shrugs it off. “I’m taking care of you, I told you,” he groans, kissing you harshly. “You’re not winning the war.”

“Oh, and your military strategy is to fuck me?”

“Yeah, until you forget everything.”

You huff loudly when he finishes ripping the tights from your legs, the only pieces left the ones trapped in your shoes, and you’re glad the skirt is long enough to don’t make you freeze on the way back home.

“So much better,” he says proudly, staring at his work of art, letting his hands wander on your now bare skin. “And, now, let’s find out if there’s a way to shut you up.”

You look at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move as if your life depends on it. And you hate to be so eager, you hate you fantasized on it more than you should’ve, but you want to know what his lips feel like. And it’s almost as if Haechan hears your secret thoughts.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He taunts, kneading his fingers on your flesh.

“Nothing,” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than what you are.

Haechan laughs at you, shaking his head as he slowly gets on his knees, looking up at you. “You are always so fucking proud and annoying.” His hands rest on your knees before he pushes them far apart, forcing you in place as you uselessly try to close your legs. He tsk, shaking his head. “Don’t act ashamed, I’ve already felt you, and tasted you.”

You don’t reply. It’s hard to keep eye contact but this is bigger than sex, this is a game between you two and, he might not beat you in class, but he’s beating you right now.

His laugh brings you back to earth and you hate the smug smirk that’s sitting on his face. “So you do get quiet, thought I needed to give you a taste of my mouth to shut you up.”

You open your mouth to retort but the stern glare that flashes on his face is enough to put you back in your place.

“Good girl,” he says and your body trembles before you can even try to hide it. “Should I get a better taste of you?” He stares at you, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come, not like he wants to at least. “Use your words, babe. You know how to run that mouth when you want to, so, beg for it.”

“Fuck, no,” you retort, trying to move away but his hold on you doesn’t give any signs of loosening up.

“Okay, then,” he says, slowly standing up, and grabbing his bag. “See you around.”

“What?” You squeal, grabbing his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving,” he replies, shrugging.

“That’s not fair,” you reply, and he snickers.

“What? Are you wet? Do you want me?”

You don’t expect that reply and struggle to find the words, even more now that he’s standing between your open legs, keeping them apart, and his eyes are staring down at you, pinning you down in place. “I don’t want you,” you lie, swallowing the gulp in your throat when his right hand sits on your waist. “I just… I want to fuck.”

“Oh, do you? Well, there are plenty of people here, I’m sure many of them would want you. You know, even if you don’t pay attention to anybody, people look at you,” he whispers, caressing your jaw with his other hand. “First on the list is Professor Kim. Don’t you want to feel the thrill? Come on, go to his office now, so I can have something to hold against you forever.”

You chuckle. “Yeah? Want to blackmail me so I can do all the essays for you? Maybe you’ll get the best grades like this,” you tease, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt and making him groan.

He licks his lips, staring at yours, and you smirk. “I don’t need you to be first, and you know it.”

“Do I?” you tease. “Want to be first at something?”

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, eyes darkening even more while the tent in his tight pants becomes even more evident.

“What? You can be the first one who fucks me on a desk if you quit playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing hard to get,” he replies, leaning even closer, your bodies are pressed together and you can feel his hard dick press against you. “I won’t be the one begging, especially to eat you out,” he groans, cupping your chin unexpectedly. “Don’t act as if you didn’t think of this before. I’ve seen the way you get lost in my fingers when we study together. You see me twirl a pen in my hand and you wish I was inside you, don’t you? And when we argue? There’s always a small fragment where you lose focus and stare at my lips. Where do you want them, honey?”

Your brows furrow but your entire body reacts differently, a small shake, while wetness pools down your panties, soaking them even more, and your eyes close because you can’t bear his smug glare.

“I said,” he urges, giving a quick squeeze to your chin, “where do you want my lips?”

“On — on me,” you breathe out, voice muffled by the firm hold on your face.

His lips twitch as he leans closer and kisses your cheek. “Here,” he says, holding back a laugh when your eyes widen. “That was where you wanted them, right?”

“Oh, fuck off, you know what I meant,” you huff.

“No, I’m the dumb one, remember? You are smarter than me, you know everything. I’m always a step behind, I need you to guide me step by step,” he mocks in a condescending tone, pouting.

You take a deep breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know,” he laughs. “But if you use just three magic words I’m sure you’re going to love me for a while.”

You don’t want to give up but you’re on fire, and you fear that the more time passes by the more someone could find you out.

“I’ll ask nicely one last time,” he whispers against your lips. “Then I’ll ask you to do something for me and you’ll lose my lips for the second time. Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“Fucking finally,” he laughs. “Was it so hard Miss big brain?”

“Stop mocking me!”

“Mocking you?” He asks, getting on his knees again before grabbing your panties to pull them down. “I might hate you but it would be dumb to not recognize your qualities, right?”

You don’t reply, you have other things to worry about. For example, your mortal enemies kneeled between your legs in an empty class of your Academy, staring into your soul, ready to eat you out.

“So, since you’re so good with words, here we go again. Beg.” Haechan craves putting his lips on you just as you do, but this is the only moment he can have some power over you. And after the humiliation of today’s class, he has to make you pay for it a bit. Or maybe he just wants to hear that even if you’d choke him and slap him, you still want him.

“Please, Donghyuck, please,” you plead, looking into his eyes.

He’d love to hear you beg for him more, but the way your cunt is dripping on the desk is already enough to tell him how much you want him, and for now, it’s enough.

When his lips come in contact with your skin your legs immediately hook around his shoulders and you can feel the chuckle on your wet folds.

“Eager, honey?”

“Just, please, eat me out already,” you barely have time to finish that he stops playing around and starts moving his mouth on you. Your head falls behind while your thighs squeeze tighter around his face. Your hands clench on the edge of the desk as you try to keep your balance, but it gets harder with every lick of his tongue.

“Keep quiet, the door is closed not locked,” he reminds you, pulling away from you just to pick up again.

You try to don’t be too loud, but he’s better than you expected and maybe this was the wrong time to try this out. You should’ve simply begged him to fuck you, but now that you’re in the middle of this, the last thing you want is to stop him.

One of your hands is brave enough to let go of the hold on the desk and reach his hair to push him closer to your body, surprising him.

Haechan always thought you were much more shy than this, honestly, he didn’t even hope much for this to happen. But you surprise him, not only you let him have you in a random class at your university but you are also pushing him closer.

“You are eager,” he muffles against you, he can’t pull away when you’re pressing him down with so much force, but the way you’re acting is setting him on fire. He loves hearing you moan and whimper, not a word coming out of your pretty lips to confront him, just bliss on your face and voice. And that pushes him to give you even more, putting his entire self into eating you out until he almost drags screams out of you, making both of you forget where you are.

You’re not sure how many minutes pass by but when the orgasm rushes in your body you feel it’s too close. You’d probably force him down for another round if you were in any other place but you don’t feel brave enough.

“So? Disappointed?” He asks, cleaning his chin as he stands up, reaching you again. “Don’t lie, you’re still dripping down the desk, you’re even more turned on than last time.”

“I’m not,” you lie. You know you are, and Haechan knows it too.

“What is it? The thrill of being caught? My skills? Just me, or something else?”

You don’t know why you reply with what you reply, but you do. “Maybe someone else,” you tease, not even sure he’ll take the bait, but he’s too caught up in you to see the games you’re playing.

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“See, I always believed you were perspicacious and could catch details, I can’t believe you didn’t get it. You’re so sure Professor Kim wants to fuck me, ever thought I want him too?” You bat your lashes and Haechan tries to silence a groan, but you feel his fists clench at your sides.

“Don’t play with me, I’m not falling for this.”

You shrug. “Fine, I’ll still think about him while you fuck m—” he shuts you up with a rough kiss, pushing you down the desk with a quick movement that makes your heart jump to your throat.

“He’s not even that hot,” he groans, turning you around before bending you on the desk, and pulling your skirt up around your waist. “And he’s not even that old, there’s not even the charm of the dilf.”

“He’s smart,” you talk back, not sure how much you can pull your luck.

Haechan scoffs, slapping your ass. “Not smarter than me.”

“You’re not the professor so…”

“A degree means nothing,” he says, his chest pressing against your back. “What’s that you like so much about him?”

You chuckle. You’re not sure if he’s playing into your game or is just so easy to fool, but either way, you decide to keep going. “Everything. Don’t you see him?”

Haechan groans. Out of all the people, out of all the professors, he has a very personal beef with him that started at the start of the year and the way you just praise him so much —even outside of this specific situation where he got you’re messing up with him— drives him insane.

“Because he’s the best at everything? Isn’t he?”

You nod, expecting him to talk back but the only answer you get is the sharp sound of his belt being pulled away from his pants and smacked against your ass. “Fuck,” you curse, hating the way your body buzzes with pleasure at the impact.

Haechan chuckles. “I wonder what he would think of you if he saw you like this.”

“He wouldn’t think,” you say. “He’d act, fucking me like I deserve instead of wasting time like you.”

When his cock fills you up with no warning you almost scream but his hand is quicker at reaching your mouth.

“Yeah, would he fuck you better?”

You groan in his hand, but your brain goes blank with each thrust into you, pulling his hips back before he snaps them forward, so forcefully that you slide upward on the desk and he has to pull you down so that your hips don’t hit the wood.

“Answer me,” he urges, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair to force you up. “Would he?”

“I… I don’t know,” you cry out, feeling him deep inside of you, filling you perfectly.

“You just have to test me until I snap, don’t you?”

“He seems —fuck— fitter than you.”

Haechan snickers mockingly. “Yes? You want to be thrown around? Like you’re worth nothing? Do I have to do that to make you feel good?”

You shake your head, ass perking up, your feet on their tips as you try to keep balance.

“No? Is being fucked in a class enough for you? Does it satisfy your needs?” He hisses, eyes rolling back when he focuses them where your bodies meet, your cum dripping down his length and balls. He can’t believe how turned on you are. “Thought you were innocent but look at you.”

“Not my fault you don’t catch details,” you retort with a small bit of sanity —not really— you have in you.

“Details? Or maybe you’re just an actress. Making everyone believe you only think about grades and studies and here you are, drooling while I fuck you over a desk. Begging for my dick.”

You don’t even realize you are drooling down the desk and when you’re about to clean your chin, Haechan grabs your hands and pins them in place behind your back.

“No,” you whimper, falling flat with your chest pressing down the wooden table.

“Yes, honey,” he mocks. “I want to see you become a mess for me. Should I take a snap of you like this? Send it to Professor Kim so he can see he will never have you like this?” He whispers against your ear. “Think I don’t know it was all a play? Not only you don’t like him, but you wouldn’t risk your reputation for a terrible fuck when you have a brain like yours.”

Your pussy clenches. It’s the way his voice sounds like velvet, it’s how deep it’s hitting you, it’s in his words, and the way it turns you on that your number one rival, the one that despises you, still knows your value.

“Still, I’m pretty sure he wishes he could see you like this,” he adds, biting your earlobe. “A shame he can’t, right?”

“Y-yes,” you mumble in a pathetic wail.

“But maybe I could still keep it to myself,” his hips start moving with more force and you can’t hold back your moans as you clench around him. “Yeah? Want me to take a photo of you like this?”

You wish you could reply but words just don’t come out of your lips, brain emptying and eyes rolled back in your skull.

“Maybe another time,” he says, breath getting ragged as he keeps fucking into you with determination. “Don’t really want to pull away to take a pic of us.”

“There — there won’t be —fuck— another time,” you reply, forcing yourself to speak.

Haechan snickers. “The mess between your legs tells me otherwise,” he mocks, reaching in front of you to play with your clit, making you shake. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve good things, even a good fuck from me.”

“Too much,” you cry out, feeling your eyes getting wetter as the orgasm starts choking you.

“No, you just haven’t had a decent orgasm in ages,” he retorts.

“Shut up! You know —shit— you know nothing.”

“Honey, I can only imagine you playing with yourself, but your hands or toys don’t come close to me,” he says, so smugly you can feel the smirk on his face. And you can’t even retort because —as much as you hate it— he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, putting a hand over your shoulders to pull you closer to him. “Are you close?”

You nod, biting your lower lip until it bleeds because you’re sure the sound of your ass slamming against his hips is already a giveaway of what’s going on inside this room. You clench around him when he bites down your shoulder to muffle a louder groan as his hips start moving faster as he chases his climax.

You feel your legs give up as the second orgasm hits you and you hold against the desk again because you don’t know where else to hold on to. Haechan tries to keep his curses low, sticking his face in the crook of your neck and you feel you could come again just by his voice alone; his moans the pretties sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Oh god,” you breathe out when he gently lets go of your body and you can relax on the hard surface again, squirming in discomfort when he pulls out of you.

“I hope you didn’t tear my panties apart, too,” you say, rolling on your back, making him laugh.

“Don’t move, you’ll stain the skirt, it’s the only clean thing on the table,” he says, grabbing a napkin to prevent you from making even more of a mess.

“And who’s fault is that?” You ask, glaring at him.

“You should just thank me for the orgasm, better, two orgasms, I gave you.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but still letting him clean you up, after all, the cum was his, so it’s his place to clean it. After you’re sure you won’t ruin the last untouched piece of clothes you have, you sit up, taking your —uncomfortably— wet panties to put them on.

“So…” he whispers as he cleans up the rest of the mess on the table and shoves your broken tights in his bag, “it was just for fun, right? You have no intentions with Mr…”

You break down laughing. “You’re so easy to fool. You seriously think I’ll ever let him see me like this?”

Haechan scoffs, finishing fixing his clothes before walking to the door. “It’s not about what you would do, is if you think of him.”

“I don’t,” you reply, following him even if you feel like your legs could give up any second. “I wonder if your jealousy was also a play,” you tease, nudging him as you two walk down the corridor to leave.

“It wasn’t jealousy, you would just have terrible taste if you truly liked him, and I have beef with him.”

You chuckle, deciding to believe him.

“Wait,” he says, stopping to search for something in his bag.

“I’ll go for the door, reach me,” you say, starting to head on, you’re not even sure you two could be there at that time. “Lee Donghyuck,” you curse when you try to push open the front door. “What did I say?”

He walks toward you nonchalantly and shrugs. “Yeah?”

“They locked us in!”

He smiles, shaking his head, and grabbing your hand. “Can you run?”

“What?” You blink a few times, trying to understand how his question fits the situation.

“After I fucked you like that, can you run?”

“Shush,” you scold, fearful someone might hear, you’re not sure who since you seem to be completely alone, but better safe than sorry. “And no, I don’t know, I… why would we run?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks, reaching out his hand for you to take.

“No,” you say resolutely.

“Good,” he smirks before he starts running into the corridors, giving you no chance but to follow him, cursing and damming every life decision that led you here, with cum threatening to leak out of you after you finished having sex in the class of your Academy and are now running to go God knows where, locked inside the institute.

“Hyuck!” You scream when he runs up the stairs and you swear you never felt so much adrenaline rush in your blood but when he looks back for a second and shows you his big bright smile with his hair falling in his face perfectly, you swear the world stops and all your worries are lifted from your shoulders. Maybe you trust him. Maybe you need to be this carefree sometimes.

Your heart jumps in your throat when he pushes open an emergency door and the mild breeze of March runs over you. You breathe in deeply, pushing into your lungs the air and the first early spring scent, letting the wind play with your hair and your clothes while your hand never lets go of his.

And then you both start laughing. Never looking back, and terribly looking forward, watching your steps as you run down the emergency stairs. You laugh, and you’re happy and you can’t believe your fingers are still intertwined with the ones of your mortal enemy.

When you reach the ground floor, hidden in the back of the palace where the sun doesn’t shine, there are still some tears spilling out of your eyes. You two pant, trying to catch your breath, and look at each other before you have to look away or else you will start laughing again.

You can’t believe you followed him blindly.

Your hands are still intertwined.

With each passing day, Haechan is convinced he has a perfect plan. It’s all part of the original plan, but if he gets you to try out romantic things, not only will he distract you from your perfect grades but he will also make you come up with a song that will give him a perfect score.

There are some small details that Haechan didn’t even consider. Detail number 1: where this could lead you two and your relationship. Detail number 2: that while distracting you, he will inevitably distract himself. But he doesn’t get it until it’s too late.

Haechan can’t remember when you started to dress up so much every time you hang out. You always dress well, or maybe he is biased for thinking that even the most basic white turtleneck shirt and cargo pants when you are too done with life to put up your skirts, dresses, or cutely styled other types of outfits, look amazing on you. Yet, during these last few dates, you started doing more, playing more with your hairstyles, trying different make-up, and always looking perfect in whatever clothes you put on your body.

Haechan hates you. Now more than ever because this was supposed to be your silly little race to the top of your second academic year and yet here he is, feeling his heart pound in his throat as you walk toward him. With your hair in a slicked-back ponytail, a freaking heart-shaped side part, your short red dress, while the white cardigan covers your arms and shields you from the light breeze, and your red short heels tap on the asphalt and bring his attention to the white socks that reach you right below your knees, while your hand clench around a heart-shaped bag.

He hates you because he wants you too badly and he’s terrified this is crossing the lines of bland and stupid physical attraction.

You smile, calling him Hyuck and he’d love to scream because he can’t be so smart and yet so dumb at the same time. But he tries to ignore it, and smiles back at you, addressing you with your surname so he can put some distance between you. You don’t even get mad anymore, it makes you smile tenderly as you lower your face to the ground and tangle your arm with his to walk to the car. Now he hopes that the old sardine can will make you two blow up, not to kill you, but to don’t make you accept a date from him anymore.

But that old car struggles but doesn’t crash, and drives you to the restaurant safely.

“This place is so pretty,” your voice rings in his ears, bringing him out of the thought he’s struggling with since you walked out of your apartment.

“Yeah, it’s musically themed, thought it was a good idea.”

“And the dishes also have song names? That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” your face lightens up when you scan the menu and in reflection, he does too.

What the fuck are you doing? He curses when he catches himself lost on you, too focused giggling like a child as you catch the references between the songs and the plates. You look like a cliché embodiment of love, and he thinks you’ve done it on purpose. It’s way past Valentine’s Day, but he feels that Cupid is flying right above you, ready to play him a dirty trick.

“So? You picked?” You ask, bringing him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, coughing while glueing his eyes on the menu.

“Nope, I’m a bit uncertain,” he says, pretending he wasn’t just too busy staring at you a few moments ago.

You laugh, humming. “Oh, I know.”

“What did you get?” He asks, meeting your eyes above the paper in his hand.

“I wanted to get the Summer 69’ appetizer first,” you reply and he smirks.

“Are you hinting at something?”

“Oh, shut up, you perv! It just looks tasty, there are different appetizers from different parts of the world and it’s a cold start.”

“Then we can take the big one so we can share?”

“Sure,” you reply, smiling at him. “Oh, and then ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ as the main dish.”

“Do you?” He winks.

“I’m not sending you signals, I’m just starving,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but he hears the low giggle that you try to hold back.

“Fine,” he smiles. “I’ll take ‘Maneater’ in your honour.”

“I’m a maneater? Oh, thanks, the best compliment ever actually,” you say playfully.

He smiles, stopping for a second after he hands you his menu. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And when your mouth parts and no sound come out of it, he thinks he screwed it up. It’s not the first time he compliments you but well, the other times didn’t sound so serious.

But then your face breaks in a smile, and your eyes light up, shily diverting the gaze as you thank him before the waitress saves you both from the embarrassment that’s tangible in the air.

“Karaoke? Are you being extremely nice, borderline perfect, tonight so you can show me the biggest twist ever?” You gasp when the karaoke downtown enters your line of view. You’ve been walking for a while now since he couldn’t find a spot nearby, but he never mentioned where your next stop would be.

“I’m always nice to you when we go out on da— like this,” Haechan replies, opening the door of the place for you to get in first. “Also, since we’ll have to record the song soon, I think it’s time to test our vocal abilities.”

You giggle, waiting for him before you start walking to the desk to book a room.

“Karaoke is for fun, never to show off you’re like Celine Dion.”

Haechan chuckles, nodding in agreement while you reach the booth that the lady at the counter assigned you.

“Right, I’m more like Ailee, actually,” he jokes, closing the door behind you.

“Prove it to me, I always hear your mouth run to talk shit but never to sing melodies, so…”

“Should we go for a duet?” He asks, starting the TV to scroll down the songs listed.

“Nope,” you say, sitting on the couch. “A solo song first.”

“Fine,” he says, humming as the titles pass in front of your vision. “Mhh, what about Dean?”

