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mafiadad5 · 2 months ago

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How can you mend a broken heart? [lmk]

“It’s only to make him Jealous Y/n, swear.”

✧ mark lee x fem!reader

✧ Genre- angst, fluff, mutual pining, best friends to strangers to lovers, fake dating, university au (only implied once though).

✧ Wc- 11k

✧ Warnings- heartbreak, kissing.

✧ Playlist- how can you mend a broken heart - Al Green / Moon river - Frank Ocean / Lose Control - Teddy Swims / Tell Him - Ms. Lauryn Hill / At Last - Etta James / ✧

a/n- omg hi again! I enjoyed writing my last mark angst so I decided to do another one with a… happier ending. I hope you guys enjoy!

────୨ৎ────

"Hey, I got here as fast as I could... woah dude, are you okay?" Mark's smile dropped the moment he saw your puffy, watery eyes through the door frame. You didn't say anything, just reached out and pulled him into a hug, sobbing into his chest.

"We're done, we're really done, Mark... it's over." Your voice trembled, each word fragile as you struggled to keep your emotions together.

Mark froze for a second, caught off guard before gently wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in tighter. His shirt dampened from your tears, but he didn't care. He just held you, trying to steady you with his presence.

"Wait who? You and Jaemin?" Mark asked, his voice filled with concern as he stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind him without letting go. His arm remained firmly around your waist, supporting you as you buried your face in his chest.

You nodded, struggling to breathe between sobs. "We had this huge fight over... Minecraft, Mark— fucking Minecraft! He told me he couldn't do this anymore. That we weren't going to work, and he just left."

You pulled back from the hug, your lip quivering uncontrollably as hot tears streamed down your face. The disbelief, the shock of it all was hitting you hard. Your mind was racing, replaying the fight over and over. It felt surreal how something so stupid could destroy everything.

Mark's eyebrows shot up, a brief expression of surprise painting his face. "Minecraft...?" He raised a brow, and for a split second, the corner of his mouth shaped into a small smirk.

Your expression shifted, eyes narrowing. "It's not funny." you muttered, voice cracking. "It's not-”

"No, no, I know. It's not funny." Mark quickly interrupted, his smirk fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. "I'm sorry Y/n. It's not funny at all."

"What an asshole for breaking up with you over Minecraft of all things." He paused, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked at you.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but the tears kept coming. "It wasn't just the game Mark. He said he's been feeling like this for a while. That I didn't 'get him' anymore. And that stupid argument was just the last straw, I guess."

"Dude that still doesn't give him the right to like, leave you like that, over something so... stupid. If he was feeling something, he should've talked to you. It's not on you to just magically know what he's thinking." Mark said, eyes softening as he gently cupped your shoulder, guiding you to the couch.

You sat down, pulling your knees to your chest, staring blankly at the floor. "I thought we were fine. Like, we had our ups and downs, but I thought we would work through it."

Mark sat next to you, his arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you close again. "You didn't do anything wrong. If he's been feeling this way and didn't tell you, that's on him, not you. You're not a mind reader."

You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I just... I feel so stupid. Over a game, Mark. Who loses someone they love over Minecraft?"

"It's not stupid." Mark said softly.

"He's the one who made this bigger than it needed to be. It could've been a conversation, but he turned it into something else. He made the choice to walk away, not you."

"But what if I'm not enough? What if... I never was?" You sniffed, trying to stop the fresh tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

Mark tightened his grip around you, his voice firm. "Don't say that. You are more than enough. Jaemin didn't deserve you if he couldn't see that. You deserve someone who's going to communicate, who's going to fight for you, not leave over some dumb fight."

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in. His warmth and presence were the only things keeping you sane right now. Mark always knew how to make you feel safe, even when everything around you was falling apart.

"I don't know how to move on from this." You whispered lightly.

"You don't have to figure it all out right now—" Mark said gently.

"I'm here, okay? We'll get through this together. One step at a time. And if that means we stay up all night, then so be it. Or like you know, we can just destroy things in creative mode until you feel better."

A small laugh escaped you, despite everything. It was weak, but it was there. "That... actually sounds kind of nice."

Mark grinned, nudging you playfully. "See? One tiny step forward already. And seriously man, Jaemin doesn't know what he's missing."

You wiped your face again, the tears slowing. "Thanks Mark. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

His expression softened as he smiled. "Well, you'll never have to find out, because I'm not going anywhere."

You laid your head on his shoulder, sitting silently as you two took in each other’s embrace.

Aren’t you glad to have a best friend like Mark?

────୨ৎ────

"So, how are you feeling?" Mark asked, his eyes flickering between the movie on the screen and you. The soft glow from the TV cast shadows across the room, but his attention was entirely on you.

You took a handful of popcorn and slowly chewed, letting out a deep sigh as you leaned back against the couch. "Better..." you said, forcing a small smile. It wasn't entirely true, but sitting next to him, you felt a little more at ease.

Mark smiled softly, sensing your hesitation, but he didn't push for more. For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the background noise of the movie filling the space between your thoughts, but the quiet never lasted long.

You sat up suddenly, huffing as you crossed your arms. "Ugh Mark, it's just like—why did this have to happen to me? We're in the same friend group, and now it's gonna be so awkward. I can't even think about how I'll face him."

As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the coffee table, lighting up with notifications from the group chat. A notification from your group of friends. You frowned as you swiped the notifications away.

Mark glanced at his own phone, seeing the same texts. "You know me and my ex are in that friend group too, and it hasn't affected anything," He said, giving a small shrug. "As you can see, we've all moved on and if Jaemin has any sense left, he'll do the same. He won't bring anything up and will just... leave you alone."

Mark's voice trailed off as his phone buzzed again. "Plus, it looks like he's already getting the memo. He hasn't said a word since-"

"Well, what about me, Mark?!" You blurted out, pressing the "Do Not Disturb" button on your phone in frustration, your voice rising as you tossed your phone aside and slumped back onto the couch, lips forming a pout. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Mark follow your lead, tapping the same option on his own screen. It made you smile a little, knowing that even in this, he was quietly on your side.

Mark sighed and nudged you lightly with his elbow. "Look, just stop overthinking it, okay? Watch the movie. Everything will be fine. Trust me."

When you didn't respond he reached out, gently brushing away a few popcorn crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. His touch lingered for a second longer than necessary and you caught his gaze, feeling a flutter in your chest. For a moment the tension between you shifted—just the slightest flicker, but enough to make you feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

"You know..." You said, trying to distract yourself from the sudden tension."You'd make such a better boyfriend than Jaemin. How'd you and your ex break up again?"

"She broke up with me to 'focus on herself' or something like that. Honestly, I don't even care anymore. I'm over it." Mark said chuckling, shaking his head.

"Oh my god, yeah, no, I remember that. I knew there was another reason I didn't like her." You said with a teasing smile

Mark raised an eyebrow, his curiosity scratching at him. "Wait, what's the first reason?"

You raised your eyebrows right back, a mischievous smirk painting your lips. "Naw, don't get quiet now!" Mark teased, his tone light but challenging. "Tell me, or I’ll tell her you didn't like her this whole time."

"Stop Mark, oh my god. She probably already knows anyway." You giggled, swatting him playfully.

Both of you broke into laughter, the playful energy between you easing the tension, but then, your phone lit up again, snapping you both out of the moment. It was another group chat notification. You glanced at the screen, and Mark did the same.

“You're invited to my mini get together at the arcade tomorrow at 8. Idc if you're busy, drop it and be there!”

You sighed heavily and turned your phone off, tossing it aside again.

"We're gonna have so much fun." Mark said sarcastically, even though he was already typing a confirmation in the chat.

"We're not gonna have anything because I'm not going." You muttered, folding your arms across your chest. You could feel his gaze shift to you, the teasing gone from his face.

"Dude. Yes, you are." He said, his voice firm but gentle.

"Look at me! I can't go out and see him this soon. I'm a mess, Mark." You shot back, gesturing at yourself with a frown.

"You're not a mess." He said, shaking his head, his eyes softening as he watched you.

"You're upset, and that's normal. But trust me, you can do this. He didn't even respond to the invite, see? He's probably not even going. I'll be with you the entire time."

You wanted to hide from everything, from everyone, but the way Mark was looking at you—his eyes filled with quiet determination, like he wouldn't take no for an answer made it hard to refuse.

"Seriously Y/n, please come. I'll make sure it's not awkward, I swear." He said, his voice low, almost pleading.

You stared at him, meeting his gaze. After a long pause, you finally let out a sigh. "Fine... fine, I'll go." You mumbled, grabbing your phone to confirm in the group chat.

Mark's face broke into a wide smile, his eyes lighting up. "Thank you! You won't regret it. I'll make sure we have fun."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help smiling at his excitement. "You better." You muttered.

"So, I'm obviously staying the night, right? Where are my pajamas? I know I left them here somewhere." Mark said, standing up and stretching, grinning down at you.

"You always do this.” You laughed, shaking your head, getting up to retrieve them from the closet. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you—lingering.

As you handed him his pajamas, his fingers brushed yours briefly. Mark smiled at you, softer this time, and for a moment it felt like the room had shrunk around the two of you, like the world outside didn't exist.

"Thanks." He murmured, looking at you with sparkling eyes. You held his gaze for a beat longer than usual, before turning away.

"Yeah... no problem." You whispered, getting settled back onto the couch.

────୨ৎ────

"Y/n, are you ready? I'm here."

You read the text from Mark, your phone screen glowing as you sat on the edge of your bed.

"No." you typed back quickly, slightly confused when he left you on read. A few minutes later you heard a knock on your door. You opened it and of course... Mark was standing there, a playful grin on his face.

"Dude, I seriously thought you flaked on me—" he said but paused, his eyes widening as they scanned you from head to toe. "Damn girl. We're going to an arcade, not a fine dining restaurant."

"Mark stop." You giggled, slipping on your shoes. "I'm just wearing a skirt and a shirt." You grabbed your bag and led him out the door.

"Yeah, but you look good though man. Like, really pretty and stuff like that" he stuttered awkwardly, a nervous smile creeping onto his face. Your own smile mirroring his.

"Thank you Mark." you responded softly.

"Oh, and good news. Jaemin's not even gonna be there. He never responded." He added, glancing at his phone as you walked toward his car.

"That's a relief." You said, but the unease in your stomach didn't completely fade. You climbed into the passenger seat, hoping tonight would go smoothly.

When you and Mark arrived at the arcade you both walked in with smiles, ready to see your friends, but the moment your eyes scanned the room, your smile dropped. There sitting at the table, laughing with the group, was Jaemin.

Your heart dropped. Out of instinct, you grabbed Mark's hand, holding it tightly to stop any emotion from showing on your face.

"Sorry- " You muttered, quickly pulling your hand away. It wasn't like it was the first time you'd held Mark's hand, but tonight, it felt different. More... loaded. Before he could respond you spoke again, your voice filled with nervous frustration.

"Mark you said he wasn't gonna be here." You whispered, glancing at him with betrayal.

"I didn't know!" Mark raised his hands in defense, looking at you with those endearing, soft eyes.

"Listen, no matter what, I promised you a good time, and I'm sticking to that. That's what's gonna happen." He gave you a reassuring smile and before you could say anything he slid his hand into yours again, this time intentionally.

You blinked at him, feeling a wave of warmth spread through your chest as his thumb lightly brushed your knuckles.

"Okay?" He asked, his eyes locking with yours.

"Okay." You nodded, squeezing his hand back.

As Mark led you toward the group, you couldn't help but notice the heat of his hand still in yours. Your friends greeted you with excited smiles, but your eyes immediately moved to Jaemin, sitting there with a bitter expression, his gaze on your joined hands.

"Oooo, what's this?" One of your friends teased, wiggling her eyebrows as she eyed the two of you.

You and Mark stayed silent, sharing an awkward smile, but neither of you let go.

"I thought you were with Jaemin?" Someone else asked, causing the group to agree in confusion.

"We—" you began, but quickly cut yourself off.

"He broke up with me." You said, your voice a bit too smug as you shot a look directly at Jaemin, everyone's attention shifting to him.

"And it looks like you didn't have trouble finding a replacement quickly, huh?" Jaemin responded coldly, crossing his arms.

"Mark has been my best friend for years, so was it really a replacement when he was here first?" You retorted.

The group fell into silence, all eyes falling between you and Jaemin, waiting for his reaction.

Jaemin scoffed, his lips turning into a sarcastic smirk.

"Oh right. 'Best friends'. "Funny how 'best friends' always seem to turn into something more the second things end, huh? Makes me wonder what was really going on before we broke up." He said, his tone mocking.

Mark's body tensed beside you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. You could feel the anger radiating from him, but before he could speak, Jaemin interrupted him. "I guess you're really good at keeping your 'options' open aren't you?"

You took a sharp breath, eyes dark as you looked at him. "Another excuse? Was Minecraft not enough?"

The room erupted into quiet whispers, and one of your friends spoke up, "Wait dude... you broke up with her over Minecraft?"

Jaemin's smirk fell for a second.

"It was more complicated than that." He started, but before he could finish someone else interrupted.

"Guys! Can we please just eat and play games like we planned instead of focusing on Mark and Y/n's new relationship?" A loud voice broke through the tension, trying to steer the conversation away.

"Sounds like a plan." Someone else laughed, trying to ease the mood, but as the group prepared to move to the arcade section, Jaemin spoke once again.

"Notice how they didn't deny it though."

"DUDE, CMON." Someone yelled, dragging Jaemin away from the both of you.

Inside the arcade the atmosphere lightened as your friends scattered to play games. The flashing lights and music filled the room helping you momentarily forget the earlier tension.

You and Mark stuck close together, trying out various games, but even in the chaos of flashing neon lights and arcade noises, you couldn't shake the way you felt whenever Mark looked at you. At one point, Mark pulled you toward a basketball shooting game.

"Think you can beat me?" He teased, tossing a ball between his hands.

"Of course I can." You laughed, stepping up to the machine.

The game began and you focused on shooting as many baskets as possible, the competition between you heating up. When the game ended, Mark had won by just a few points, but you noticed he seemed more distracted by you than by the score.

"Guess I'm still the champion." He said, leaning in closer as he spoke, his voice lower than usual.

"Whatever." You rolled your eyes, but smiled, nudging him playfully.

"You only won because I was distracted."

"Oh yeah? By what?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, his stare intense.

You paused, looking everywhere but his eyes.

"By... everything." You mumbled, feeling a little hot.

"Well, you're not the only one." He smiled, cheekbones prominent as he looked at you with sparkling eyes.

"Uh huh, says the all time champion." You chuckle, placing your hand on his chest, trying to push him away before the moment was interrupted.

"Hey you two! Stop flirting and come play air hockey with us."

"Stop!" You whine jokingly, looking back at Mark, realizing your hand is still resting on his chest.

"Oh oops." You both laughed awkwardly, his cheeks flushed. But as you followed your friends, you couldn't help but feel like something had shifted between you and Mark... well... maybe not? You don't know, it doesn't matter anyways.

The night had gone better than you expected, and you found yourself laughing with Mark as you headed to the car. The tension from earlier with Jaemin had mostly melted away.

"See, I told you we were gonna have fun." Mark said, glancing over with a smile that made your chest feel warm.

"Yeah I had a good time. I'm glad you convinced me to come out." You giggled, leaning back in your seat, grinning to yourself, but the moment faded as Mark went quiet, the silence lingering, thickening the air between you.

"So... when are we gonna tell them that we're actually not dating?" Mark asked, breaking the silence. His tone was light, but something about the question made your grin fall as you stared out the window.

"They'll figure it out eventually." You replied, turning to face him with a forced smile, trying to keep things casual.

Mark hummed in response, his focus shifting back to the road, but the easy vibe from earlier was gone, replaced by something heavier, something unsaid.

He pulled up to your apartment complex, the car engine humming softly as you prepared to get out.

"Thanks for tonight Mark. I'll see you later." You said, trying to sound optimistic.

"Wait—don't you want me to walk you in?" He asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

"No thanks. I’m good, seriously." You said, smiling again, his sad eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. Something about the way he was looking at you made your heart do a weird flip, that look in his eyes.

"See you later boyfriend." You teased trying to break the tension before the air could get even weirder.

"See you later girlfriend." Mark smiled, even though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

As you shut the car door and walked up to your apartment, a strange mix of emotions welled up inside you. You felt confused—happy maybe?—but also kind of hollow.

Something about the whole night left you unsettled. You collapsed onto your couch, trying to make sense of it, when you heard a knock at the door, startling you.

You opened it to see Mark standing there again, biting his lip nervously.

"Mark. What do you want?" you joked, even though a small part of you meant it.

"Can I talk to you real quick?" He asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer. The look in his eyes was different now, more serious.

"Yeah, sure." You said, sitting down beside him on the couch.

"What's going on?"

"It's nothing super serious, but... hear me out?" He looked like he was bracing himself for something, and you nodded, feeling the shift in the air. "Maybe we should, like... act like we're dating for real. You know, like fake date." he stuttered on his words, his eyes flicking nervously to yours. "To make Jaemin jealous."

"You want to fake date... to get back at Jaemin?" You blinked, caught off guard.

"He was definitely rattled tonight, you saw that."

You just stared at him blankly.

"And he deserves it for how he treated you. Plus, it'd be easy right? We've been best friends forever, so it wouldn't even be weird." Mark continued, his words rushing out as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You couldn't help but laugh, scratching the back of your head. "Mark, this is a very... wild idea… so what, we're just gonna fake a big breakup later too?"

He waved that off, grinning. "Dude we'll deal with that later. Come on Y/n, this could be fun. And it's not like there's anything complicated between us—we don't like each other like that, so it's just, like, a fun game. Right?"

Your heart squeezed at that last part, the words hitting a little harder than you expected. No feelings? Nothing complicated?

After a pause, you nodded. "Ok. Let's do it."

“Yes! This is gonna be awesome." Mark said, face lighting up as he grabbed your hands in excitement, his energy infectious.

You watched him for a second, trying to ignore how warm his hands felt holding yours, how his smile seemed to linger a little too long on his face.

"You seem a little too excited about this." You teased, trying to push aside the growing tension inside you.

"What can I say? Fake dating my best friend sounds kinda fun." He shrugged, a smile still on his face.

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, you yawned, feeling the exhaustion from the night catch up with you.

"Ok Mark. I'm tired, so you can, like... leave now." You said with a laugh.

Mark stood up, pretending to look hurt. "Wow, kicking your boyfriend out already. I want to break up."

You froze for a second, your eyes widening in shock.

His face softened when he realized what he'd said. "Or... maybe not! Bye Y/n."

You rolled your eyes, shutting the door on him, but just as you started to walk away, you heard another knock. You opened the door again to see him grinning sheepishly.

"You didn't say bye back." He said, eyes twinkling.

"Bye Mark." You said. You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head.

As you closed the door for the second time, you stood there for a moment, your heart pounding a little faster than it should have been. You were in a fake relationship with your best friend now. Nothing could go wrong with that... right?

────୨ৎ────

The next few days passed in a blur and nothing major had changed on the surface, but there was an undeniable shift between you and Mark. You kept telling yourself it was just the fake dating thing that made everything feel... different, but now every time you texted or hung out, the words carried a weight they never had before.

That became clear the next time Mark showed up at your apartment. You were getting ready for another group hangout, some casual lunch with everyone—including Jaemin. Mark arrived early as usual, but instead of heading straight out, he lingered by the door.

"Do I look okay?" You asked, adjusting your outfit in the mirror. It was an innocent question, one you had asked him hundred times before, but this time, when he looked at you, his gaze lingered.

"You look great." He said, his voice quieter than usual.

His eyes traveled from your face, down to your shoes, then back up, locking on yours. Your stomach flipped, and you turned away, breaking the moment. You were just reading into things. That's all.

"Thanks. You're not too bad yourself." You joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Mark chuckled, but it felt off, a little awkward.

"Ready to go?" He asked, grabbing the keys from the counter.

As you stepped out together you couldn't shake the feeling that something was brewing, something neither of you were saying.

Lunch with the group was surprisingly less tense than the last hangout. Jaemin was there, but he didn't cause any scenes, probably because the rest of the group was on high alert. You sat next to Mark as usual, and he played his part perfectly, but then there was a moment when the group had split up to order food.

You and Mark were left alone at the table, the buzz of the restaurant fading into the background as you both sat there in silence.

"You're doing okay, right?" Mark asked, his voice softer than before.

"Yeah." You said, even though it felt like a lie. You weren't sure what "okay" even meant anymore.

"It's just weird, you know? Being around him like this."

Mark nodded, his hand resting on the table between you. You stared at it for a moment, then felt a sudden rush of warmth as his fingers brushed yours.

He didn't pull away.

Your heart thudded in your chest. You told yourself it was just part of the act—something to keep up appearances, but when you looked up and met Mark's eyes, there was a flicker of something real in them. Something unspoken, but heavy. You quickly looked away, pretending to check your phone. "Everyone's taking forever to order." You said, forcing a laugh.

Mark didn't say anything for a second, his fingers still brushing against yours, but eventually he pulled his hand back.

"Yeah, they are." He said, his voice tight.

The rest of lunch passed quickly, the conversation flowing but your mind kept drifting to that moment at the table. You tried to push it aside—tried to focus on what you had agreed on, that this was just an act, but with every glance Mark threw your way, every small smile that seemed more genuine than playful, you felt that barrier between friendship and something more begin to crumble.

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting on the couch, replaying the day in your head. It wasn't like anything major had happened, but the tension between you and Mark was starting to feel impossible to ignore.

A text lit up your phone.

“Hey, you still up?”

You smiled, replying quickly.

“Yeah, what's up?”

“ I was just thinking... about earlier. Do you think we're doing a good job selling this whole "dating" thing?”

You paused, unsure how to respond. He was clearly still in "fake dating" mode, but for you... you didn't know what mode you were in.

“Yeah, I think it's going pretty well. Why?”

“Just making sure man. I don't want Jaemin or anyone thinking we're half-assing it.”

You stared at the message for a moment, the weight of what wasn't being said hanging between the lines. It would be so easy to just laugh it off, keep things as they were.

But...

“You know, sometimes I forget we're faking it.”

The message sat there on your screen, your heart racing as you hit send. You didn't know what you were expecting—maybe a joke or some lighthearted reply to brush it all off.

But his reply came.

“Yeah. Me too.”

You stared at his message, your heart pounding harder now. The space between you had shifted again, but this time it felt like there was no going back.

────୨ৎ────

The next day you and Mark tried to go back to normal, pretending like nothing had changed after that conversation. It was easy enough at first. You had a study session planned and just like old times, Mark showed up with snacks and a hoodie that was two sizes too big. You sat cross legged on the floor, books sprawled out in front of you, Mark was on the couch, pretending to focus.