“Love him, would love him more if he came back from the death and dropped another album of the year,” you say, sitting back to fully enjoy Haechan’s performance.

He chuckles at your comment. “This one was a painful reminder,” he says before clicking on “Instagram,” making the logo of the place appear before the countdown, signalling the beat was about to start.

You never thought you would find yourself so caught up in him but when he opens his mouth, you feel like you’re being taken to another world.

His voice sounds like honey, so raw yet so lovely. And as he keeps singing, you think that he would be wasted as a producer, a voice like his deserves to be heard by everyone. But when he finishes, you don’t show any of the emotions you felt.

“Your performance was very touching,” you say while standing up to grab your mic, “but I’m a performer, so I’ll go with Queen Britney.”

“Can’t wait to see your Superbowl worth it performance,” he snickers, sitting back against the small couch in the room as he watches you getting ready.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you start, winking at him and swinging your hips to follow the rhythm of the music.

Haechan would love to find it as funny as he does at the start, but when you start singing for real, and moving around in the small boot, he gulps, feeling the air around him starting to dim. And it only gets worse when you turn around and start to perform for him. Of course, you know the song by heart, you don’t need to read the words, and you don’t need them to change colour to know when each verse, chorus and bridge starts.

“Oops, I did it again, I played with your heart,” you wink, tilting your head to the side, still moving your body to the beat. He can’t tell, not right at the moment, but he thinks you’re replicating the choreography. That’s the last worry in his mind.

I played with your heart.

And Haechan thinks you really did that. This doesn’t feel like a game anymore, and not even like sex. He looks at you, even right now, that you’re sensually singing a Britney Spears song, and he can only fucking smile like an idiot.

“Wow,” you exhale when the song ends, fanning yourself with your hand, “it’s really hot in here.”

“It definitely is,” he whispers, drifting his gaze from you.

“So? How was I?” You ask, head tilted to the side, and a big, bright smile on your face.

“Good,” Haechan mutters, catching himself staring at you for too long again, shaking his head, the red blush on his face is humiliating. “You were good.”

“Yes,” you cheer, clapping your hands. “Should we duet, now?”

He hums, grabbing the remote again and searching ‘duets’ in the search bar. “Sad, sexy or silly?”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“What? I’m trying to understand the vibe we want to go with.”

“I’ll let you pick,” you say just to regret it when you see the song choice on the screen. “Seriously? Anything you can do?”

“What? It’s fitting for how relationship,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s a crazy choice.”

“Worried you can’t actually do better than me?” He winks, passing you the mic as the song loads on the screen.

“You’ll see,” you challenge with a glare.

One minute into the song you regret having agreed to that, not remembering the last time you sang like this, but the look on his face when it’s time for you to hold a long note for 15 seconds is worth it. And it keeps going until the end, as you both surprise each other with all the skills that this song requires.

“Wow, you’re good,” you both say when the song ends and you break down laughing, a sound that grows bigger when the screen lights up to show a perfect score.

“Maybe we make a great couple together,” you say, laying back on the couch, tired from the singing.

Haechan turns to you, smirking and nodding. “I guess we do.”

You sit up, resting your chin on his arm. “Can you take another one?”

“Oh, don’t test me, baby.”

“So, ice cream is good for vocal cords?” You giggle as you walk to the side of the Han River with the ice cream in hand. It seemed like Haechan didn’t want to end the night anytime soon, but you don’t feel like complaining.

“Yeah,” he hums with conviction, licking another stripe of chocolate.

“On which book you’ve read this scientific fact?”

“The ice cream ghost came to me one night and whispered the secret to my ear,” he jokes, making you laugh.

“Uhm, yeah, I think that ghosts are much more reliable than old men in white coats in a lab,” you joke, but then you remember something you wanted to talk about since you’ve walked out of the karaoke. “Mhh, you know what I was thinking?”

Haechan shakes his head, waiting for you to talk.

“I think we’re going down the wrong path with our song,” you voice out. “Especially me. A warmer, darker, I dare to say more sensual vibe, fits us better.”

Haechan chuckles and you glare at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he giggles, but he can’t lose against you so he goes on. “That’s the production, you know?”

You huff, rolling your eyes, and jumping on the handrail to sit. “I never said it wasn’t important.”

“Whatever,” he snickers. “So I have to scrap everything I’m working on?”

You shake your head, cleaning your hands after swallowing the last bite of the cone. “No, I was thinking about the second base you were working on, the one with the guitars and violins, remember?”

He hums, but he’s dangerously close to you, and you don’t understand why his hands wrap around your waist.

“I think we could use that and —” you gulp when he places his feet on the handrail under you and reaches your height, “and then I can change small things of my — my writing to fit more. What do you think?”

He smiles before it turns into his usual smirk. “I still think you’re worrying too much and you’re not letting it come to you,” he whispers, and the air of his breaths puffs on your lips before he erases the space between you and kisses you.

You feel your breath taken away as you feel like you’re falling behind in the river as the wind blows harder and your hands immediately leave the handrail to reach for him.

You’re not sure that wasn’t an attempted murder from him, but you can’t care when you feel your heart flutter and your legs give up as he deepens the kiss.

“Let it flow,” he whispers, kissing you again, whispering against your lips, “and the song will come at you.”

You know it’s not what he’s talking about, but you kiss him again, this time pushing him down so your feet are on the ground again. Your hands are holding tight on his sweatshirt as you pull him even closer and he does the same wrapping his arms around your frame tighter.

You find yourself in the same position in the living room of his apartment, struggling to make it to his bedroom without waking some of the others up. Not that you care much, it would be fair payback for all the chaos they make when you and Haechan are studying together.

The clothes fall on the floor as quickly as he’s on top of you on the bed.

“I hate that I have to ruin your pretty face,” he whispers, fingers deep inside your sopping wet cunt, pumping in and out painfully slowly as he stares at your face, a cute mix between ecstasy and annoyance because he’s giving you something but not enough. “The red eyeshadow looks really good on you, you know?”

You groan, rolling your head back. “It’s not time for compliments.”

“I’ve been complimenting you all night,” he says, teasing your clit with flicks of his thumb but without giving you much. “It is a shame you will look like a mess once I’m done with you.”

“We can’t be loud,” you say, hating that, for one reason or another, you two always have to keep quiet.

“Nah, Jeno has his headphones on playing games with Yangyang. Renjun has headphones on with music to don’t listen to Jeno. Mark’s not home and not even bombs wake Jaemin up.” The explanation is particularly non-sexy now that he has his fingers inside of you and it doesn’t make you relax much, but you hum nonetheless and beg him to keep going.

“Patience, honey. We’ve got all night,” he smirks.

“Yeah but —”

“Ah, ah,” he says, clicking his tongue and silencing you with a finger on your lips. “What did I tell you before? Let it flow.”

“It was different it was —ugh,” you mumble when he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes widening before they narrow to send him a deadly glare, but he only smirks. He has control now. He always does when he has you underneath him, he still has to fight with you a bit, but you both know this is the only time he can ever win against you. And tonight is special, he wants you to let go of the reins completely, he wants you brainless, because even if your brain is the sexiest thing of you —yeah, yeah, and the thing that is making his college years hell on earth— your brain is also the thing that makes you obsess over the smallest thing and doesn’t make you follow your heart so freely.

Yeah, tonight Donghyuck wants you free, but for the sake of the dirty talking later —and to fool himself he doesn’t care about you that much— he’s going to say he wants you dumb.

And he’s starting strong tonight, his beautiful, long fingers reaching deep inside you, hitting right against your sweet spot, causing so much cum to pool around them and drip down while your pussy clenches hard and your hips buck up to ride the pleasure with him. And you don’t have it in you to fight; it feels too good, especially when he starts rubbing your clit and whispers dirty talk about how well you’re taking him.

Your eyes flutter open, just in time to catch the proud smirk on his face as he stares at your body, you dare to say, in awe. It shouldn’t warm your heart, but it does. You don’t even care if he sees you like a prize he won, right now, because even if he does, you know he only fights hard to win the trophies he cares about. He wants you, he likes you, even. Between the hate and the tension, something about what attracts you two together makes this work. And it’s fine.

“Hyuck,” you breathe out, chest panting and toes curling as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach. But you don’t expect the next words that come out of your mouth. “Kiss me.” When you realize what you said, you anticipate him mocking you, your ears already hear the snicker you know, oh so well, but it never arrives. What arrives are his lips on yours as he leans down, pressing his chest against yours while his fingers keep working wonder inside you.

The kiss is passionate, but not rough like the ones you’re so used to sharing. There’s no anger in it, just need and greed, and chemistry. So much chemistry, your hands have to run in his hair and tug them, making him moan and his dick throb against your thigh.

“I want you so bad,” he slurs against your lips. “I will do some dumb shit one day for you.”

You don’t get what he means. You don’t even know what he could mean by that given the nature of your bond, but his words, mixed with the sultry tone of his voice, are enough to make you come. You barely register the orgasm, hitting you like a singular explosion of a firework, leaving you gasping, exploding as quickly as it came yet slowly running through your bones as the feeling tones down.

Haechan snickers softly. “You love it when I get in trouble for you, don’t you? Even when it’s just a promise.”

Your lips part to reply but he shuts you with a kiss. “No talking, not unless I tell you to. I know everything I need to know, your body tells me that,” he says, grinning like an idiot when he shows you his cum coated fingers, tapping them against your lips, silently ordering you to taste yourself. You would never do that, but tonight it’s like he’s commanding you like a puppet on a string, and you obey. Closing your lips around him and sucking hard.

He smirks, feeling his dick get even harder as he stares at your lips. “That’s what I do to you, pretty girl. And I’m not even started.”

Your pussy throbs in anticipation while he pulls his fingers out. You know he’s one to keep promise, and you can’t wait for what’s to come. But he’s taking too long, and you can feel his hard dick against your leg, so your hand creeps down to touch it.

“You’re not in command tonight, angel,” he says, grabbing your wrist to stop you from moving your hand on him.

“But I want you,” you whine, trying to win him with a pouty look on your face.

It doesn’t work as he pushes your hand over your head and leans in. “Patience, princess. Keep quiet, don’t be greedy and just trust me. Can you do that? Or is it too hard for you?” He groans against your ear, making your hips buck up.

“I — I can,” you whisper but he stops with a glare and your brain replays his words ‘quiet, no words from you tonight,’ and he means it. So you nod, breathing in deeply as you feel weak in the knees for the way he looks at you.

“Good girl,” he says, pushing up to stand between your legs, pushing them open.

When he slips inside you, you gasp, dragging your nails on his back. “Are you alright?”

You nod, forcing yourself to look into his eyes.

“Good, and now,” he whispers, kissing your lips, and dragging out of you, “I want you to give into me and completely turn your brain off. You have me, that’s all you need right now.”

When he starts moving in and out, your body succumbs to the pleasure. Your muscles relax as you let him take care of you. His lips trace over your sensitive skin, leaving kisses on your neck and chest. His hands run over your body, touching and squeezing every inch. And he reaches so deep inside of you that you feel you can barely breathe.

“Just like this,” Haechan whispers close to your ear, gently biting the skin on your jaw. “Don’t think about anything,” he groans, hitting you deep after pulling out of you completely. “Not a single worry in that pretty brain of yours.”

You rarely let him win, but you have to admit that the way he makes you feel, the way he can lift all the stress off your shoulders, is a talent. He knows what he’s doing, and the scary thing is that he knows how to get you. So easily wrapped around his fingers, crumbling into nothing at his tiniest touch.

You whimper loudly when his fingers press against your clit, seeing stars at the new stimulation.

“You can take it,” he groans. You’re about to talk but he traps your lips in a messy, wet kiss as he pulls you closer by your waist, hitting even deeper. “You’re a good girl, right? You can take it.”

You’re doubtful, but you do take it, over and over again. You lose track of time and stop counting your orgasms after the third. There’s no need for that. All you need is the pleasure Donghyuck gives you, fucking you until both of you can’t do it anymore.

There’s nothing left once it’s over, no strength to talk or clean up the mess, just the warmth of your bodies cuddled against each other.

“Good morning, I will kill Lee Je — what the hell,” Renjun exclaims, entering the kitchen, making you turn around as if you’ve been caught stealing, holding the mug full of coffee in your hands and giving him a shy smile. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp, pushing your hair out of your face before coming up with a lie. “We studied too late.”

Renjun steps further into the room, staring at you with a raised brow before he tilts his head and studies how you’re dressed. You’re wearing Donghyuck’s sweater and pants.

“Oh, now they call it studying? Last time I checked you’re not med students, didn’t know music had anatomy in the program,” he taunts, grinning at you as he comes to your side.

You choke on your saliva and don’t have time to come up with a reply because he strikes again.

“Oh, no, maybe you were exercising vocalization, it’s better when it’s done together, right?” He winks and you glare at him.

“It’s not what you think,” you lie, but honestly you feel so embarrassed about everything. You didn’t think anybody else would be up this early on a Sunday, but it’s clear you don’t know Renjun well. You could’ve left, but you didn’t want to. It was slowly starting to sink in that you didn’t like the solitude of your life anymore.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” he says, sitting in front of you. “Come here, don’t stay up.”

You do as told, and smile when he offers you a pack of biscuits. “I would’ve cooked something usually, but Jeno kept me up all night.”

You chuckle. “It’s fine, normally I don’t even have breakfast.”

“You don’t?” He gasps, and you nod.

“Yeah, just coffee.”

He looks down at you, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know, I’ll try to eat more, okay? For you.” You reach out your hand and he takes it.

A fit of cough brings both of your gazes to the door and you see Haechan stand against the frame. “Once it’s Jeno, another time it’s Renjun. I bring you home to study and you flirt with my friends.”

“Drop the bullshit, Hyuck. He knows,” you say, rolling your eyes.

Haechan’s eyes widen, but he slowly fakes indifference. “Knows what? That you don’t have time for a relationship so you can’t date him?”

“That you two fuck,” Renjun answers instead, making him cough.

“That’s not true,” he defends. “I hate her,” he says, laughing, but when he meets your eyes and sees them sadden, he feels pain in his heart. “No, no, I don’t hate her, but we’re… you know our relationship, why would we fuck?”

“Who’s fucking?”

“Not you, Jeno. Not you for sure,” Renjun says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey! Why do you always gotta be so rude,” Jeno whines.

“I doubt he’s not getting laid,” you chuckle, and Jeno winks playfully.

“See, words of a wise woman,” he brags, walking to the fridge to grab something.

Renjun sighs loudly. “A woman that doesn’t know you.”

“Would you fuck him?” Haechan asks out of nowhere and you glare at him.

“I just said that he’s hot and smart, I don’t see how he can have a hard time finding somebody,”

“’Cause he’s annoying,” Renjun answers, but Haechan’s not listening.

“I didn’t ask that,” Donghyuck says instead, his attention is all on you as if there’s nobody else in the room.

“I don’t answer stupid questions,” you reply before sipping from your cup and drifting your gaze away.

“Wait, why are you here?” Jeno asks, only now realizing you’re not supposed to be at their place, not in the morning at least… wait… “Wait! Are you two fuck—”

“No,” Haechan answers sternly, glaring at him. “We’re studying. And it got late, so since we were closer to my place, I let her stay the night.”

“I thought you left yesterday saying you had a date, though,” Jeno says confused.

You chuckle under your breath before you feel Haechan’s hand wrap around your writs to pull you out of the room, not even giving you time to finish your coffee. “A studying date, and now drop it.”

When you reach his room, he groans loudly, walking to the closet to pick something to wear. You watch him move for a while, but then you can’t keep your thoughts inside your head anymore.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You ask and he turns around with wide eyes.

“What?”

“Am I something to be ashamed of? Do I don’t fit in the standard of the people you would usually fuck?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want them to get invasive, they don’t let me live once they know something. And with you, it’s more embarrassing because of our history…”

You giggle, trying not to show the relief you’re feeling because, for a moment, you thought he was one of those types of men.

“Why can’t you ever make things easy for me?” He asks, annoyance in his voice. You have so much power over him, more than he likes to admit, and he feels like he can’t even be too mad at you about it.

“Sorry, it’s just, it’s funny having a history with you,” you explain. “My mortal enemy, always ready to steal my number ones, and my good grades.”

“You’re so annoying, you’re never sleeping over ever again.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I won’t let you fuck me ever again.”

“Liar,” he says. “And now move, I’ll drop you home.”

you can find part two on my account on the story masterlist or haechan’s masterlist (i can’t link it because if i do the post won’t appear in the tags)

general taglist: @froggyforhyuck, @wingsss45, @tddyhyck, @technologyculturedneo

fic taglist: @hcluvie, @gusgus0517, @multifandomania, @413cl, @odgsuji,

@hey-hey-heybitch, @nctrawberries, @n0hyuck, @haechoshi,

@girlwholoveslpreppyattire, @viciousdarlings, @hyuckmoon,

@jaeymark, @hqech, @xntlax, @milkyway-vxm, @fullsunahceah,

@beomgyusonlywife, @toroufriteh, @yesohhsehun @shxnz

@haecastor, @hyucksaint, @sk8ermark, @midnightrained

@maiteeeeesstuff, @smwhrinthehaze, @yoursyuno

#nct fanfiction #haechan smut #lee haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #haechan fluff #lee haechan fluff #donghyuck fluff #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #haechan scenarios

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thethirdromana · 6 months ago

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I keep thinking about that post about the woman who went to the Italian restaurant and got really annoyed at being given free garlic bread.

(In summary, if you didn't see it: a group of friends went to an Italian restaurant. The owner greeted them with typical warm Italian hospitality. They got free garlic bread and free drinks. This one woman hated the whole experience, and found it pushy and inappropriate. All of her friends were baffled and so was most of tumblr.)

I think this tracks with a lot of experiences online and especially in interactions with strangers in fandom.

There are posts that go around every so often: is it OK to spam-reblog someone's art? Is it creepy to comment on all of someone's fic? Will people like it if I make art of their OC or their fanfic? Is it OK even to ask?

And the answer always comes back: yes, people love it when you spam-reblog their art, they love comments on their fic, they love it when people make art of something they created.

And the thing is that's true… 99.9% of the time.

The reason people worry about this stuff in the first place is because there are people who complain about these things, who do find it pushy or creepy or whatever. They are a tiny minority but they're out there. In some cases they have good reason, in some cases they're just weird or misanthropic or whatever.

They are the people who don't want free garlic bread. And just as nearly everyone else who goes to that restaurant doesn't want the free garlic bread to stop because of that one woman who had a problem with it, nearly everyone participating in fandom online doesn't want people to stop doing all those lovely things because of the small handful of people who've been grumpy about it.

Sometimes being nice will rub someone up the wrong way, and instinctively that makes us want to retreat back into our shells and stop interacting. Sometimes someone will say "stop reblogging all my art, you weirdo". But that's only a reason to interact differently with that one person, not with everyone. Some people just don't like free garlic bread. But most people do.

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clovers-housetree · 4 months ago

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Activities for Regressors Without Caregivers! (or just fun regression activties!)

(Although you're always welcome here if you'd like any form of comfort anyway! ^w^)

This one's kind of a long one, after the few tips I list, I've mentioned an app I use called Finch, which will be talked about below the cut.

Since that's the case, I'll put my little ending message here instead:

Knowing how to take care of yourself can take a lot of work and practice, but I believe it's worth the effort, because then you'll be a happier and healthier you! Especially if you can find ways to make it fun!

I'm more than happy to be here for you and offer my support in any way I can, anyhow! I'm proud of you for doing what you can, I know it can be very hard.

I myself don't have a caregiver for when I regress, so most of the time I end up taking care of myself! Here are some fun activities and things I do when I regress to keep myself calm and happy! ^w^

Paci mentions/pics not long after the first section for those of you who'd rather not see 'em.

♥ Arts and crafts! I absolutely LOVE coloring and making bracelets with beads, something not too complicated for little hands, but also something fun!

With coloring, you can buy coloring books, or draw something of your own to color in- even printing out a page you find online, coloring digitally, or tracing over something to color in could work! I prefer coloring more than drawing personally because I don't draw all the time, but I bet I could learn a little thing or two from the artists around here!

For bracelets (and other jewelry), strings can be hard to knot with little hands (at least they aren't those small, slippery clasps!!), but the beads shouldn't be too hard to handle if you're careful! Even just planning out patterns is fun!

Here are some My Little Pony bracelets I made, and the decorations I did for my pacis!