Every once in a while you'd catch him glancing at you, or you'd find yourself zoning out, staring at the way his hands fidgeted with the corner of a page. The atmosphere was different, and you both knew it.

Still, you didn't talk about it.

"So." Mark said, breaking the silence, "I was thinking we should do something tomorrow. You know, for the whole... fake dating thing." He fumbled with his words, like he was trying to find the right balance between casual and something else.

"Like another group hangout?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Maybe…or just the two of us? We could go out and get coffee or something, act like we're on a date. Just to keep up the illusion."

A spark flickered in your chest, but you quickly pushed it down. It's just for the act, you reminded yourself. Nothing more.

"Yeah, that makes sense." you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "We should probably post something too. You know, sell it on social media."

Mark nodded, a little too quickly. "Exactly. People will totally buy it if they see us together more."

There was an awkward pause, both of you knowing full well that you already spent nearly all your time together, but not willing to admit it. Instead, you focused on flipping through the pages of your textbook, hoping that the silence would swallow up the tension.

After a while Mark stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "It's kinda funny, isn't it?" He said, almost speaking to himself.

"What is?"

"How we've been best friends for years and no one ever thought we'd be more and now we're pretending to be something we never were."

You laughed lightly, but it felt forced. “Yeah…funny." You paused, tapping your pen against the edge of your notebook. "But like, it's not a big deal, right? I mean, we know it's just fake."

"Right." Mark echoed, but there was something in his tone that made it sound like he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You glanced up at him, catching his eyes for a split second before he quickly looked away, his face flushing just slightly. There it was again—that weird tension that made everything feel more complicated than it should be.

"Yeah…" You said, forcing a smile, "just fake."

The words hung in the air between you like an unspoken agreement, both of you clinging to the safety of that label ‘fake’. As long as you called it that, you could deny everything else.

Later that evening, after Mark had left and you were alone in your apartment, you couldn't shake the strange feeling that had settled over you. Your mind kept wandering back to the way he'd looked at you—like there was something he wanted to say, but didn't.

You weren't supposed to think about Mark like this. He was your best friend. That's all he’s ever been, and that's all this was supposed to be. You were fake dating to make Jaemin jealous, to get back at him, not because you actually had feelings for Mark. That would be ridiculous, but despite how much you tried to convince yourself, there was a tiny voice in the back of your head that kept whispering otherwise, it always did.

You shook your head, tossing your phone onto the couch. This was just a weird phase where you were overthinking everything because of the fake relationship. You and Mark would go back to normal soon, and all this awkward tension would fade away. It had to.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if it didn't.

────୨ৎ────

The next day, you and Mark met up for coffee, just like he had suggested. It was supposed to be casual—a fake date to keep up appearances. But the second you walked into the café together, the mood shifted.

Mark held the door open for you, his hand brushing against yours as you walked past him and it sent a jolt through you that you tried to ignore. He was just being polite.

Friendly.

Nothing more.

You ordered your drinks and sat by the window, the sunlight streaming in and casting a warm glow on the table. Mark was fidgeting again, playing with the sleeve of his hoodie, his knee bouncing up and down under the table.

"You're nervous?" You teased, trying to break the tension.

"What? No I'm not." He said quickly, but his knee stopped bouncing, and he gave you a sheepish grin. "Okay, maybe a little. I'm just not used to... this."

"Neither am I." You admitted, stirring your coffee aimlessly.

"But it's fine. We've got this."

"Yeah. It's just pretend anyway.” Mark said, his eyes darting to the window, avoiding yours.

"Right. Just pretend."

But as the conversation drifted to other topics and you both laughed like you always did, the line between pretending and something more blurred again. You weren't supposed to feel this comfortable with him. You weren't supposed to notice how his eyes crinkled when he smiled or how your heart sped up when he laughed at one of your dumb jokes.

You weren't supposed to feel like this was more than fake.

But you did.

And judging by the way Mark's gaze lingered on you a little too long when he thought you weren't looking, you had a feeling he was feeling the same. Neither of you said it, though. You both kept pretending. Because it was safer that way.

────୨ৎ────

You'd been feeling pretty good about the whole "fake relationship" situation. Things with Mark were comfortable, just like they always had been, and somehow playing this little game in front of your friends made everything seem almost... fun. It was easy with him. He was always easy to be around, but that changed when you spotted him with his ex.

It was by pure chance—coming out of a coffee shop with your hands full of iced drinks, you saw them together on the sidewalk. She was laughing at something he said, her hand brushing his arm lightly as they walked. Mark... he looked at her like he used to. Like she was the only person in the world. You felt your stomach twist painfully, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn't want to feel hurt. It was ridiculous, wasn't it? You were just pretending. This whole thing with Mark was fake. So why did it feel so real all of a sudden?

You swallowed hard, gripping the drink carrier a little tighter as you walked past them, pretending you didn't notice. Mark didn't even see you.

You were sitting back at home. Before you could spiral any further, your phone buzzed.

"Hey, wanna hang out later? 😊"

Your head lingered on what you saw earlier before you replied.

"Yeah, sure."

Later that evening, when you met up with Mark everything was still fresh in your mind. He greeted you with his usual wide smile, but you couldn't help but notice the slight hesitancy in his step as he approached.

"What's up?" He asked, nudging your shoulder lightly. "You seem quiet."

"I'm good. Just thinking." You responded, forcing a smile.

"Thinking too much, as usual." He giggled, giving you another playful nudge, trying to lighten the mood.

You let out a small laugh, but it felt hollow. You couldn't bring yourself to bring up his ex just yet. What were you going to say anyway? It wasn't your business. You and Mark were only pretending to be together, but as you walked, chatting about nothing in particular, the question was burning on the tip of your tongue.

"So... how was your day?" You asked casually, hoping he’d bring it up.

"Pretty chill. Just hung out with some people." He shrugged. “But now it’s better cause I’m with you.” He smiled, looking at you with those same sparkling eyes.

And you kept up the act, laughing along, pretending it didn't bother you.

But it did.

That night, when you were alone, the uneasiness grew. You couldn't stop picturing them together. The way she smiled at him, how comfortable they looked. What really made you more uneasy was the fact that he hid it from you and acted like nothing happened earlier— makes you wonder how many times this has been happening.

The level of hurt you felt was immense, the person who was supposed to protect you from your feelings, made you hurt even more… and before you knew it, you were staring at your phone, hovering over Jaemin's name in your contacts.

You bit your lip, hesitating for just a moment before typing a message.

“Hey... can we talk?”

It felt strange reaching out to him after everything, but you weren't trying to get back together. You just wanted something to ground you, something familiar, someone who could remind you of who you were before everything got messy.

Jaemin responded almost immediately.

“Yeah. Want to meet up?”

Your heart raced as you stared at his text. Was this the right thing to do? You weren't sure, but the thought of seeing Mark with his ex again made you feel like you had to do something.

“Sure.”

You agreed to meet the next day, and you knew deep down that fixing things with Jaemin wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't erase the strange ache you felt watching Mark with someone else. But maybe, just maybe, it would help distract you from it.

At least for a little while.

────୨ৎ────

Ever since you spotted Mark with his ex something in you shifted. You tried not to let it get to you, tried to remind yourself that it shouldn't matter, but the hurt was there, like an ache you couldn't shake. It was hard enough pretending this fake relationship wasn't confusing your feelings more every day, and now this?

The group meet up was supposed to be just another casual hangout, but this time you didn't feel like riding with Mark. After everything that had happened, especially seeing him with his ex, you weren't sure if you could sit in the car with him without it all bubbling to the surface.

So, when he offered to pick you up, you quickly shot it down, saying you'd drive yourself.

"Okay... cool." Mark said, sounding a little confused, but brushing it off. He didn't push it, and that was fine by you.

The arcade was buzzing when you arrived and you immediately spotted Jaemin. You hadn't expected things to be so easy between the two of you, but somehow they were. You weren't getting back together or anything, but there was a sense of comfort now. Your interactions became normal as you both slipped back into old habits—laughing, joking, sharing quick, familiar smiles.

You felt lighter, or at least you wanted to, but the second Mark walked in that fragile peace shattered. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, the weight of his stare practically pulling you toward him, but you forced yourself to stay focused on Jaemin.

You barely acknowledged him. Every time he tried to speak, you turned to someone else, laughing a little louder, pretending everything was fine. You didn't trust yourself to talk to him, not with how confused and hurt you still felt.

Finally, Mark had enough, standing up and walking over to you. voice low as he asked "Hey, can we talk? Outside?"

You sighed, giving Jaemin a quick glance before standing up. "Yeah, sure."

The second you were outside Mark turned to you, his jaw clenched. "What's going on with you and Jaemin?"

"Nothing. We're fine now. What, is that a problem?" You crossed your arms, not wanting to do this, but knowing you couldn't avoid it forever.

Mark's brows furrowed, his voice rising slightly. "It kinda feels like it is. We're supposed to be... you know, close. And now you're acting like I don't exist... You've been ignoring me all night Y/n. And now you're good with him again?"

Your frustration finally bubbled over. "Why do you even care Mark? It's not like you cared when you were hanging out with your ex."

Mark blinked, caught off guard. "What? What are you talking about?"

"I saw you." You said, the bitterness creeping into your voice. "I saw you with her. You two looked pretty close."

He stared at you, eyes wide in shock. "Y/n, it wasn't like that. We were just talking. It didn't mean anything."

"When we started fake dating it wasn't just about making Jaemin jealous, was it? You wanted her attention too." You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Mark's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by your words. "What? No Y/n, that's not—" he started, stumbling over his own thoughts. "It wasn't about her. I didn't- I thought we were both in on it, just... trying to move on." His voice softened, the uncertainty in his eyes betraying his attempt to seem sure of himself.

You shook your head, the sting of disappointment tightening in your chest. "That's the thing, Mark. It feels like you did choose her—again. Every time you get close to me, you pull back the second she's around." Your voice wavered, the hurt slipping out despite how hard you tried to keep it in.

"What?" Mark asked, genuinely confused now, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated now. "But we're together, Y/n?" He said, almost as if he believed it himself.

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, now we're together? You didn't seem to be thinking about me when you were with her."

Mark's face twisted, frustration mixing with something else—something deeper. "That's not fair." He muttered, stepping closer. "You know it's not like that."

"Then what is it like Mark? Because I don't know what to think anymore. You were the one person I never thought I'd have to guard my heart from." You spoke, your voice softer now, but still filled with pain.

The air between you was thick with unspoken words, tension swirling in the space as Mark stood there, his gaze locked on yours. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his expression shifted from frustration to something softer, something vulnerable.

You tried to turn away, but he reached out, gently grabbing your wrist. "You don't have to guard your heart away from me... tell me how you feel."

You shook your head, trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let you. "Mark, let's just—"

Before you could say anything else, he moved closer. Then, without another word, he leaned in.

His lips were on yours, urgent and desperate, like he was trying to make sense of everything the only way he knew how, and you let yourself fall into it.

It was good… too good, and it made your head spin. It wasn't a soft kiss, not hesitant or uncertain. It was filled with the weight of everything you'd both been holding back—the confusion, the tension, the yearning that had built up over time.

For a second, you let yourself melt into him, feeling his warmth, the way his hands gently cupped your face like he was scared you'd pull away, your hands gripping his shirt. For a moment, it felt right—like all the confusion, had led to this, but then reality hit you again, hard.

"You're so confusing." You whispered, pulling away from him.

Without waiting for him to respond, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, the weight of the kiss still hanging in the air between you.

You didn't look back, you couldn't. If you did, you weren't sure what would happen next.

────୨ৎ────

You were curled up on your couch, staring at the TV without really watching it, replaying the kiss with Mark in your mind. Your lips still tingled with his taste and your heart felt heavy with all the confusion. You didn't know what to think, what to feel. The tension between you and Mark had been building for so long, but the way it ended... his words still echoed in your mind.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your thoughts. Your heart raced. It was Mark, it had to be him. He would want to talk things through? Maybe he felt the same things you did. You hurried to the door hoping for some kind of resolution, but when you swung it open your heart sank.

Jaemin stood there, hands shoved in his pockets. "Hey." He said, glancing down at the ground, then back up at you with those familiar eyes.

"Oh it's just you..." You answered, you couldn't help but to sound a little disappointed, prompting Jaemin's eyebrows to raise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He giggled, before peeking inside "Can I come in?"

You blinked, stepping back instinctively. "Jaemin... what are you doing here?"

He stepped inside, his presence filling the space with an awkward energy. "I wanted to talk." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I've been thinking Y/n, about us. I know things ended badly, but... maybe we made a mistake—I made a mistake. I miss you."

You froze, out of all possible times...

"Jaemin..." You began, but before you could finish, there was another knock at the door.

Your heart leaped again, glancing at Jaemin, your stomach twisting. This time you knew it was Mark. You opened the door slowly, and there he was, standing on the other side, his expression brightening for a brief moment until his gaze flickered past you and landed on Jaemin.

His face fell, the hurt in his eyes very visible as disappointment painted his face, the same disappointment you had when you saw him with his ex. Mark's mouth pressed into a thin line, his hands flexing at his sides.

"I... didn't know you had company." He muttered, stepping back, his voice thick with shame.

"Mark wait—" You started, but he shook his head, glancing between you and Jaemin.

"Looks like I'm interrupting something." he said, his voice low. "I'll leave you two to it."

Before you could say another word, Mark turned and walked away. You stood there, breathless, closing, but waiting, just incase he came back to give you a chance to explain.

"What the fuck is going on between you two?" Jaemin's voice cut through the silence.

You turned back to him, looking numbly as you stayed silent.

"Weren't you just dating? What happened." He asked, obviously being unserious, giggling at his own comment.

You sighed, "We broke up." You murmured, opening the front door, signaling Jaemin to leave.

"... Do you seriously like him?" Jaemin asked, looking at you with a face of disdain.

You took a deep breath. "Jaemin get out."You said lowly, closing your eyes, trying to keep your composure as Jaemin made his way to the door.

Before he left out the door, he stopped, facing you, a smug look on his face as he raised his brow. "Can't say that I'm surprised, I've had a feeling even before we got together." He scoffed, rolling his eyes before walking out the door.

You shut it behind him, taking a deep breath before sliding down the door, your legs too weak to stand. Everything you held in, what begged to be let out finally released. You sobbed heavily, wondering where it all went wrong. Your heart ached, feeling like it was torn out your torso and ripped in half, feeling the weight of the emptiness that settled in after Mark left. It made you feel more lost than you had before. How did you lose everything all at once? Whatever was there with you and Mark, it felt like it slipped away, just when it had started to feel real.

────୨ৎ────

The days that followed your argument with Mark were unbearable. You hadn't spoken to him since, and that silence pressed down on you more than you had expected. You were heartbroken, not just because of the confusion and hurt surrounding the kiss, but because you missed him— like a lot. You missed the effortless connection, the late night talks and sleepovers, and the way things used to be before everything got complicated.

You stopped going out with the group, preferring to stay at home alone. Every notification from the group chat was a reminder of all the things that went wrong. You couldn't face Jaemin or anyone really, not with Mark lingering in your thoughts, every memory of him reopening the wound. From what you heard Mark wasn't showing up to anything either. It wasn't just you who was isolated, but that only made things worse. He had been your rock, your best friend, and now you didn't know where you stood with him at all. It felt like you two ruined each other.

You thought about texting him, just something small to break the silence, but every time you opened the message app, you'd freeze. What would you even say? How could you explain the mess in your head when you couldn't even understand it yourself?

You were curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV, the sound nothing more than white noise in your brain. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, but you ignored it, not having the energy to engage with anyone. The loneliness was suffocating, but reaching out felt impossible.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You sat up, your heart immediately quickening. For a moment you wondered if it could be him, but you quickly brushed that thought aside. Why would he show up now, after all this time? You shuffled to the door, your fingers hesitant on the handle before pulling it open.

And there he was... Mark. He stood there, looking hesitant, his hands stuffed in his pockets. For a second, neither of you said anything, the staggered memories of the past few weeks hanging in the air.

"Mark..." you breathed, your voice shaky. You weren't sure if it was relief or anxiety.

He gave you a small, awkward smile. "Hey Y/n."

The awkward tension stretched between you, and you struggled to form words. Mark looked down at his feet, then back up at you with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

"Uh, Jaemin... Jaemin told me something the other day." He stated, and your stomach dropped at the mention of his name. "He said that... you liked me. Like, really liked me."

You froze, your heart slamming in your chest. He knew...

You were gonna kill Jaemin the next time you saw him, what is his problem with you, he's acting like you're the one who broke up with him, but before you said anything, Mark spoke again, his eyes widened, as if realizing he'd let the truth slip out too soon.

"Shit. I—I wasn't supposed to say that." He stammered, running a hand through his hair nervously.

"I mean, it's not like I didn't already... feel like something was there, but it's just—look, can I come in? We need to talk."

You stood there for a moment, stunned and unsure of how to respond. The vulnerability of having your feelings laid bare like this was terrifying, but there was a desperation in Mark's eyes that tugged at your heart. You stepped aside, nodding slightly, and he walked in, his presence both a comfort and a source of even more confusion.

You closed the door behind him, trying to brace yourself for whatever was about to happen. The silence felt heavy as you both sat down, neither knowing quite how to begin.

Mark's gaze softened as he looked at you, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but sincere.

"I'm sorry, Y/n. For everything."

────୨ৎ────

The silence between you and Mark stretched on as you both sat there, the weight of all the unsaid words finally crashing down. Your heart was pounding and you could barely bring yourself to look at him. There had been so many moments, so many times when you wanted to tell him the truth, but fear had always kept you from doing it, but now, with him sitting right there, you knew you couldn't hide anymore.

Mark exhaled, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped like he didn't know where to begin. You couldn't take it anymore, the tension building, the raw ache inside your chest that had been growing for weeks. You swallowed hard, finally speaking.

"I've always liked you Mark." You said, your voice trembling. His eyes snapped to yours, wide with surprise. "I've liked you for so long... but after the first time, after you chose her I had to move on. I couldn't sit around waiting for something that was never going to happen."

Mark's brows furrowed, like he was trying to process your words. "Wait... what do you mean?"

"Mark—" You giggled, but it came out more as a sigh. "I gave up when I realized you didn't like me back. That's what hurts the most. I've spent so long hiding how I feel, pretending that I was fine being your friend when all I wanted was for you to look at me the way you looked at her." You said, looking down, fidgeting with your fingernails.

"But Y/n... I did like you. Like a lot. I thought you and Jaemin were—" He stopped, fumbling for words. "I didn't think I even had a chance with you."

You let out a laugh. "You didn't think you had a chance? Mark, I've been right here, the entire time. You're the one who didn't see me. Or maybe you just didn't want to."

"That's not true," Mark said quickly, his eyes full of regret. "I saw you, Y/n. I've always seen you, but I thought you didn't think of me in that way. That's why I got with her and when we broke up, you and Jaemin started dating."

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "I love Jaemin," you admitted, your voice quiet. "But I can't lie and say that he wasn't a distraction... from you." You said, turning to him.

Mark seemed to flinch at your words, like they hit him deeper than he expected. "A distraction?" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded. "It was easier, you know? To focus on Jaemin and have a crush on him instead, to tell myself that I'd moved on, but every time I saw you with her, every time you chose her, it broke something inside me. I couldn't take it anymore."

Mark's face twisted with emotion, a mix of sorrow and frustration. "I never meant to choose her over you, Y/n. I didn't even realize that's what I was doing. You were always the one I went to, the one I trusted. But I was an idiot, and I didn't see what was right in front of me."

The room was heavy with your words as you sighed, trying to push past the knot tightening in your chest. "It's ok. I guess it doesn't matter anymore. I'm glad we cleared the air so we can go back to being friends like we used to be."

You gave him a small smile, hoping it would ease the tension, but the moment the words left your lips, you could sense a shift in the air. Mark stiffened beside you, his body language betraying the discomfort your words had caused. He stared at you for a long, quiet second, and something in his gaze made you nervous. His usual easy going smile was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead with an expression that was difficult to read.

The room fell into a thick, uncomfortable silence. His leg was bouncing restlessly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve, like he was desperate to say something, but couldn't m find the words.

"But—" he mumbled, biting his lip nervously as his gaze remained on anything but you.

You blinked at him, confusion rippling through you. "But what?" you asked softly, your voice filled with curiosity and a bit of hope. You felt your heart rate pick up as you waited, suddenly aware of how close he was sitting.

Mark hesitated, his leg bouncing even faster now. He was clearly battling with himself, trying to decide if he should let the words out or hold them in. Finally, he took a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be your friend."

Your heart stopped. For a moment, you were certain you had misheard him. Your mind raced to process what he had just said, but the confusion only grew stronger. "Well then... I guess we're done here, aren't we?" you replied, your voice cracking as the emotions bubbled up.

Mark's eyes widened in panic, and for the first time, he looked genuinely shaken. He swallowed hard, trying to gather himself. "No, that's not what I mean." He said quickly, his hand reaching out slightly toward you but then pulling back before he made contact.

You tilted your head, watching him as his leg bounced even faster, his fingers now anxiously twisting his sleeve. His lips parted as if to say something, then closed again. The tension in the air was unbearable.

Finally, Mark's voice broke the silence, low and trembling. "I want to be more than friends Y/n..."

Your breath hitched. You weren't sure you had heard him correctly at first. Is Mark finally saying the thing you had waited to hear for so long? You stared at him full of disbelief, searching his face for any sign of a joke or hesitation. But there was none—his expression was completely serious.

He avoided your gaze, clearly nervous as he spoke again, his voice quiet. "I like you a lot Y/n. Even after all this time, I still do. I never stopped... I just—" He let out a shaky breath and finally looked you in the eyes.

"Do you still... like me?" he asked softly, his voice barely audible, and for the first time, you saw fear behind his eyes—fear of rejection, fear of ruining whatever was left between you.

Your throat tightened, and for a moment, you couldn't speak. Your feelings, the ones you had buried for so long, were rising to the surface again. The air thick with tension, you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you searched for the right words.

Finally, you nodded, slowly at first, then faster. "I do... I do still like you...so much." You whispered, the confession slipping from your lips before you could stop it. The moment the words left your mouth, you felt relief, like you were finally free of the weight that had been pressing down on you for so long.

Mark's face lit up at your words, his eyes shining with disbelief. He looked like he could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"You do?" he asked, his voice full of hope and vulnerability.

You nodded again, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "I've always liked you Mark. Even when I tried to move on, even when I was with Jaemin... it was always you."

Mark's breath hitched, reaching out, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was hesitant, like he was afraid you might pull away, but you didn't. You laced your fingers with his, holding onto him like you were afraid to let go.

"Do you... do you want to be with me?" he asked, his voice trembling as his hand tightened around yours.

Your lip trembled, and you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. This was everything you had ever wanted, everything you had dreamed of. But now that it was here, it felt overwhelming.

Instead of answering with words, you pulled him into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face in his shoulder. His scent was familiar, comforting, and you held onto him like you were gonna lose him.

Mark's arms wrapped around you just as tightly as he held you close. For a minute, neither of you said anything, just holding each other in silence.

Finally, you pulled back, cupping his face in your hands as you looked into his eyes, your heart was pounding in your chest.

"Yes," you whispered, a smile breaking across your face as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his. "I want to be with you."

Before he could respond, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that felt like it was years in the making. His lips were soft against yours, warm and gentle.

The kiss deepened, slow and tender. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right. There was no pretending, no hiding. It was just you and him, finally together, finally where you were supposed to be.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and a little dizzy, you looked at him with a smile. "We finally have each other, for real this time." You whispered.

Mark smiled back at you, his eyes full of love and warmth. "Yeah..." he said softly, pulling you close again. "We do."

────୨ৎ────

The evening was filled with laughter, You and Mark were sitting close, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair, a soft smile never leaving his face as he glanced at you every so often.

The group had decided on a night in, just movies, snacks, and a lot of catching up. It felt like old times again, but better—because this time, you had Mark by your side in a way you'd never had before. Every time your hands brushed, every shared glance, you felt your heart flutter.

Jaemin, of course, wasn't letting the night pass without teasing. He smirked at the two of you as he leaned back into the couch. "Look at them" he rolled his eyes playfully, nudging someone beside him. "Lovebirds. It's like they've been together all this time. Who would've thought?"

You laughed, rolling your eyes but feeling no need to defend yourself this time.

Mark chuckled, his thumb brushing your arm lightly. "Man, it took us long enough."

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, pretending to be shocked. "Took you long enough? More like I had to shove you two together. Where's my matchmaking credit?"

The group laughed, and for a moment, everything just felt light, but the teasing wasn't quite over.

"So, Jaemin…" one of the others piped up, a mischievous grin spreading across their face. "You've been all about these smart remarks tonight... anything you want to tell us?"

Jaemin's face immediately flushed. "W-What? Me? Nah I'm just here for the drama, you know that." He said, waving it off.

"Sure…" The smirk on their face grew even wider. "Except, we've noticed you've been spending an awful lot of time with someone lately."

You perked up at that, exchanging a glance with Mark. She sat quietly on the other side of the room, raising her eyebrows in surprise, her cheeks turning pink.

Jaemin opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He was speechless for once.

Everyone burst into laughter. Jaemin couldn't stop himself from cracking a smile as he shook his head in defeat. "You guys are unbelievable."

Mark leaned over, whispering in your ear, "Guess we're not the only ones who needed a push, huh?"

“Mark Ive been known about it.” You grinned, speaking purposely loud so everyone could turn to you.

“How?” Jaemin asked, raising his eyebrow as everyone looked at you with questioning eyes.

“She was the only one who wasn’t curious about why Me and Mark were holding hands when I was still with Jaemin. She knew about the break up before any of you knew.” You answered causing everyone to raise their eyebrows in realization.

“Dude… wait you’re right.” Mark added, looking at you with a small smile.

“Oops…” Jaemin responded, everyone laughing at the squeak in his voice.

As the night carried on, you found yourself taking little moments just to breathe in the atmosphere, to hold onto this feeling.

Every smile he gave you, every gentle touch, was like a stitch pulling the pieces to your heart back together. The pain you'd carried for so long was fading. Mark was helping you become whole again.

For the first time in a long time everything felt right and as you sat there, surrounded by laughter and love, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And as you looked around the room—at the friends who had stuck with you, at the boy who had once been your closest friend and was now so much more, you realized something.

You were finally happy.

Oh yeah… and his ex left the friend group! Xoxo

645 notes · View notes

hyuckswoman · 8 months ago

Text

mark and you arguing pt1

pt2

genre: angst (doesn’t have good ending but i can make a pt2)

summary: you don’t like how touchy one of your boyfriend’s friend is, when you try to tell him, he doesn’t listen

pairing: mark x y/n

“no mark you don’t understand and that’s fine, i never asked you to understand either way” you say putting your things down and closing your front door behind you

earlier that night, you and mark were on a double date with his childhood friend and her situationship? you thought it was her boyfriend but seeing the dynamic up close you understood how wrong you were

the date was going okay at first. since her situationship was so entertaining, it completed shifted your focus away from the fact that you had barely taked to your boyfriend ever since stepping foot inside of the restaurant, not only that but you had also failed to see how her hand was on mark’s forearm and didn’t look like it was going to move in any second.

you’re not normally the jealous type but seeing how there’s been a few instances where she had stepped over the boundaries you put with your bf and when you told him about it he just shrugged claiming that “she’s an old friend, she’s bound to be…comfortable” you were apprehensive of the evening.

and you were right to be! the whole evening was basically her flirting and eye fucking mark, cutting you off when you were speaking, barely paying any attention to her date i mean hell even YOU talked more to him than she did.

the more the evening progressed the more you dread coming home, yea it meant she wouldn’t be here anymore but it also meant you having to be vocal about your feelings and a possible argument with mark because of course his friend could never be in the wrong

“why are you being like this? each time we hang out with her you’re always mean and tense about it, i don’t get why you have a vendetta against her” you boyfriend says taking off his coat following you into the living room

“it’s not like i don’t have a reason to have a vendetta against her mark, she was flirting with you all evening! and i don’t even understand why you’re picking a fight with me, i bit my tongue on purpose and didn’t tell you shit and wasn’t planning to just to avoid this so i’m having trouble understanding why we’re even having an argument right now” you say sitting on the sofa hoping he’ll let it go

but of course he doesn’t

“oh so now i’m so scary and intimidating that you can’t communicate? and we’re having an argument because tonight, just like every night we’ve ever spend with her you were in a pissy mood. do you know how embarrassing it is to have to apologize for your behavior each time” mark says

“no one asked you to apologize, i kinda think it’s crazy how you’ve never even taken the time to maybe wonder why i dislike her so much mark” you answer anger rising

“i know why you’re like this, it’s because you’re jealous” your boyfriend answers

“i’m sorry? yea you’re gonna have to elaborate on this one” you say

“i don’t know maybe it’s because her and i get along or the fact that we were a thing for a short while maybe that makes you insecure or something” you boyfriend says ever so casually

“what the fuck?? she doesn’t make me insecure i’m just tired of having to explain to you why it bothers me to see one of your friends eye fucking you while you let it happen. i can’t even have a man be in the same vicinity as me before you start to lose your shit mark. Like i really don’t care that you and her were a thing because you’re with me now so unless it’s an issue i need to worry about I don’t see why I’d be jealous? But if you’re gonna be mad at me for being in a ‘pissy’ mood i never want to hear you complain about any men apparently flirting with me ” you say getting up, if you see his face you might start to hit it at this point

“I still don’t understand why you’re being so bitchy, if her and i were still dating, she would’ve never done this to me” mark says instantly regretting his words

“So it is something i need to worry about then.. you know what? go date her or something i don’t care mark, maybe she’ll appreciate you acting like a dick” you say sighing. this argument honestly tired you, repeating the same things over and over again tired you but what could be done?

you were starting to head upstairs to brush your teeth and head to bed when mark gripped your arm preventing you from leaving

“let go mark” you ask tiredly

“i’m sorry” he says apologizing

“okay, now let go” you ask and he shakes his head no

“please i’m tired i want to sleep let me go” you say as you forcefully remove your arm from his grip, if he wasn’t going to let you go, you’ll leave

“we don’t go to sleep mad at each other” mark says still blocking your way

“maybe sometimes we do, plus i’m not even mad at you now please move i want to brush my teeth and you’re blocking the path” you say

“i’m sorry” mark says

“i heard you the first time” you answer giving up on brushing your teeth settling to find a place to sit in your shared house

“talk to me, please” your boyfriend pleads

“i have been talking to you mark! ever since the first hang out i told you how she would make backhanded comments about me, then told you how it made me uncomfortable how touchy she was with you, then told you i didn’t want to hang out with her anymore so you could go see her alone and i also told you how her eye fucking you and making me feel like i’m bothering you guys annoyed me. mark you just never listen, and since you don’t listen i sit back, bite my tongue and try my best to act nice but it’s not because she’s your friend that i’m going to let myself get walked over” you say as mark finally lets you in your bedroom where you just lay down to sleep

“you’re right i’m sorry” mark says hugging your figure thankful that you still communicated despite his actions

“no you’re not, you say this every time the proceed to do it all over again, anyway good night mark” you say turning so your back faces him just wanting to be done with the conversation because you were starting to feel bad for acting this way when you have every right to be upset. Mark on the other hand is biting his lip realizing that he seriously messed up and needs to make it right somehow.

because he’d 100% rather never talk to that one friend than have you feel the way you’re feeling right now, at the end of the day, nobody compared to you and he now realized how little he’s been showing it to you

#nct dream #nct imagines #mark lee #nct #mark x y/n #mark x you #mark x reader #mark angst #nct angst #nct x you #nct drabbles #nct x reader #mark lee drabbles

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vnti-vnxiety-recs · 2 months ago

Text

Baby, I'm a rockstar (M)

★ PAIRING: Mark x Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 12k

★ GENRE(S): Band! AU, Exes to lovers, Angst, smut, fluff

☆ SUMMARY: After your boyfriend breaks up with you to focus on his music career, you devise a scheme to get back at him by attending his band’s open auditions. To both your surprises, you end up joining the band. It would be foolish not to seize this opportunity for some well-deserved revenge.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, cigarettes, alcohol

☆★ NOTES: Its crazy to think this is my first Mark fic, i hope you all enjoy cause boy is it a ride.

Things were changing: the seasons shifting, the academic year progressing, friendships evolving. Change was a constant force, often leaving you breathless, but in the midst of it all, there was Mark—your anchor, your unwavering constant. You thought your relationship would never change, that it would always be a fixture in your life. You believed you and he would last forever

Until you didn’t.

You gave your friends a quick wave as you headed toward the familiar black hatchback. You often teased Mark about it, calling it his "mom car," and he’d laugh it off, insisting it was just right for all his gear.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you felt that familiar rush of comfort wash over you. You leaned over and planted a quick peck on his cheek. “Hey babe,” you call out.

Mark looks a little stiff, offering a forced smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, how was class?” he asks shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb.

“It was good! Do you have anything planned later?” you ask, trying to gauge if he's up for hanging out.

“Um, yeah, no… I’m meeting up with the guys, I think,” he replies after a pause.

You watch him, your gaze fixed on his side profile as he focuses on the road. Something feels off. Normally, Mark would be all over you—his hand would be wrapped around yours, and at the red light, he’d lean over to pepper your face in kisses. But today, there's none of that. Just an uneasy silence hanging between you like a thick fog.

The light turns green, and he accelerates, leaving you with a curious pit in your stomach. "Is everything okay?" you ask, trying to break the tension.

“Yeah, of course,” he says a little too quickly, his gaze still locked on the road ahead. But you can sense there’s something he’s not saying, and it gnaws at you.

“Hmm,” you respond softly, a quiet acknowledgment that feels heavy in the air. The rest of the ride passes in silence, an uncomfortable hush that wraps around you both.

When Mark parks in your driveway, you step out of the car, ready to shake off the tension. But instead of following you inside, he leans against the car and pulls out a cigarette. He still hasn’t looked at you.

“Are you not coming in?” you ask, a hint of confusion creeping into your voice. He knows he’s not allowed to smoke inside, so it feels frustrating that he’s choosing to linger outside like this. You just wanted to curl up with him for a little after a long day, let the warmth of his presence wash away the weight of your worries.

He takes a drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifts lazily into the evening air. “I just need a minute,” he replies, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the driveway.

Your heart sinks a little. “A minute?” you whisper to yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. You want to push him to come in, to bridge the growing distance between you. Instead, you stand there for a moment, hesitant on the threshold of your own home, unsure of what to do next.

“We should break up,” he says after blowing a billowing cloud of smoke into the air, his voice flat.

You want to laugh, a harsh, incredulous sound that seems so out of place. This has to be some kind of joke, right? But the way he's been acting leaves you fumbling for certainty. You take a hesitant step towards him, the pit in your stomach growing heavier. “Mark? What are you talking about?” you say, your throat tightening painfully.

“I don’t have time for a relationship. I need to focus on my music. We’re starting to take off, and it’s getting more demanding. It wouldn’t be right to drag you along,” he explains, finally meeting your gaze. The way he looks at you is so pitiful it makes your blood boil, filling you with a blend of anger and heartbreak.

“You fucking asshole,” you sneer, fury clashing with the sadness pooling in your chest. Every emotion you’ve been holding back erupts in that moment. “YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! HOW COULD YOU!” you cry out in anguish, your voice wavering.

Mark takes a step toward you, his hand instinctively outstretched in a gesture of comfort. But you take a step back, needing to distance yourself from him, from the whirlwind of conflicting feelings. Your heart races as the world around you seems to spin.

Without another word, you turn and rush inside, tears threatening to spill over, rage and sorrow colliding in a chaotic storm within you. You close the door behind you, leaning against it, trying to catch your breath. You can’t bear to look back at him.

You hated Mark Lee’s guts.

Your phone buzzes with a notification—open auditions for a lead vocalist.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not expecting Mark’s band to seek a replacement so soon. Although you unfollowed Mark ages ago and deleted all your posts together, you must have neglected to unfollow the band’s page. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice, a reluctance to sever the last connection to Mark. Regardless, you can't help but admit that you still find yourself stalking the page from time to time.

You remember their recent post announcing the departure of their lead singer, and for a moment, the temptation rises to text Mark, taunting him with a message like, "Haha, the thing you left me for bites you in the ass," but you hold back. Still, you can't shake the feeling, and as you scroll through the band’s photos, anger bubbles within you; this band—the very reason he chose to leave—seemed incapable of holding itself together. In a burst of impulse, you grab your jacket and keys, not fully aware of why you feel compelled to go.

As you pull up, the screech of mic feedback cuts through the air, causing you to wince as you approach the commotion. Peeking inside the garage, you spot a small crowd gathered around the center of the garage. Behind the microphone, someone stands, belting out a song you don’t recognize. Judging by the expressions of the band members, it’s evident that this person is struggling to find the rhythm.

You scan the crowd, but there's no sign of Mark, and the unfamiliar vocalist finishes just as your eyes land back on them, leaving the mic open.

"Anyone else wanna give it a shot?" Renjun, one of Mark’s bandmates, calls out. This prompts a wave of glances around the room; it seems everyone else has already had their turn. Suddenly, the attention shifts to you—the unexpected newcomer.

Renjun's eyes widen when he recognizes you, and you realize you have only moments before he runs to tell Mark you're here. Determined, you step up to the mic and introduce yourself, quickly glancing at the drummer, Jaemin. You whisper the song you want to sing, and he nods, finding the beat. As your voice fills the garage, your hands tremble around the mic, the nerves washing over you—you had just wanted to see Mark and maybe annoy him a little, but now you find yourself standing here, uncertain of what you're even doing.

As your final note hangs in the air, a few scattered claps emerge, and when you look up, Mark’s piercing glare meets yours. Once the performance wraps up, and before Mark can get his hands on you, the band members gather inside to discuss. Engaging in conversation with another girl while sipping refreshments from a cooler, you find yourself anticipating what the outcome of the meeting will be. You try not to feel ridiculous for sticking around, you doubt they will choose you but you're secretly hoping to rile Mark up a bit more afterwards.

When the trio of Renjun, Jaemin, and Mark steps out, isn't until now that you realize Jeno had been missing today. Your heart races with curiosity.

"We have decided we want to move forward with Y/N," Renjun announces, and as applause breaks out from the other participants, the girl beside you gives an excited thumbs-up.

Initially stunned by the announcement, a rush of satisfaction fills you when you notice the look on Mark's face—his expression is a mix of annoyance and frustration. Its clear as day that he did not want you to join. You’re full of pure joy, knowing that your presence is likely to ruffle his feathers a bit.

"Nice to meet you, I'm—" Renjun begins, but is abruptly interrupted as Mark rushes past him, grasping your wrist with urgency.

"Sorry, I just need to talk to her for a moment," he says, tugging you into the house. The door closes behind you, drowning out the sounds of the others. As he finally turns to face you, he looks bewildered, as if grappling with thoughts he cannot fully articulate.

"What are you doing here?" he questions, brows furrowed.

“I heard about the audition, obviously,” you reply, grinning.

“The joke’s over, okay? You can go home now,” Mark says. “I know you're only joining to get back at me!”

“Hmm, not quite. I'm also joining to sleep with Jeno,” you reply, shrugging nonchalantly as you lean against the wall, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in your stomach. "Where is he by the way?"

Mark crossed his arms, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Right, because you couldn’t possibly be interested in the music.”

You can’t help but smirk. “Oh, please. I live for music. But let’s be real; having a shot at a date with Jeno is a nice bonus. Just imagine how awkward that’ll make it for you when you see us together.”

His face twists up, but you can’t quite tell if he’s more irritated by your boldness or the idea of you moving on. You relish in the tension, eager to remind him of everything he's lost. After all, he left you for the band, and now you were back, ready to disrupt his world just like he had disrupted yours.

“You're childish and you're wasting my time. I know you don’t really care about this,” Mark snaps, exasperation etched across his face.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” you retort, arching an eyebrow. A smirk creeps onto your lips as you continue, “ I'm sure your band members agree. They voted me in, remember?” You watch as he clenches his jaw, trying to reign in his frustration. “And the last time I checked, you needed a singer—and now you’ve got one.”

“You—” Mark starts, but then he stops mid-sentence, clearly grappling with his emotions.

“Huh? What’s that?” you prompt, leaning in slightly, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Exactly.”

For a moment, the air crackles with tension. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that wants to lash out versus the part that knows you’re right. It’s almost satisfying to watch him struggle, to see the realization that his band’s fate now rests in your hands. The smile on your face widens, fueled by the thrill of the challenge and the satisfaction of reclaiming your voice—both in music and in this ongoing rivalry.

“Let me catch you slip up, I’ll give you hell” He spits, shoulder-checking you on his way out, heading back to the garage.

Oh you were going to have so much fun fucking with him.

You step into the garage, trying to portray an air of confidence even though you feel anything but. You probably should have let it go by now, telling them to pick a different vocalist because you had successfully gotten what you came here for but a part of you still wants to annoy Mark.

It’s the same place where the auditions went down, and while you’re familiar with Jaemin, you've never actually been to his house before then. It’s massive, which makes you wonder why some rich kid is wasting his time with an indie band. You already know all of Mark’s bandmates, but it’s just casual acquaintance stuff.

The garage was spacious with two big doors, and string lights draped across the ceiling, casting a cozy glow as twilight settled in. You clear your throat to announce your presence, and in the far corner, you catch a glimpse of Mark, totally engrossed in tuning his guitar. All you can see is the top of his head as he bends over, adjusting the pegs and strumming an experimental note. He looks so cool, completely in his element, and you can’t help but admire his passion for music. But before your thoughts drift into those bittersweet memories of him writing songs for you and strumming gentle tunes to help you drift off, you're jolted back to the reality that it was that same love for music that pulled him away from you.

Renjun was busy connecting his keyboard and tapping out a few notes, while Jaemin lounged in the back behind his drum set, chuckling at whatever video had caught his attention on his phone. No one seemed to notice you, and it made it tough to muster up any confidence with all their attention elsewhere. Just as you were feeling a bit invisible, Jeno strolled up beside you, holding his bass and grinning brightly.

“Hey, glad you could make it! Mark never told us you could sing,” he said, nudging your shoulder playfully before pulling you into a friendly hug.

You were more familiar with Jeno since he went to the same high school as you and Mark, and even though he was closer to Mark, you’d hung out enough to consider him a friend too.

“Jeno, hey!” you reply, returning his warm hug. Mark finally glances up at the sound of your voice and his expression shifts, hardening as his eyes land on you.

Renjun quickly approaches with an apologetic smile. “Sorry I didn’t see you come in. I’m so glad you could make it.” he says, exuding friendliness.

Meanwhile, Jaemin glances up from his phone, his demeanor indifferent as he remains seated, not offering much acknowledgment. Your gaze shifts back to Mark, who stands from where he was perched but hesitates, unsure if he should come closer or keep his distance, the tension thickening the air between you.

“We’re gonna get started as soon as Jeno sets up,” Renjun announces with enthusiasm. “I can show you around Jaemin’s house. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been here before.”

You nod. “Yeah, I need to use the bathroom before we start,” you reply, lying a bit to buy yourself some time to gather your thoughts.

Grateful for his friendliness, you let him guide you through Jaemin’s impressively large home. His adorable rambling brings a small smile to your face. When you finally reach the bathroom, he asks if you need help finding your way back and you shake your head. “We’ll be waiting in the garage,” he says before turning to leave.

Closing the door softly behind you, you splash some cool water on your face, trying to cool down from the warmth outside and the feelings brewing within you. While you wish you could suppress your feelings of animosity, seeing Mark again stirs something deeper. You channel that negative energy back into focus; you were here for one reason—to ensure Mark Lee paid for what he’d done.

You came back out refreshed, and to your surprise, the rehearsal went a lot smoother than you had anticipated. Renjun was particularly helpful, guiding you through the melody and key of the song as you practiced with the group. His enthusiasm made it easier for you to focus, and together, you worked through complex sections, laughing at the occasional off-pitch note or missed cue.

As the hours passed, you found yourself relaxing and joking around with Jeno and Renjun; their playful banter made the atmosphere feel lively and fun. Jeno, with his infectious sense of humor, cracked jokes that had everyone in stitches, while Renjun chimed in with witty commentary that kept the mood light. Despite Jaemin’s reserved nature, you found comfort in his quiet presence, appreciating the way he seemed to absorb the energy around him without needing to contribute much verbally.

However, Mark remained distant, effortlessly chatting with everyone while giving you the cold shoulder. He kept conversation with you brief and to a minimum. His laughter echoed through the garage, and while it should have made you feel at ease, it only intensified the tension that simmered beneath the surface. You focused on the music and tried to push aside your thoughts about him.

“Wanna go ahead and wrap up?” Jeno asks the group, eliciting sounds of agreement that weave through the garage as members start packing up.

You stand off to the side, feeling a bit out of place since you didn’t know how to help. Trying to be useful, you awkwardly approach the microphone and its stand, glancing around for a spot to place them.

“Where does this go?” you finally muster up the courage to ask Mark, your voice cutting through the uneasy strain between you two since the audition. The memory of his harsh words after that day rushes back, making your stomach churn as he takes the equipment from you without a word, setting it aside with a silence that feels heavy.

Just as the tension begins to settle, Jeno calls you over, his bright energy pulling you back into the moment. “Wanna grab something to eat after this?” He asks.