♥ Making playlists! Dancing is fun, and a good way to get the zoomies out, but you can just make playlists for any occasion! I have playlists that help me pet-regress, songs with sounds I like, adventure playlists... (Well- a lot of these are still in progress, but- you get the point!)

I also love those playlist videos on YouTube! Animal Crossing, Super Mario Galaxy, Minecraft and music box music are typically my go-to to help me settle or just make for comfy background music! Here's one of my favorites, shadowatnoon has lovely Nintendo music mixes!

♥ Playing with your plushies! You can take them on adventures, or make your own!

Like Toby, climbing The Great Pillow Mountain!

(This is Toby by the way, he's one of my best friends and a VERY good hugger!)

You can play games with them, too! Toby's REALLY good at hide and seek... Maybe you can find him for me? :0

♥ Finding shows to watch! I really like Paw Patrol and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the moment. Plus, you can look at agere content and fics from shows you like! People make really cool stimboards and moodboards, for example, and I like reading through all the fun stories people write!

Here's a silly picture of Rocky I found! :3

Finch

Finch is a self-care app where you take care of your very own little bird friend by taking care of yourself!

You can set daily goals, or for each day (or more specific ones as well I think.). By completing these goals, you give your bird energy to go on adventures! They usually come back with a funny little story or silly questions, because they're learning, too!

Through completing these goals (or daily, at least), you can get Rainbow Stones, which you can use to buy clothes for your bird, make them different colors, or give them furniture for their house!

They're also LGBTQ+ and disability-friendly!! :3

This is my little bird, Honeydew! You're welcome to friend me as well if you'd like, my code is: Z3E2T7VRK6

It's helped me learn a lot about taking care of myself and keeping track of my goals, and I get little rewards for it! I've used the app for several months now, and it's helped me out a lot!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

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diyasgarden · 3 months ago

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The Chain

pairing: Patrick Zweig x reader, minor Art Donaldson x reader

rating: explicit (18+)

word count: 28.3K

summary: Ever since you started at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy, it seemed like Patrick Zweig was out to make your life miserable. But as you both grow older and your relationship with him evolves in ways you couldn't have predicted, you find there is truly no escaping Patrick.

contains: mentions of bullying, infidelity, oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal sex, cucking (somewhat), vaginal penetration with a tennis racket, depressive tendencies, reader slaps Patrick, reader is somewhat pathetic (i still <3 her)

author's note: Hi!! This is my first time ever writing a fic like this. Both in length and plot. Plus, it's my first time writing anything explicit. The idea was sent to me by @senseofnewness (absolutely brilliant!!!) and what was meant to originally be a short fic is now this. The name is taken from the Fleetwood Mac song of the same name, which I felt was fitting for the characters. I have a lot of mixed feelings on this fic, but I know loved it writing it. Enjoy <3

----

“Sign mine?” someone asks from above you. You look up from your seat on the bleachers to see Art Donaldson holding out his yearbook and a pen to you. You blankly stare at it and then your eyes dart around the area to see if someone is going to jump out of the corner laughing at you. It wasn’t like him to do so, but your mind automatically goes to thinking this is some sort of joke. When you’re unable to find anyone, you realize he is genuinely asking. Someone asking to sign your yearbook? Well that’s a first. You’re not friends with him, but then again you weren’t friends with anyone at the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy.

You reach out for the yearbook and pen without saying anything, but then realize how awkward the silence must be. “You may have to burn this afterwards,” you say in an attempt to make a joke to fill the silence, but see a frown form on his face and realize he doesn’t find it funny. You look down at the yearbook on your lap to hide the embarrassment and quickly scribble something, so this interaction can end. Have a good summer! Short and simple. As you hand the book and pen back to him, you hope this is the part where he walks away and you can finish your lunch. It’s 12:55 PM, you need to go soon.

Except he just stands there. You look at him feeling confused. Now what? His eyes dart to the yearbook beside where you sit. It’s only then you realize he wants to sign your yearbook. Another first. You reluctantly take the book and hand it to him, the feeling that this is some sort of joke lingering in the back of your head. Again, Art never joined in on the teasing and it was kind of late to start, but who knows. You wouldn’t be surprised.

He smiles as he opens to the back of the book and starts to write something down. “I’ll guess I’ll still be seeing you around in the fall” he comments in a tone that indicates there is more he wants to say. He pauses, looking at what he wrote, but then starts to write again. “Mhm,” you mumble with your mouth full. You’re both going to Stanford and both playing for Stanford Tennis. You got a full scholarship for the school, just like the one you had for the past six years at the academy. You wouldn’t have been able to pay for university without it. That was the best part of tennis for you: the doors it opened.

You glance down at your watch again as you shove the last bit of your sandwich in your bag. It’s 12:57 now. You need to leave. He smiles as he finally hands the book back to you. “See you at graduation,” he says with a smile and a wave as he walks away. You wave back and look down to see what he wrote in the book. It was nice going to the Academy with you! Can’t wait to see you at Stanford. Keep in touch :)

It is followed by a set of numbers. His phone number? Before you can think too much about this, you see on your watch it’s 12:59. You toss the book back into your bag, and leave.

----

“Where were you?” Patrick asks the minute you open the door to his car and slide into the backseat beside him. He’s parked behind some shop, far enough from campus that no one will know who you are. He rarely picks the same place twice, but this area looks familiar for some reason. You’re not going to tell him about the little run in with Art, so you shrug and say, “Was finishing up some work.” He rolls his eyes, “We are graduating next week and you care about work?"

You just look at him with an annoyed expression, one that he clearly doesn’t care about, because it just makes him laugh. He then looks at you, taking in the furrow of your brows, before leaning in close to your face. He smirks, as his hand moves to your thigh. It slowly moves up underneath your skirt and you feel his fingers pull at the little spandex shorts you have underneath. Then his lips come down crashing on yours.

----

Your classmates at the academy have a very surface level understanding of you. They know your family is poor. They know you can only attend the school because of a scholarship. And they all hate you. Curetsy of the one and only Patrick Zwieg.

From the start he made it clear that he thought you didn’t belong in the academy. It’s not like your twelve year old self did anything to upset him when you first joined. He just took one look at you and decided your existence at the academy went against the laws of nature. And well he wasn’t wrong. You were surrounded by people who had enough privilege to coast through life, while you had none. You were well aware you were the black sheep. He was just rubbing salt in the wound.

Your first year at the academy was spent with the twelve year old Patrick calling you names any chance he got. As he got older, he just seemed to get more creative with the torment. From breaking your rackets and getting others to tease you, it got worse each year. By the time you turned fifteen, every single one of your classmates knew you as the broke scholarship student who should have dropped out ages ago. What they didn’t know was the fact you’ve been sleeping with Patrick.

It was junior year and the weekend before Christmas. You both were the only ones who hadn’t left for winter break yet. Your family always booked the cheapest flight for you, which usually means flying on Christmas day. While you don’t remember why he was still at the academy, you do remember running into him at the indoor courts. He made some comments about your family. You don’t remember exactly what but you assume it was something about your parent’s inability to spend money on a decent flight. Maybe it was the fact that you two were the only ones there, but something snapped inside you that day. You called him “a worthless trust fund kind who’d never amount to anything.” Your first time ever speaking back to him and that really set him off. The next thing you know he was dragging you into the locker room saying he was going to shove your head in the toilet.

For all the years he spent threatening to put your head in the toilet, this was the first time he ever actually acted on it. His grip on you was strong. You distinctly remember thinking that it was the end. And then just as he actually got you into the locker room, you saw you had the opportunity to do what everyone wishes they could to the men that make their life miserable: hit him right in the nuts. You punched him there hard and he fell to the ground.

The next thing you knew, you got on top of him while he laid on the ground and hit him. Years of pent up rage pouring out of you in your smacks and the insults you hurled at him. What happened after that was all a blur. You felt something poke your thigh and before you could even process the fact you somehow turned him on, his mouth crashed on yours and you both started making out on the floor of the boy’s locker room.

You didn’t see him after that. He went to go home the morning after and when Christmas day came you left too. What happened between the both of you in the locker room lingered at the back of your mind all throughout the break. The memory felt like a sinful secret that aroused you more than any form of smut or porn could. You even touched yourself to it. While that was slightly shameful, you weren’t surprised it affected you so much. The fact that you were a social pariah at the academy meant none of your classmates showed any interest in you, be it platonic, romantic, or sexual. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was your first proper time making out with a boy. And you weren’t blind. Patrick may have been your bully, but you knew he was attractive.

By the time January rolled around and you were back at the academy, you didn’t know what to expect. You didn’t know what effect that moment had on him. On one hand, you knew he got around and was not as sexually pent up as you, so maybe this was normal for him? On the other hand, he must have at least felt a bit of shock for making out with you considering the fact how he always treated you. Regardless, there was no universe in which you could imagine Patrick being nice to you. You saw him on the first day back in your history class, and just as if nothing happened, he insulted your hand-me-down backpack as you walked into the classroom. His friends laughed and joined in, and you realized whatever happened that weekend before Christmas was a freak accident. You just assumed things were now back to normal, up until he cornered you later that day behind the gym. A little nook where no one could see either of you. He bent down close to your face and threatened that if you ever told anyone he’d kill you. You felt heart race and thighs clench, but before you could give any response his lips were once again on yours. And that’s how it all started.

----

“You’re playing in the US junior open?” Patrick asks as he sits up again, leaning against the car window, his face flushed and hair messy from the sex.

You sit up as well as you nod in response. How did he find out about that? You guess some coach probably told him. You slowly reach for your clothes from the floor of the car, and look outside the window. This time you realize why it felt familiar. This is where he parked his car for you both to fuck after prom. You went alone (only because your mother called you saying you may regret it if you didn’t) and he went with another girl, but an hour after the dance ended you got a text from him telling you where to find him. Without a second thought, you went.

You turn back to face him, as you pull on your shirt, and see he has a pensive expression as if debating something. “What?” you ask. “I didn’t know you qualified,” he says. You simply shrug in response, you weren’t sure how you qualified either. Tennis is an out of body experience at this point. When you watch your games, it never feels like you’re watching yourself.

“Guess they let anyone play,” he says with a little chuckle looking out the window, although his voice isn’t mocking like in public. When he teased you in private, it always felt more playful. As if he wanted to make you laugh, not cry. You watch him look out the window to check if anyone is around. He turns back to you and says, "I have to get back for practice.” This was his way of saying: Now that we are done fucking, you need to leave.

You pull up your skirt and nod to let him know you got the message. You pick up your bag and step out of the car. Just as you start to walk back in the direction of campus, you hear the window of his car roll down and Patrick calling your name. You turn to face him and he asks, “Same time tomorrow?” You should say no, but instead you say, “Sure.”

----

Your last week at the Academy was relatively peaceful. Some name calling here and there, but as graduation got closer no one seemed to have the energy to bother you. Everyone was busy talking about their summer plans, the junior open, or where they were going in the fall. Nearly everyone committed to one university or another, either to play tennis there or just to get a degree. Only Patrick chose to go pro, which wasn’t a surprise considering he was always vocal about how pointless university was. You two spent the last week hooking up in his car behind random buildings and in abandoned parking lots after classes ended, but the last time you actually saw him was at graduation. After the ceremony, you headed out towards your parents and saw him standing with a serious expression as two adults talked to him. His parents you guessed. As you watched him, he turned to face you as his parents continued to talk, not noticing his attention was elsewhere, and you both just looked at each other.

You broke eye contact first when your parents asked you to pose for a photo. You never told them about how awful the other students treated you at the academy. Mostly because you knew they would have pulled you out. You didn't want that because you were aware that the public school in your home town wouldn’t have given you half as good of an education as the academy. As a result, they thought everything was great and were eager to memorialize the time you spent there, taking photos of every game and event they could attend. Although, this you could agree was momentous. Graduation meant you were leaving the academy behind, so you happily posed for them. By the time they were done snapping pictures of you in your cap and gown and you looked around for Patrick, he was nowhere to be found. Of course he wouldn’t have come up to you, and you wouldn’t have gone up to him. But you expected something more than whatever that was. It felt like an anticlimactic ending to the past six years.

The summer last year, the one in between junior and senior year, you had kept in contact, but it was really just phone sex at least once a week. This summer he hadn’t reached out once. You didn’t either, choosing to spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about him instead. You told yourself that it was a much needed reflection on your relationship with Patrick, which regardless of how bizarre and unconventional was still your first relationship. In all fairness, relationship was too generous of a word, but you couldn’t think of what else to call it. You lost your virginity to him and you were sleeping together for over a year. Consistently too, as you met up multiple times each week. Of course it was always on his terms. You met when he wanted to meet. Always in private and never doing anything in public that could even hint at what they were doing. He was still awful to you in front of others. A part of you hated the fact that someone you made your life so miserable could make you feel so good, but a larger part was ready to comply with anything he wanted. It was sadistic, but you couldn’t help but find it poetic that the first guy to make you break down in public was also the first guy to make you come.

You tried to occupy the time by spending time with your family, being in the sun, and practicing tennis, but nothing was enough to expel Patrick from your mind. By the time the junior open came around, you were grateful to have something else to focus on.

----

You got out of the open when you lost a semi finals match against Anna Mueller. You didn’t even expect to get that far, so you were unphased by the loss. Your family was proud and you had one more match in the evening against the player who lost the other girls’ singles semi final. It was just to determine who’d place third and who’d place fourth, and you were fine with either. You decided to pass the time till then by taking a little walk around the center where the open was being held. It was your first time here, so you may as well explore.

Just as you stood in front of a board in the entry hall of the center detailing its history, you heard a familiar voice say to you, “Great match yesterday. You were amazing.”

You turned around to see the strawberry blonde you only expected to see again at Stanford stand in front of you. He is smiling and you can tell he is being genuine when he says it, but that doesn’t stop you from saying, “Well I lost.”

Art simply shrugs in response, “You still played well.” Unsure what to say in response, you nod slowly. You can feel your eyes go downcast , and an awkward silence forms between the both of you. He swallows and looks at you as the awkwardness grows. Then suddenly he says, “You never called.”

“Huh?” you respond looking up at him. “Your yearbook…I wrote down my number,” he reminds you in a slow voice, his cheeks flushing pink as he does. You can see he is embarrassed, but you honestly did forget about his message in your yearbook.

“Oh..that,” you say with a forced laugh, trying to seem normal. If you were unsure how to respond to his compliment about your game, you are at a genuine loss of words on how to acknowledge this. He surely couldn’t have actually expected you to call him over the summer? You came to the conclusion that he left his phone number as a formality because you were both going to Stanford. A way to contact him once you both got there.

Art lets out a forced little laugh too, and you can see he feels equally awkward by this interaction. For a moment, it looks like he is about to say something, until you hear an even more familiar voice ask, “What’s going on here?”

Both you and Art turn to the direction where the voice came from and see Patrick standing there. While you imagined the moment you’d run into Patrick again, nothing you imagined was as awkward as this. His summer tan is visible against the white of his shirt, and you bite down on your back teeth to stay focused. His eyes dart between you and Art and it’s clear he has picked up on whatever awkward energy is radiating off the both of you. For a moment you think he is going to laugh or crack a joke about your inability to hold a conversation, but his eyebrows just furrow.

Art’s eyes go to the side, unable to hold the weight of Patrick’s gaze, and you realize it’s up to you to say something, “We were just talking about my game yesterday,” you say.

“Against Anna Mueller,” Patrick says and you nod. “The one you lost,” he then adds. Art shoots him an expression you can’t read, but one that Patrick obviously understands because he shrugs and adds on, “What? She did lose.”

Art just sighs and turns back to you, “We should get going. We have our doubles final in an hour.”

“Oh good luck,” you say with a little nod. Of course they were in the doubles competition together. Fire and Ice. While you knew they were the poster child for being a duo in every sense of the word, you always found it hard to associate both boys with each other like everyone else did. Art was the only one of Patrick’s friends who didn’t make fun of you. When Patrick or any of this other friends said something, he’d just sit there watching. Which was always a bit strange considering he was his best friend.

“You’ll come watch?” Art then asks slowly.

This request surprises both you and Patrick, who’s eyebrows shoot up a little bit. “Uh...yeah sure,” you say with a little shrug. It feels too awkward to say no to Art right now, even if you don’t fully understand why he wants you at the game or want to go in the first place. Art just smiles in response, and waves a bit as he walks off. He stops when he notices Patrick just stands there looking at you.

You look at Patrick and you see he has a stony expression on his face directed right at you. “Patrick?” Art asks, and as if shaken back to reality Patrick’s face instantly goes back to normal.

He turns to Art and with a little nod Patrick says, “I came in to use the bathroom. You head out, I’ll catch up to you later.” Art simply nods and walks to exit the center and head back to the courts. Both you and Patrick watch Art leave, and the minute he is out of the door, Patrick walks over and grabs your wrist before you can even process what’s going on. “Come,” is all he says as he starts to walk, taking you along with him. You soon realize he is taking you into the bathroom with him. He opens the door to the men’s bathroom and then takes you into a stall. He locks it behind him.

Patrick looks at you for a moment and then asks in a low voice, “So what were you and Art actually talking about? “We were talking about my game,” you say with a nod. “Don’t bullshit me,” he says with an expression that shows he knows you’ve left something out.

You just look at him for a moment, staring into his green eyes, which stare right back at you with a serious look. You assume he is worried that you may have told Art about the two of you. You shrug and admit, “He gave me his number.” Patrick just looks at you, but before he can say anything, you add on “Not like right now, but before school ended.”

“At the academy?” he asks, his voice tinged with slight disbelief. “He wrote it in my yearbook,” you say. “What? So you’ve been texting him or something?” Patrick then asks, his voice irritated now. You shake your head no and his eyebrows furrow as if trying to determine if you’re lying or not. Something about your expression must make him realize you’re being honest, because after a few seconds he nods in response. He looks to the side and then back to you. “You’re actually going to come to the game?” he then asks. You shrug in response, at this point, you’d feel bad for not showing up, so you’re going to be there anyway. “I guess so. Yeah,” you mumble with a little nod.

“Give me a good luck kiss then” he says. You blink once, not expecting this, but then comply anyway. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips, and once you do, you plant a kiss on them. You can feel him smile underneath your lips, and in a low voice he says, “Cute, but you know that’s not what I meant.” His hand reaches for yours and you feel it move to his groin, and you can feel he’s hard already. “You’ve been wearing the same tennis skirts for the past three years. They’ve always given me a nice view of your ass.” His other hand sneaks underneath your skirt as he rests a hand on your spandex short and then gives your ass a squeeze. Of course this is what he brought you in here for. You remember how you spent the past month reflecting on moments just like that. How you spent hours analyzing your relationship with him under the impression that it was over. But with your hand gently palming his crotch in the bathroom stall, you realize how wrong you were.

Could you both get disqualified for this? Anyone could come into the bathroom, and it would be obvious what was happening, even in the stall. Even with these concerns, you sink to your knees without a second thought, as he starts to pull down his shorts. He doesn’t even bother pulling it down fully, just enough to be exposed.

You lick your hand and then place it on the base of his length, getting a whimper from him in response, as you slowly start to move it up and down. You move your lips to his tip, and slowly wrap it around his cock. He moans as you start giving him sloppy sucks and continue to move your hand. He pushes himself deeper into your mouth and you yelp, and this elicits another moan, “God.” His hands reach down to your head. His hands wrap around your hair, holding it, and start to pull your head back and forth. As he continued to thrust in your throat, you felt his public hair brush against your nose. Realizing you’re fully taking him, you move your hand from the base of his dick to cupping his sack with a slight squeeze, which just makes him moan even more. “Don’t stop.” You did your best to match the pace of your squeezes to his thrusts, and after a few minutes of this, he pulled back, just leaving just the tip. You felt him throb around your lips and shortly after he came in your mouth.

He smiles down at you as you swallow, and then pulls you up by the shoulders and kisses you on his lips. His tongue snakes into your mouth and after a minute of tasting himself on your lips, he pulls away and smiles at you. “See you at the game,” he says with a smile, as he then opens the stall door and walks out. You just stand there, as you hear the door to the bathrooms open and close, trying to ignore the growing ache between your legs.

----

You end up getting to the game midway through the first set and sit in the bleachers surrounded by other people. You hope that neither Art nor Patrick can see you, but of course they do. During the break Art smiles and gives you a little wave, and Patrick just flashes a smirk. The same smile he gave you in the men’s bathroom thirty minutes ago and your stomach does a flip. You didn’t get the chance to take care of yourself after that, busy trying to process what happened and denying the fact that you are wet. You’re failing at the latter as you feel your thighs clench at seeing him on the court. The game continues and you feel the ache grow as you watch Patrick play. The way his body moves as he runs to the ball and his grunts as he hits it all seem to make your wetness grow. Your thighs clench as you see his shirt ride up a bit to hit the ball and you catch a glimpse of his abs and happy trail.