You take a moment to admire his long hair that frames his face, the dark eyeliner accentuating his eyes, and the way his fitted black shirt showcases the muscles in his arms. Your thoughts stray as you realize you’ve taken too long to respond, his brow quirking up in a teasing manner that makes you flush. “Yea— Yea, I’m free,” you finally reply.

“Anyone else down?” Jeno shifts his bass over his shoulder, glancing around the group.

“Nah, I’m hanging back to game with Jaemin,” Renjun calls out casually, leaving just the three of you.

“Mark?” Jeno asks, turning his attention to him. You catch a flicker in Mark’s eyes—an unmistakable mix of reluctance and jealousy. It’s clear he doesn't really want to go, but even more than that, he’s uncomfortable with the idea of you and Jeno being left alone together. A wicked smile creeps onto your lips as you silently revel in the unfolding dynamic, enjoying the tension in the air.

“Yea, I’ll probably just get a fry or something,” Mark mumbles.

Jaemin and Renjun head inside while you and Mark climb into Jeno's pickup truck, settling into the front seat and leaving Mark to sit in the back. The ride is filled with laughter as you catch up with Jeno, his jokes echoing through the cabin, but when you glance in the rearview mirror, you notice Mark’s jaw tightening in annoyance.

Upon arriving at the small diner, you head inside and take a seat next to Jeno, leaving Mark to sit alone on the opposite side of the table. As the waiter approaches with menus, you dismiss yours and share Jeno’s, animatedly discussing what to eat. You “accidently” kick Mark under the table, looking up at him with an insincere apology.

As the waiter takes your order, the table engages in light conversation. When you mention the cat you recently adopted, Jeno laughs and shares that he has a cat allergy.

“But didn’t you have a cat in high school?” you remind him, prompting him to share some adorable stories about his old cat.

You pull out your phone just as Jeno and Mark launch into a discussion about guitars, and you quickly text Mark,

Are we just going to keep ignoring each other?

You’re surprised you hadn’t deleted his number yet. He chuckles at something Jeno says, but when his phone lights up, you see him check it. He doesn't reply and faces his phone down, prompting you to roll your eyes.

When your food arrives, you all enjoy it. After eating, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to wash off the ketchup and salt from your fingers. Just as you finish in the single-stall restroom and open the door, you find Mark leaning against the opposite wall. He catches sight of you and, without a word, pushes you back inside, shutting the door behind you and pinning you against it.

“You wanted to talk to me, right? Well, here I am,” he says under his breath, trying to maintain his cool. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks.

“I was using the bathroom,” you reply, rolling your eyes, which only frustrates him further.

“You know what I’m talking about. You’re mad at me, so you’re making it your life mission to get on my nerves.”

“Why would me going out to eat with Jeno bother you?” you counter, tilting your head in faux confusion.

“Because you’re our singer now, and if you and Jeno get mixed up, it might cause unnecessary drama.”

“Right, and not because I’m your ex, and you clearly still think you have some kind of dumb possessive claim over me,” you shoot back.

Mark pushes himself off the door with a huff. "We,” he says, motioning between the two of you, “are not a problem. I don’t care what you do with Jeno. I’m just worried about our band.”

This band could burn for all you cared. You hated the softness that crept into his voice when he talked about his stupid band.

“If you came in here to try to convince me to quit again, you can leave now because I’m not going anywhere. Not everything is about you, Mark. I have my own reasons for joining the band.” You turn to adjust your appearance in the mirror, catching his eyes through the reflection as he steps up behind you, holding your gaze.

“If you think you’re going to win whatever little game you’re playing, you’re wrong,” he says before storming out. After a few moments, you follow him outside. Glancing through the diner's wide glass-pane windows, you see Jeno already waiting in his car as Mark hops in, taking the shotgun seat. The bell chimes as you step out the door, and you jump into the back of Jeno’s pickup truck.

“So, are you gonna quit?” your friend Jungwoo asks.

“I mean eventually. I’m sure they could easily find someone to replace me; I’m not even that good,” you explain, catching your friends up on the Mark drama.

“Waste his time like he wasted yours,” Jennie shrugs.

You were in the campus library working on classwork when you spotted them. They had pulled up some chairs and before you knew it you had put your classwork to the side and started gossiping.

“I mean, yeah, but I still feel a little bad for his members; they’re really cool.” You say.

“Guilty by association,” Jennie rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of band members, are you really gonna sleep with Jeno?” Jungwoo asks.

“I was just talking shit, but he’s been looking really good recently. Like, really good.” You laugh just as your phone rings. Looking down at the caller ID, you see Mark's name flashing.

You’re confused until you glance at the corner of the screen and notice the time—you’re an hour late to practice. You had planned to be a little late today, maybe like fifteen minutes just to irk him, but this was too much.

“Shit, I’m late! He’s going to kill me,” you scramble to gather your things.

Sure, you’re upset with Mark, but it doesn’t feel right to make the others wait hours for you. You answer his second call as you exit the library and head to your car.

“Where are you?” Mark’s icy tone sends a chill down your spine.

“I lost track of time. I’m on the way,” you respond.

“Just hurry up,” he replies, and you can hear his frustration.

You arrive in a flurry, apologizing profusely as you enter the garage. Everyone is already set up and practicing; thankfully, they seem unfazed by your tardiness. Mark looks annoyed but his face is always like that lately. Feeling the tension in your own chest ease a little, you prepare for practice.

You approach Renjun during a break. He flashes a welcoming smile and invites you to sit beside him at the keyboard. “Want to learn something new?” he asks, and you nod eagerly.

He guides your fingers over the keys, patiently explaining the simple notes of Mary Had a Little Lamb. You laugh with him as you fumble through the melody but his encouragement keeps you motivated.

While you’re engrossed in the lesson, Jeno returns from the bathroom, a playful grin on his face. “What’s going on over here? Teaching her the basics, Renjun?” He joins in, teasing you about your lack of musical skills on the keyboard.

Later, as practice wraps up, Jaemin eagerly insists that you check out the photos he took of his cats on his phone, showcasing their hilarious antics. You can't help but smile; getting to know him has revealed just how interesting and quirky he truly is.

Practice is over and you gather your stuff and head to your car. You’re about to pull off when you hear a tap on the glass. You roll down the window to see Mark standing there, and you can’t help but feel annoyed; he only seems to speak to you when no one else was around. It was no secret that you two used to date.

“I do not need a lecture, Mark. I just want to go home.”

“If you’re going to be late, just call,” he replies, prompting you to roll your eyes.

“What did I just say?” You argue, not wanting to hear the rest.

“I was nervous when you didn’t pick up. I thought something had happened.” A concerned look crossing his face.

“Yes, sir. Now can I go?” You refused to apologize again.

Without warning, Mark leans in, gently squeezing your face. “Be on time,” he warns, his gaze daring you to talk back.

You hated that he knew your weaknesses, and as you nodded your head obediently, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The drive home felt longer than usual as you willed your heart to calm down, replaying the way he had looked at you with authority. Each beat echoed in your chest, and despite your frustration with him, you couldn’t shake the flicker of warmth that accompanied your thoughts of Mark.

From that day forward, you were never late to another practice, but you found other sneaky ways to annoy Mark. Your main tactic became shamelessly flirting with Jeno, who, unbeknownst to him, was the perfect partner in crime for teasing Mark. Whether it was sharing inside jokes or playfully bumping shoulders, every moment spent with Jeno set Mark's expression to irritation. You reveled in the way Mark's brow would furrow and his jaw would tense, all while you enjoyed the easy camaraderie with Jeno, blissfully unaware of the storm you were brewing. While you did continue to press his buttons there were times when you would find yourself laughing together and enjoying easy conversation. But more times than not, you were bumping heads.

You had invited Jeno over to watch a movie, and now, curled up under the covers, your limbs tangled together felt both thrilling and comforting.

As your time together increased, so did the closeness between you two; nights spent cuddling became an unspoken tradition, sharing warmth and soft laughter. Though you hadn’t crossed the line into sex, you had participated in some heavy make out sessions that had ignited an undeniable chemistry between you. Yet, a part of you recognized the boundary he maintained, an unspoken agreement likely influenced by Mark's presence in both your lives.

As Jeno's hands began to wander, the tension in the room shifted dramatically; his cold fingers sent shivers racing up your spine as they slipped beneath your shirt, making you acutely aware of every sensation. When he leaned down to kiss you, you melted into the moment, returning his kiss with fervor as you moved to straddle his waist. Looking down at him from your elevated position, you couldn't help but smile at the warmth in his eyes. But your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling your attention away. You reached for it, settling back against Jenos lap, making him groan, a sound that only added to the heat of the moment.

“What is it?” he asks, his hands caressing your thighs as he waits for you to return to him.

Mark had texted you: Hey, is my old electric guitar still in your closet?

“It’s nothing,” you say, quickly closing your phone.

Leaning back down, you rejoin your lips, grinding against him and drawing out quiet moans. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer as you both chase the little pleasure you’ve allowed yourselves. The bed creaks as he shifts you under him, reconnecting your mouths in a slow, needy kiss. Your hands grip his shoulders, softly calling his name as your legs wind around his waist, feeling the delicious friction from the fabric of your pajama pants as he grinds into you. He kisses you deeper, biting your lips with a groan while your hands wander, slipping under his shirt and igniting a fire within you both.

He peppers your lips with a few longing kisses before planting one last, reluctant kiss before pulling away. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he calls out as he gets up.

While you wait for him to return, you pick up your phone and start to text Mark, planning to let him know you'll bring his guitar to the next practice. But as you tap the screen, you realize you’ve accidentally started a FaceTime call with him.

On the screen, you see Mark saying something, but you can’t hear his voice due to your volume being down. He looks visibly upset, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he heard everything and knows you were making out with Jeno. Whatever he’s saying isn’t very nice, so you quickly end the call before Jeno come back.

Shortly after, Jeno returns, and you both settle back into the movie night as if nothing had happened.

If things seemed to be getting better with Mark, after that incident, everything was back to square one. It truly was an honest mistake, and you don’t regret it one bit, even if the backstage atmosphere is thick with tension. Today, Mark was giving everyone the cold shoulder while you prepared for your first gig together. You were already nervous, and his attitude definitely wasn’t helping!

Jeno tries to lift the group's spirits with a brief but heartfelt speech, encouraging everyone to have fun and enjoy the moment before you all head on stage. You hum the melody and sing the lyrics of a few songs under your breath, trying to engrain them in your memory. But when you finally step onto the stage and are met with a sea of eager faces in the crowd, a wave of anxiety crashes over you, and you nearly freeze in place. The bright stage lights blind you momentarily, and despite the pulsating energy around you, all you can focus on is the crushing weight of silence as you realize you missed your cue. As the lead singer, you were supposed to introduce the band and set the tone for the night, but instead, you stand there awkwardly, heart racing, grappling with sudden performance jitters.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Just as panic threatened to consume you, Mark stepped in smoothly, grabbing the mic with a confident smile. "We are Limitless, and we hope you enjoy our music tonight!" His voice rang out, energizing the crowd and breaking the tension that had settled over you.

Jaemin laid down a steady beat on his drums, and the music surged to life, pushing you into the rhythm. You made it through the first half of your set without any major hiccups, and with each song, you felt your confidence swell. By the second half, you were fully engaging with the crowd and getting them hyped up with your energy.

As you delivered the closing lines at the end of the show, a wave of exhilaration washed over you. The cheers from the audience ignited a sense of pride.

“That was so much fun!” you exclaim as everyone heads backstage to pack up.

Once you’ve finished, you all exit through the back door, where a van is waiting for you. A small group of girls is gathered nearby, chatting excitedly.

“Omg, you guys were amazing tonight!” they call out as you start loading your equipment into the back of the van.

You assume they’re fans, and since you’re still new, most of them direct their attention toward the other members. Some of the band members pause to chat briefly with the girls, while others sign autographs. You finish loading the van and hop in. After a few moments, Renjun gets into the driver seat and starts the engine. Jaemin, Jeno, and Mark are still outside chatting with fans.

You and Renjun discuss some aspects of tonight’s performance that could be improved when the back door swings open and Jeno and Jaemin slide in.

“Where’s Mark?” you ask, eager to leave.

“He’s not coming, he said to go ahead,” Jeno replies, buckling his seatbelt.

You glance out the window and spot Mark engaged in a deep conversation with one of the girls. She’s a bit too touchy, playfully resting her hand on his bicep as she laughs and jokingly shoves him.

“Is he going home with her?” you ask, disbelief creeping into your voice.

“Who knows. I think she invited him out for drinks.” Jaemin replies, with a yawn.

“Is someone feeling jealous?” Jeno teases, a smirk on his face.

You shoot him a glare as you buckle yourself into your seat, directing your attention back to the window in silence as Renjun pulls away. The car ride back to Jaemin’s house passes in silence, with you not speaking to anyone the entire way.

The next day during practice, Mark strolls in, greeting you with an unusually bright smile. You return the gesture but your heart sinks when your gaze falls to the hickey marring his neck.

Mark’s grin only widens, seemingly oblivious—or perhaps all too aware—of the effect it has on you.

That day, your hands are practically raw from gripping the microphone tightly, and your voice comes out more aggressive than usual as you sing. Each note feels sharper, almost like you’re pouring all your frustration and jealousy into the music.

It’s evident that Mark is in high spirits today, more cheerful than you’ve ever seen him since you joined the group. You can tell he knows you’re jealous, and he’s reveling in it, flaunting that bruise on his neck, knowing it would get under your skin.

Payback was a bitch.

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Renjun insists over the phone, his excitement evident even through the speaker. He’s trying his best to convince you to spend the night at Jaemin's house with the rest of the crew. Everyone has noticed the growing tension between you and Mark, and you know this is Renjun’s not-so-subtle attempt to get you two to sort things out.

“I really can’t, Junnie. I have classwork I need to finish,” you reply, a hint of guilt creeping into your voice. but t’s true. You’re drowning in assignments, and the time you’ve been spending with the boys was the main cause to blame.

“I promise, whatever you have, we’ll help you finish it!” he insists.

“Don’t say ‘we’ if it’s just going to be you helping me while Jaemin and Jeno are being obnoxious.”

“Mark would help if you asked,” Renjun offers, his tone teasing.

“Mark hates me,” you rebut, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“No he doesn't idiot. You two are a match made in heaven,” Renjun says, speaking with an air of knowing, as if he’s privy to some cosmic truth about the two of you that you’re both missing. “You need to unwind and relax; we all do.”

After a moment of internal debate, you relent. “Fine. I’ll come over,” you say, reluctantly agreeing. You gather your things, making sure to pack your laptop and all the papers you need to complete.

When you arrive at Jaemin’s house, the atmosphere is chill and relaxed. Everyone is sprawled out in the living room, laughing and joking. You set yourself up at the bar counter, trying to create a little space for yourself amidst the chaos.

Renjun approaches you, his eyes widening as he looks over the stacks of papers you’ve brought. “Holy shit, this is a lot,” he exclaims, his playful demeanor turning serious as he sees just how buried you are in work.

“Yeah, it’s overwhelming,” you admit, feeling a little self-conscious. “This is going to take all night”

As the rest gather around, they look down at the jumbled mess of papers you've laid out. It feels a little intimidating under their scrutiny, but you remind yourself you’re all in this together—sort of.

“You’re never behind on your work. Is it because of the band?” Mark asks.

“I’m trying to balance it. I just got a little behind,” you reply, trying your best to organize your thoughts and papers into manageable piles, hoping to start focusing.

“If you need help, you can always ask. If the band is too demanding, you don’t have to stay,” he adds, and you can feel your temperature rising.

You whip around to face him, your frustration boiling over. “It’s not too much, and I’m not going anywhere! Will you stop trying to get rid of me?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Mark raises an eyebrow, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he responds, his voice a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

Jeno and Jaemin, sensing an argument brewing, exchange quick glances before making a hasty retreat, dodging the potential fallout of the impending conflict.

“Hey! That’s not what we’re here for, guys! I will separate you two!” Renjun threatens, trying to interject some humor into the escalating situation.

“I’d be down to watch a good fight,” Jaemin calls from the kitchen, trying to keep things light as he chucks snacks into his mouth. Jeno hits him but fails to hide his own snicker.

Mark raises his hands in defeat, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away, leaving you in your sea of homework. But to your surprise, he sits down next to you, grabbing a textbook from the pile with a determined look in his eyes. There’s something reassuring about his presence.

For the next three hours, Mark and Renjun dive into your assignments, helping you to tackle the mountain of homework that had been weighing heavily on your shoulders. The air is filled with a mix of focused silence and bursts of laughter as the boys throw in playful comments and jokes between serious explanations. You can practically feel the burden lifting as they tackle subject after subject alongside you.

Mark’s arm rests casually around the back of your chair, a gesture that feels both familiar and intimate. You can’t help but feel a warmth spreading through you as he guides you through a complicated math equation, explaining each step with patience. You admire his intelligence—after all, he had dropped out to dedicate himself fully to the band, but he was still one of the smartest people you knew.

“Okay, so if we look at it this way…” he says, pointing to a specific part of the equation, his gaze focused on the page. You catch yourself stealing glances at him. When you shift a little closer, trying to get a better look at the page, you notice how the scent of his cologne envelops you.

“Right here, see?” Mark points to the page. “You isolate the variable first, then you can solve for x.”

Your heart races slightly from being so near to him. “Got it,” you reply, trying to focus on the math and not the fluttering feelings in your stomach.

“Try to solve this next one on your own,” he says and he watches you silently as you work through the problem. When you solve it correctly, you look up at him with a smile. Your faces are a lot closer than you thought and you can feel yourself being drawn into him. The way he looks at you ,then down at your lips has wild thoughts racing through your mind.

The moment is interrupted by Renjun returning—snacks in hand and an excited grin plastered on his face. “Look what I found!” he exclaims, breaking the tension.

You and Mark part as Renjun’s presence shifts the atmosphere in the room, and the unspoken connection between the two of you dissipates like a puff of smoke. Mark clears his throat awkwardly, shooting you a shy smile as you hastily close the textbook and begin to clean up your scattered papers, using the busywork to ground yourself in the moment.

“Thanks, guys, you helped a lot,” you say, avoiding Mark’s gaze as you pack your things. “I think I can finish the rest later on my own.”

“Finally! Now can we start the party ?” Jaemin calls excitedly from his spot on the couch, a wide grin plastered across his face, clearly eager to kick off the night’s festivities.

You were sitting in Jaemin's backyard, swimsuits on and alcohol in hand, the air thick with summer warmth and laughter. The music pulsed through the space, blending with the shouts of your friends as they playfully stumbled around in a tipsy haze. Jeno had just pushed Jaemin into the pool, the splash echoing loudly, and the moment Jaemin climbed out, he grabbed a water gun, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he aimed it at everyone. You and Renjun laugh, sprinting away as Jaemin charged after you, water gun blasting away. You were laughing so hard that tears pricked your eyes as you glanced back just in time to see Jeno slip in the grass while trying to escape Jaemin’s wrath. The whole scene was pure chaos, and you were loving every second of it.

“Where’d Mark go?” you wondered aloud, glancing around for his familiar figure. But as the chaos continued, you didn't have much time to dwell on him.

“Look out!” Renjun suddenly shouted, pulling you back just in time to avoid a full blast of water aimed your way byJaemin. You both took off, laughter spilling from your lips as you ran away.

Jaemin's eyes narrowed playfully as he called out, “I think I saw you laughing earlier! What was so funny?” He was slowly stalking towards you, a toothy grin stretching as he prepared to pounce.

“No, Jaemin, stop! I don’t want to get my hair wet!” You yelled, both terrified and amused, knowing full well the inevitable outcome of his playful threats.

You and Renjun take off running again. In your frantic escape, you accidentally lose him as you ran into the house, your feet carrying you instinctively away from the chaos outside. Before you knew it, you had found refuge in the garage. String lights twinkled above, casting a soft glow that illuminated every corner of the space. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic party outside, and for a moment, you paused to catch your breath. That’s when you heard it—the soft strumming of a guitar.

Mark was sitting in the corner of the garage on a stool, his guitar resting comfortably in his hands. He wore nothing but his swim trunks, revealing sun-kissed skin that glistened under the lights. He looked relaxed, almost completely lost in the moment as his fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, creating a melodic sound that filled the otherwise quiet space with a calming warmth.

Caught off guard, you stood still for a moment, mesmerized by him. The sight of his focused expression, the way he seemed to pour his soul into the music, made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. The soft melody comforts you and you realize it was the song he had written for you when you were together.

You are my rockstar

Without you, I'll always feel alone

When I'm lost, you guide me home, yeah

His voice, slurred but passionate, carried throughout the garage and it pulled you closer. You're standing in front of him by the time he notices your presence, his fingers fumbling over the strings of his guitar as his voice abruptly cuts off.

“I’m sorry, I was—” you begin, uncertain of what to say given the haze of drunkenness clouding your thoughts and the fear of what might come out next.

“Wanna learn how to play?” he asks, and the way his eyes glimmer in the dim light makes them resemble little boba pearls.

Before you can reply, he grabs your hand and pulls you to sit in his lap, the warmth of his chest enveloping you as he settles the guitar across your lap. You feel the heat of his breath against your neck, and with his guidance, you position your fingers over the strings, feeling the cool texture of the guitar under your hands. His hands resting possessively on your hips while he hooks his chin over your shoulder to watch you

“Now strum,” he instructs, his voice coming out in a breathy whisper.

Your heart races as the weight of his warmth settles against you, his body a comforting presence that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. You glance over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of his sheepish smile.

“Uh, okay,” you stutter out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just like that,” Mark says softly, his breath brushing your ear, sending another shiver through you. “Now strum gently.”

You take a deep breath, trying to focus despite the way your heart beats like a drum against your ribcage. As you give the strings a gentle strum, a rich sound fills the small garage. The note rings clear, and you can’t help but smile.

“Good girl. You’ve got it,” he encourages, shifting his weight slightly to make more room for you.

However, as he moves, the guitar slips a little from your grip, and you adjust your seating to hold it steady against your thighs. You feel his hands gripping your waist, and his breath comes out harsh against your neck.

“Fuck, baby. Be still for me,” the way he says it framed by a desperate plea has you sucking in a harsh breath. You can already feel a pool of slick forming in your panties from the pet names you haven’t heard in so long.

You stand up, and the look Mark gives you is devastating, filled with longing and confusion. Setting his guitar down on its stand, you approach him again, straddling his waist and settling onto his lap. Neither of you moves; instead, you lock eyes, the connection palpable as his hands trace your sides, the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin warms you against the cool chill in the garage. When his hands travel down to grip your ass, pulling you closer to grind against him, it feels like the final straw.

You surge forward, kissing him with an intensity he isn't afraid to match; both of you are drunk and the kiss is deliciously sloppy. In this moment, nothing else matters except the way he touches you. You slip your tongue into his mouth, and it tangles with his in a fierce battle of passion. The garage is filled with the sounds of wet kisses, moans, and desperate pleas—the usual music of the night replaced by the melody that you and Mark create as you grip and caress each other.