The sight makes you lose whatever remaining reason you have, as you get up and mutter sorry as you climb over the other people in the row to get away. You go down the bleachers and walk around until you find the closest bathroom. Once you spot it, you nearly run into it and lock the door. Unlike the bathroom you were in earlier, this one has no stalls. Just for one person, and you feel grateful for the privacy. You walk over to the sink, resting both hands on its sides and slowly leaning on it. You look at yourself for a minute, your face is slightly red and your breathing is labored.

You take a deep breath as you close your eyes and your hand sneaks down between to the ache. Your fingers find your throbbing clit and you start making slow little circles as you think about Patrick on the court. The more you lose yourself in the memory, the more your fingers speed up. The way his biceps flexed. The slight jiggle of his thighs. The abs. The happy trail. Every single grunt. It’s not long before you moan and feel yourself come undone. As you feel yourself come off your high, your eyes shoot open and you look at yourself in the mirror. Your breathing is even more erratic and your face more flushed. A wave of clarity washes over you and then you just feel pathetic.

You wash your hands and splash some water on your face. As you step out of the bathroom, you’re certain that the game is still going on, but don’t feel up to going back and watching. You know Art and Patrick will probably win anyway, and you need to get out of the clothes. As you walk back to the hotel, you’re sure you can smell your arousal.

----

Besides the weird events of the afternoon, your game went well. You won and that placed you third overall. You sip your sprite as you look around the lights that are strung from tree to tree at the Adidas Long Island party. It was being held for Tashi Duncan, who was the winner of the girls single US junior open. Like anyone in the tennis world, you had heard of her before. The next Serena Williams. It was disappointing your game was the same time as hers because you’re sure it would have been amazing to watch her play. Originally, you weren’t planning on coming, but when your parents found out your mom pulled out the one nice dress she made you pack just in case you needed it and insisted you go. After the events of this afternoon and winning your game in the evening, you admitted that the party was a nice distraction and celebration for those things respectively.

Even though the beach area is a bit far from where the party is, you can somewhat see the waves from there. You take another sip of your drink and watch the waves for a moment, before you hear a voice come up from behind you. “It’s pretty right?” you turn to see Art. God does this man have a thing for sneaking up on you. He looks at you with a small smile, and it’s clear he only said that to start a conversation with you.

“Yeah…it is,” you respond with a little nod. Your throat feels dry so you take another sip of your drink, and to prevent an awkward silence “Your game was good.”

“Thanks…” he says with a little nod. His eyes glance to the side and then he says in a slow voice, “You left midway.”

“I got a little nervous about my game, so I just went back to the hotel to relax for a bit,” you lie with a little too much ease.

Art nods and it looks like you’re in the clear. It’s not like he could predict the real reason you left anyway. “Congrats on the win,” he then says with a little nod. “I wish I could have come but I was at the..” his voice trails off as he motions to a poster of Tashi hung up across the party.

“Oh..no yeah,” you say, it makes sense he was at that final. “I’m sure that would have been much more interesting,” you add on with a little laugh that just slips out. Art lets out a little laugh too, and it finally seems as if you’ve moved away from the awkwardness all your conversations have.

You both look at the posters of Tashi and relax in the now non-awkward silence between the both of you. It’s short lived, because a minute later you both see Patrick standing by the poster looking at the both of you. You can sense Art tensing up beside you, and you’re sure your reaction is equally fraught. You take a sip of your sprite in an attempt to hide your expression behind the bottle.

Patrick is gripping a coke bottle and looks at both of you with an irritated look. Then his gaze singles in on Art. His expression seems to communicate the words get over here. Art looks at him with an expression that says what? Patrick holds the expression and Art sighs, “I’ll be right back”

You nod as you watch Art walk over to Patrick by the posters. As Art approaches him, Patrick’s gaze goes back to you for a moment but then falls to the ground as if he is unable to make eye contact with you. For a moment you find it hard to believe this is the same man who was shoving his cock down your throat earlier today. His gaze goes to Art again and he immediately starts saying something to him. You take a sip from your drink, and see both boys get lost in conversation, but you’re too far to hear about what. Patrick is probably talking bad about you anyway. You turn to look away and back at the waves. Even though the party is outside, it suddenly feels too claustrophobic to any longer be enjoyable.

----

You’ve been walking around the estate for the past ten minutes to get rid of the feeling. It’s a bit chilly, but is nice enough to just wander around aimlessly. “Hey!” you hear a woman’s voice call out in the distance followed by your name. You turn to see Tashi Duncan walking towards you. Now this had to be the most surprising part of that night. You give a small smile and wave as she gets closer.

Once she’s standing by you she says, “I didn’t know you came.” And you didn’t expect her to know who you were so you were both surprised. You shrug and say, “Well thought I would stop by.”

“It’s nice right,” she comments as she begins to walk and looks out at the water in the distance. You nod in response and get the feeling that she wants you to walk alongside her, so you do. “Yeah…You look nice,” you tell her, unsure what else to say, “Thanks. You do too,” she says with another smile as she looks at you. You know she’s just returning the compliment for the sake of it, but you smile in response anyway. After a moment she says, “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” you respond, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. This whole day feels like one long fever drink. “I’m going to Stanford too,” she explains. “You’re one of the names they mentioned when I committed.” You nod in response. You have a vague memory of a Stanford representative emailing you with a list of others who were going to play alongside you, but you didn’t really take the time to go through it. As long as you had your full ride, you couldn’t care less. Before you can respond, she speaks again. “Thought maybe I could get your number or email, so we could talk. You know, get to know each other.”

“Oh...yeah...of course” you say a little awkwardly. You say your number and then add on “My email is just my full name at Gmail dot com” She nods with a smile, but before either of you say anything else, something catches Tashi’s eye. Then you see her waving to someone in the distance. Your eyes follow her gaze to Patrick and Art on a bench. They knew each other? All you wanted to do was run in the other direction. She starts to walk towards them, and you trail behind her, feeling too awkward to walk away. Patrick’s eyes lock on you for a moment, a flicker of surprise on his face. Art just smiles seeing both of you walk over.

As soon as you both are close enough, Art begins talking but you’re unable to pay attention. You find your eyes downcast, as all three of them engage in a conversation. You feel unbearably warm even though the night air is chilly. Your eyes glance at Patrick and then dart away. You feel both the urge to step closer to him and walk away.

Suddenly they all get up and start to walk, but you’re still standing there. Tashi turns around and calls your name. You look up and hear her add, “You coming?” All three of them look at you waiting for an answer, but you lock eyes with Patrick who’s jaw seems to tick as soon as you do. Your gaze goes back to Tashi. “Sorry, yeah,” you say as you walk to them.

----

Once again you find yourself completely zoning out while the rest of them are engaged in some conversation. It’s like you’re not even there. You sit on a rock by the water, reaching your hand down to feel it. You don’t even bother looking at the direction of the rest of them, knowing your eyes would lock in on Patrick again.

“What do you think?” you hear Tashi ask as she turns to face you. You turn to her, your face blank, having no clue what they were talking about. Once she registers the confusion, she adds “About tennis being a relationship?”

You’re not even given a chance to respond before Patrick goes, “Looks like it’s someone’s bed time.” No one is amused by the comment. Art looks at his cigarette and Tashi rolls her eyes at him. Thankfully, when Tashi turns back to you, waiting for an answer, you realize Patrick’s comment has provided you with a way out of this. “Yeah…I’m feeling a bit tired…I should probably get back to the hotel,” you say as you stand up.

Tashi’s lips press together as she looks at you, you assume she is judging you, so you look away and brush some sand off your dress. “Oh” Art says as he looks at you, with a little nod. Patrick gives Art a look from the side of his eye, but then looks at you as he brings a cigarette up to his lips.

“Yeah…I’m leaving tomorrow so...” your voice trails off as you say it, not really sure why you added that part. You doubt that any of them care.

“See you at school,” Tashi then says.

You give her a wave and a small smile back, as you walk away from the three of them on the beach.

----

You’re unable to sleep. It’s around one am. Your parents are fast asleep on their side of the hotel room, but you're too restless to do so. You pick up your phone and see a few new messages.

Patrick: That was the same dress you wore for the formal in sophomore year. I can’t believe you still have it. (sent 1:07 AM, 07/24/06)

You can hear his voice when you read it. You can imagine the little laugh after he says it. You then see there is one more message.

Patrick: You looked cute. Wish I could have fucked you in it. (sent 1:08 AM, 07/24/06)

You roll your eyes but find yourself smiling anyway.

You: Night Patrick (sent 1:10 AM, 07/24/06)

Patrick: Night ;) (sent 1:10 AM, 07/24/06)

----

The rest of your summer was spent messaging Tashi. She wasn’t lying when she said she wanted to get to know you. You got an email from her as soon as you got home from the open, and soon that turned into exchanging messages everyday with each other. Your conversations ranged from tennis to other things, like about your family and your other interests. It was new to have someone so interested in you. You had to admit, it was a nice feeling, even if you didn’t understand where it came from.

Tashi: You know you never talk about the academy. (sent 2:45 PM, 08/09/06)

You: Don’t have much to say. (sent 2:45 PM, 08/09/06)

Tashi: Really? (sent 2:46 PM, 08/09/06)

You don’t want to rehash your time there. You don’t want to think about that. And you especially don’t want to think about Patrick either. After that day at the junior open, you only heard from him once, through a message asking how your summer has been. He sent no response when you said fine and asked how he had been. You’re not even sure why you were talking about the academy with Tashi. Why did she suddenly seem interested?

You: I just didn’t have a great time there. Just didn’t have many friends. (sent 2:50 PM, 08/09/06)

A safe response. Enough of an explanation, without any details.

Tashi: Oh (sent 2:51 PM, 08/09/06)

You: Being the poor scholarship kid and stuff. (sent 2:52 PM, 08/09/06)

You decide to add on for good measure.

Tashi: Oh yeah, it makes sense. It’ll make a great story when you go pro tho. Who doesn’t love an underdog. (sent 2:55 PM, 08/09/06)

Somehow Tashi is under the impression that you will eventually go pro. You’re not exactly sure when or how this assumption formed, but she mentions it so casually you don’t want to tell her that you’re unsure about this.

You: True. (sent 2:56 PM, 08/09/06)

You stare at your phone and then quickly send another message.

You: You’re curious about the academy? (sent 2:56 PM, 08/09/06)

Tashi: I was talking about it with Patrick. (sent 2:57 PM, 08/09/06)

You feel your heart drop as you look at the message. You didn’t know they still talked. With Art it would make sense. Another person she’d see around at Stanford, but Patrick? Why was she talking to Patrick?

You: Patrick? (sent 2:57 PM, 08/09/06)

Tashi: We’re kind of going out. (sent 2:57 PM, 08/09/06)

You read the message over again. And then again. They were going out with each other? You feel a weird knot form in your chest. She was going out with Patrick. The same Patrick who bullied you all throughout school? The same Patrick you spent over a year hooking up with you in private? You bite the inside of your cheek as you type back a response.

You: Oh I didn’t know. (sent 2:58 PM, 08/09/06)

Tashi: It’s a long story. (sent 2:58 PM, 08/09/06)

Before you can even send a message back, you get a call from her. She spends the next hour explaining everything. The hotel room. The kiss. The deal. And then the boys’ final. Patrick won her number fair and square. Shortly after she and Patrick went out and then slept together. The knot in your chest only grows as you hear her speak. You do your best to ignore it.

“That's…that’s a lot,” you say, unsure how to even process anything she just said.

“I know,” she says on the other end. She exhales, and then asks, “Anyway, did you buy a fan for your dorm?”

----

“Let’s grab dinner?” Tashi asks as she walks from the court towards you, Art trailing behind her as he wipes his forehead with a towel.

You nod as you grab your backpack. “Yeah let’s go,” you respond.

“Let me change and then we’ll head out,” Tashi says, as she heads into the locker room. Tashi always practiced later than everyone else, a true testament to her passion. Everyone else finished and left an hour ago. Only you and Art stayed back with her, and now you both were the only ones on the court.

Transitioning into college life was easy enough. All that time spent messaging Tashi meant coming into college with a friend. Your classes were interesting and you did well. You became friends with others on the tennis team, although most of your time was spent with Tashi and Art. He always seemed to be following the both of you around, which would have been strange if you didn’t know about the fact he was into Tashi. The fact she was dating Patrick, seemed to have no effect on his attraction.

Your stomach grumbles, and Art hears. He smiles and asks, “Hungry?” You let out a laugh in response and ask, “What gave it away?”

He laughs in response and then he looks at you as if studying his expression for a moment. His face becomes slightly serious and you know he has something to say. “What is it?” you ask. “Nothing,” he says with a shrug, feigning a nonchalance you both know doesn’t exist. “Art,” your voice is more serious now too.

This was bound to happen. You always knew that he would eventually visit them. He was dating Tashi and Art is his best friend. Of course he would come. The thought makes your stomach flip and you bite down on your back teeth.

Your inability to conceptualize Art and Patrick’s friendship, was a large part in why you were able to become friends with Art. But in moments like this, the only thing you could see when you looked at him, was Patrick Zweig’s best friend. Consumed in your thoughts, you say nothing in response. You only even register the silence, when you hear Art say “I should go change too before we go eat.” You nod and watch him walk away.

----

“So Art told you?” Tashi asks from across the bed as she looks up at you from the calculus homework you’re both trying to work through. She doesn’t have to say what she is talking about, you already know what. “Yeah,” you say, still looking at your work.

“I was going to tell you,” she says, with a little shrug, still looking at you. “Is it a big deal?”

“It’s not,” you respond quickly as you try to focus on the problem.

“No I think it is,” she says with a little huff, which causes you to look up from the work. “You act so weird whenever he’s brought up.” You just shrug in response and it’s almost ironic how much you’re proving her point right now. You look back down at the graphs on your paper “He acts like this too,” she then says. Now that gets your attention. You look up again and ask, “He does?”

“Like anytime you come up in conversation he gets weird,” she says with a shrug. They’ve talked about you before? Before you have the chance to process this revelation, she says, “And you both act strange around each other”

“You’ve only ever seen us interact once,” you say with a forced laugh, looking down at the paper again and remembering that night on the beach. “Yeah I know, but still,” she says with a shrug. Then she asks, “Did something happen between the two of you at the academy?”

The right answer to this question: Too much to discuss right now. You just shrug again and say, “We didn’t get along”

Tashi just nods as she mulls over your response. Before she can find some flaw in your answer to probe at, you decide to change the subject by asking, “Did you figure out question 3?”

----

The day Patrick comes to Stanford is a Friday. You go to class, then to practice, and everything is normal until you get a text from Art around seven pm.

Art: He’s here. Meet in my dorm in a half hour? (sent 6:58 PM, 09/15/06)

You: See you then (sent 6:59 PM, 09/15/06)

Tashi had already told you how she wanted all of you to go out together when Patrick came, so you more or less expected a text like this. Even with the expectation, your chest has knots and your stomach flips. You pick at the skin of your cuticles as you walk back to your dorm and once you get there you sit down on the bed trying to create some expectation for the night. Your mind is blank, and you realize you should probably get ready.

You grab some jeans and a nice top, throw it on and then take a look at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair. A part of you hates yourself for caring how you look right now. But it’s not large enough to stop you from putting on lipstick and eyeliner. You take one last look at yourself before heading out.

When you get to Art’s dorm, you realize you’re the first one to arrive. “Hey,” he says with a smile sitting on the edge of his bed. You walk over with a smile and sit down next to him. You’re about to greet him when your eyes fixate on the picture of him and Patrick on his bedside table. It looks like it was taken about the junior open, with both of them holding the trophy they won. He follows your gaze to it, and you both look at it for a moment. “I actually…” he starts and you turn to him. “I wanted to talk to you about—”

“And here I was thinking that I was early.” Both of you look to the door and see Patrick standing there. There is a flash of annoyance on his face, but it’s quickly covered up with a laugh and a raised eyebrow. Art just looks at Patrick, a mild look of disappointment on his face. “What a warm welcome,” Patrick says sarcastically, which causes the icy look on Art’s face to slowly disappear, a small smile forming instead. Patrick looks at you and you feel your heartbeat speed up just from the look. You think he’s about to pull out one of the insulting nicknames he coined for you at the academy. “Let’s go?” you hear Tashi ask as she walks into the room too. Patrick smiles at her and wraps a hand around her waist. You bite the inside of your cheek. You nod in response, as you walk towards the door. You don’t let yourself look at Patrick, even though you feel his gaze on you. You tell yourself you imagined it.

----

Tashi picked out this bar by campus to go to. As a place that doesn’t check IDs and has cheap drinks. Naturally, it’s full of students. You’re two drinks in and feel slightly drunk. You’re sitting at the bar sipping on your third, talking to some girl from your French literature class. Whatever you said must have been funny, because she is laughing. You laugh with her, before someone taps her on the shoulder and her attention is pulled elsewhere. You look down at your drink as you take another sip. “Looks like someone has friends now.” You turn to see Patrick taking the seat next to you at the bar, he already has a drink in his hand. His voice is playfully teasing and he has a grin on his face. The same expression he’d make when he would hand back a racket of yours he just broke or look up at you from in between your legs. “Well I guess people like me now,” you say, your inhibitions lowered by the alcohol. It’s the first real conversation you had with him all night and you want it to be over already. Your heart beat picks up again. He lets out a little laugh at your response, finding your retort amusing. He’s close enough that you can get the scent of the marlboro reds he smokes and his cologne. His eyes flick from your eyes to your lips and then to your eyes again.

“Didn’t realize you were so close with Tashi,” he then pauses and then in a little more serious voice adds, “Art now too.” You just blink at him in response. You see his jaw tick again, and this along with the change in tone sets off a signal in your head and you sit up a bit straighter as you look at him. You don’t have the chance to get a word as Patrick continues, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you and Art, but it ends here okay.” His voice is serious and so is his gaze. He leans in a bit more and his nose bumps yours. It feels as if his stare is burning holes through your head. You were used to Patrick being mean, but this was different. For starters, he was never that rude to you in private after the locker room incident that started your little relationship. And his treatment usually served to mock or humiliate you in some way. This felt as if was putting his foot down about something. “Okay?” he asks again due to your silence. Your heartbeat speeds up even more.

“Okay,” you repeat in a small voice, feeling like a child who is being reprimanded for something. He doesn’t like that you’re friends with Art?

He looks at you as if analyzing your expression. He remains close and his eyes flick down to your lips. For a moment you think he’s going to kiss you. Or drag you to the bar bathroom for a quick fuck. He then just huffs, as he steps back and takes a sip of the drink in his hand. You instantly feel stupid for your previous thoughts. He is dating Tashi. Tashi who is a literal goddess on earth. There is no reason for him to want you anymore. Whatever happened in school is over. The incident at the open was just a weird epilogue. But now it is done.

“You should stop doing that,” he says. You realize his gaze is now directed at your hands. He makes a little motion to where you’ve picked off the skin by your cuticles. “It’s not good for you.” he says, still looking at it. His gaze comes back to you and the minute you both make eye contact he looks away. He looks across the bar and he must see either Tashi or Art because he smiles in that direction and walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your drink.

----

Your head is throbbing and you feel nauseous just thinking about the hangover you’ll probably have tomorrow morning. You can’t remember the last time you were this drunk. Have you ever been this drunk? You can’t even remember how much you had to drink at this point. You manage to stumble out of the bar and the fresh air is so refreshing you smile. It’s a 10 minute walk back to your dorm, you’re sure you can make it. You move slowly, and as you pass by the alleyway by the bar you see Art and Patrick sharing a cigarette. They’re far enough and too immersed in their conversation to see you.

“I can’t believe we’re still talking about this,” you hear Patrick say with a scoff.

“I don’t get why you think it’s such a big deal,” Art responds.

This draws out a laugh from “No you know why I think it’s a big deal, and honestly man thought you were over this.” Patrick says as he takes the cigarette Art is holding and takes a drag. “Aren’t you into Tashi now."

Art scoffs and looks to the side. “Jesus Patrick.” This just makes Patrick laugh. “This is not about Tashi, this is about—”

Patrick cuts him off and goes, “A girl who is and has always been a pathetic loser.” It’s then you realize that the person they’re talking about is you.

Art sighs and takes the cigarette back with a sigh. “I like her.” As his words sink in, your earlier conversation with Patrick makes a lot more sense. It’s too dizzying to think about, and it makes you feel even more exhausted than you already are. You look at the road ahead of you and continue stumbling your way back to the dorm.

----

You spent the rest of the weekend Patrick was on campus in your dorm room. You woke up with an awful hangover and messages from all three of them. Tashi and Art were just about how they didn’t see you leave and asking if you got back to the dorm fine, Patrick’s was something different all together.

Patrick: Don’t forget what we talked about. (sent 9:38 AM, 09/16/06)

You don't respond to him. You wouldn’t even know how if you wanted to. You texted Art and Tashi that you were all fine, just miserably hung over.

Tashi: Want to grab breakfast? (sent 9:45 AM, 09/16/06)

You: Think I want to sleep for some more time. (sent 9:46 AM, 09/16/06)

Until Monday, hanging out with them meant hanging out with Patrick, and that was the last thing you wanted to do. So you told you you just wanted to lie down because of the hangover. Then when she asked if you wanted to hang out again in the evening, you lied about needing to finish a paper for the literature seminar you were taking. After that she must have got the hint, because she left you alone for the rest of the weekend. The next time you saw her or Art was on Monday during tennis practice. No Patrick in sight.

----

Whoever said out of sight, out of mind, was a liar. You desperately wanted things to go back to normal after that weekend, but that ease you felt during your first month at Stanford never fully returned after Patrick’s visit. It’s been a couple weeks since then and Patrick still plagued your thoughts.

Whatever friendship that had formed between you and Art was quickly dying. You couldn’t even look at him without alarm bells in your head going: Walk away! Walk away! Patrick’s words echoed in your ears anytime you looked at him. The distance you had created between Art and Patrick was gone, and when you looked at Art you now could only see Patrick’s best friend staring back. You avoided being alone with him at all costs.

Art: Want to grab breakfast together before class tomorrow? (sent 8:27 PM, 10/02/06)

You: I’ll let you know in the morning! (sent 8:28 PM, 10/02/06)

You’d probably lie about sleeping in or fake some illness to get out of that.

“Is that Art?” Tashi asks from across the bed. You nod and lie, “Just a question about practice.” She nods in response, as she looks back at the homework both of you are working through together. Patrick may have destroyed your friendship with Art, butyour friendship with Tashi was fine.

Although it had become increasingly difficult to avoid the fact she was dating Patrick. After his visit, you could find traces of him all around her room. You can see the little note he left that she pinned to her bulletin board, and as you looked down at your book on the bed, it hit you that Patrick had slept on the bed you currently sit on. That he and Tashi probably had sex there. It makes you feel nauseous and aroused at the same time. You make a mental note to invite Tashi to your dorm room to study next time.

Not to mention, that brief moment you thought something was going to happen between you and Patrick at the bar. The drunken embarrassment you felt at that moment, has turned into sober shame. If Patrick had tried to make a move, you had a sinking feeling that you wouldn’t have stopped it. On the contrary, you probably would have enjoyed it and what type of person does that make you? Nothing had happened but this enough made you feel guilty. Maybe it was for the best that you didn’t have many close friends, so far you were awful at being one.

“You know he likes you, right?” Tashi says with a giggle and draws you out of your thoughts. “Huh?” is all you manage to say back, your mind still not fully present. “Art.” she says with another laugh.

You’re reminded of the conversation you overheard between Art and Patrick behind the bar. It feels more like an alcohol induced hallucination than an actual memory. Even though you heard Art say it, you couldn’t wrap your head around the idea that he liked you. You were hundred percent convinced he still liked Tashi. Always ready to spend time with her and looking at her like she hung the moon in the sky. It was obvious he still liked her. There was the possibility he liked you both, but that felt improbable. Why would he like you both? At the end of the day, it didn’t even matter. You weren’t going to do anything about it.

“Tashi he’s a friend,” you say with a little laugh, hoping that your answer is enough to drop the subject. It isn’t as she just lets out another laugh and goes “What? I'm right.” You sigh and say, “Have you forgotten about what happened in the hotel room?” Tashi rolls her eyes, and makes a dismissive hand wave, “That was months ago.” She doesn’t make any claim to deny that he’s into her, so even she’s aware of it. You just force a laugh in response, which causes Tashi to laugh too. Her laugh elicits an actual laugh from you, and you both sit there like that laughing for a moment. By the time you’re both done, it seems like the topic of Art is no longer on her mind, and you’re beyond grateful for that.

----

You thought that would be the end of that topic, but the next day, as you walk outside the locker room after practice you hear Art and Tashi talking about it. The hallway is curved, but you’re close enough to hear and see them without being overtly visible. You’re sure if they looked in your direction and took a step or two, they’d be able to see you, but neither do.

“I think you should just tell her,” Tashi says, Art just sighs looking to the side. “You’re making this way more complicated than it has to be, and now everything is all awkward. She can barely look at you during practice,” she adds on. “It’s a stupid distraction for both of you, just get over it.”

Art looks at Tashi and goes, “It’s way more complicated than that.” Tashi looks at him with her eyebrows slightly furrowed and an expression that says she doesn’t believe him, Art just adds on, “You weren’t there at the academy. You wouldn’t get it.”

You feel your heart drop at those words. You need to stop the conversation before it can go any further, so you don’t think twice about walking. You wave and Tashi sees you before she can respond.

“Let’s go eat?” you ask.

Art nods and Tashi replies, “Sure.”

You smile in relief as you all walk to the dining hall in silence.

----

“You’re never going to talk about what happened at the academy are you?” Tashi says later that day as you both walk over to the cinema by campus. You decided to have a movie night, but as you look at her it’s clear that’s the last thing on her mind. You shrug as you continue to walk, “I told you already. It wasn’t fun.” Tashi nods and then says, “But something happened right?” You shrug in response and she looks in front again. For a brief moment you consider telling her everything. Why were you keeping it a secret in the first place? She gets a phone call. She pulls it out and you see it’s from Patrick. Oh right. That’s why. You look away and take a deep breath to maintain composure.

Once you think your face has no emotion on it whatsoever, you look back and tell her, “You take it. I’ll go buy tickets.” She looks at you to check if you’re sure, and you nod. Tashi walks away and you force a little smile as she walks a few steps away to take the call. You stand by the ticket booth outside and get two tickets for the movie Tashi mentioned. You turn and look over to where she is talking on the phone to Patrick and it’s clear she has an unhappy expression on her face. Boredom? Annoyance? Something like a mix of the two. She huffs and you see her walking back towards you.

You offer a small smile and once she’s close enough you ask, “Everything alright?” She lets out a dry laugh and takes a ticket from your hand, She walks in and you follow alongside her, as she says “Patrick called to complain…again.” You feel your stomach do a flip and it’s clear that she has more to say. It’s utterly pathetic how curious you feel. You remain silent as she continues. “He lost another match today.” She scoffs and shakes her head. “I don’t even know why he calls to tell me this shit, anytime I try to offer him something constructive he starts acting like I’m being a bitch.” Her voice shows she is annoyed, you nod in response. “It’s like he doesn’t even care,” she says and you’re unsure if she’s talking about Patrick’s attitude towards tennis or her.

“Sorry,” you say softly to make her feel better. She just sighs, shaking her head, “Don’t apologize” She then smiles looking at you, “Anyway, you actually take my advice.” True. Tashi always had pointers. Small things she’d notice you thought you could improve. You knew you weren’t a perfect player, but compared to the insults you got from your classmates during your time at the academy, her comments were actual feedback. And ones that paid off. Even your coaches know you’ve been playing better. You’re not surprised Patrick wasn’t listening. Never the one to see his own faults. You could understand why Tashi was annoyed.

You smile back in response to her with a little shrug. “Too bad you’re going to be a star player. You would have made one hell of a coach,” you joke to lighten the mood and change the subject. Tashi laughs too and then sighs, “Anyway he just called for that and to say he’s coming in two week for a visit,” she says as you both walk into where the movie is playing. You’re grateful the darkness of the room makes it near impossible for her to see your face because you can feel your face drop at her words.

----

You’re a tennis player, you’re allowed to look at ATP rankings, you remind yourself as you sit in front of the computer in the library. After the night at the movies a couple days ago, your thoughts about Patrick became debilitating. Just thinking about the fact that he’d be back on campus so soon made you feel dizzy to think about.

You originally came to the library to use the computer to search up some facts about an author. It was research for an essay you have to write for your literature of the twentieth century class. Even as you tried to focus on the information in front of you, your mind went back to Patrick. So here you were, scrolling down the list of players on the ATP rankings website to find his name. Your eyes dart around you a little bit, as if to check no one can see. What is wrong with you? You were acting like a child. It takes you sometime, but you finally find Patrick’s stats. He’s low in the rankings, which was somewhat expected considering he just started going on tour, but like Tashi said he was losing games.

“Hey,” you hear from behind you. You nearly jump as you close the ATP tab and turn around to see Art standing behind you. Why were you even surprised at this point? “Sorry didn’t mean to startle you,” he says with a small, yet forced smile, as his eyes dart from in between the screen to you. Did he see the ATP tab you just closed out? You force a little laugh, “I should buy you a bell for your birthday.” It’s a joke and he lets out a little laugh, as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits down.

“So…” you start. He must have finally realized that the only way to talk to you alone, was by sneaking up on you. And well now you were effectively trapped, so you had to hear whatever he desperately wanted to say. You had a feeling it had to do about his supposed feelings for you, but you just wanted to get this over with. Patrick’s words repeat in your head and you do your best to keep a straight face.

Art looks at you and shrugs, “I wanted to talk about…” You just blink as he is unable to finish his sentence. He sighs and then says, “I know why it’s awkward between us.” You brace yourself with a little nod. “It’s because of the bullying.”

You look at him blank for a moment. His answer confuses you, mostly because he never actually did anything to you. He was a bystander at best. Before you can respond he continues. “It’s been weird ever since Patrick came, and honestly it makes sense,” he pauses. “I guess it must have brought up some bad memories.” Well it did bring up memories. Some bad (him destroying your possessions, the names he teased you with) and some good (him eating you out, riding him in the back of his car). All intense. You just nod in response, curious to where this is going. “I know…I should have done more back.”

“You didn’t–” you start but are cut off before you finish. “No, don't try to brush it off,” he says. “Patrick is my best friend, but he was an asshole to you. I’m sorry I never said anything to stop it.” You look at him for a little moment. An apology was the last thing you expected right now. You don’t even know how to respond. Luckily you don’t have to, you see his lips part slightly and you realize he isn’t done. In a small, vulnerable voice he adds, “If I could back and change things. I would.” He pauses and then adds,”It just…can be hard to say no to him.” Now that you understood, more than you could ever let Art know. “Yeah…Yeah I get that.” you whisper with a little nod. You both sit in the silence for a library for a moment, a sense of mutual understanding forming between both of you.

He’s the first to break the silence by saying your name in the same quiet voice “Honestly, I really like you.” The conversation has headed in the direction you originally expected, except after everything he said before you feel too tired to discuss this now. You don’t want to talk about this now. “Art…” you start, with your voice trailing off. “I like you,” he says again, “I just never acted on it because of well…you know.” You just stare at him, looking to the side and then back at him. “But Tashi?” you ask in a small voice. It’s not like you really care about his feelings for Tashi. That’s the most logical part of all of this, but you feel the need to ask anyway. Pure curiosity more than anything else. “I liked Tashi,” he says slowly, but his voice falters slightly when he says liked. As if he couldn’t decide between using the present or the past tense. He continues, “but I like you. I have since junior year.” You hate how your mind instantly goes to Patrick, but how could it not? That was when your relationship with him started. Art has liked you since then too?

“I was thinking I could take you out?” he asks. No No No NO, a voice in your brain says. You shift in your seat, and it’s clear that Art has picked up on some discomfort. “Like dinner or a movie,” he adds. You look at him. You remember what Patrick said and take a deep breath as you try to think of the nicest way to let him down. Art’s jaw ticks at this and he then sighs. “If you don’t want to go out with me because you don’t like me, that’s fine. But please don’t say no because of the past,” he then says looking at you. Before you can respond, he stands up and with a shrug says, “Just think about it.” He walks away, and you turn back to the computer screen open to an article on the works of Laurence Durrell. You exit out of it as you gather your things. This paper was now the least of your worries.

----

Since you got back to your dorm from the library, you’ve been laying down on your bed staring at the ceiling. Patrick’s voice remains in your head, but so does Art’s. Don’t say no because of the past. Isn’t that what you were doing? The entirety of your time at the academy was dictated by Patrick in one way or another. Maybe it was just a habit at this point to let him do so, but Patrick wasn’t here and the academy was the past. You had no reason to do what he said. Regardles, for some reason going out with Art still felt like a betrayal. Naturally, going against what Patrick said to do would be a betrayal to him, but this felt like a betrayal to yourself. It was a new feeling. Never once did you feel it with Patrick, but shouldn't sleeping with your bully feellike a bigger betrayal to yourself than going on a date with a bystander to it?

You reach for the phone on your side table. You slowly type out the message on your small flip phone, and then click send.

You: So when do you want to go out? (sent 9:10 PM, 10/05/06)

He responds after a minute.

Art: How does tomorrow night sound? (sent 9:11 PM, 10/05/06)

----

“I don’t understand what you have against the sequels,” Art says with a laugh as you walk down the dorm hallway. You both had decided to get dinner together. It was easy to talk to him and it felt like you were transported back to those first couple weeks at Stanford before Patrick’s visit when there was no awkwardness between you two. You were anxious about the date. With Patrick, everytime you met up it was about hooking up, nothing more, so this was your first ever actual date. Now that it’s done, and you both walk back to your dorm rooms, you can’t ever remember why you felt like it wouldn’t go well. Art is sweet. Art likes you. It all went fine.

“I have nothing against them,” you respond, “I just prefer the original Star Wars movies.” You say as you reach the door to his dorm room. Art stands beside you as he shrugs. “Okay fair,” he says with a smile. He swallows and then looks at his dorm and then yours. Your dorm is in a different building, but you wanted to walk with Art to his anyway because it was first on the route back. “Do you want to come inside?” he asks, looking intently. You look at him without saying anything for a moment, as you register the look. His expression asks: Do you want to have sex?

You couldn’t deny that Art was handsome. With his smile and golden curls, he looked like what you’d imagine if Prince Charming walked out of a fairy tale and decided he wanted to play tennis. The betrayed feeling from earlier gnaws at you, but you decide to nod with a small smile anyway. The last time you had sex was with Patrick the day before you graduated from the academy in the back of his car. That was months ago. You needed a release.

Art smiles as he reaches for the key to open the door to his room. He unlocks it and opens the door for you. You walk in and take a look around the dorm room you’ve already been in plenty of times. When you hear the door close around, you turn around to face Art, whose lips automatically come down on yours. His tongue snakes his way into your mouth, but the kiss is still gentle. Much more gentle than anything with Patrick. You move your hands to his shoulders to push Patrick out of your brain and focus on Art in the present. You feel his hands reach down to the buttons of your blouse as you continue to kiss, removing one by one, and then pushing it off to the floor. He pulls away and takes a look at you in the lace bra, with a smile and a lustful gaze. You smile back, as he pulls off his shirt and reaches down to unzip his jeans. You follow his lead and unzip yours as well, before slowly kicking them off. Then your hands move to unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor.

He smiles at the sight and leans in to kiss you again. While still kissing, you both stumble backwards over to the bed, you falling down on it and he on top of you. He pulls away from your lips to trail kisses down your neck to your breast. His tongue circled one of your nipples, and you gasped at the wet and pleasant sensation. You felt your hands move to his hair as he continued doing so, gently tugging on it as you rocked your core against his groin. Only the thin cloth of your panties and his boxers remained as a barrier between the both of you. He groaned at the sensation. You felt the vibration of it briefly on your breast, but he soon pulled away and started trailing down even lower.

He kissed down your body murmuring how pretty you were, until he was stationed between your legs. He looked up at you, and you looked down at him with half lidded eyes. He sat on his knees then as he reached to pull down your panties. He tosses them to the side of the bed, and once again he gets back in between your legs. You feel him plant kisses against your core. You whine at the sensation, enough touch to tease, but not to really please you. Hearing your want, Art’s tongue darts out in between your folds, which quickly turn your whines into moans. You felt his tongue encircle your clit, and a finger tease your cunt. While he started out slow, his pace picked up. Always maintaining a steady rhythm. Each movement of his tongue felt controlled and deliberate, a stark contrast to the messy way Patrick would eat you out. The minute the thought comes into your head. You force your eyes open to look down at Art, to ground yourself in the moment. You see his gaze is already on you, and as you make eye contact, he slowly starts to speed up. He pushes another finger inside you and you gasp. HIs free hand is splayed on your thigh, holding it down. All together, these draw out your orgasm.

As you feel the vibrations through your body, he slowly pulls himself up and plants another kiss against your lips. You can taste yourself on him as he kisses you gently again. “I want you,” he murmurs against your lips, “so badly right now.” You smile at him and whisper back, “okay.” He smiles at your words and sits up as he reaches to the corner table, “I should have a condom in here.” You nod as he pulls open the drawer and finds one. He puts it to the side as he pulls down his boxers and you take a moment just to look at him naked. He rips open the condom packet and you watch him pull it over his cock. It’s the same shade as the rest of his skin, with his tip a subtle pink shade, a little bit longer but not as thick as…You turn your head to the side to prevent yourself from finishing the comparison. Focus on Art, you tell yourself.

The minute it’s on he climbs over you again, and you lay back down. He aligns himself with you, and slowly pushes himself in. He goes inch by inch, and you can feel himself throb even through the condom barrier. Once he is bottomed out, he puts his hands on the side of your head, and he starts to thrust. Just like when he ate you out, he moves at a steady pace, slow at first but slowly picking up speed. You feel the comparison forming in your head, and you bite down on your lip to prevent yourself from making it. You bite down so hard that you taste blood. Art takes this as a sign you want to be kissed, and you feel his lips come down on you again. Although his movements remain gentle, he’s big enough that you still feel it completely. You kiss as he continues to thrust. “God..” he grunts head going up, “You’re so fucking tight.” He says as he continues to thrust, speed picking up again once more. You moan at the feeling. “G..Gonna turn you around,” he says, and you nod as he feels your hand move you from laying down on your back to laying down your stomach. He feels even deeper now, and you feel yourself get closer.

That’s when you see it. Your eyes are half lidded, but open enough to see the picture of Art and Patrick on the bedside table. You squint at it to get a better look, as Art continues to thrust into you with heavy pants. You feel your breathing get shallower as your eyes focus in on the picture. It looks like it’s from after they won the doubles championship at the junior open. Your eyes lock in on Patrick smiling for the snap, and that’s what pushes yourself over the edge. You feel yourself clench and then your orgasm hits you. You close your eyes as you feel it wash over you. Art pushes into you a couple more times and then lets out a grunts as he cums as well. You feel him pull out and fall beside where you lie on the bed. When your eyes finally open again you look again at the picture of both boys and sigh.

----

You probably should have stopped sleeping with Art after that first time, but the sex provided an outlet for all your anxious energy, and that just made your life easier. You met up in the evenings after practice and pretty much always in his dorm (for reasons you do not want to acknowledge). He took you out a couple times too, but there was no label for the relationship. The only person who knew about what was going on between the two of you was Tashi, who you told after the first time it happened.

“You two should just start going out with each other,” she told you one day as you grabbed lunch. “You guys go on dates and sleep together anyway.” You shrugged her off. He tried to bring it up once in bed too, but you ended the conversation by going down on him. You liked this weird gray area both of you were in. It felt comfortable. It felt safe.

----

You sit on the bleachers picking at the skin by your cuticles. With all the time you were spending with Art, the two weeks snuck up on you. Patrick was back. Tashi went into the locker room to change, so it’s just you watching Art and Patrick casually playing a match on the court in front of you. He was supposed to arrive in the evening, not in the afternoon. You had been dreading his visit since the moment you found out, so you planned in advance. After practice, you were going to tell Art and Tashi you had another paper for your literary seminar, and lock yourself in your dorm for the rest of the weekend before Patrick even showed up. Of course this plan was ruined when Patrick showed up in the afternoon, right in the middle of the practice. Now here you are, counting the moments till you could leave while Patrick and Art played.