Your hands couldn't keep still, first tangling in his hair, then exploring the contours of his shoulder blades, and finally tracing down the front of his body. You needed to memorize every detail before he was taken from you again. A moan escapes your lips, feeling Mark’s hands fondle your breasts, igniting a wave of desire.

Memories flood back of when he walked in covered in hickeys, a sudden surge of possessiveness coursing through you. With determination, you trail kisses down to his neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin, marking him as yours in a way that speaks louder than words. The urgency and heat of the moment envelop you both, and you lose yourself in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies.

Mark groans in pleasure, fingers pulling at the strings of your bikini top, ready to take things further when the garage door creaks open and Renjun stumbles in, his eyes slightly glazed.

“We were looking for you guys,” he announces, and you're grateful for his drunken state because he doesn't mention the compromising position you two are in. “The pizza is here, come inside,” Renjun calls casually before heading back in.

The air crackles with unfulfilled hunger as you exchange a look, half-amused and half-frustrated, knowing you’ll have to put a pause on the fire that had ignited between you.

Pizza boxes and cans of soda are strewn across Jaemin's dining room table. You and Mark sit side by side and Renjun sends you a questioning look, curiosity flickering in his eyes. You all munch on pizza while some movie buzzes in the background, mostly forgotten amidst the laughter and playful banter. You try hard to focus on the film, desperately pushing thoughts of Mark away, but it’s proving to be a challenge.

“Not gonna lie, guys, I’m about to knock out,” Jeno announces after his third slice of pizza, stretching exaggeratedly in his seat.

“I call the couch!” Renjun declares, raising his hand.

“Where can I sleep?” you ask, glancing around the room.

“I have a guest room you can crash in,” Jaemin replies, his mouth still full of pizza, making it slightly harder to understand him.

“I can crash with Jaemin. I think the guest bed is pretty big,” Jeno adds, a teasing smirk creeping across his face. You raise an eyebrow, unsure of what he’s hinting at.

“Yeah, the couch is small—no room for anyone else,” Renjun adds in helpfully.

“But the couch has enough room for—” Jaemin winces mid-sentence, and you can only imagine who kicked him under the table. “No room! The couch has no room!”

“I don’t mind sharing the bed,” you say, understanding the unsaid implications hovering in the air.

Mark's chuckle sends a pleasant tingle down your spine, and the way he glances at you, intrigue in his eyes, makes your heart race a little faster. The air is thick with unspoken words, and you can almost feel the teasing energy crackling between your friends as they watch the scene unfold.

“I mean, if it’s okay with you,” he says.

Trying to keep your composure despite the butterflies dancing in your stomach, you reply, “Sure, I don’t mind!” You reply a little too enthusiastically.

The others snicker, and you shoot them a mock glare as you take a sip from your soda to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. Jaemin’s smirk grows wider, and Renjun’s eyes twinkle with mischief as they look between you and Mark, clearly enjoying the dynamic unfolding before them.

You place a pillow between you and Mark as you finally settle into bed, trying to create a comfortable distance. He sends you a bemused look, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’ve shared a bed before, what’s with the pillow? Afraid I’ll bite?” he jokes, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Nah, I’m afraid I might,” you reply, shooting him a devilish smile that makes him laugh, the sound warm and inviting.

As laughter fades, a comfortable silence envelops the room, punctuated only by the sound of your breathing and the gentle rustle of sheets. You lie back, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The pillow feels like a weak defense as you become acutely aware of the brush of his legs against yours, a gentle reminder of his presence. You can feel his gaze, unwavering and intense, smoldering just off to the side. Reluctantly, you glance over, and your eyes lock with his; there’s a vulnerability there that catches you off guard.

“I miss you,” he says, causing a weight to settle in your chest. The weight of his words hanging in the air, thick with nostalgia and longing.

It sends shivers down your spine, pricking at the old wounds you thought had healed. You feel your heart constrict as your fists clench involuntarily. You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, forcing your voice to remain cool. “You broke up with me, remember?” you reply, your tone layered with a mix of defensiveness and hurt as you shift slightly, seeking to create a physical distance that reflects your inner turmoil.

Mark’s expression shifts, a shadow passing over his face. “I know,” he replies, the weight of the past hanging between you like an invisible thread. “But I thought… I don’t know, maybe we could talk about it? About us?”

“What’s there to talk about?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. “It was complicated then, and it’s complicated now.”

“I get that,” he says softly, his tone earnest. “But I don’t want to just pretend like it never happened or that we don’t have this connection. I… I still love you.”

You feel an ache at the back of your throat, past feelings of anger and betrayal surging anew. “Mark,” you start, searching for the right words, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

“I just want a chance to at least figure things out. To see if we can be in each other’s lives again without it being so… awkward.” he replies, his gaze steady.

“I just don’t want to get hurt again,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His expression softens, and he nods slowly. “I understand. I don’t want that either. But I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try, right?”

The air feels thick with possibility, and as you lock eyes with him, you wonder if this is the moment where everything could change, or where it could all unravel once more.

You feel a lump forming in your throat, and for a moment, silence reigns as you grapple with the memories of what once was.

“Mark, you’re drunk. Lets just go to sleep,” you say, clearing your throat, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You turn over onto your side, putting your back to him.

The air hangs heavy with unspoken words as you stare at the wall, taunted with memories you wish you could forget. You can hear Mark’s soft sigh behind you, but you refuse to turn back. You don’t want to see the look in his eyes.

The room falls into silence, and for a moment, you let yourself drown in your thoughts. You had built walls around yourself to keep the pain out, but tonight they feel so thin, as if they are about to crumble.

As sleep begins to creep in, the stinging in your eyes becomes harder to ignore. Silent tears slip down your cheeks, soaking into the pillow beneath you. You wish you could silence your heart and wish you could push away the longing for what was lost.

Breakfast the next morning is wrapped in a thick layer of awkwardness. The rest of the group exchanges confused glances, just yesterday everything seemed fine. You’re grateful they don’t address the tension directly; there’s a kindness in letting things remain unspoken, an understanding to let things be.

After breakfast, Jeno drives you to your afternoon classes, his comforting presence a small balm on your heart. He gives you a tender kiss on your forehead. “Cheer up, okay? Have a good day,” he says, his voice warm and sincere. You nod, appreciating his attempt to raise your spirits, but the defeated look seems to cling stubbornly to your features, no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

“Okay girl, what’s wrong?” Jennie asks, a worried bite to her tone as she eyes you across the table at your favorite smoothie joint later that day. You know she can see through your attempts to mask the turmoil swirling inside. “Is it Mark? I’ll kick his ass if it’s Mark.”

You sigh, trying to blink away the tears that threaten to fall.

“Oh, he’s dead,” Jennie mutters, standing from her seat.

“Wait! Let’s hear what happened first before you go busting kneecaps,” Jungwoo interjects, laughing softly to lighten the mood.

Taking a deep breath, you gather your thoughts and recount the events of last night, Mark's confession echoing in your mind as you share the details with your friends. They sit in silence, taking it all in just as you had.

When the silence finally breaks, it’s Jennie who speaks first. “I hate him, but I don’t doubt for a moment that he ever stopped loving you,” she says reluctantly, crossing her arms.

“He loves me, but he went and hooked up with some random girl,” you roll your eyes, exasperated. The memory of it stinging.

“Don’t make me defend this man, but you did the same thing,” Jennie counters, raising an eyebrow.

“Whose side are you on?” You shoot back, incredulous. "Besides he broke up with me!"

“Girl, I know you love that man. Let’s cut to the chase,” she insists, her tone direct.

You fall silent at that, unable to deny the truth.

“What she means to say is no matter how far your feet run, your heart will always be with him,” Jungwoo adds, his expression passionate.

You and Jennie both look at Jungwoo, surprised by his words. “OMG, Woo, that was deep,” you say, taken aback.

“Yeah, what the hell? Who are you?” Jennie teases, a playful grin creeping onto her face.

“Very funny. Now let’s stick to the topic at hand,” Jungwoo says, his glare returning to you both. “Do you love him?”

You hesitate, knowing you’re not ready to admit the truth out loud. But the answer bubbles up as if it’s been waiting for this moment. “Yes,” you finally confess, the word escaping your lips before you can stop it.

“Then go tell him before you lose him for the second time,” Jungwoo urges, his voice firm and encouraging.

It's midnight when you finally muster the courage to head to his house. You knock softly on the wooden door, heart racing as you wait for a response. The warm summer breeze flows gently behind you, a soft push from the universe that assures you you’re making the right choice.

After a moment, he opens the door, surprise flickering across his face at the sight of you. “Can we talk?” you ask, voice steady despite the storm of emotions within.

“Yeah, I— yeah," he stumbles over his words, taken aback, but he steps aside to let you in.

You settle onto his couch, fingers fidgeting nervously in your lap, unsure of how to lay your heart bare. Taking a deep breath, you finally find your voice. “Why did you break up with me? Was the band really more important?”

He draws in a breath, searching for the right words. “I know I messed up, and I’m sorry for that,” he says, his voice soft. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I was just…”

You wait patiently, urging him to continue. “It’s not because I put the band before you. It because I didn't want to put you last,” he finally explains, his gaze unwavering. “ I didn’t want to neglect you in favor of the band. I thought you would be better off without me than to be ignored.”

Mark searches your face for understanding, and all you can do is absorb his words. “I love music and I love you, but I was naive to think I could use music to fill the hole in my heart that you left when we broke up,” he finishes.

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “I want us to try again, Mark, but you made me feel like I didn’t matter,” you admit, your voice trembling as the hurt floods back.

Without hesitation, he reaches for your hands, pulling you closer, his warm touch comforting. “You mattered to me then and you matter to me now,” he insists, his expression heartfelt. “I never stopped loving you, I just got lost along the way.”

“Mark,” you whisper, feeling the tightness in your chest begin to ease, “I love you and f you hurt me again, I will break your stupid guitar over your head,” you joke lightly, laughter escaping through a sniffle, a gentle tease after the heaviness of the moment.

A laugh escapes him, filling the room with warmth as he squeezes your hands. “Fair enough. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make this right.”

It feels like a heavy burden has been lifted from your shoulders, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, your heart feels light. When you look at him, the truth in his words shines clearly in his eyes. As he leans in hesitantly, testing the waters, a spark ignites your courage, and you meet him halfway, pressing your lips against his softly.

The connection floods back to you in waves—electric, familiar, and exhilarating—reminding you of everything you had missed while he was gone. You realize, in that instant, how much hurt your heart had endured in silence.

The way you kiss each other speaks volumes; there’s a desperation in your connection, a silent vow to never part again—even for a breath of air. Mark is your lifeline. His hands cup your face, caressing you lovingly as he deepens the kiss. The heat from the other night returns, but this time it’s clearer, more intense. There’s no alcohol fueling this moment, just raw passion entwined with affection.

As he finally pulls away, you find yourself lost in the soft features of his face and the way his kiss-swollen lips curve into a half-smile, igniting warmth in your chest. You smile back, and an unspoken understanding passes between you as you stand, gently leading him toward his bedroom. He walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of the bed, a flurry of kisses trailing along your neck and shoulder, igniting every nerve in your body. You fall back into the plush covers, sinking into the softness as you scoot back, urging him to join you. He crawls over you, eyes filled with longing and tenderness as he rejoins your lips.

"I'll never forgive myself for hurting you," he mumbles breathlessly against your lips, and for a moment, you feel the weight of his regret settle heavily between you.

You hold his face in your hands, searching his eyes as you reply, “You have plenty of time to make it up to me.” There’s a playful glint in your eyes, an understanding that this is an opportunity for healing.

With a deep breath, he begins to strip you of your clothes. As he kisses down, you realize each gentle kiss is a whispered apology, each caress a promise. He parts from you just long enough to discard his own clothes, the anticipation building in the space between you before he settles between your legs, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. As he flattens his tongue against your core, the heat of his mouth seeps deep into your bones, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. Your eyes threaten to roll back in sheer ecstasy, but the familiar, smoldering look in his eyes captivates you, sending you a message you read all too well.

Eyes on me

You can’t look away as he licks a bold stripe through your folds, his lips capturing your clit and sucking it into his mouth, flicking it teasingly with his tongue. Each sensation is a delicious blend. It was messy and dirty but he knew that's exactly how you liked it. Overwhelmed, you throw your head back. You arch your back in pure pleasure, but he pulls away instantly.

Taking your hand in his, he interlocks your fingers as the other wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer, his voice a soothing whisper. "Baby."

You know exactly what he wants, and when you meet his gaze again, he rewards you. He dives back into you with fervor, reminding you just how deeply he’s missed your taste. He plunges his tongue deep and thoroughly, before finally pulling away, his face glistening with your arousal. As he licks his lips hungrily and leans down to kiss you, you're eager to taste yourself on his mouth.

You can feel his hips pathetically rutting against you, the rhythm desperate yet filled with a yearning that matches your own. His tip, sticky with precum, glides between your folds as he presses his body into yours from above, a teasing reminder of just how close he is. You need more; you want all of him.

With a daring touch, you reach between your bodies to guide him to your entrance. “Let me have you, don’t make me wait any longer,” you whisper, your words laced with an ever deeper meaning.

He captures your lips in a heated kiss, before he slowly begins to press into you. The sensation is overwhelming; it’s a stretch, and you realize you haven’t been with anyone in a while. Mark's size only heightens the intensity of the moment, making you acutely aware of every inch as he fills you completely.

He pauses, giving you time to adjust, the tension between you thickening as he watches your reactions. “Are you okay?” he asks, breath slightly ragged as he searches your face for any sign of discomfort.

You nod and bite your lip, urging him silently to move. As he starts to thrust, the pace is slow, but each movement stirs a fire deep within you. Your body responds instinctively, arching toward him, craving the intimacy. More, you think, needing him to delve even deeper to reach the parts of you that have ached for his touch.

“More,” you whine.

In response to your plea, his hips begin to quicken their pace, urgency surging through him as his hips snap against yours. The room is filled with the mingled sounds of your breaths, the slickness of your bodies moving together. He thrusts into you with precision, driving deep and filling you completely, leaving you breathless. You claw the sheets, gripping them tightly as he fucks you into the mattress.

"Like this, baby? Tell me what you need…fuck, just tell me and it's yours," he groans, his brows furrowing in desire and determination.

Your voice fails you, caught in the whirlwind of sensations that flood your body with each thrust. You want to tell him how good he makes you feel, how much you love him, how much you've missed this—missed him—but all that escapes your lips is an unintelligible mix of moans and gasps as he grips your hips, anchoring you down with a possessive hold as he pleasures you.

In response, he leans down, his breath hot against your ear, and whispers, “Let me hear you, love. I want to know how good it feels. Let go for me.”

“Just like that,” you manage to breathe out, eyes rolling back in pure pleasure, and it drives him to thrust even harder, eager to send you both over the edge.

And a wave of pleasure crashes over you, pulling you into its depths, you can only grip onto Mark so you don't drown. You can feel his hips stutter and you shiver as his warmth fills you up deliciously.

You finally part, both panting and spent yet glowing with satisfaction. When he rolls over, you find yourself instantly pulled back into his embrace, his strong arms encircling you like a blanket of safety and warmth.

Nestled into the safe embrace of Mark’s chest, you breathe in deeply, allowing the familiar scent—warm, comforting, and distinctly him—to envelop you. he begins to hum a soft tune. It’s a song you know well, one that was often played during quiet evenings spent together. The notes drift effortlessly through the air, and as he hums, you can almost hear the lyrics echoing in your mind. As he reaches the end of the song, sleep finally claims you. The soft whispers of the song echo like a sweet serenade.

When nothing adds up, I'll be your number

You're a 106 and I'm 94, yeah

#mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #mark lee #mark lee hard hours #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream angst #nct dream x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127

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lelengerine · 2 months ago

Text

pairing. nct dream (ot7) x reader

synopsis. waking up with the dreamies!

genre. established relationship, just a lot of cutesy fluff, mentions of food in jaemin’s, lmk if there's anything i missed <3

wc. around 150-200 words per member

notes. this is my first time writing these shorter drabbles so i hope you like them hehe i’d love to know if you guys wanna see more of this >< likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

→ mark

mark stirs awake, the morning light creeping through the curtains, casting soft shadows across your sleeping form. he feels a tug on the blanket and realizes you’ve taken most of it, leaving him with just a sliver of the warm fabric. a quiet laugh escapes him, though he quickly stifles it. the room feels too still, too peaceful to disrupt. his fingers move gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. you grumble a little, but don’t wake. “always stealing the blanket,” he whispers, voice amused. you murmur something incoherent, your sleepiness tugging a smile from him. he pulls the blanket back, careful not to disturb you, before pressing his forehead to yours. “i’ll let you get away with it this time,” he softly tuts, a quiet promise in his words. you nuzzle closer in contentment, eyes still closed, and whisper back, “just stay like this.” and so he does, letting the silence fill the space between you, content to lose himself in the warmth of your closeness.

→ renjun

the morning is still, the kind of quiet that feels sacred. renjun opens his eyes, immediately finding you beside him, your breath steady and soft. he’s always admired the way you look when you sleep. there’s a serenity in it, as if the whole world has quieted just for you. without thinking, he reaches for his sketchbook, sitting on the edge of the bed, pencil poised—a habit of his that developed ever since the two of you moved in together. each line he draws is delicate, a reflection of how he sees you: peaceful, beautiful, ethereal. you stir slightly, eyes fluttering open, catching him in the act. “drawing me again?” you ask, voice thick with sleep, a gentle tease in your tone. he flushes after being caught, the pencil in his hand freezing mid-stroke. “i couldn’t help it,” he admits quietly. you smile, shifting closer, peeking over his shoulder. “let me see.” he turns the sketch toward you hesitantly, and when you look up at him, there’s nothing but warmth in your eyes. “i love it.”

→ jeno

the first thing jeno feels is the weight of you against him, your head nestled into his chest, breath steady and slow. he smiles, still half-asleep, as his fingers begin tracing slow, lazy patterns along your back. he’s not sure if he’s drawing hearts or stars, only that he wants to keep you close. you shift slightly, waking up, and your eyes meet his, still hazy with sleep. “morning,” you mumble, voice soft like it belongs to this quiet hour before the world stirs. “morning,” he greets back, words rumbling from his chest. you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, the touch light, like a secret shared between you. “you’re always awake before i am,” you note with a playful sigh. he grins, his arms tightening around you. “just can’t help it,” he admits softly. “waking up with you feels too good to miss.”

→ haechan

you’re draped across the bed, limbs everywhere, your hair a wild mess against the pillow. haechan wakes to the sight of you, and a grin immediately spreads across his face. mischief bubbles in his chest, and before you know it, his fingers find your sides, tickling you awake. “why do you always take up the whole bed?” he teases, laughter in his voice. you groan, eyes still closed as you bat at his hands, but a laugh slips out despite it all. “haechan, stop,” you whine, still half-asleep, voice muffled against the pillow. the sound of his laughter follows not long after, pulling you into his arms with ease. “i’m awake now, so you have to be too,” he declares with certainty, wrapping himself around your torso as if daring you to escape. you sigh, melting into him despite the protests leaving your mouth. “you’re impossible,” you mutter, but there’s a smile in your voice, one that he catches immediately. “yeah, but you love it,” he replies smugly, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. and in that moment, wrapped up in the mess of limbs and laughter, you know he’s right.

→ jaemin

the smell of something sweet pulls you from the comfort of your slumber, and you realize the space beside you is empty, but warm. you blink against the soft morning light, listening to the faint clatter of dishes barely seeping past the door. quietly, you slip out of bed, padding towards the kitchen of your apartment. jaemin stands there, humming softly as he flips pancakes with a focus that makes you smile. “you’re cooking?” you ask in the midst of rubbing your eyes awake, still groggy, but unable to suppress the fondness in your voice. he turns at the sound of you, a smile spreading across his face as he sets the pan down. “surprise!” he says, moving toward you, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist. you lean into his embrace, the warmth of him grounding you. “you didn’t have to,” you murmur, though you’re already imagining the taste of the breakfast he’s prepared. he pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes. “i wanted to,” he says softly, his fingers brushing your hair back. “i love mornings like this—with you.”

→ chenle

you wake up earlier than usual, passing the time as you scroll through funny videos on your phone, trying not to wake your boyfriend up, but it’s too late—he’s already blinking awake beside you, squinting through the morning light. “what’s so funny this early?” chenle asks, his voice still thick with sleep, but there’s a curious smile playing on his lips. you turn the phone toward him, showing him the random cat video that has you in stitches. he watches, his sleepy expression giving way to a grin, and soon enough, he’s laughing too. “you really start your day with memes?” he teases, shaking his head in disbelief. you nudge his side playfully. “it’s the best way to wake up!” your defense is only met with a sharp laugh from your boyfriend who pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. “you’re ridiculous,” a murmur comes out of him, his voice soft yet a hint of laughter trails behind. “but if it makes you happy, i guess it’s the best way to wake up for me too.”

→ jisung

you wake to the soft sound of steady breathing, and as your eyes flutter open, you realize jisung is already awake, his gaze fixed on you. his arm is loosely draped over your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt absentmindedly. “morning,” you whisper, still half-asleep, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. jisung’s cheeks flush slightly, a shy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “morning,” he replies, his voice quiet, unsure. you briefly stretch and shift around the pillows and comforters, turning to face him fully, and you notice the way his gaze softens as he looks at you. “you could’ve woken me,” you murmur, your hand coming up to trace the curve of his jaw. jisung shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “i didn’t want to,” he admits. “you looked too peaceful. i… i like waking up like this.” his voice is barely above a whisper now, as if he’s confessing something he’s only just realized. you smile, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “i like it too.”

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #mark x reader #renjun x reader #jeno x reader #haechan x reader #jaemin x reader #chenle x reader #jisung x reader

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leejenowrld · 1 month ago

Text

‘love me back?’ — one

pairing — mark lee x reader

word count — 22.2k words

genre — angst, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden love

synopsis — mark lee goes from being the quiet kid at the river court to the star basketball player on campus, reigniting old tensions with his brother, jeno. as jeno’s girlfriend, you’re pulled into the rivalry, but it’s mark who captivates you. his touch, his presence—he stirs something deep inside you that you can’t shake. as the tension between the brothers grows, so does your forbidden connection with mark, forcing you to confront where your heart—and body—truly belong.

chapter contents/warnings — college au, small town vibes, 2000s teen show vibes, this fic is heavily based on one tree hill, reader is in a relationship with jeno but it’s far from healthy or loving, depictions of lust and physical connection rather than emotional intimacy, slow burn with emotional (and sexual) tension between reader and mark, basketball is a heavy theme, mark being a key player, reader uses drugs and drinks to avoid facing her emotions, struggles with communication and vulnerability, messy dynamics with themes of abandonment and insecurity, escapism, toxic sibling rivalry between jeno and mark, oooh guys jeno is a jerk! bad boyfriend jeno, explicit sexual content involving rough and emotionally detached interactions with jeno, reader makes out with mark, soft mark, emo boy mark, confident mark, understated and hot mark, references to drug and alcohol use as coping mechanisms, swearing, explicit language and competitive sports tension.

[fic ml]

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX

───────────────────────────────

The air in the room is thick and hazy, the low-hanging smoke curling in lazy spirals above your heads, seeping into the fabric of your clothes and the sheets. The bedside table is cluttered with half-empty bottles—beers, vodka mixers—and a vape pen with a fading light. The faint scent of weed lingers, clinging to the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. It should feel comforting, familiar, but it doesn’t. Everything feels muted, dulled, like you’re watching your life from a distance, the numbness settling deeper with each passing second.

Jeno lies beside you, shirtless, his body warm against yours. Your head rests on his chest, where his heartbeat thuds unevenly, just as it always has—never steady enough to soothe you, never grounding like you wanted it to be. Tonight, it feels even more erratic, like something inside him is pulling further away. Your fingers trace lazy circles over his skin, the motion slow, almost mechanical. It’s a routine now—this closeness that never truly feels close.

He’s quiet, too quiet, and it irritates you more than it should. You inhale sharply, the vape pen slipping between your lips before you exhale through your nose. Shifting closer, you press a kiss against his neck, letting your lips linger longer than usual, hoping he’ll respond. But there’s nothing—not a sigh, not a flicker of acknowledgment. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, his mind somewhere far beyond the room. You pull away, frustrated, the weight of the past hour pressing down on you.

“Jeno,” you murmur, your voice catching slightly, as if the words are stuck in your throat. Your lips linger near his jaw, hoping for a reaction, for something to pull him back to you. But all you feel is the faint twitch of his hand on your waist, a gesture that once held desire but now feels empty, mechanical. It’s not what you’re looking for, not tonight.

You move again, this time more insistent, straddling his waist, your hands pressing against his chest, trying to ground yourself—or maybe trying to ground him. You tilt his chin toward you, forcing his eyes to meet yours, but they’re glassy, distant, reflecting the dull light of the lamp more than any real emotion. “Are you even here?” you ask, half-joking, but the frustration behind your words cuts through the haze in the air.

“Yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction in his voice. His eyes flicker to the ceiling again, avoiding yours, like he’s searching for an answer there that he can’t find in you.

You let out a sharp breath, your fingers tightening on his chest as you lean down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that’s supposed to feel familiar, intimate. But even then, his response is slow, almost hesitant, like he’s going through the motions, doing what’s expected but feeling none of it.

Your heart sinks a little, and you pull back just enough to study his face, the way his jaw tenses and his gaze remains distant. The dim light casts long shadows across his features, making him look older, more worn down than he should. Something is eating at him, gnawing at the edges of whatever you have left between you.

“What’s wrong with you?” The words come out more accusatory than you intend, but the irritation bubbling inside you won’t let it rest. You both know what this is—it’s been like this for months now. Physical, surface-level. No connection. No real emotion. But tonight, it feels worse. Heavier.

He finally shifts beneath you, his fingers brushing against your hip, but there’s no spark in the touch, no warmth. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice thin, barely more than a whisper.

“You always say that,” you mutter, the words bitter as they leave your mouth. You push yourself off of him, sitting at the edge of the bed, your hands in your lap as you glance over at the cluttered mess around you. Bottles, smoke, scattered clothes. It’s all a blur. “Is this really what we are now? Me trying, and you always somewhere else?”

You run a hand through your hair, glancing over your shoulder at him. Jeno doesn’t answer right away. He just rubs his face with his hand, his other arm falling limp beside him, like even the effort of responding is too much. “It’s just the game tomorrow,” he mumbles, but his words lack conviction.

“The game?” You repeat, incredulous. You turn to face him fully now, your frustration spilling over. “You’re thinking about basketball right now? We’re here, and all you care about is some stupid game?”

Jeno sits up, finally breaking the contact between you. His hands are tight, clenched in the sheets as he avoids your gaze. “It’s not just the game,” he snaps, his voice sharper now, the edge of something deeper cutting through. “It’s Mark.”

The name lands heavier than you expect. Mark Lee. Jeno’s half-brother. The one he rarely mentions, the one who has always been at the edges of your awareness but you’ve never had a reason to think about him. You’ve seen him around but only from a distance. He was never at the parties, never a part of the crowd Jeno ran with, always separate. always… distant. Mark’s never really mattered to you. Until now.

“What about him?” You ask, your voice slower, more careful.

Jeno lets out a short, bitter laugh. “He’s back,” he says, the frustration creeping into his voice.

“Back how?” You mumble, feeling the tension building. Mark had been around since you and Jeno were children but he had always been a part of the background, you never expected that to change.

Jeno shifts beside you, you watch his jaw clench, his fists tightening on the sheets. “Back into my life. Out of nowhere. He’s on the team now—just showed up like he had something to prove, and Coach didn’t waste a second. Benched me, gave him my spot.” The words are clipped, tight with barely concealed anger.

You sit there, trying to process it. You’ve seen him before, alone at the river court after hours, earbuds in, completely disconnected from the world you and Jeno are a part of. Calm, composed, like nothing touches him. It strikes you how different he is — how he’s always stood apart from Jeno’s chaos.

He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can feel the anger bubbling underneath, the years of resentment suddenly in the open. “My dad’s losing it. He never wanted Mark around. Hated him from the beginning—he’s always seen him as the mistake, the one thing he can’t stand to face. But now Mark’s back, and it’s like this unspoken challenge. Like Mark’s here to prove he’s better, or he can take everything that’s mine.”

You shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond to the intensity of his words. “Jeno… I’m sure it’s not that deep. It’s literally just basketball.”

His gaze snaps to you, deadpan. Anger flickers in his expression, a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t been there moments before. You’ve said the wrong thing. You can feel it. He looks at you like you don’t get it—like you don’t understand him at all.

There’s something wild in his eyes now, something untamed. “It’s never just been basketball,” he says, voice sharp, frustration lacing every word. “He’s always wanted everything I have. He’s always been there, lurking. And now he’s coming for everything—my spot, my life.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower, quieter, almost as if he’s afraid to say it out loud. “And you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sinking into the silence that stretches between you. You stare at him, stunned, trying to process what he’s just said. And you. A chill runs through you. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond, how to make sense of what he’s implying.

───────────────────────────────

Jeno pulls up to the river court erratically, tires skidding on the gravel as he parks. The way he moves—quick, aggressive—mirrors the tension that’s been building between him and Mark for days. You’d rather be anywhere but here, surrounded by the weight of this impending showdown, but for Jeno, this is his element. He thrives in moments like these, where all eyes are on him, where the crowd fuels his need for attention and validation. Every glance, every whispered conversation from the sidelines—Jeno drinks it all in, the girls batting their eyes at him only adding to his confidence.

You feel the stares too. You and Jeno aren’t just well-known—you’re desired. The kind of couple everyone talks about, whispers about behind your backs. People want to be you or be with you. You’ve seen the way their eyes follow you both, lingering a little too long, filled with envy and something darker. It’s intoxicating, usually. But tonight, the attention feels heavier, more suffocating, like it’s pressing down on you, trapping you in this moment where everything feels like it’s about to break.

The river court itself is buzzing, the atmosphere charged with anticipation. The sky is a muted purple as dusk settles in, casting a hazy glow over the court. The river runs just beyond, the sound of water rushing in the background, a soft but constant reminder of the tension flowing through this moment. The court is cracked, worn from years of use, but it has a certain rawness to it—gritty, real. The streetlights flicker to life as people gather along the edges, their shadows long and looming over the pavement. There’s a strange energy in the air, a mix of excitement and unease, as more people file in. Jeno’s supporters are far bigger, louder, their voices filling the space. They want a show, and Jeno is ready to give it to them.

“Welcome to the river court showdown!” Lee Donghyuck’s voice cuts through the murmurs, playful and dramatic as he addresses the growing crowd. You don’t know him well—he’s Mark’s best friend, always lingering in the background. His narration carries a light-hearted tone, but the way his eyes flick between Mark and Jeno makes it clear: this is personal. “Ladies and gentlemen, the stakes are high, and you can feel the intensity in the air. We’ve got a battle of the brothers tonight. Mark Lee, our underdog, taking on the one and only Jeno Lee.”

Your gaze shifts to Jeno as he steps onto the court, confidence radiating from him as he bounces the basketball in his hands, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator surveying his territory. Across from him, Mark stands still, calm. He doesn’t thrive on the attention like Jeno does—he doesn’t even seem to notice the crowd. His focus is entirely on the game, his eyes sharp, determined.

Donghyuck’s voice carries on, “In one corner, we have Jeno—star player, campus legend. And in the other, Mark—cool, calm, and collected, with everything to lose.” There’s a hint of admiration in his tone when he talks about Mark, and you catch yourself paying closer attention to him too. You’ve never really noticed Mark before, but now, as he steps forward, there’s something about the way he carries himself that draws you in. The quiet confidence, the determination in his eyes… it’s hard not to watch him.

The game starts fast. Jeno wastes no time, dribbling aggressively, his body coiled with energy, every movement sharp, intentional. Mark, on the other hand, is methodical, almost serene in the way he moves, his eyes never leaving the ball. Jeno talks trash as they play, his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You don’t belong here, Mark. This isn’t your world.”

Mark doesn’t respond, his focus unwavering. You can see it—the way his eyes track the ball, his calm under pressure. He’s not here to prove anything to Jeno; he’s here for himself. Every shot Mark takes is calculated, precise. He moves with a fluidity that surprises you, and you catch yourself watching more intently than you expected, noticing the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes sharpen when he finds an opening. There’s something intimate in the way he plays, an art to his determination that makes it impossible not to be drawn in.

“And Mark with the shot—boom! Nothing but net!” Donghyuck’s voice is filled with excitement, and the crowd reacts with gasps. You can hear the surprise rippling through them. Jeno wasn’t expecting this, and neither were they. “He’s got game, ladies and gentlemen. Jeno might have his work cut out for him.”

Jeno’s frustration grows with each point Mark scores. You can see it in the way his movements become more frantic, more desperate to overpower Mark. But Mark doesn’t falter. He doesn’t need to respond to Jeno’s taunts, and doesn't need to engage in the mind games. His eyes are always on the prize, his determination unshakable.

As the game continues, it’s clear that Jeno underestimated his brother. Mark isn’t just holding his own—he’s thriving. Each basket he makes feels like a step out of the shadow Jeno has cast over him for so long. For Jeno, this is about dominance, about keeping Mark out of his world. But for Mark, it’s about more than that. It’s about carving out his own place, about proving he can hold his own.

Jeno dribbles back, eyes narrowing as he pulls up from way beyond the three-point line, his body coiling with the kind of confidence that comes from years of dominance on the court. His movements are fluid, almost graceful as he rises to take the shot, the ball leaving his fingertips in a perfect arc. For a second, it looks like it’s going in—like he’s about to remind everyone why he’s the best. But just as the ball reaches its peak, Mark appears out of nowhere, launching himself into the air, his arm extending at just the right angle to block it.

Donghyuck's voice bursts out in excitement, “Jeno shoots… and misses!” he pauses, eyes wide with amazement, “holy crap, did you see that? Someday men will write stories about that block, children will be named after that block and Argentinian women will weep for it!”

The sound of the ball slapping against his hand echoes through the court, followed by the stunned gasps from the crowd. Jeno stumbles back, shock and disbelief flickering across his face as the ball ricochets away, the confidence he’d had only moments ago shattered.

“Mark with the rebound. He’s fast. He’s focused.” Donghyuck’s playful tone turns serious as the game nears its end. The tension in the crowd is palpable, and you can’t help but feel it too. But more than that, you’re watching Mark now—really watching him. The way he doesn’t let anything distract him, the quiet intensity in his eyes as he takes his final shot. There’s something about him in this moment that feels… different. It’s not an attraction, not yet, but a subtle curiosity. The way he moves, the determination etched into every step—it draws you in, and you can’t help but wonder what else lies beneath that calm exterior.

“And that’s it! Mark Lee wins!” Donghyuck shouts as the crowd erupts, the shock clear on everyone’s faces. Mark’s friends swarm the court, cheering loudly, their celebration unrestrained. You watch them from the sidelines, a small, subtle smile pulling at your lips. You don’t know why, but seeing Mark win… it makes you happy. There’s something about it that feels right, like you’ve been waiting for this moment without even realising it. You haven’t smiled like this in so long.

Jeno walks toward you, his face twisted in frustration and defeat. “It’s not a big deal,” you say quietly, trying to diffuse the tension.

Jeno laughs, though it’s not a sound filled with humour. “He’s not gonna quit the team now. I lost the bet.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You bet on it?”

Jeno’s face hardens, and the way he looks at you makes your heart skip a beat, but not in a good way. His silence is unsettling, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. “What did he bet if he won?” you ask, your voice quieter now, a sinking feeling creeping into your chest.

Jeno looks at you, his jaw tight. “You. He bet that he gets you.”

The words hit you like a slap, the weight of them sinking in slowly. You’re stunned, unsure how to feel. Part of you is angry at Jeno, furious that he would treat you like an object in some stupid rivalry. But another part of you—the part that watched Mark play tonight, the part that saw something different in him—can’t shake the way you felt watching him on that court.

───────────────────────────────

The drive back to Jeno’s house is suffocating, the silence hanging heavy in the air like a storm about to break. You’ve tried speaking, tried breaking through the wall he’s built around himself, but he just stares straight out of the window, his jaw clenched tight as if he’s grinding through every word he doesn’t want to say. His silence grates on you, each passing second tightening the coil of frustration in your chest.

Finally, you snap, your voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. “Why the fuck would you agree to let me get involved in any type of bet? Aren’t you my boyfriend? Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

Jeno doesn’t answer, doesn’t even turn to look at you. His expression remains stony, detached, like you’re not even there. It’s as if every emotion between you is locked behind that clenched jaw. The frustration inside you bubbles over, boiling under your skin as he pulls up to his apartment, the car jerking to a stop. Before you can say anything more, he throws the door open, slams it shut, and storms toward the house, leaving you sitting there, stunned.

You follow him, heart pounding, already knowing what you’re about to walk into. But it still hits harder than you expect when you push through the front door: another one of his fucking parties.

The bass from the music vibrates through the floor, the walls practically shaking from the force of it. The air inside is thick—sweat, alcohol, smoke—all mingling into a nauseating fog that clings to everything. Half the campus seems to be packed into the house, bodies pressed together, laughing, shouting, grinding. It’s chaos. It’s chaotic, a celebration party that was meant to mark Jeno’s victory but he lost. He didn’t expect to lose so now he’s throwing himself into this mess, trying to forget how Mark beat him.

Jeno doesn’t even glance your way as he strides straight into the centre of the party. The second he steps inside, the energy shifts. All eyes are on him. Girls bat their eyelashes, offering coy smiles and glances, waiting for him to notice. The guys are quick to slap him on the back, giving him their usual praise, eager to bask in the glow of his attention. He soaks it up, drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

Without a second thought, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd. You stand there, invisible, feeling like an afterthought. You watch as Jeno gravitates toward a group of girls, the kind you’ve seen around before—the ones who always seem to be in his orbit, looking for a chance to get close. They laugh at something he says, their hands grazing his arm, their gazes hungry. And Jeno, your supposed boyfriend, leans into it.

You watch as one of the girls, dressed in a tight, glittering dress, dances close to him, her body pressed against his as they move to the beat. Jeno’s hands rest on her waist for just a second—nothing more than a passing touch, but it’s enough to sting. Enough to make your stomach twist. She leans in to whisper something in his ear, and he smirks. It’s a look you’ve seen before—not necessarily malicious, just confident, like he’s always known how to handle this kind of attention. His eyes are a bit hazy, a mix of alcohol and the mood of the night, and he doesn’t even glance in your direction.

The other girls join in, dancing around him, their bodies brushing against his as the music pulses through the room. Jeno doesn’t move away, doesn’t stop them, but he’s not exactly encouraging it either. He lets it happen, lets them touch him, lets the night sweep him up. You know it’s not about forgetting you, not about pushing boundaries—Jeno’s always had this natural pull, the kind that draws people in without him even trying. But tonight, it feels different, harder to shake off, like he’s just letting the moment take him, unaware of how much it’s affecting you.

Your chest tightens, and you stand there, rooted in place. It’s not like this is the first time—Jeno’s always been the guy who draws attention effortlessly, always the one people gravitate toward. But tonight, there’s something sharper about it, something that feels a little too close. You know he loves you, but watching him in the middle of it all, surrounded by all these girls, it feels like you’re invisible for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s forgotten how much he means to you. But deep down, you know it’s just him getting caught up in the night, not in them.

You make your way upstairs, needing space, needing to breathe. The noise below feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you. Jeno’s room is as much of a mess as the party downstairs, but it’s quieter at least. You go straight to his drawers, pulling out bottles of whatever alcohol you can find, downing shots without caring about the burn in your throat. Then it’s the drugs—whatever pills and powders he’s stashed away. You don’t think, you just take them. Anything to numb the anger, the frustration, the feeling of being trapped and ignored.

You grab your laptop from the desk and plug your phone into the speaker, blasting your own music. The party music below is lame, anyway. With the alcohol and drugs starting to take effect, you focus on your screen, your fingers flying across the keys as you work on your art assignment. You pull up the digital image you’ve been editing for days, your eyes scanning the lines and colours as you tweak the lighting, adjust the shadows—anything to keep your mind off Jeno, off the party, off everything.

An hour passes before Jeno stumbles into the room, high out of his mind. He’s still reeking of sweat and alcohol, his shirt half-untucked, his eyes bloodshot. He glances at your screen, scoffing.

“What are you wasting your time on now?”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to start another fight, but the irritation flares up anyway. You keep your eyes on the screen, editing a tiny detail on the photo, hoping he’ll leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks over and turns off the speaker, his smirk testing you.

“You know nobody listens to this crap,” he says, challenging you with his gaze.

“Why the fuck did you allow me to be bet on?” you snap, unable to hold back any longer. The question is sharp, bitter.

Jeno rolls his eyes and shrugs, as if it’s not worth discussing, as if it doesn’t matter. His casual dismissal makes your blood boil.

“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me,” you seethe, standing up from the bed. “Don’t give me attitude. You’re the one throwing your lame parties and celebrating what? That your brother beat your lame ass today?”

Jeno shakes his head, irritated. “That’s why I came here now,” he mutters, his words slurring slightly. “To ask you if you wanna come party with us.”

“‘Us’?” you ask, folding your arms. “So that means the guys and the girls you’re fucking around with? The ones you let grind all over you like you don’t have a girlfriend standing right there?”

Jeno’s expression tightens, his jaw clenching as the accusation hits him. His eyes flash with frustration, but for a moment, you catch a flicker of guilt before he quickly masks it. His lips press into a thin line, his nostrils flaring slightly, as if he’s holding back from snapping. He sighs, exasperated. “And me.”

“And the guys,” you repeat, rolling your eyes.

“You know what, Y/N,” he says, his tone shifting to frustration. “I’m getting really tired of this. I came here to spend time with you.” He points at you accusingly, his words biting.

“Yeah, me and half the campus,” you shoot back, referring to the party downstairs.

He throws his hands up in defeat. “Whatever. You wanna be a bitch, that’s cool. Just sit here and listen to your loser rock and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you glare at him, your voice sharp as a knife. “How about you don’t see me tomorrow?”

Jeno’s face falters for a moment, and he looks at you, something softer trying to break through the haze of alcohol and frustration. “Look… I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low. It’s an apology, but it feels half-hearted, like he’s saying it because he knows he should, not because he means it.

You shake your head, ignoring him as you push past. The anger burns too hot, and his apology barely registers. You brush yourself past him, the touch brief but cold, leaving him standing there in the doorway, stunned and alone.

You breathe heavily, trying to calm the anger still simmering in your chest. Each inhale feels shaky, your body betraying just how rattled you are. Jeno’s words, his actions downstairs, the careless way he allowed those girls to hang on to him like you didn’t matter—it all echoes in your mind. You need to escape, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all. With nothing else to do, you make your way downstairs, the pounding bass and shrill laughter filling the space like a cloud of smoke you can’t shake.

You’re halfway to the kitchen when a few of your friends spot you. Their faces light up, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. They pull you into a conversation, their voices high-pitched and bubbly as they compliment your dress, touching your arm and admiring the way the tight black fabric clings to your curves.

“Oh my god, that dress is insane on you!” one of them gushes, her eyes wide with admiration. “Jeno is so lucky…”

You smile, the kind of smile you’ve perfected—wide and warm, just enough to convince them you’re engaged. “Thanks,” you reply, your voice light, pretending to match their energy. It’s easy to slip into this act, to fake the excitement, the warmth. You’ve done it before. But inside, everything feels hollow, like there’s a wall between you and the rest of the world.

As they chatter on about the party, about boys, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress is tight, black, hugging every inch of your body. The neckline plunges just enough to catch attention, the fabric pulling at all the right places. Your makeup is flawless—lips painted a deep, sultry red, eyeshadow smoked out in a way that makes your eyes pop. To everyone else, you look like the life of the party, someone who belongs here. But looking at your own reflection, you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself from outside your body.

You’re about to respond to one of your friends when something catches your eye—someone. Your breath catches in your throat as you notice Mark Lee standing across the room. You freeze. Your friends’ voices fade into the background, the party around you slipping away as your focus zeroes in on him. What the hell is he doing here?

Mark doesn’t belong at parties like this. It’s obvious in the way he stands, surrounded by people yet somehow separate, distant. He’s smiling, his lips curved upward, but there’s a casual awkwardness in the way he holds himself. His shoulders are tense, and he fidgets with his hands as if he’s not entirely comfortable with the attention.

You watch as a few girls, practically draped over him, giggle and bat their eyelashes, clearly trying to catch his eye. Mark’s friends are laughing, slapping him on the back like they’re celebrating something. You can tell his status is rising after his win today, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how quickly people are flocking to him. It’s almost comical. Yet, unlike Jeno, Mark doesn’t seem to bask in it. He’s not soaking up the attention or feeding off it. Instead, he shifts awkwardly under their gazes, like the weight of it all makes him uneasy.

There’s something… different about him.

You find yourself studying the way his body language contrasts with the energy around him. Where Jeno would be centre stage, loving every second of the spotlight, Mark seems almost out of place, as if he’s trying to navigate a world that doesn’t quite fit him. It’s… endearing. His discomfort, the way he’s clearly not used to being the centre of attention—it draws you in, makes you curious in a way you hadn’t expected.