You feel your fingers sting where you picked at the skin, as you hear Patrick call your name. “C’mon one game? For old times sake.” His tone was mocking, as if he was trying to provoke you. You looked up at him as he walked towards where you sat on the bench, but said nothing. His eyes dart down to the picked skin on your finger. He grimaces at the sight, but says nothing. Quickly bringing a smirk back onto his face as he looked at you. “What? I’ve been told you’re good,” Patrick asks in the same mocking tone. Your ranking among college girls tennis players had gone up, which you knew was more than he could say about his ATP ranking. You just shrug in response. “So what, you're not going to play me?” he then asks.

“Seriously? Practice just ended. Let us have a break,” Art says in a not so subtle attempt to get Patrick to stop. He then offers you a smile.You’re not sure if it's a “Please forgive my asshole friend” smile or a “I’m glad I could stand up for you smile,” but either way you return it with a small smile of your own. Patrick notices, his eyes narrowing slightly and then returning to normal, before telling Art, “You just played with me.” He turns back to you and goes, “C’mon”

He has a shit eating grin on his face and you want to smack it off him, but as you feel all three of them look at you, you realize you’ve been silent this whole time. You just shrug, standing up with your racket. “Sure,” you say as you walk over to the court. His grin grows wider. It makes you wonder if this is a mistake.

You serve the ball, and he hits it. You run and hit it back. He does as well. The ball goes back and forth between the both of you, neither of you missing it. You’re not sure how long it goes on for, but it’s definitely sometime before it stops. You hit it to the corner of the court and before he can run to it, it bounces out. He lets out a sharp exhale as he watches it go.

“I’m gonna serve now,” he says to you, as he takes a ball. He looks at you as he gets ready to do his signature, unique serve, and just smirks. The minute you see it, you once again feel like this is a mistake. The feeling only intensifies when he serves and you miss the ball. He grabs another tennis ball and does it again. You miss. Your eyes dart to where Art watches by the bench and then at Patrick. Feeling more warm all of a sudden. Once more he serves. Again, Miss. You’re not sure how long this goes on for, but when he goes, “Sure you’re a tennis player?” you want nothing more than to get out of there. You walk straight to the bench and pick up your bag. Art looks at you, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something, but you speak first. “I have a paper I need to finish.” It’s all you say before walking away from the court back in the direction of your dorm room.

You can hear the sound of Patrick laughing behind you, and you bite down on your jaw to prevent yourself from crying as you walk away.

----

You lay down in bed, your eyes still red and puffy. You broke down on the way back, but thankfully far enough from the courts that neither Art or Patrick could see. The crying didn’t stop when you got back to your dorm. Or after your shower. While it wasn’t pouring out of you anymore, tears would come back at random intervals.

While you weren’t actively crying at the moment, it felt like anything could bring the tears back. Your mind drifts back to his afternoon. Of course Patric chose to humiliate you, what else would he have done? You’re shaken out of your thoughts from someone banging on your door. Loud, forceful, and impatient bangs. You slowly sat up in bed, and looked over to it. Another thud. It was too forceful to be either Tashi or Art. Really, there was only one person who’d be this forceful. He was the last person you wanted to see, so you just stared at it. How did Patrick even find your dorm? Maybe if you waited long enough, he’d just leave. You sat for another minute, but the bangs just got louder. He wasn’t leaving and you realized if he kept banging you’re the one who was going to get a noise complaint. You sniffle one more time and wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, as you walk over to the door. More thuds. You sigh and take one deep exhale, as you open the door.

Patrick is standing there with a scowl and furrowed brows. The minute he realizes the door opened, he pushes himself in and lets the door close behind him. “You’re fucking Art?” His voice is angry and although it comes out like a question, it’s clear he knows the answer. You realize Art must have told him about the two of you. You just stare up in silence, and this causes Patrick to scoff. “What part about our conversation last time made you think it was okay to suck his dick?” His voice is sarcastic and angry, as he takes another step towards you. He smells of a combination of sweat, cologne, and cigarettes. “Answer the question.”

“Get out of my room.” you say in a small voice. Patrick lets out a humorless laugh. “Answer the question,” he repeats. You look at him and feel tears well up again in your eyes. Wasn’t it enough that he humiliated you earlier today? Couldn’t he just leave you alone now? “Why do you care,” you retort with a sniffle. Once again he laughs. “Why do I care? Oh I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that I turn my back for two minutes and you’re on my best friend’s dick,” he says it a bit louder and he’s so close that his nose bumps yours when he says it.

Your eyebrows furrow. His tone was angry and sarcastic, but above all it made it seem like you were doing something wrong. Something inside of you snaps at this. Your tone is a bit louder and more upset when you say, “So what?” Patrick laughs looking to the side, but you don’t give him the chance to speak. “I’m sorry that your best friend is into me” your voice taking a sarcastic tone. “But that’s not my fault. And I don’t know why you’re so upset about it, but grow the up and leave me the fuck alone.” He huffs and bites, “You know why I’m upset.” You bring your face closer to his, “Really? From where I’m standing, you’re just being an ass.” The tears which formed in your eyes roll down your cheek, and in an angry voice begins,“I told you to–”

“You do not get to tell me what to do!” you exclaim before he can even finish that statement. You swallow, as he just looks at you now slightly stunned at the outburst. “You do not get to tell me what to do,” you repeat in a still angry yet less loud tone. Both of you just stand there, and unsure what else to do, you decide to push him. Your hands go to his chest and then push him back. It’s a childish gesture, and you’re not exactly sure why you did it. Even he looks stunned at the sudden action. Once again you push him. And again. You do it until his back is up against the door of your dorm. You’re breathing much more heavily now and both of you are just staring at each other. Your hands raise up and you keep hitting him on the chest. For a brief moment it feels like you’re transported back to junior year in the locker room before winter break as you just punch his chest. That feeling only grows when you suddenly feel his lips against yours.

It's desperate and messy, but undoubtedly mutual. His tongue licks into your mouth as your hands go to the back of his neck. His hands grab your hips and spin you around, so now your back is against the door. You already know he’s hard, but you fully feel it as he grinds his erection against your core and you moan into his mouth in response. “Fuck” he mutters as his lips move from yours to your neck. You feel his teeth scratch against the skin there, but not enough to leave a mark. Whenever you slept together, he never left marks anywhere visible. His hands move to the underside of your thighs and he pins you up against the door. Your legs instinctively wrap against his waist, and once again he grinds against you, eliciting another moan from both of you. You feel his tongue lick up your cheek, and it takes you a second to realize he is licking up your tears. One of his hands moves up to paw at your tits over the tank you have on and you moan at the sensation. You feel your hands go down to his jeans zipper, and he lets out a chuckle at this, then his lips come crashing down against yours again.

Too lost in the kiss, it takes you a moment to realize he is moving you somewhere, but you soon realize he is carrying you away from the door. Soon you’re thrown onto the bed. His hands go to the zipper you somewhat removed, and he kicks off his jeans. He then goes to take his shirt. You take this as a sign to get naked as well. You kick off your shorts and pull off your tank. Without a bra on and already aroused, your nipples pebble instantly once exposed. Patrick licks his bottom lip and removes his boxers, the last bit of clothing he has on. You take in the sight you didn’t think you’d ever see again, as he crawls on top of you and presses another desperate kiss. His lips part from yours as he whispers, “No one else will make you feel like this.” Before you can respond, you gasp as you feel his hand knead your breast again. Now fully exposed you feel him pinch your nipple. He moves down with his tongue licking over the little bud he just pinched, replacing the jolt of pleasurable pain with just pure pleasure.

He gets back on his knees and grips the base of his cock, aligning himself with you. He pushes just the tip in. Close but not enough. You whine at the sensation. “What?” he asks with a smirll. He moves slightly as if he is going to fully pull out. “Please” you whine. “Please what?” He says, “You gotta use your words.” You whine again and he laughs, and you manage to say “fuck me..please.” He smiles again but doesn’t move. “Who’s the only person that can make you feel this way?” he asks. You look at him and breathlessly say, “you.” He smiles before pushing in fully, muttering, “Fuck I’ve missed this.”

----

From the time you met Patrick, you were sure he was going to hell when he died. Now you were fairly certain you’d also be down there with him. After you both fucked, Patrick left your dorm saying nothing. He put on his clothes and gave you one last look. You both locked eyes and for a moment, you were sure he was going to say something to you, but instead he just let out a deep exhale and walked out. You assumed he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. You felt a knot of guilt in your stomach, so was relieved he left in silence. Sometime after that, you fell asleep in the soiled sheets surrounded by his scent and his cum dripping out of you.

When you woke up the next morning, you sent a message to both Tashi and Art saying you were sick and needed to rest. Along with the fact Patrick was on campus, you knew this lie would guarantee that you’d be left alone for the rest of the weekend. Which was all you wanted. The knot in your stomach grew when you thought about either of them. You tried to occupy yourself in your room by showering, doing work, and reading, but your mind kept drifting back to Patrick. Even once you changed the bedsheets, you felt as if his scent lingered in your dorm. By Saturday night, you felt incapable of thinking about anything besides him and what had happened the night before.

As you laid in bed, you reached over to your phone to check the messages you had been ignoring all day. You had one from your mom just checking up on you, which you quickly responded by saying fine, and messages from Tashi and Art asking how you’re feeling. Both of which you ignored. Then you saw the message from Patrick.

Patrick: You’re still on birth control right? (sent 3:02 PM, 10/16/06)

It was sent a couple hours ago. You assumed some delayed sense of post-nut clarity must have reminded him that you both fucked raw last night.

You: Yes. (sent 8:58 PM, 10/16/06)

Patrick: Okay good. (sent 8:58 PM, 10/16/06)

After a minute or so, you got another message from Patrick.

Patrick: Art said you were feeling sick. (sent 8:59 PM, 10/16/06)

You should have ignored the message, but you found yourself responding before you could stop yourself.

You: Yes? (sent 9:00 PM, 10/16/06)

Patrick: Like for real? Or because… (sent 9:00 PM, 10/16/06)

Your eyes rolled at the screen.

You: What do you think? (sent 9:01 PM, 10/16/06)

Patrick: ;) (sent 9:01 PM, 10/16/06)

You read his response and sigh. You put your phone back down on the bed stand table and force yourself to sleep.

----

Although you originally planned to just hideaway for the weekend, you still felt miserable by the time Monday rolled around. You decided to play into the whole sickness thing, and isolate yourself for the next couple days. But by the time Thursday rolled around, you realized you had to get back to your life. You forced yourself to go to practice.

It had been a couple days since Patrick left the campus, but you still felt as if he could jump up from any corner. By the time you got to the courts, you saw Tashi was already playing and Art was watching her with an adoring smile.

You walked over slowly to where he was standing, and he noticed your presence once you were standing next to him. “Hey, Feeling better?” he asks, looking at you. You drop the bag full of your tennis equipment to your feet, and look up at him. The knot in your stomachreturns in full force and you just shrug in response. He nods in response, and you both turn back to look over at Tashi who is playing.

____

“I was thinking that if we win the championships this spring, it would be the perfect time to go pro,” Tashi says as she looks across the dining hall table where you both eat. After the events of Patrick’s last visit, there was a noticeable change in the air. While you knew this was because you fucked her boyfriend, she didn’t. You found reasons to hang out with her less because of it. Always making up some essay that needed to be finished. You felt grateful that when you did spend time with Tashi, she chose to talk about tennis. Although, you couldn’t deny the increased focus on your possible future in professional tennis was draining in its own way. “What do you think?” she asks.

You shrug in response. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you respond. Tashi lets out a little laugh, raising an eyebrow, “You’re ready.” You shrug as you pick up a piece of fruit with your fork. “No really. You’re ready,” she repeats as if trying to drive the point. “You’re already in the top ten in college rankings, and if you win a couple more games, you would break into the top 5.”

You nod slowly in response as you munch on the fruit. “Yeah…but there’s more to it,” you say with a shrug. Tashi’s eyebrows raise in confusion. “I don’t have the money for that type of life,” you say. You’re not wrong, it’s not like you’d be able to afford to be on the road or pay a coach to help you train. Tashi shrugs, “You should get a sponsorship.” Her tone is casual, as if it’s the easiest thing there is. You’re not necessarily surprised by how nonchalant she is. She has an Adidas sponsorship already and considering how brilliant of a player she is, it probably was not her only offer. You just let out a laugh in response. “What?” Tashi starts again, “You’re a good player. You're cute. And you have a motivating story. You could easily get a sponsorship.”

You let out another small laugh, shaking your head and saying, “I think you think my story is way more motivating than it actually is.” Now Tashi laughs, “Everyone loves an underdog, and with everything that happened to you at the academy–”

You cut her off, “What?” Something about her words make you uneasy. She knows, you think. Tashi looks at you as if she’s been caught, “Well Art…said some people were really awful to you at the academy.”

Art? Art was telling her these things. He said some people? So he didn’t mention Patrick? What else did he mention? Before you can properly start to spiral about those thoughts, you sense someone behind you. Of course, it’s Art. He sits down in the seat next to you, puts his plate on the table. “What are you guys talking about?” he asks as his hand rests on your thigh. Ever since you started sleeping together, he’s been more open with touching you. Both in private and public. You feel slightly queasy when he does, but say nothing.

“Going pro,” you respond quickly to move the subject of the conversation back to the original focus. You hear Art make a hum sound in response and both he and Tashi slip into a conversation about professional tennis.

You take a sip of your gatorade, as you just watch the two of them, not at all paying attention to the conversation. Art was talking about your time at the academy with Tashi, but why? Did she bring it up? Or did he? What reason could he have to talk about it with her? You’re lost in thought when you see Art turn and give you a small smile. You give him one back.

-----

Patrick: I can’t believe you’re still sleeping with Art. (sent 4:08 PM, 10/28/06)

You’re sitting at your desk in your dorm, going over some of your annotations on a short story for class, when you get the message. It’s your first message from him in a couple of weeks. After the text conversation you had the Saturday he was last on campus, he sent nothing else. You reasoned that whatever happened during the visit wouldn’t happen again, and used that to ease the knot of guilt you felt whenever you thought about what happened. You won’t let it happen again. It’s almost ironic that just as you feel yourself moving past it again, he texts you.

You: I don’t know what you’re talking about. (sent 4:10 PM, 10/28/06)

You are aware that you should have ended things with Art a long time ago. After Patrick’s visit, you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep with Art. But you also couldn’t bring yourself to put a definite end to things with him. So while you hadn’t slept with him in sometime, you were still with Art. Your relationship remained in that little gray area you both created, just now without the sex.

Patrick: Yeah sure. (sent 4:11 PM, 10/28/06)

Patrick: Art told me. (sent 4:11 PM, 10/28/06)

Your mind drifts back to when Tashi said Art told her about your time at the academy. Looks like he was talking about you to Patrick too, albeit for completely different reasons. If Patrick thinks you’re still sleeping with Art, then what exactly did Art say? You did not have the time to focus on this. You sigh as you put your phone down. You need to focus on your work, you tell yourself.

It’s only a couple minutes until you hear your phone ring, you pick it up to see it’s a call from Patrick. You let it ring for a minute before picking it up.

“You never responded to my message,” he says immediately. “I’m busy,” you say looking back at the book. Why did you even take this call? “Doing what?” he asks. “So at university you’re given work to do,” you say sarcastically, which just causes him to laugh on the other end. “Yeah okay smartass. Is it like an essay? Homework?”

You roll your eyes. “No just going over notes” He laughs in response and you expect him to make fun of you. “Going over notes is not work,” he says. “Yes they are,” you say with a groan and eye roll. “No, you just choose to do it. Even when you don’t have to,” he says and you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice. “I care about my grades.” As if to remind you he says. “You’re there on a tennis scholarship.” You roll your eyes again, “Well I want to do well.” He lets out a chuckle, “I know. You were like this back then too.” There is a slight pause between the both of you, as you remember the time at the academy. He then adds on, “You’ll do fine anyway.”

You’re not exactly sure how to respond to that. Another moment of silence between both sides. You break it by asking, “Why’d you call?”

“Well I wanted to have phone sex but all this talk about school has made me soft,” he says with a laugh. You wouldn’t put that motive below him, but you can tell from his tone that it’s a joke. After a moment he goes, “I mean, but if you’re up to it–”

You cut him off. “Bye Patrick.” You roll your eyes and hang up.

----

Patrick: I miss your tight fucking cunt so much. (sent 3:02 AM, 11/02/06)

Patrick: I’m throbbing just thinking of it. (sent 3:03 AM, 11/02/06)

After that phone call, Patrick began texting you more regularly. These types of messages were the least surprising. Late at night and overtly sexual. You were pretty sure he was drunk sending them too. This is what you expected from him. You always refrained from answering them. You could not control what Patrick said or did and you were beginning to highly doubt that he felt any guilt about any of this. But you did. And you could control your own actions.

Although, you responded to his other messages. For every sexual conversation he tried having with you, he started three normal ones. He asked questions about your life and told you things about his. Even back when you were hooking up at the academy he never texted you this much, and especially not about these things.

Patrick: You know I think I had a cousin who studied English too (sent 11:22 AM, 11/07/06)

You: Really? (sent 11:22 AM, 11/07/06)

Patrick: Yeah. I think she is a professor now (sent 11:23 AM, 11/07/06)

Patrick: You’re seriously thinking about majoring in English? (sent 11:24 AM, 11/07/06)

You: Yeah. What about it? (sent 11:25 AM, 11/07/06)

Patrick: Why tho? (sent 11:25 AM, 11/07/06)

You: It’s fun. I like to read. (sent 11:26 AM, 11/07/06)

Patrick: Nerd (sent 11:26 AM, 11/07/06)

While many of the messages have a teasing edge to it, it never felt humiliating. It was like he wanted to make you laugh (and he did). The constant back and forth made it feel like new territory, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t like it. It was undoubtedly fun to talk to him like this. Every once in a while, he would also bring up Art in these conversations. Although his earlier anger at the relationship, now has seemed to fade into curiosity.

Patrick: I just don’t understand you’re relationship with him. (sent 1:33 PM, 11/11/06)

You: your* (sent 1:33 PM, 11/11/06)

Patrick: What? (sent 1:33 PM, 11/11/06)

You: Patrick it's your not you're (sent 1:34 PM, 11/11/06)

Patrick: Whatever (sent 1:34 PM, 11/11/06)

Patrick: What do you two even do together? (sent 1:35 PM, 11/11/06)

You: Why do you care? (sent 1:35 PM, 11/11/06)

You couldn’t bring yourself to ask about him and Tashi. You had a feeling that he was glad about this. Regardless of what happened, she was still his girlfriend and your friend. Even if she came up in conversation, neither of you mentioned her by name.

Patrick: She said she’s thinking about going pro if you guys win the championship. (sent 10:48 PM, 11/18/06)

You: Yeah she told me too. (sent 10:48 PM, 11/18/06)

Patrick: How about you? (sent 10:49 PM, 11/18/06)

You: I don’t know if I want to. (sent 10:50 PM, 11/18/06)

You stared at the message before clicking send. It was your first time directly admitting the fact that you didn’t know what part tennis would play in the future.

Patrick: Seriously? (sent 10:51 PM, 11/18/06)

You: Honestly, I don’t see the point. (sent 10:52 PM, 11/18/06)

Patrick: You’ve always been a great player. (sent 10:52 PM, 11/18/06)

You don’t know how to respond to that message. You just stare at it. He once broke your racket and left you a note to say that replacing it would be a waste of your parent’s money because of how bad you were. And now he is saying you’ve always been a great player? You see another message pop back up.

Patrick: And I don’t think your English degree is going to be a great fall back. (sent 10:55 PM, 11/18/06)

That was easier to respond to.

You: Fuck you. (sent 10:55 PM, 11/18/06)

----

“Everything okay?” Art asks as he stops walking and turns to look at you. You, Tashi, and Art were all walking together to the tennis courts. Both of them were a little ahead of you lost in conversation, while you trailed behind on your phone. Patrick had told you something about his last match. You drop your phone into your pocket and nod in response. Suddenly, it’s weight in your pocket felt like a rock dragging you down.

By the time November rolled around, your workload increased and you were grateful for that. It meant more of a reason to stay in your dorm. You were only really seeing Art and Tashi at practice and games now. You now no longer asked to do homework with her and found excuses to avoid going out with him. Although, you doubt they were disappointed, considering the both of them started to spend more time together.

“Yeah, yeah,” all good, as you take a couple steps to walk beside them.

----

Patrick: I’m coming to visit Stanford this weekend. (sent 10:01 AM, 11/25/06)

----

Considering Patrick’s visit you thought you’d spend the entire weekend in your dorm again. While you were still texting him, you didn’t want a repeat of last time. It was okay to talk, but nothing else. The only way to avoid anything from happening was to stay in your dorm, but when Tashi saw your ranking in the college girls tennis circuit list move up to fourth, she insisted on going out. So here you were at a frat party. Thankfully, it was Saturday and Patrick would leave on Sunday. You were able to avoid him up until you all had to meet up to go to the party.

While he seemed friendly over text, the first thing he said when he saw you was, “Looks like someone is taking the whole Cinderella thing too seriously.” Not his worst jab, but still said in a tone that felt humilating. Art had just shot him a look and Tashi rolled her eyes. You said nothing in response to him and remained silent on the rest of the walk to the frat house. Now here you were at the Frat party, in some corner of the house, trying to bide the time with some drink until you felt it was appropriate to run back to your dorm.

“You look nice,” you hear a voice say next to you. You take a sip from your red solo cup and turn to see a random frat guy, leaning in to talk to you. You just smile in response, hoping the conversation will end. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he continues. While you enjoyed drinking, you weren’t a fan of how claustrophobic frat parties felt. “Uh well,” you say with a little shrug. Although there was nothing remotely entertaining about it, he laughs and leans in and asks, “So...you here with someone?”

Before you have the chance to respond, you hear, “With her friends. Who is looking for her right now” You turn to see Patrick standing behind you, looking at the frat guy. “C’mon,” he says as he grabs your hand and leads you somewhere away from the corner you were just in.

You follow him without saying anything else. It’s clear he isn’t taking you to Art or Tashi, as you wander down a dimly lit hallway. You look around to see if anyone can see you, but you’re both alone. This hall may be the only empty place in the entire frat house. He pushes open a door and pulls you in, he smirks at you, and you realize he’s taken you to some bathroom. You look at it, and place your drink down on the side of the counter.

“You look really nice,” he says looking at you. A complete 180 from earlier, but what else is new? You look down at the dress, as if you’ve forgotten what you’re wearing. “I’ve never seen you wear that before.” His fingers move to play with the slight lace on the hem of the dress. He smells of cheap alcohol and kool-aid, but you can still faintly smell his cologne.

“It’s new,” you say looking at him. He steps closer, his hands still on the lace, and you feel your heartbeat pick up, and thighs clench. You’re sure he notices. He doesn’t make a comment on it, as he nods. “The lace is nice.” He says looking back up at you. You lean your back against the sink counter, and you slowly feel his hands push the hem of your dress up. You should smack his hands away, but you don’t.

He holds the dress up by your hips, as he looks down at the lace of your panties. “I like that lace too,” he says as he lets one finger touch it. His hands move underneath your thighs and lifts you onto the sink counter. He leans down to kiss you, but not for long as he slowly starts trailing kisses down your body. His hands move to your hips, where the dress is pooled up, to hold down the fabric and hold you. He kisses down on your abdomen, you arch into his touch.

By the time his head is in between your legs, and he looks at the lace of your panties. “You always get wet quick,” he says with a smirk as he sees the little wet spot on them. You whimper, as you feel him lick you over your panties. He chuckles right into your core as you do. He gives you one more tortuous lick over your panties, before pulling them down and putting his tongue where you really want it. His hands are splayed on your thighs to keep you open. “God you taste amazing,” he mutters against your folds as his tongue continues to eat you out. It’s all messy as he spreads his saliva with your arousal and the sound of his tongue against your dripping cunt is obscene. His nose bumps into your clit, which elicits more moans from you. You’re barely on the counter, but his hands hold you in place. You feel his tongue slip down to your other hole, and you shiver, but he quickly moves back up to your cunt. You feel yourself rock against his face. “You’re so desperate,” he chuckles again, “Slut.” His tongue moves a little faster, and your orgasm follows through.

Before you can let the intense pleasure sink in, he is pulling you off the sink counter, and is spinning you around. Your hands grip the sides of the counter, as his hands go to your waist, you feel him rock his erection against you as he groans. You can hear the sound of him unzipping his jeans and the shuffle of the denim as he pulls it down. “Look at you little tennis star,” he says as he pulls down his boxers. “Bent over a bathroom sink for me.” His words send a jolt of arousal down your body, you feel his erection press into your skin. “Fourth is impressive tho,” he whispers against your ear, “I should fuck you with my racket. Maybe your luck will rub off on it,” You feel his tongue dart out and lick the lobe, and you again feel yourself aroused at his words. He pushes your dress up a little bit, and you can feel him guide his cock to your cunt. “Look in the mirror,” he whispers to you. Your eyes look at the reflection of both of you. He smirks from behind you, as he pushes into you. You both moan simultaneously. You feel grateful no one is around, because you’re sure you both could be heard through the door. You feel your eyes go half lidded as he continues to pound into you. “No,” he says with a grunt. One of his hands moves to your neck while the other remains on your lap. His hand presses down into your neck to hold in place. “Watch,” he commands, and your eyes return to the reflection of you both in the mirror. You can see he is watching too, as he continues to hold down on your neck. “I’m..” you feel yourself start to say, but his hand on your throat makes it too hard to speak. “I know..” he grunts, as he continues, “Me too.” He goes a little faster, and with one long grunt, you feel him spill into you. He is panting now, but he continues to thrust until you clench around him and come. You feel slightly light headed as it rips through you, and grip onto the side of the counter as you close your eyes to. His hand moves from your neck and you feel his head rest on the counter on top of yours. His finger softly rubs where you last picked the skin from it.

After a moment of just standing like that, he slowly moves to kneel beside you. You think he is about to do something else, but you feel him pull up your panties as he stands up. He pulls your dress down, and takes a deep breath before going to pull up his own boxers and pants. Feeling much more grounded, you open your eyes and see him looking at you in the mirror, biting the inside of his cheek. “You okay?” he asks. You nod in response, unsure why he is asking. You can see he has a pensive expression on his face, as he bites down on the side of his lip. "I'm fine," you affirm, out loud this time. Then he slowly nods, as he presses a tender kiss against the back of your neck. “I’ll see you,” he says as he walks out. You slowly pull away from leaning on the counter, but say nothing as you just look at yourself in the mirror.

When you finally decide to walk out, you walk straight back to your dorm.

----

Patrick: How are your classes? (sent 11:01 PM, 12/01/06)

Patrick: I used the right your this time :D (sent 11:01 PM, 12/01/06)

----

Tashi: How is prepping going for finals? (sent 8:12 AM, 12/06/06)

You: Fine. Busy tho. (sent 2:03 PM, 12/06/06)

----

Patrick: Read anything good lately? (sent 2:38, 12/10/06)

Patrick: Or has finals taken up all your time? (sent 2:38 PM, 12/10/06)

----

Art: Can you come over? I want to talk. (sent 6:40 PM, 12/16/06)

You: Maybe later? I have an exam tomorrow morning.(sent 7:10 PM, 12/16/06)

Art: It’s important. I’ll be quick. (sent 7:10 PM, 12/16/06)

You: Oh okay. Give me ten min (sent 7:15 PM, 12/16/06)

----

“So…” Art starts, as you sit down next to him on the bed. You had spent the past couple weeks isolated in your dorm studying. And while finals season was keeping you busy, it was just an excuse to avoid Art and Tashi. After Patrick fucked you at the party, it was impossible to ignore the sense of guilt for your behavior. You didn’t deserve to have Art or Tashi in your life. You were awful. You wanted to avoid all three of them at all costs, and were grateful for the fact that finals gave you a reason to.

Art sits down next to you and you both just look at each other for a moment.

You knew this was about your relationship with him. Or well lack thereof. Without a label, without the sex, and now without seeing him, it wasn’t much of a relationship. You wanted him to be happy, but you couldn't deal with the guilt you felt by just being near him.

“I guess it’s over,” he says in a quiet voice. You nod in response. You have nothing to say as you reach over to give him a hug. Just as quickly as it started, you found it was over.

----

Patrick: Art said he ended things with you. (sent 6:39 PM, 12/20/06)

----

Patrick: Are you ignoring me? (sent 12:47 AM, 12/21/06)

----

Patrick: ??? (sent 2:32 PM, 12/21/06)

----

Mom: Have you finished packing? (sent 10:02 PM, 12/23/06)

You: Almost (sent 10:03 PM, 12/23/06)

A lie. You were currently sitting on the floor of your dorm room, with two open, empty suitcases in front of you. You felt exhausted just thinking about packing, but it was only the twenty third and your flight was on Christmas morning. You figured you had plenty of time to pack. No need to stress your mom out about it.

As you stand up and walk over to your closet to grab some clothes to pack, you hear a knock on the door. It was quick and hurried. The semester technically ended yesterday and nearly everyone had already left. You look at the door, and when you hear another knock, you just assume it’s your RA telling you he was leaving for break.

When you open the door, you’re instead greeted with Patrick just standing there. “Patrick?” you asked surprised, “Wha–”

He cuts you off, as he steps into the dorm, “You were ignoring me.” He says it as if that explains everything. “So you just decided to show up at my door,” you ask with a slight scoff. He shrugs. “I wanted to talk,” he says. You sigh, as you walk back to the closet, and open it. He seriously could not have been this dense to not realize why you were avoiding him. “If this is about what happened–”

Now it’s your turn to cut him off. “Of course it is,” you snap back with a scoff. You move to kneel down by the suitcases as you put it in there. He exhales, running a hand through his hair and says, “Why are you acting like this?” You roll your eyes and sarcastically say, “I wonder why.” He sighs and just watches you pack.

An awkward silence overtakes the room, and you take a deep exhale. “How did you even know I was still here anyway?” you ask to get rid of the quiet. “You always leave Christmas morning,” he says with a shrug. He sits down on the floor across from you, as he looks at your suitcases. Your brows furrow, “Shouldn’t you be home for the holidays too?” His eyes dart up to you, and he shrugs again, “Well I don’t celebrate Christmas.” It’s a skillful deflection of the question but you decide to press, “Well yeah I know that.” You remembered how everyone desperately wanted an invite to his Bar Mitzvah back at the academy (you of course were not invited). “But still,” you say as you wait for his response.

He looks at you, and his face is much more serious now. “Uh..” he starts, “Well my parents are still pretty pissed I decided to not go to college.” Oh. You didn’t know that. He bites on the inside of his cheek, and you decide to change the subject.

“Well you’re right, my flight is on Christmas morning,” you say as you stand up and walk back to the closet. He nods from where he is sitting on the floor. As you grab some clothes you add, “But I haven’t been able to pack because of finals.”

“Need help?” he asks. You turn and look at him. His hands are stretched out towards you and you realize he’s asking to take the clothes. You slowly hand it to him, with a raised eyebrow, “You sure?” He just nods as he places the clothes into your suitcase. “You know these suitcases are pretty old, right?” he says to tease you. And you roll your eyes as you grab more clothes to hand him.

An hour later, you both have finished packing. Taking his help was definitely the smart move, as you knew it would have taken at least another hour to finish up on your own. “Finally done,” you say as you lay down on the rug next to your bed. You feel exhausted and let out a yawn. Patrick is still moving some things around in the suitcase. “You’re pretty good at this, you know?” you say with another yawn, still laying down on the rug.

He lets out a laugh, “Well I have to do it on tour.” He continues to move things from one suitcase to another. He says something about distributing the weight, but you don’t catch it as you feel yourself drift off to sleep.

----

When you wake up the next day, you find yourself in your bed. You sit up and look around. The clock on the wall says it’s noon, and your suitcases have been closed, put up right, and rolled to the corner of the dorm. You feel a pang of disappointment at the fact that you’re all alone, but push it down as you move to dangle your legs off the bed. You move to get up, but as you press your foot down you don’t find the fuzzy texture of your rug. You find Patrick.

“Watch it,” he says groggily, as you look down on him. He rolls from his side to his back to look up at you. “You slept on the floor?” you ask him. “No, I’m laying down here for fun,” he says back sarcastically with a sleepy grin. You roll your eyes as you stand up, carefully avoiding him. “Thanks for moving me to the bed,” you say as you look at him. “Mhm,” he murmurs as he slowly sits up, “Don’t mention it.”

You nod, and feel your stomach slightly rumble. “I’m gonna freshen up and go grab us something to eat from the vending machine,” you say with a nod. He raises an eyebrow, “The vending machine?” You shrug. The dining halls on campus would have already closed for break and you doubted there would be much open considering it was Christmas Eve. “Any Chinese places nearby?” he asks with a shrug. You know one and nod. “We’ll go there. I can drive,” he says. “Okay...” you say your voice trailing off as you walk to the bathroom. “Wait,” he says and you turn around and face him. “I’m kinda turned on by you stepping on me,” he says with a grin. You roll your eyes as you turn around and walk into the bathroom.

----

An hour later, both of you were sitting across from each other at a table in a small Chinese restaurant waiting for your food. Somehow the conversation on the way turned to the fact that you didn’t have a license.

“So what, you take the bus everywhere?” he asks with a laugh. You nod and now he laughs “You can’t be serious.” You roll your eyes, but before you can let out some snarky retort, you feel a vibration in your pocket. You pull it out to see a message from your dad.

Dad: Make sure you set an alarm to wake up for your flight tomorrow. You probably want to leave the dorm by 6. (sent 1:23 PM, 12/24/06)

You: Got it :) (sent 1:23 PM, 12/24/06)

“Everything all good?” Patrick asks, as your attention drifts to your phone from the conversation you both were having. “Yeah, my dad just reminded me to set an alarm for tomorrow,” you say with a small nod. He nods in response as well. A moment of silence passes between the both of you. “They’ve always been like that. I remember,” he then says, eyes going to the side. “Been like what?” you ask, as you put your phone down in your lap. He shrugs. “You know,” he pauses to find the right word, “present.”

You look at him for a moment, unsure how to respond to it. You didn’t have to be a genius to see that Patrick wasn’t close to his parents, but his words said enough about how non-existent that relationship actually was.

“I actually remember seeing them the first time I met you,” he suddenly says. “What?” you respond confused. The first time he met you was when he walked into class. You remember how he instantly sneered at you upon making eye contact. Your parents were nowhere in sight. “Okay well, first time I saw you,” he clarifies. Your brows furrow as he sighs. “They came to drop you off. They kept hugging you and saying how proud they were,” he says with a little hand motion and looks to the side as he does.

You do remember that, but you didn’t know that Patrick saw that. Once again you’re unsure how to respond, but thankfully you don’t have to as the waiter walks over and places your dumplings and noodles on the table. “Thank god,” Patrick says as he grabs a pair of chopsticks. “I’m starving.”

----

You laugh in the car, as Patrick sings along off key to Mariah Carey on the radio. “You’re terrible,” you say with a laugh as you look over to him from your place in the passenger seat. He smirks, eyes still on the road. He then sarcastically says“What? I’m a great singer.” This causes you to laugh again, and he joins in.

After that waiter placed your food, the conversation at the restaurant shifted back to more pleasant things. The food was great and now he was driving you both back to the dorm.

“You know, you’re so much more fun when it’s just us,” he says once he is done laughing. “You’ve always been so quiet in public.” You can feel yourself involuntarily tense at his words. He wasn’t wrong. You were more reserved in public. A habit from your time at the academy. A habit from your time being bullied. Your quiet demeanor in public was his fault. And regardless of these moments between the two of you alone, nothing could change that. He must have had the same thought process, because he then goes, “Shit I didn’t–”

“It’s okay,” you quickly say to cut him off. “I know what you meant.” You turn up the volume on the radio to change the subject. He gets the hint, and neither of you say anything else on the way back.

----

Both of you are sitting on the edge of your bed. Your eyes look around the room to check if there is anything you missed while packing. “I can drive you to the airport tomorrow” he suggests. “Honestly I don’t mind taking the bus,” you respond with a shrug as you turn back to him. His brows furrow and he sighs. “About earlier..” he says, his voice trailing off. You shake your head and say, “Just leave it Patrick.” He sighs more frustrated now, clearly unable to find the words he wants to say. He bites down on his bottom lip, and you register how close you’re both sitting. You decide you should move away, but he places his hand on your thigh to tell you to stay.

His lips reach yours and he kisses you as if he hadn’t seen you in years. It's slower than usual. You feel his tongue explore every part of your mouth. As his hands pull off your sweater and push you back down onto the bed, everything feels a bit different. The way he kisses down your abdomen is still passionate, but not reckless. “You’re so beautiful,” you hear him mutter against your skin. There is no hurry in his actions, and his hands move across your body as if trying to memorize every detail. When his head finds his way in between your legs and pulls down your panties with your teeth, you can feel yourself shiver. He eats you out slowly, his tongue lapping through your folds and around your clit in a way that makes you shiver with each stroke. Your hands go to his hair, and you pull it gently. You can feel him moan against your core, and after a couple more moments of his tongue encircling your clit and protruding into your cunt, you come.

When he climbs back up over your body, he kisses you again. Soon you feel his cock push into you. His thrusts are long and slow. His forehead rests against yours, and you’re both holding eye contact. He tells you again you’re beautiful as he continues. You’re both panting and although it takes more time because of the pace, you both reach your orgasms. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and then rolls to lie down next to you.

Neither of you say anything, as you both just lay there looking up at the ceiling. This was new and neither of you know what to say about it. It’s dark outside now and then finally you hear Patrick whisper, “It’s been two years.” He doesn’t have to say what he’s talking about. Two years since the locker room in junior year. Two years since you guys began all of this. “Yeah…yeah it has,” you whisper back. Your head moves to the crook of his neck and his hand wraps around yours. The heat radiates off his body towards yours and you close your eyes. You’re unsure what time you fall asleep.

----

You’re grateful that you remembered to set the alarm as soon as you got back to the dorm yesterday. The clock goes off at six sharp and you wake up, quickly moving from Patrick’s hold on you to hit the off button. You look over beside you on the bed and see Patrick still asleep, although he must have sensed your movement because he shifts around. It’s the first time either of you have fallen asleep in the same bed. Your mind drifts back to the day before and to how you both ended up sleeping in the bed together. It feels as if some boundary has been crossed.

You slowly move to get dressed. You move on your tiptoes, as he moves again in his sleep. The last thing you want to do is wake him up. You want to leave. Go home. Forget any of this ever happened.

Once you’re ready to leave, you slowly push both suitcases on to the door, and look again at Patrick sleeping in your bed. You walk over to the desk and grab a sticky note and pen. You scribble down Lock up when you leave and place the spare key you’re suddenly beyond grateful you have right next to the note. You sigh as you take one last look at him, and then walk back over to the door to leave.

----

He must have woken up shortly after you left, because you just get on the bus as you get a text from him.

Patrick: Hope you have a good Christmas. (sent 6:23 AM, 12/25/06)

You: Thanks (sent 6:23 AM, 12/25/06)

----

You only heard from him once during break, on New Years.

Patrick: Happy new years! (sent 12:00 AM 01/01/07)

You: Happy new years! (sent 12:01 AM 01/01/07)

You simultaneously loved and hated the silence. With no messages from him, it meant you didn’t have to confront what happened the night before you left. You could do your best to pretend nothing had happened. Although you found it impossible to do so. Your mind kept drifting back to that night, and thus equally hated how there was nothing you could do to find some concrete answers. You didn’t know what to expect from him after that. Or what it meant to him. You couldn’t even process what it meant to you. You’re left with an uneasy sense of deja vu, as you find yourself spending another winter break thinking only about you and Patrick.

----

If you were avoiding Art and Tashi before break, you had essentially ghosted them once you got back. As you returned to campus for the spring semester, you hoped Patrick would leave your mind. But without any answers to the questions you mulled throughout break, he remained at the forefront. This made it impossible to be around either of them. Not to mention, with your breakup – if you could even call it that – with Art, it was back to being awkward.

You only saw them during tennis practice or games, always with an excuse handy to avoid spending any extra time together. Although, once again you sensed that they didn’t mind. During your first week back, after practice one day when you told Tashi you had to drop the film studies elective you both signed up for together, she just shrugged in response. “No worries,” she said casually. Art only made small talk with you before and after practice. If they missed your presence, they made no signs to show it.

In contrast, it started to seem as if Patrick was searching for it. Couple weeks after returning to school, he started texting you again.

Patrick: You got back? (sent 5:43 PM, 01/29/07) You: Yeah. (sent 5:46 PM, 01/29/07)

Patrick: How is it? (sent 5:49 PM, 01/29/07)

You: Good. (sent 5:52 PM, 01/29/07)

He texted as if what happened before break was completely normal. The thought of addressing what happened made your stomach churn, but this was irritating. You were sure your annoyance was clear in your messages.