A small, quiet laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help but find it amusing, how different he is from everyone else in the room. And just as quickly as you let yourself slip into that moment, his eyes meet yours.

For a split second, your heart stutters, and your breath catches. His gaze holds yours, steady and intense. You can’t look away, even though every part of you wants to. It’s as if the rest of the room melts away, the noise, the people, the party—it all blurs into the background. There’s only him.

Mark’s eyes are dark, deeper than you’d expect, and the tension between you feels thick, almost suffocating. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something behind his stare—something that sends a jolt through you. It’s unsettling how deep it cuts, like he’s seeing straight through you, into a place you didn’t want anyone to go.

Your stomach twists, the feeling both terrifying and magnetic. You should look away, but you don’t. You hold his gaze for longer than you should, and the tension between you builds with every second that passes. His stare is steady, unblinking, as if he’s waiting for something, as if he’s testing you. And the longer it goes on, the more you feel like something has shifted—something subtle, something dangerous.

Finally, you tear your eyes away, your heart racing in your chest. You turn, your movements quick and sharp, almost desperate to break the connection. But the weight of his gaze lingers on you, even after you walk away, the tension hanging in the air long after the moment has passed. Something has shifted, and you can feel it deep in your bones.

You don’t know what it is, but you’re certain of one thing: you’re not ready to face it yet.

You storm off, your heart pounding with a mix of frustration and betrayal, the thoughts of Jeno’s reckless behaviour and the bet swirling in your mind. Every step feels heavier, like the weight of everything that’s happened is pressing down on your chest. The muffled noise of the party below fades into the background as you climb the stairs, heading straight for Jeno’s room. The air feels thick, the kind of tension that wraps around you and makes it hard to breathe.

He bet on you.

The thought keeps ringing in your mind, making your stomach churn. It’s a hollow realisation, but one you can’t shake—like every guy in your life somehow views you as a prize, something to win or lose. Your chest tightens with anger, but it’s not just aimed at Jeno. It’s aimed at Mark too. He was part of it. Part of the game, the manipulation.

You reach Jeno’s room and shove the door open, needing the space, needing to breathe. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with weed hits you. The room is a mess, clothes and empty bottles scattered everywhere, a chaotic reflection of everything wrong between you and him. You step inside, your hands trembling slightly as you try to make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

But before you can take a breath, you hear footsteps behind you.

Your heart skips, the sudden sound catching you off guard. You whip around, expecting Jeno, but instead, it’s Mark standing in the doorway. His expression unreadable, his hands tucked into his pockets like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Hey,” Mark says, his voice soft but carrying through the tension in the room.

You stand in shock, your eyes narrowing in on him. The last person you want to see right now is Mark Lee, of all people. “What do you want? Why are you following me?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intend, but you don’t care. The anger flares up, twisting in your chest. “Why are you even in Jeno’s room? Do you want me to call him?”

Mark’s expression shifts, his lips curling into a half-smirk that makes your blood boil. “Yeah, you won’t do that.” he says, voice calm but biting. “Bit of a weird relationship you guys have, huh? You’re his girlfriend, but he spends the night flirting and touching other girls?”

His words hit harder than you expect, cutting deep. You swallow, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside you, but it spills over anyway. “You’re not allowed to talk about my relationship,” you snap, stepping closer, the distance between you narrowing. “How dare you… how dare you tell Jeno that you wanted me if you won the game earlier?”

Mark chuckles, the sound low and dry. “Just when I think Jeno couldn’t be more of a jerk,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I changed my mind, alright? I agreed that if I won, I’d quit the team. Did he bother telling you that, or did he just let you believe the worst?”

You freeze, stunned. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you. “Why would you… why would you want to quit the team?”

Mark’s expression softens for a moment, the tension easing slightly from his posture. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I’m tired of this,” he says, his voice quieter now, more genuine. “I don’t want to be in Jeno’s world anymore, competing with him over every little thing. Basketball used to be fun for me, but not when it’s all about one-upping him. It’s exhausting.”

You stare at him, processing the weight of what he’s just said. He’s not just tired of the rivalry—he’s tired of everything that comes with it, the constant competition, the games, the need to prove something. It’s so different from the way Jeno sees things.

You truthfully had no idea how intertwined Mark and Jeno’s lives had become recently. It feels strange, realising you’ve been standing on the outside of something so tangled. You’re meant to be Jeno’s girlfriend, yet you’ve never seen this side of his life—not until today when he mentioned Mark while getting ready for their showdown at the river court. That was the first time he had ever really talked about his half-brother with you, and even then, it was brief, distant, like he was giving you only the surface.

And now here you are, standing with Mark, getting a glimpse into the mess that you’ve somehow been pulled into without fully understanding it. It’s like you’ve been involved in their rivalry without even realising it, and yet you can see the toll it’s taken on Mark. The weariness in his voice, the way he talks about Jeno—it’s clear he’s already fed up. He’s exhausted, but from your perspective, you’ve only been witnessing it from the outside, catching pieces of a story you were never let into.

You’re confused, not truly understanding the dynamics between Mark and Jeno or the tension in their family. You’ve met Jeno’s dad before, and it didn’t take long to realise he’s an asshole. Controlling, dismissive, and always pushing Jeno toward something—whether it’s basketball or his own toxic expectations. Now, hearing Mark’s side of things, it makes sense why he wouldn’t want to be associated with their dad or get sucked into Jeno’s world. You’re not surprised Mark is tired of it all.

You notice the sadness lingering in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his features, and it makes something twist in your chest. It’s clear he’s been carrying the weight of this rivalry far longer than you realised. You don’t fully understand the complexities between them, and a part of you wonders if you ever will.

You change the subject, not wanting to push him further into a conversation that clearly brings up so much for him.

“So… you did bet on me at first,” you murmur, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Why?”

Mark steps closer, and suddenly the air in the room feels different, heavier with a tension that has nothing to do with anger. His eyes lock on yours, and for a moment, you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “Because I’ve always noticed you,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “The way you laugh when you think no one’s watching. The way you bite your lip when you’re lost in your own thoughts. The way you don’t let anyone in, but you have so much more to give than what people see.”

The words send a jolt through you, leaving you speechless, flushed. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The room feels smaller, the tension between you thick and suffocating.

Just as quickly as he’s drawn you in, Mark shifts the conversation, breaking the intensity of the moment. His gaze drifts to the bedside table, where a stack of vinyl records sits. He curled an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. “No way Jeno listens to music this good,” he comments, his fingers brushing over the edge of a record. “Oasis?”

You blink, the sudden change in tone catching you off guard. “He doesn’t,” you mumble, glancing at the records. “They’re mine.”

Mark’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Didn’t think Jeno had that kind of taste. But you… this makes sense. You’ve got good taste.”

You shake your head slightly, still processing the shift in the conversation. Jeno always made fun of your music, always complained about how outdated and boring it was. But Mark… Mark seems to appreciate it.

He looks around the room again and spots your laptop, the digital art project you’ve been working on still open on the screen. He steps closer, leaning over to get a better look. “This… this is good,” he says, sounding almost impressed. “Really good.”

You brush off the compliment, shrugging. “It’s nothing, just something I mess around with.”

“No,” Mark says firmly, turning to face you, his eyes serious. “You’re talented. You need to take this seriously. Be proud of yourself for once.”

You blink, the unexpected praise catching you off guard. Jeno never really cared about your art. Whenever you’d show him a new project, he’d glance at it, offer a half-hearted “cool,” and move on to whatever was on his mind. But hearing it from Mark—someone who’s not even in your life—feels different. It feels real.

You turn away slightly, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, trying to dismiss it, but Mark doesn’t let it go.

“It is a big deal,” he insists, his voice soft but firm. “Look, I know I’m a complete nobody to you, and I don’t know everything about you, but I can tell that this… this is something you care about. You’re good, really good, and you shouldn’t brush that off.”

You swallow hard, his words sinking deeper than you expected. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, like he sees more than what you’re used to showing people. Like he’s seeing the side of you that even Jeno never bothered to notice.

The tension between you shifts again, but this time it’s softer, quieter. You feel yourself calming down, the anger that had burned so hot before now fading into something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It feels like Mark is seeing you, really seeing you, and that makes your chest tighten in a way that’s hard to ignore.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. The question slips out before you can stop it, and you feel vulnerable, like you’re revealing more than you want to.

Mark’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe because someone should be,” he says quietly. “Someone should tell you how good you are. How much you matter. How much you deserve more than what you’re settling for.”

The words hit you hard, and you find yourself struggling to breathe. Mark’s standing so close now, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and for a moment, you forget everything else. You forget about the party downstairs, the chaos with Jeno, the bet. All you can focus on is the way Mark is looking at you, the sincerity in his eyes.

You want to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in your throat. There’s a strange electricity in the air between you, like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous and exciting all at once. Your mind is telling you to stop, to pull back, but your body doesn’t move.

And then, before you can fully process what’s happening, Mark reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your arm. The touch is soft, tentative, but it sends a jolt through you.

“Mark…” you murmur, unsure of what you’re even trying to say.

But he’s already pulling his hand back, stepping away just enough to give you space, the intensity of the moment easing. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small laugh, but it’s not out of amusement—it’s out of the tension that’s still lingering between you both.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I don’t know, I felt like you needed to hear that.”

You stand there, your heart racing, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. Everything feels charged, like you’re balancing on a knife’s edge. You know you shouldn’t feel anything like this. He’s Jeno’s brother, after all, and this is already messy enough. But the way Mark looks at you, the way he speaks to you—it feels different. Different from Jeno. Different from anyone.

“I should go,” you finally say, the words shaky and unconvincing.

But before you can make a move, Mark stops you again, his voice soft but commanding. “Wait.”

You turn back, meeting his eyes again, and the tension that had briefly eased floods back, stronger than ever. He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are full of something you can’t quite place.

“Why are you with him?” Mark asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question catches you off guard. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Because deep down, you’re not sure you know the answer anymore. The connection you once had with Jeno feels distant, hollow, like it’s slipping through your fingers the more you try to hold on.

Mark takes a step closer, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. His presence is overwhelming, and for the first time tonight, you feel truly seen. Not as Jeno’s girlfriend, not as someone who’s part of the chaos—but as yourself.

“Because,” you start, your voice shaky. “It’s easier than admitting that maybe we’re not right for each other. It’s easier than dealing with everything that’s falling apart.”

Mark’s eyes soften, and for a moment, he looks like he understands you in a way no one else has. He doesn’t push you for more, doesn’t make you feel guilty for your honesty. He just listens, and that feels like something you’ve been missing for a long time.

There’s a long silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy, charged with all the things you’re both not saying, but also filled with a strange sense of calm.

And then, Mark’s voice breaks through the quiet.

“You deserve better than ‘easy,’” he says softly, and his words sink deep into your chest, stirring something you’ve been trying to ignore for too long.

The room feels smaller, the air between you buzzing with something electric. For the first time, you wonder if maybe Mark’s right. Maybe you do deserve better. Maybe ‘easy’ isn’t enough anymore.

And just like that, everything between you shifts again.

───────────────────────────────

The next morning is a blur of regret and a pounding headache, the hangover hitting you harder than usual. You drag yourself out of bed, thoughts of last night swirling in your mind. Mark. You can’t stop thinking about him, the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. It’s unsettling how much it affected you, how easily he got under your skin. You’d never noticed him before, never cared to, but now… now it’s different.

He looked right into you, saw things no one else had ever bothered to. That scared you. How could he do that in just one conversation? It’s unsettling how easily he got under your skin. You’d always been in control of how people saw you—polished, popular, the girl everyone wanted to be. But Mark… he saw past all of that. And you hated that. You couldn’t allow it.

As you walk through campus, your usual routine kicks in. The stares, the whispers—they follow you like they always do. You’re well-known, well-liked, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. You slip back into that role easily, the confident girl everyone looks up to, the one they envy or want to be. But today, it feels different, like something’s off. Like you are off. The mask you wear is starting to slip.

You push open the heavy doors to the stadium, the noise of squeaking sneakers and the thud of basketballs filling the air. The gym is mostly empty except for the cheer squad and the basketball team, both deep into practice for the big away game this weekend. The space is vast, the polished wood floor stretching out in front of you, the high ceilings making the place feel both overwhelming and hollow.

Karina, your best friend, is standing in the middle of the court, already in full drill-sergeant mode. She’s wearing the same cheer outfit as you—tiny, sultry, and sexy. The short skirt clings to her hips, barely covering her thighs, and the tight top shows off just enough skin to turn heads. Her long black hair is tied back into a sleek ponytail, and her dark eyes flash with intensity as she barks orders at the other girls. Karina’s passionate, sometimes too much so, running practices like boot camp. You’ve known her forever, and while she thrives on drama, partying, and popularity, she’s a good person underneath all that chaos. She’s just someone who loves living on the edge and always ends up in trouble.

“You’re late,” Karina snaps when she sees you, her voice sharp. She rolls her eyes dramatically and gestures for you to start warming up. “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, don’t even bother showing up.”

You give her a half-hearted shrug, too hungover and distracted to care. “I overslept,” you mutter, pulling your hair into a ponytail and adjusting the skirt of your cheer uniform. The fabric clings to your skin, the skirt short enough to leave little to the imagination. You stretch, trying to ignore the lingering headache and the thoughts of Mark that refuse to leave your mind.

Karina goes back to yelling at the other girls, demanding perfection in the routine, and you start practising alongside them. The others around you are gossiping, their voices filled with excitement as they gush over the basketball players—how hot they look in their uniforms, who hooked up with who, and which guy is the best in bed. You block them out, going through the motions of the routine as if on autopilot.

But then, you feel it again. That familiar, heavy gaze. You lift your head, and your heart skips when you see him.

Mark.

He’s across the court, dribbling a basketball with effortless ease, but his eyes are on you. He’s wearing the team’s uniform tank top, his last name, ‘Lee,’ boldly printed on the back. The sleeveless jersey hugs his broad shoulders, showing off his muscular arms, the definition of his biceps catching your eye. It fits him well—too well. The fabric clings to his torso, outlining the muscles beneath, and you curse yourself for noticing.

What a fucking liar. Didn’t he say he was quitting the team? So why was he here now, practising like nothing had changed?

Mark dribbles closer, and as he moves past you, you can’t stop yourself from striking up the question that’s been bugging you. “I thought you quit,” you say, your voice sharp with accusation.

He pauses, turning to you, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I did,” he replies smoothly. “But I realised something this morning—this court is where I belong. No one’s gonna stop me from being here. Not Jeno. Not anyone.”

His words are like a challenge, and it makes something in your chest tighten. He stands there, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to say something more. You narrow your gaze, trying to keep the frustration from bubbling over. His presence was throwing you off balance, making you question things you didn’t want to face.

Mark doesn’t seem fazed by your silence. In fact, he starts talking again, asking about cheer practice, making small talk like nothing’s wrong. But you can’t let yourself engage. You give him blunt, clipped responses, barely meeting his gaze. You can’t afford to let him break through your walls again. Not in front of Karina and the other girls.

He huffs, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “Why the hell are you a cheerleader anyway? You’re the least cheery person I know.”

Before you can answer, you notice the other cheerleaders staring, their eyes flicking between you and Mark. Some of them—the same girls who were flirting with him at the party—are watching closely, whispering to each other, their expressions curious. You feel exposed under their gaze, like they can see right through you, like they know something’s happened between you and Mark even though that was far from the reality.

You force yourself to act indifferent, cold. You put up the walls you’re so good at building, the ones that keep people from seeing the real you. But Mark’s not fooled. He sees through it, and it only makes him more determined. His gaze lingers, and you can feel the weight of it even as you turn away, trying to focus on the routine.

The tension between you is subtle, a quiet current that hums beneath the surface. You don’t know him well enough for it to be anything more, but there’s something about the way Mark watches you—calm, measured, like he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unsettling how easily he manages to chip away at the front you’ve put up, the one you use to keep everyone at a distance. He doesn’t push, doesn’t challenge you outright, but his presence is enough to make you feel exposed in a way you’re not used to.

What bothers you the most is how Mark seems to notice things others don’t, like he’s already picking up on pieces of you that you barely acknowledge yourself. He doesn’t say much, but the way he looks at you—steady, unflinching—feels like he’s seeing past the version of you that everyone else accepts without question. It’s not that he’s right, exactly, but the fact that he might be makes you uneasy.

Mark catches you stealing small glances at him as the practice goes on. You falter in your movements just enough for him to notice, and each time you feel his eyes on you, your skin prickles with awareness. It’s infuriating, really—the way he’s always watching, like he’s waiting for you to crack. And what’s worse, you can’t stop yourself from glancing back.

You refocus, forcing your attention on Karina, who’s still barking orders at the squad, her long black hair swaying with every step. She’s relentless, her intensity dialled up to eleven. “Come on, Y/N,” she snaps, clapping her hands. “You’re half-assing it today. Get your head in the game!”

Karina’s passion for cheer is unmatched. She runs these practices like military drills, pushing everyone to their limits. It’s part of why she’s cheer captain, part of why the girls respect her, but it’s also why they gossip about how extra she is behind her back. But you know that her heart is in the right place. She loves this life. The drama, the popularity, the excitement of being at the centre of it all.

The cheer team lines up for the final drill, a complicated pyramid. As you climb into position, you catch Mark watching again, this time closer than before. He’s dribbling lazily nearby, as if he’s waiting for an excuse to talk to you. Your stomach twists, frustration and something else swirling in your gut. You turn away, focusing on the balance, ignoring him.

But as practice winds down, and you’re stretching by the edge of the court, you feel his shadow fall over you. He’s closer now, leaning against the wall, the basketball spinning lazily in his hand. You can’t ignore him any longer.

“I thought you were serious about quitting,” you mutter, not looking at him, your fingers digging into your muscles as you stretch.

Mark doesn’t answer right away, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally does, his voice is low, laced with that teasing tone he always seems to have around you. “I was. But sometimes plans change.” His eyes are locked on yours, and you hate how steady his gaze is, how it makes you feel like he’s peeling away your defences one layer at a time.

You scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you stand. “You and Jeno are going to kill each other. What’s the point?”

Mark’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening for a brief second before his usual calm mask returns. “Maybe. Or maybe this is the only way to settle things between us.”

You’re taken aback by the intensity in his voice, but you don’t show it. Instead, you shrug, grabbing your water bottle and taking a long drink. “Whatever. Just don’t drag me into it.”

Mark steps closer, and you freeze, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “You’re already in it,” he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Whether you want to be or not.”

You blink, trying to process what Mark means. Of course, you’re involved—you’re Jeno’s girlfriend, after all. But there’s something in the way Mark says it, something that feels deeper than just the rivalry between him and his brother. He’s looking at you like he knows something you don’t, like he sees the storm brewing before you even realise it’s there.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can say anything, the doors to the court open with a loud bang, the sound echoing across the gym.

All eyes instinctively glance toward the entrance as Jeno strides in, exuding the kind of confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place. There’s an effortless swagger in his step, the kind that turns heads, drawing attention without even trying.

He’s late, but he doesn’t look like someone who’s been through a rough night. His hair, though slightly tousled, is styled in that perfect, careless way that still manages to look deliberate. His basketball jersey clings to his broad shoulders, the material showcasing the lean muscles of his arms as it moves with every step he takes. His name ‘Lee,’ is plastered boldly across his back. His skin glows with a faint sheen, his body radiating a kind of heat that makes you—despite everything—take notice.

Coach Suh’s voice booms across the court, cutting through the tension. “Lee Jeno! You’re late! Get your ass over here—this isn’t a damn joke.”

Jeno just shakes his head, a smirk pulling at his lips as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The sound of his laugh echoes through the gym, but it’s empty, lacking its usual charm. Instead of walking toward the rest of the team, he strides toward you and Mark, his gaze flicking between the two of you.

His expression is tight, frustration radiating off him, but it’s not just about being late. The way his eyes fix on Mark makes your stomach clench—this wouldn’t end well.

“So,” Jeno drawls, his voice low and laced with bitterness, “not only do you want my life, my spot on the team, but you also want my girl?”

The words hang heavy in the air, his accusation sharp. Mark doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing as he watches Jeno, his calm exterior refusing to crack.

Your heart pounds in your chest, panic rising as you feel the tension between them ramping up like a ticking time bomb about to explode. You can see it in Jeno’s posture—the way his fists clench, the way he’s getting ready to square up and the way his jaw tightens—he’s not going to let this go easily.

You step in quickly, hoping to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. “Jeno, let’s just go, yeah?” you say softly, stepping closer to him. You put your arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, hoping your touch will calm him down. “We’ll skip practice and hang out like we used to before. Please, let’s just leave.”

For a moment, Jeno doesn’t move, his gaze still locked on Mark, but then he turns to you, his features softening just slightly. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Baby, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You swallow, the tension in the air heavy, but you nod, wanting to end this. “It’s okay,” you whisper back. “Let’s just move on, okay?”

Jeno pulls back, his smirk returning as he glances at Mark one last time before turning fully to you. He speaks loud enough for Mark to hear, completely ignoring his brother’s presence. “I’ll pick you up later, yeah? We haven’t fucked in so long. I’ll make sure you have a better time than last night.”

You freeze, his words making your skin prickle. It’s meant to sound playful, teasing, but there’s an edge to it—something bitter and insecure. You can sense it in the way he’s trying too hard, covering his unease with cocky charm.

But you’re horny, above everything else, you really want cock. His cock.

“Okay,” you smile, leaning up to kiss Jeno softly, the warmth of his lips against yours a temporary distraction. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of Mark’s eyes burning into you from across the court, watching the whole interaction unfold.

───────────────────────────────

The gym was alive with the roaring of the crowd, the heavy pounding of feet against the polished hardwood echoing through the space. It was the big away game, the one everyone had been talking about for weeks. You stood with the rest of the cheer team, pom-poms in hand, cheering and supporting the boys. The energy was electric, the entire stadium buzzing with anticipation. You could feel the excitement coursing through the air, a mix of tension and adrenaline that had everyone on edge.

The crowd was packed, faces blurred together, and their cheers were deafening. The thud of basketballs against the court, the squeak of sneakers, You glanced around, spotting Karina, who was already screaming her head off, hyping up the team and the crowd, her long black hair bouncing with every movement. She was intense, as always. The bright cheer uniforms only added to the energy, and despite the tension in the air, you couldn’t deny how it all came together. You loved being part of the noise, even if you felt disconnected at times.

Your eyes were naturally drawn to the court, where the basketball players were in full motion. Mark was everywhere—sprinting down the court, dribbling the ball, his focus intense. He was confident, fully immersed in the game, his movements fluid and controlled. It was hard not to notice how good he was, how easily he fit into the rhythm of the team despite everything that had happened. He belonged there, and it was becoming more obvious with every passing second. The crowd roared when he made another shot, and you could see the respect from his teammates growing, even from the coach, who’d been unsure about Mark’s return at first.