You: Do you have my spare key? (sent 10:23 AM, 02/04/07)

Patrick: Shit. (sent 10:23 AM, 02/04/07)

Patrick: I think I lost it. (sent 10:23 AM, 02/04/07)

You: Good job. (sent 10:25 AM, 02/04/07)

Patrick: Sorry (sent 10:26 AM, 02/04/07)

And slowly, you couldn’t find it in you to respond at all.

Patrick: I was on campus this weekend and didn’t see you once. (sent 2:32 AM, 02/04/07)

Patrick: Art said you guys don’t really talk anymore. (sent 2:32 AM, 02/04/07)

----

Patrick: I doubt the Stanford English department gives their students this much work. (sent 4:23 PM, 02/08/07)

----

Patrick: I can't believe you're ignoring me again. (sent 8:56 PM, 02/12/07)

----

Patrick: What did you tell her??? (sent 10:56 AM, 02/16/07) Patrick: ??? (sent 1:02 PM, 02/16/07)

----

The day you get the email from Adidas is just a random Thursday in Feburary. At first you thought it was spam, but then you saw the words sponsorship in the subject line. You open the email, and your eyes glaze over. It’s a casual email, saying that they’ve seen you play and that if you were interested they would set up something more formal to discuss with you. It feels surreal and you just stare at the screen, expecting it to disappear when you blink.

If you took it, wouldn’t you have to go pro? You were still unsure if you wanted that. Time gave you no clarity on the subject.

You reread the email from Adidas. Adidas. The company Tashi has a sponsorship from. Suddenly you have a feeling about what happened.

----

You’re sitting next to Tashi on the bleachers. Neither of you are playing in today’s game, but Stanford tennis still insists on all players attending for support. You doubt Tashi minds this rule. She always gets into the game, mumbling little things about the players, regardless of who was playing. These moments were the only times you really talked anymore, it was now or nothing. You look at her and take a deep exhale, “I got an email from Adidas.”

She turns and looks at you, her eyebrow raises but then she smiles, “Really?” You nod in response, “They want to give me a sponsorship.” Her smile just grows, but before she can have a chance to respond, you ask, “Did you tell them something?”

“What?” she asks, looking at you. She lets out a scoff like laugh, but then realizes your expression is serious. “It’s not like Adidas is going to give you a sponsorship just because I asked them too.”

“Yeah but you were–” she cuts you off.

“Well I think you deserve one. Doesn’t mean I could get it for you,” she says with a shrug and head shake, as if to say what did you expect.

“I just don’t understand how else they would–”

“You can’t be serious,” she says with a laugh. She looks at the game and then towards you. “You’re currently ranked fourth in women’s college tennis. Of course you’d be on their radar.” You just look at her blankly. Well when she put it like that it made some sense, but you still felt lost. She sighs and tilts her head, “It’s so tiring watching you try justifying these things.” Your eyebrows furrow and she continues. “You think you’re this awful player, but you’re not,” she pauses, “I mean I understand why tho. The academy really did a number on you.”

You feel yourself get a little more tense, as she brings this up. “Huh?” is all you can say.

“Art told me. About the bullying. About Patrick…” she starts. Before you can even process the fact that Art told her everything, she continues. “It actually made a lot of sense. There was always something off between the two of you. At first I thought maybe you had a crush and that’s why you were avoiding me as well, but what Art said made a lot more sense considering your whole complex with Tennis.” Complex with tennis? What?

“I..well,” you start but are unable to find the words. She continues, “You are a good player tho. You deserve the sponsorship.” You just look at her and nod slowly again, she leans in and with a smile says “Congrats.” Both of you then turn to look back at the game, although it’s the last thing on your mind.

----

Tashi’s words never left your head after that. Your headache only grew after that. Another thing to spend time pondering about. A complex with tennis? What did that even mean? You were also somewhat shocked that Art told her all of that, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him. The only thing clear to you after the conversation, was the fact that your urge to avoid them all had grown.

It’s around eleven pm and you were walking back from the library. Practice had become a little more intense as you got closer to the end of the season. Between that and the time you had to spend in class, you were staying up later to finish your work. It was all getting to you. Your life had become: class, tennis, work, class, tennis, work. You had three more matches left: Pepperdine, UNC, and Purdue. Then the season would end and you wouldn’t have to worry about tennis until next year. The Adidas email was still unanswered. It was fine. You promised to get around to it eventually.

As you walked on the sidewalk back to your dorm, you started to feel as if you weren’t alone. You turned around and saw a car a little behind you moving slowly. You turn back around without getting a proper look, and grip your backpack strap a little tighter as you decide to walk a little faster. The driver must have realized, because they too started to drive a bit faster. You start to run, but as you’re about to cross the road, the car swerves in front of you and stops. This time you do get a good look. You’d know this car anywhere. You feel frozen in place.

“Get in the car,” Patrick says. His voice is more of an order than a question. You just stare at him. “Get in the car,” he repeats. You look around to see if anyone is there walking over and opening the passenger seat door. Everything happened so quickly, it feels disorientating.

“What–”

You’re not given the chance to finish the sentence as he spits out, “I can’t believe you’re ignoring me again. I thought we were over this.” You just look at him, as he starts to drive, you’re not exactly sure where. You open your mouth to ask, but then he says, “Yeah okay we fucked up. We have been fucking up. But you don’t just get to disappear.”

You watch him, as he continues to drive. “I’ve been busy,” is all you say. He scoffs, “Too busy to respond to my message, but not too busy to tell Tashi about the academy, huh?” he says, leaning in again. Your brows furrow and you start to say “I never–”

He cuts you off once more, “Oh please, cut the crap.” He looks to the side and then to you, “I’m so fucking tired of this.” He is close enough that his nose is touching yours, “How convenient of you to leave out the part where we’ve been sleeping together? Can’t stand not being the victim?” His words aggravate you and you begin, “Patrick–”

He cuts you off again, “The poor scholarship kid. The poor bullied kid.” His tone is mocking and combined with the fact he hasn’t let you get one proper sentence in yet, you find your anger increasing. “I mean it looks like it got you places. Art said you got an Adidas sponsorship. Good for you,” he says with a scoff like laugh. Did Tashi tell Art about it? You shut down the thought. You don’t have the time for it right now.

“Fuck you Patrick,” you bite back, and he laughs again. “Don’t you ever get tired of this? You have everything, and you still act like it’s nothing,” he snaps back.

You scoff and suddenly the car is suffocating. You don’t know where you are, but you’re sure you could figure out how to get back, so you grab the car door to open and leave. Instantly, his hand comes down and clamps down on your arm. He holds you with a tight grip.

“Let go of me,” you say, looking at him. “No,” he retorts back instantly. You try pulling from his grip, but he doesn’t let you go. It doesn’t stop you from trying again. Once again he just says, “No.” You look at him with a laugh, and pull again, but he pulls your arm with enough force that your whole body moves closer to him. The hand you kept on the door handle is pulled away, and without thinking the hand goes to slap Patrick for pulling you.

You weren’t thinking when you did it. It just happened. He just looks at you after the slap, equally surprised. The cheek you hit him on is slightly pinkish, although you didn't hit him hard enough to really hurt. Just enough to sting. His grip on your arm loosens, but you don’t move. You’ve been in this situation enough times to know what is going to happen next. And like every time before, you have no intention of stopping it. It’s no surprise when his lips come crashing down on yours.

Your tongues clash, and your hands move to grip his shoulders. You can feel your nails digging into the muscle there. He moans in your mouth at the sensation, and you feel your arousal grow as he does. As if knowing, his hand goes to slip inside of your pants, gently touching you over the thin fabric of your panties. You whine against his lips at the sensation, and he chuckles. “Such a desperate slut,” he murmers, as he applies a bit more pressure with his fingers as he touches you. “Patrick,” you whimper again, he chuckles at it. You can feel his fingers push away your panties and you feel his middle finger dip into your cunt. It’s long and calloused as he thrusts it in and out of you. The position is insanely uncomfortable; you in the passenger seat, him reaching over the dash, but you’re too needy at this point to care. His thumb runs over your clit as his middle finger continues its motions. You think he is going to dip another finger in, when he suddenly stops. Something in the back of the car catching his eyes.

“Remove the sweats,” he tells you, as he reaches his hand to the back seat to grab something. You do as he says, pulling it down to your ankles. Your panties are still pushed to the side, so you’re exposed. You lean back against the car door, as you see him pull out a tennis racket. You remember his words at the party, and you can see the brief moment of hesitation on your face. It’s so obscene but it just makes you even more aroused, you spread your legs a little more, and his hesitant look is replaced with a smirk. As your arousal drips onto the car seat, his hands reach out to touch your folds, and then he leans over the dash and spits right on your pussy, tennis racket still in hand. The next thing you feel is the handle of the tennis racket sliding into you with ease.

He moves it back and forth, as he watches. “Fuck,” he groans at the sight, as his free hand moves to palm at his dick through his pants. His breathing is labored now. You squirm in the seat as he continues with the racket, your hand moves down to rub little circles over your clit to bring you over the edge faster. “I’m..cl..” your voice trails off before you can finish the sentence. “I know,” he says with a pant. “Let go for me,” and his words bring forth your orgasm as your head goes back against the window and you feel yourself let go.

He smiles as he sees you come undone. You look at him through half lidded eyes, deciding to give yourself a minute before you both continue, wanting to give him a hand or blow job to get him off. But as his eyes drift down to where the tennis racket is, he stares at it for a moment. The smile slowly falls off his face and his other hand moves away from his pants. He pulls the tennis racket out and you sit up. He turns to put the racket in the back again.

“I’ll drive you back,” is all he says after, not making eye contact as he does.

-----

Neither of you say anything afterwards. After what he said, you fixed your panties and pulled up your pants, and he started driving the car back in silence. His eyes are glued to the road, but you turn to look at him every couple minutes. He looks much more solemn, and you find yourself unable to break the silence.

He stops at a red light, and you’re still looking at him as his eyes remain on the road. “I’m…You have every right not to text me,” he suddenly starts. “I don’t…You should probably stop texting me.” His voice is so defeated and small, it’s almost hard to believe this is the same man from ten minutes ago. He starts driving again, and you look out the window.

Wherever that parking lot was, it must not have been far from campus, because before you know it you can see your dorm building in the distance. “You should stop here,” you tell him quietly, not wanting to get too close to the building where someone may see you. He nods as he parks at the end of the road. You pick up your bag to leave, but from the side of your eye you see him face you again.

“Why..I can’t believe you let me do that shit to you,” he says. He is facing you in the passenger seat now, but is unable to look at you. You look at him, feeling a weird knot in your stomach. “Patrick…” you start, but your voice drifts off. You’re not sure why either. “You shouldn’t let me do that shit to you.” His voice is a bit louder and still upset. “God you should fucking hate me,” his eyes look back up to yours. And then in a softer voice he asks, “Why don’t you hate me?”

He has a point. You have every reason to hate him. Sometimes what you feel is strong enough to be hatred, but you know whatever you feel for him isn’t hate. You look away from him towards your dorm building in the distance. There is no straight answer you can provide for him right now, so instead you quietly say, “I should get back.”

He looks where you’re looking and nods with a sigh, saying “Okay…yeah.”

You say nothing else as you get out of the car with your stuff. You have to fight the urge to look back at him as you walk to your dorm.

----

Patrick: Won a couple matches I played with that racket. Maybe it really is lucky now. (sent 7:02 PM, 02/22/06)

Patrick: I hope you're doing well. (sent 7:10 PM, 02/22/06)

You never respond. He doesn’t send anything else.

----

Adidas sent you a follow up email, considering you never responded to the first one. They said they wanted to give you the time to think, but they needed to hear something back. You don’t respond to this email either.

----

The past couple weeks have been the most isolated you’ve been since your time at the academy. It was like you were fourteen again constantly tormented and with no friends. Except this time, the only thing tormenting you were your thoughts. You wanted to just disappear and avoid everything and everyone. You didn’t even have the energy to think about any of it. About Patrick and why you didn’t hate him. About your supposed complex with tennis. Even just remembering what happened over the past couple months was exhausting.

You didn’t talk to anyone. Tashi no longer came up to you in the locker rooms or during practice and games. You didn’t know if she was giving you space after your conversation or if this marked the death of your friendship. This also to think about, even if you were relieved that it made it easier to avoid her presence. You also started to skip class more often. You knew you’d also be skipping practice and games if your scholarship wasn’t dependent on tennis. You’re almost free though. Today is the match against Pepperdine. Then two more, and the season would be done.

You were walking back to your dorm room, when you see them through the dining hall window. Art and Patrick eating churros. You stand and stare at both of them for a moment. Somehow the sight takes you by surprise. You assumed that Patrick was still visiting campus, since he and Tashi were still together. And of course he was still friends with Art, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Patrick figured out if it was Art who told Tashi about everything that happened at the academy.

You still hadn’t confronted Art about that. You still wanted to, but you still found yourself unable to talk to Art. Just like Tashi no longer talked to youi, he no longer seemed to talk to you. The small talk before and after practice, had now just been reduced to the occasional wave. Your eyes go to Patrick. Neither of you were texting anymore. Nor had he randomly showed up to talk to you, like the last two times. For once in your life, Patrick Zweig had actually left you alone.

When both boys notice you're staring through the window, you lock eyes with both of them. Art’s expression is stoic, you couldn’t read it if you tried. Patrick looks slightly surprised and for a moment you think he is about to smile at you, but you don’t wait around to find out. You turn away and walk straight back to your dorm.

----

There’s thirty minutes until the match. You’re dressed in your dorm so you wouldn’t have to bother with the locker room. You're ready to head out, when you hear a knock on your dorm door. You look at it for a minute. You swallow and hope it’s not Patrick, as you open the door. You’re flooded with both relief and disappointment that it’s Art.

“Uh..hey,” you say, seeing him. He nods and gives you a small smile you can tell is forced. “I saw you today, so I thought I’d come over,” he says. The way he looks at you makes you feel as if he knows something. It’s obvious this is all a pretense to talk about something else. While you don’t know what, you know you don’t want to talk about it. As you move to let him walk into your dorm, you quickly say, “I was actually about to head out for the game soon.”

He nods, “me too.” He then looks at you, and his lips part again as if he is about to speak. You have no idea what he is about to say, but you already want this conversation to be over. Without thinking, you speak first, “So Patrick is visiting for the game?”

His lips close, clearly not expecting that. He nods and curtly says, “Tashi invited him.” While this is the same Art you’ve known for years, he suddenly feels much colder. His expression is stony and makes you want to shrink. It dawns on you that this must all be about Tashi. Maybe he was just trying to use what happened to you as a way to get her to break up with Patrick. The thought he would do so is upsetting, and without thinking, you say, “She told me what you said.”

He nods and shrugs, “Well it came up one day.”

“Really?” your voice exposes the fact that you don’t believe it.

He just shrugs in response and shakes his head yes as he does. “I don’t see why it’s a big deal.”

“You don’t see why telling my friend about something like that wasn’t a big deal?” you ask back.

“Are you really her friend anymore?” he asks, which stuns you into silence. He just lets out a little huff, and continues, “And she’s with Patrick. She should know about it.” You stare at him, unsure how to respond. “She should know what type of guy her boyfriend is,” he repeats.

“Patrick is your best friend–”

“I know that,” he cuts you off quickly. This was the most impassioned thing he had said this whole time. “But I’m not going to pretend what he didn’t wasn’t awful.” Maybe it was a little more than just about Tashi. He looks at you for a moment, as if analyzing you, “Why do you?” You stare at him blankly, his voice is calm but cruel in a way that makes you want to scream. “Why do you brush it aside?” His voice sounds as if he is trying to imply something and you find yourself just standing there. “It’s like you’re trying to protect him”

“I’m not,” you say back in a quiet voice. He just shrugs in response, and looks to the side, as he looks like he is about to say something, but he then lets out a humorless laugh. Before you can ask why he did so, he says, “See you at the game.” He takes one last knowing look at you as he walks out of the room.

----

You didn’t have the energy to leave after that. You laid down on your bed for a couple extra minutes, before you realized you would be late if you didn’t leave now. You grabbed your racket and water bottle and headed out to leave the dorm building.

You walk out of the dorm and then the dorm building quickly, but not fast enough to miss the sight of Patrick sitting on the curb. You stop upon seeing him, and he must sense your presence because he turns and looks at you. His back straightens up a little more and you can see his eyes are red. He’s wearing what looks to be Tashi’s shirt, and the scent of weed drifts off him.

He says your name as he scrambles to his feet. “I have to go,” you say, pointing with your racket in the direction of the game. You take a step backwards. You don’t have the time for this. You don’t have the energy for this. “She knows,” he suddenly says.

You can feel your heart drop. “Tashi..she knows about...” He doesn't finish the sentence, but makes a motion between the both of you.

He says something after that, but you’re unable to hear it. Your legs move without you processing the action, and the next thing you find is yourself running to the court where the game is. You can hear Patrick call after you, but he doesn’t follow.

----

Tashi is by the bench, pulling out her racket from the case. You run over to her instantly, the moment she processes your presence she scoffs.

“Tashi–”

She does not let you speak, looking at you with a cold expression. “I don’t know what fucked up dynamic you and Patrick have going on,” she starts, before leaning in slightly in a menacing way. “But keep it away from me.”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. It’s not like she would have heard anything you said anyway, the minute she is done speaking she walks away to the court.

You watch her go, as you sink down onto the bench. The items in your hand falling down beside you. The game begins but you’re unable to focus. You just sit there, your fingers going back to picking the skin by your cuticles. You feel as if the ground is spinning and you want nothing to run back to your dorm. Your mind replays the moment with Tashi. The conversation with Art. You hear Patrick’s voice ask why you don’t hate him replaying in your head, and you feel all the memories come rushing back. It’s as if floodgates have been opened and nothing can stop it from pouring out. You let yourself spiral as you feel your heart rate picked up.

You probably would have been like that for the whole game, but then you hear it.

Her scream.

----

It’s all a blur after that. You look up and see Tashi on the ground clutching her knee. You don’t waste a moment before getting up and running to her side, but the minute you get down on your knees beside her, her expression becomes even more upset.

“No!” she says clutching her knee looking at you. “Get away! Get the fuck away!” You just stare as you see her cry, as your coach comes down beside you to calm her down. You see Art run down from the stands, hopping over the net for her. As he moves her head on her lap, you make eye contact with him.

His expression is worried, but also has something else you can’t place. You look back at him, and he looks away from your gaze down at Tashi. Then you realize what the other emotion is. Guilt. Suddenly, the conversation earlier made more sense. He knew. He knew about you and Patrick. He knew and he told her. Your mind races with questions, but you slowly get up realizing you’re only making Tashi more upset. You look at her one last time, before running to the bathroom for some privacy, feeling the tears well up in your eyes as you do.

----

You wipe your tears as you sit in the hallway of the campus' medical center . When you stepped out of the bathroom, you realized that they had already taken her off the court. You assumed she was either brought here or was already taken to the hospital. You couldn't care less about your game after everything, so you left for the medical center instantly. When you arrived, you saw a coach talking to one of the nurses and that confirmed she was here.

The medical center was small. A one floor building, so you knew she was just down the hall, but you couldn't bring yourself to go to her. Why would she want to see you? She hated you now. You were a few feet away, but you may as well have been miles away from her. You still couldn't bring yourself to leave. It was like watching a car crash. Awful. Crushing. Yet absorbing. You just sat on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest, with your head leaning against the wall.

You hear hurried footsteps from the other end of the hallway, and you turn to see Patrick who nearly runs into the room.

“Get out!” you hear Tashi say. You can tell he is trying to say something back, but then you hear Tashi say again to get out. While your position in the hallway prevents you from seeing anything, you can hear it clearly.

“Get the fuck out Patrick!” Art’s voice booms. You just stare at the direction of the door, as you see Patrick walk out dejected. As he steps out he sees you sitting on the floor. Somehow the sight of you makes him look even sadder.

His eyes go down to the floor and he slowly begins walking down the hallway in your direction. You just watch him, as he comes over to you and then slumps down onto the floor next to you. He turns his head to look at you. You stare back in silence.

“I’m sorry,” he then says quietly. His voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You look at him with a small nod and respond, “I know.”

And when he leans in to hug you, you close your eyes and wrap your arms around him as well. Your mind goes blank and you let the enormity sink in. You can’t tell if it makes you feel empty or complete.

author's note: If you got this far, I love you <3 Let me know what you think!

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