You’ve crossed paths with Mark more than ever lately. Now that he’s back on the team, it’s like you can’t escape him. Every practice, every game, he’s there. At first, you tried not to think much of it. You were with Jeno, after all. But there’s something about Mark that draws your attention, whether you want to admit it or not. Something in the way he moves on the court, the quiet confidence he carries with him, a calmness that contrasts with Jeno’s intensity.

The tension between them is palpable. Jeno had always been the star of the team, the one everyone looked to. But ever since Mark returned, that’s been changing. Mark was gaining attention—not just from the coach but from the teammates too. He was good. Really good. And every time Mark made a clean shot, a perfect pass, it only seemed to stoke the frustration in Jeno’s eyes.

Jeno was playing tonight, just not in his usual position. And it was clear that something was off. Every time he had the ball, he hesitated, glancing toward Mark before passing to someone else. He was purposefully ignoring his brother, and you could see the frustration building. Mark was calling for the ball, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Come on, man! Pass the ball!” Mark shouted, motioning for the pass.

Jeno ignores him, pushing forward and taking the shot himself. It’s a miss, and the other team grabs the rebound. Mark’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes locked on Jeno, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The tension keeps building, and you feel it, feel it in the way Jeno glares at Mark during the timeout, feel it in the way Mark brushes past him, his shoulders stiff with barely contained anger. It’s only a matter of time before something snaps.

And then it does.

In the final quarter, with the clock winding down, Jeno gets the ball again. He dribbles down the court, and Mark is wide open, calling for it. The crowd yells for Jeno to pass, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes for a three-pointer, and the ball bounces off the rim. Mark’s face tightens in frustration, and as soon as the play stops, he storms over to Jeno.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mark demands, shoving Jeno’s shoulder. “You had to prove something by missing a shot you knew you couldn’t make?”

Jeno’s eyes flash with anger as he pushes Mark back, his jaw clenched tight. “You think I’m gonna let you take my place? You don’t get it, Mark. This was my team before you showed up, and it’ll be my team long after you leave.”

Mark doesn’t back down. He steps closer, his voice calm but cold. “You don’t own this team, Jeno. Stop acting like I’m here to take everything from you.”

Jeno scoffs, his voice rising, the frustration boiling over. “That’s exactly what you’re doing! You want everything I have—my spot on the court, my life, my girl—” He stops short, his eyes darting to you for a split second before he looks back at Mark. “You want what’s mine, and you’re not getting it.”

Mark’s jaw clenches, and before anyone can react, Jeno takes a swing. The punch catches Mark in the chest, but Mark doesn’t fall back. Instead, he lunges forward, shoving Jeno hard enough to send him stumbling back. The crowd gasps as the tension explodes, and the game halts as the two brothers start throwing punches.

It’s chaos. They’re grappling, shoving each other, fists flying as they tumble to the ground. Teammates rush in to pull them apart, but the damage is done. The anger, the resentment—it’s all out in the open now.

“Is that what this is about?” Mark growls, his voice low as he’s dragged back by a teammate. “You’re scared I’ll take everything you think is yours?”

Jeno spits, his eyes burning with rage as he shrugs off the hands holding him back. “You think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? Just because you walked back into my life and everyone suddenly loves you. But you’re nothing, Mark. You’ve always been nothing.”

The words sting, and you can see it in Mark’s eyes. There’s hurt beneath the anger, hurt that Jeno’s words have dug up, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he straightens, his chest heaving with effort as he holds Jeno’s gaze. “I never wanted to take anything from you, Jeno,” Mark says quietly, but the weight behind his words hits hard. “I just wanted a chance to be something without having to live in your shadow.”

Jeno doesn’t respond. He just glares, his fists still clenched, and it’s clear that, despite everything, he’s not ready to let go of his anger.

You watch from the sidelines, your heart racing. The fight, the words they’re throwing at each other—it’s like you’re watching years of tension unfold right in front of you. And though you know you should be on Jeno’s side, your heart twists when you see the way Mark looks, the way he’s trying to hold himself together while everything falls apart around him.

Jeno looks at you, expecting you to come to his side, to back him up like you always have. But you can’t. Not this time. Not when you can see the pain in Mark’s eyes, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide. You hesitate, your mind racing with everything that’s happened, torn between the loyalty you owe to Jeno and the empathy you feel for Mark.

Before you can think too much, you find yourself stepping forward, your voice soft but clear. “Jeno… maybe it’s time to let this go.”

Jeno’s eyes snap to you, his expression shifting from anger to disbelief. “What? You’re taking his side now?”

“I’m not taking sides,” you say quietly, but the look in Jeno’s eyes tells you he doesn’t believe that. “I just think this has gone too far. Both of you need to stop before it gets worse.”

Mark stands there, silent but watching you, his gaze steady, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do next. And for a moment, you catch the flicker of something in his eyes—gratitude, maybe, or understanding. It’s brief, but it’s there.

Jeno lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course, you’d side with him.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of Jeno’s words, but before you can respond, the coach steps in, finally ending the fight and calling off the game.

As the crowd disperses and the players start to leave the court, you find yourself standing in the middle of it all, your heart heavy with everything that’s happened. Jeno storms off without another word, and Mark lingers for a moment, his eyes meeting yours once more before he turns and walks away. Jeno’s jaw was clenched, fists still balled as he stormed off the court. He didn’t look at you, not even once. Not after the fight started and not when he walked away, the tension radiating off him in waves.

You waited outside the locker room, hoping things would cool off, but Jeno was waiting for you. The moment your eyes met his, you knew this wasn’t going to be just another argument. There was something different in his gaze—something deeper, angrier.

“You let him get to you,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you stood before him, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

Jeno’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “You think this is just about him getting on my nerves?” His voice was sharp, filled with a bitterness that made your stomach twist. “It’s never been that simple. He keeps trying to edge me out. First, he steps onto the court, taking my place there, and now…”

He paused, the weight of his words heavy in the air. When his eyes finally met yours, there was something raw in his gaze, something that made your chest tighten.

“And now it feels like he’s trying to take you too,” Jeno muttered, the accusation hanging between you like a loaded gun.

The shock hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless for a moment. “What? What are you even saying?” you stammered, though the crack in your voice betrayed the strength you were trying to summon. Your heart raced, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Jeno’s frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear. “I’m not blind, Y/N. I see it. The way things have changed between us… The way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. You’ve been different, distant. You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was laced with something that felt like betrayal, something that cut deep even before you could fully process what he was accusing you of.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but even as the words left your mouth, they felt hollow.

“Am I?” He scoffed, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, the tears already threatening to spill over. “I’ve been trying, Jeno. I—”

“Trying?” he cut you off, his voice harsh and biting. “This is you trying? Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, Y/N, and it’s because of him. Admit it.”

The tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them. It was too much—the accusations, the anger, the way he looked at you like he didn’t recognize you anymore. “I can’t do this,” you murmured, shaking your head, your voice barely holding together. “I’m trying, but you—”

Without waiting for his response, you turned and bolted, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. The sounds of the gym—shouts, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, the dull thud of the basketball—faded behind you as you disappeared into the dimly lit hallways. The air was colder here, the emptiness wrapping around you like a shroud. But it couldn’t stop the sobs from rising in your throat, harsh and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last.

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried. Not like this. Not the kind of tears that felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out, like they’d been building for years, waiting for this very moment to break free.

Your chest heaved, your breaths ragged and uneven as you stumbled into a dark corner, sliding down against the cool wall. The hallway was silent, save for the sound of your sobs echoing back at you. You felt so raw, so exposed, like every layer of protection you’d built over the years had been stripped away in an instant. Vulnerability wasn’t something you allowed yourself to feel often—maybe ever—but here you were, unable to stop it.

Tears blurred your vision, and you pressed your hands to your face, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. But it was no use. The emotions had taken hold, refusing to let go. The anger, the hurt, the fear of everything unraveling—it was too much.

For so long, you had kept it all together, every crack patched up with a smile or a dismissive shrug. But this time… this time you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop the flood. And it terrified you because you didn’t know what came next. What was left when all the masks came off, when the facade you’d worked so hard to maintain finally crumbled?

You don’t know how long you’d been sitting there, curled up on the cold bench in one of the quieter hallways, your face buried in your hands as sobs wracked your body. Time felt like it had lost meaning, and you were too exhausted to care.

But when you heard soft footsteps approaching, you didn’t move. You didn’t have the energy. A familiar presence settled next to you. You felt it before you saw him, the warmth of his body close to yours, the quiet concern that radiated from him.

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice was soft, almost tentative. He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The question felt absurd, considering the mess you were in, but something about the way he asked it—so gently, so genuinely—caught you off guard. He wasn’t demanding answers, wasn’t prying. He just wanted to be there.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, trying to brush him off, but your voice cracked, betraying you. Your hands trembled as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but it was no use. You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Mark didn’t push. Instead, he quietly sat beside you, the weight of his presence comforting in its simplicity. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just stayed there, his quiet strength offering more support than you’d realized you needed.

And then, before you knew it, you were crying again. Harder this time. The tears came in waves, overwhelming and unstoppable, and you felt yourself crumbling under the weight of everything you’d been holding in.

Without a word, Mark wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in a gesture so simple, yet so needed. He held you close, one hand gently rubbing your back as the other rested on your shoulder. It wasn’t forceful or overwhelming—it was soft, steady, like he was offering you a safe space to break down.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soothing, steady. “You don’t have to hold it in.”

His words were like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop pretending, stop fighting. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his chest as the tears flowed freely.

Mark held you through it all, his presence grounding you, making you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this. He didn’t say much—just whispered reassurances when the sobs became too much, his hand continuing its slow, comforting motion on your back.

When your sobs finally began to subside, you pulled back slightly, your eyes puffy and red, your breath still shaky. You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t feel the need to hide.

He wasn’t judging you. He wasn’t expecting you to be strong or put together. He just… saw you. The real you. The vulnerable, broken, messy you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, thick with emotion.

Mark’s gaze softened, his hand still resting gently on your back. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to go through anything alone. You deserve better”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. There was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at you, that made you believe him. Made you feel like, for the first time in a long time, someone saw you for who you really were—and didn’t turn away.

You nodded, your throat tight, and Mark gave you a small, understanding smile, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before he pulled back, giving you space to breathe.

───────────────────────────────

The next few weeks passed in a blur of practices, games, and strained silence. You and Jeno had settled into a routine of avoidance—every fight left more scars, and neither of you seemed to know how to bridge the growing gap. Every interaction felt heavy, filled with unspoken words and bubbling frustration that neither of you could release. Even the once-effortless sexual connection between you had started to lose its spark, leaving behind a dull ache in its place.

But the only constant, ironically, was Mark.

But you tried to hide it because Jeno was beginning to suspect something. You denied all accusations. Maybe you were just acting petty, trying to make a point and prove Jeno that he was wrong even though you knew he was right. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you were scared—scared to open up to Mark, scared to admit that the feelings stirring inside you weren’t as simple as you wanted them to be.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that your stolen glances, the way you lingered a bit longer than you should during practices, was just harmless. But deep down, you knew better. Something was growing between you two, an unspoken pull that had you circling each other in quiet tension.

Today, it all came to a head during practice.

You moved through the stretches with fluid precision, your body bending and arching with every calculated motion. The gym lights flickered overhead, casting a golden hue on your skin as you twisted and turned, giving the cheerleaders around you a preview of the sultry moves you had perfected. Each stretch felt like a deliberate invitation, especially when you bent low, ass pushing out, skirt rising just high enough to leave little to the imagination. The hem of your cheerleading skirt barely brushed the tops of your thighs, teasing the smooth expanse of your skin as you moved.

Your body felt alive, the beat of the music in the background fueling the slow, rhythmic sway of your hips. You could feel the stretch in your thighs, the way the muscles tensed and released as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, the fabric of your skirt rising dangerously high with each movement. Your arms lifted above your head, drawing attention to the curve of your waist, the way the tight cheer top clung to your chest, accentuating every dip and curve.

You knew eyes were on you. You felt it.

But one set of eyes burned hotter than the rest.

Mark’s gaze was a constant, heavy presence, dragging over every inch of your body as you moved. He wasn’t trying to hide it. No, he wasn’t even subtle. Every time you bent low or did a quick flip of your hair, his eyes were right there, drinking in the sight of your ass, the bare stretch of your thighs. His gaze was intense, following the rise and fall of your body as though he was committing every detail to memory.

Your skirt rose a little higher as you shifted into a new move, a slut drop, your thighs tightening as you lowered your body, giving him an even better view. You felt the air against your skin, the way the heat of the gym mingled with the cool brush of fabric as it rode up higher with each deliberate movement. It made you feel powerful. Sexy. You were showing off, and you knew it.

Mark’s reaction was immediate. His jaw tightened as he watched, his fingers gripping the basketball tighter than necessary, veins bulging along his forearm. The way his eyes roamed over you, dark with want, made a shiver run down your spine. He didn’t blink, didn’t even bother pretending to focus on the practice drills.

Instead, he was laser-focused on you.

You caught his gaze as you straightened up, standing tall with a cocky smirk tugging at your lips. His eyes stayed glued to you, a hungry look darkening his features. You felt a thrill rush through you, knowing you had his full attention, knowing he was checking you out in front of everyone. Your body burned under the weight of his stare, heat pooling low in your belly. It was addictive, the way he looked at you like he wanted to devour you right there in the middle of the gym.

You could feel Jeno’s eyes on you too, burning with barely concealed jealousy as he watched the unspoken tension pass between you and Mark. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t care. The power you felt from knowing Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off you only fueled you more. The harder Jeno stared, the deeper you sank into your movements, stretching further, leaning into the seductive rhythm of the routine.

And then it happened—Mark, distracted, let the basketball slip from his grip. The sound of it bouncing toward you pulled you from your trance just in time to see it come flying in your direction. You barely had time to react, the ball missing you by mere inches, the whoosh of air sending your hair flying.

The entire gym fell silent.

All eyes were on you now, the attention turning from curious whispers to outright gawking. The cheerleaders stopped mid-practice, their gazes shifting from you to Mark, wondering what the hell was going on. The basketball team paused, a few muttered chuckles floating through the air as the ball rolled to a stop at your feet.

Mark was still staring, his eyes now filled with something darker, more heated than before. The moment felt charged, the tension between you two palpable, hanging thick in the air. You could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, their confusion, their curiosity. But none of that mattered. All you could think about was the way Mark was looking at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, like he couldn’t get enough.

You huffed, breaking the silence with a sarcastic snort. “Nice arms,” you quipped, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to shake off the tension.

Mark didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear it, his gaze burning into yours with a quiet intensity. “Nice ass,” he murmured, his voice dripping with something dangerous, something that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the air between you two thickening with a different kind of tension. You could feel the flush rising in your cheeks, the way your body responded to the boldness of his statement, to the low rasp of his voice. Your throat tightened, and for a split second, you forgot where you were, forgot that the entire gym was watching, that Jeno’s eyes were on you, burning with fury.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you stood there, locked in Mark’s gaze, the heat between you almost suffocating. It was subtle, so subtle that no one else in the gym could pick up on the charged moment passing between you two. But you felt it. You knew it. And from the way Mark’s eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, you knew he felt it too.

The whispers around you grew louder, and you could feel the cheerleaders and basketball players glancing at each other, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it. But the look on Jeno’s face said it all. His jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed with a mix of anger and suspicion as he watched the two of you, his body tense with barely concealed rage.

You could feel the weight of Jeno’s stare as he marched toward you, his presence heavy and commanding. “Let’s go,” he snapped, grabbing your arm, his grip firm as he pulled you toward him, his frustration barely hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t even glance at Mark, but you could feel the seething anger radiating off him in waves.

Mark’s eyes didn’t waver. He watched as Jeno led you away, his gaze steady, like he was daring you to say something, to do something. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The air between you and Mark was thick with tension, the kind that lingered even as you walked away, Jeno’s grip tightening on your arm as if to remind you of where you were supposed to be.

──────────────────────────────

It’s late, and your apartment smells faintly of the popcorn Karina had insisted on making. Your legs are lazily draped across her lap as she scrolls through her phone. A few of the other girls are scattered around the room—Winter, Ryujin, and Ningning—chatting animatedly, their voices buzzing like static. You’re not particularly invested in the conversation, but you’re here anyway. You couldn’t avoid it. It’s part of the routine.

The girls gossip about the usual—boys, parties, and who’s been hooking up with whom. But tonight, there’s a different energy in the room. They all have questions about what had happened earlier, and you can feel their curious stares burning into you.

“What was that about?” Winter is the first to ask, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You know exactly what she’s referring to, but you don’t really know how to answer. To you, it was nothing. Of course, Mark would make a comment like that. You looked hot today, and he’d noticed. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

Winter presses on, unwilling to let it go. “You can’t tell me it was nothing, especially after seeing how Jeno dragged you out? I wonder what happened after that.”

You glance at her and sigh, deciding to give her the raw, unfiltered truth. “Nothing,” you start, watching their eyes light up in anticipation. “At first, Jeno was mad, pissed even. But then I sucked his cock, and he fucked me against one of the lockers in the guys’ changing rooms.” You pause for effect, wiggling your eyebrows as you finish, “He’s definitely forgiven me.”

The girls burst into giggles, some of them clapping like you’ve just given them a piece of juicy gossip they’d been dying to hear. They choose to ignore the toxicity of it all, the fact that you and Jeno had been using sex as a band-aid for your issues for weeks now. You and Jeno barely talked anymore. Every argument, every moment of tension, was resolved with a quick fuck rather than any real conversation. But you don’t say that part. You leave that truth buried beneath the surface.

“So… Y/N, would it annoy you if I made a move on Mark?” Karina’s voice cuts through the laughter, sharp and filled with a hint of vindication as she looks at you from the corner of her eye.

You can’t help the way your face tightens, annoyance flashing across your expression before you can force it back down. You plaster on a smile, lying through gritted teeth. “No, why would it?”

Karina leans back, raising a perfectly arched brow as if she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Just seems like there’s something going on between you and Mark. He’s been staring at you non-stop lately.”

“Just seems like you and Mark have nothing in common,” you bite back, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested in him now. Is it because he’s gotten more popular?”

Karina doesn’t flinch at your retort. Instead, she gives you a slow, deliberate smile. “Maybe,” she says, her voice cool, like she’s playing a game she knows she’ll win. “Or maybe it’s because I think he’s cute. And honestly? I’d love to take his virginity.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of something uncomfortable rippling through you. You weren’t expecting that. “Take his virginity?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can’t hide the slight edge in your tone.

Karina doesn’t miss it. She leans in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. You know, how fun it’d be to corrupt him. Break him in a little. He’s so… quiet. I bet he’s just waiting for someone to show him how it’s done.” Her voice dips lower, more seductive. “Imagine his hands on you, not knowing what to do at first, but learning… fast.”

The other girls are eating it up, hanging onto every word Karina says. They laugh and nod along, and Winter even adds a low whistle.

“Girls…” Winter chimes in, her tone playful. “I don’t think he’s a virgin. It’s always the quiet ones with the big cocks who know exactly what they’re doing.” She sighs dramatically, leaning back into the couch, adding a moan for effect. “I bet he knows how to use it too.”

You roll your eyes. “No, he’s definitely a virgin. I can tell.”

The room fills with chatter as the girls go back and forth, arguing over whether Mark is as inexperienced as you claim or secretly a sex god in disguise. The conversation takes on a life of its own, filled with explicit fantasies and wild speculation.

“Honestly, there’s a rumor going around that he’s fucking Giselle,” Ryujin adds, her tone more serious, like she’s spilling some kind of secret.

“Giselle?” Ningning scoffs. “Please. She’ll fuck anyone with a cock.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s been so chill lately,” Winter says, laughing. “He’s getting laid!”

The conversation feels like it’s spiraling, the air heavy with innuendo and teasing, and you can’t help but feel a flicker of irritation beneath the surface. You’re trying to laugh along with them, trying to ignore the way your stomach twists at the thought of Mark with someone else.

But the truth is, you don’t really know what to feel. You’ve been keeping your distance from Mark, trying to navigate your mess of a relationship with Jeno, but there’s something undeniable growing between you and Mark. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Karina leans in closer, her voice low. “Come on, Y/N,” she says, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About what it’d be like with him.”

You glance around the room, the girls all watching you expectantly, and for a moment, you feel cornered. The weight of their expectations pressing down on you.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Like I said, he’s probably a virgin. Nothing to think about.”

“Virgin or not,” she says, her lips curling into a smirk, “he’s still hot. And honestly, I think the quiet ones are always the best in bed. All that pent-up energy…” She trails off, her voice laced with suggestion as she winks at Winter, who giggles.

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden heat rising in your chest. The last thing you want is to picture Mark like that—especially not with Karina talking about him like he’s some kind of conquest. But the image creeps in, unbidden, and you quickly push it away.

“Anyways, I heard Jeno’s gonna invite him to his party this weekend,” Karina continues, her voice light and casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I think I’ll make my move then.”

You groan, slapping your hand against your forehead. “Why is he inviting him?” you mutter under your breath. This wouldn’t end well—you could already see it.

Karina shrugs, her smirk widening as she leans back against the couch. “Shouldn’t you know? Aren’t you his girlfriend?” There’s a teasing edge to her voice, and it grates on your nerves, making your blood simmer just beneath the surface.

You clench your jaw, shaking your head as you try to ignore her, but the annoyance is creeping in, settling deep in your bones. You don’t want to think about Jeno, about Mark, about whatever mess you were tangled up in between them. And you definitely don’t want to think about Karina making a move on Mark at Jeno’s party.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, standing up from the couch, “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little plan.” You cross the room and grab your phone from the coffee table, feeling the girls’ eyes on you the entire time.

Winter giggles softly behind you, her voice sing-song as she chimes in, “Come on, Y/N. We’re just messing with you. No need to get all worked up.”

You turn, giving them a forced smile, but the tension in your body refuses to dissipate. “I’m not worked up. Just… tired.”

Karina’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, her smirk still in place. “Sure,” she says slowly, like she knows more than she’s letting on. “Tired. Right.”

You let out a small sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing with her. She thrives on this—the drama, the teasing, the tension. She always has. But right now, all you want is some space to clear your head.

You head toward the door, your phone clutched tightly in your hand. “I’ll catch you guys later,” you call over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

──────────────────────────────

The music thumped through the walls of the house as you stood at the front door, adjusting your mini black skirt that barely covered anything. It was tight, short, and see-through, leaving little to the imagination. The lace thong you wore underneath was clearly visible if someone looked hard enough, and you had no doubt that people would be looking tonight. Paired with heels, your favorite jewelry, and a form-fitting top that highlighted every curve, you were dressed to kill.

Jeno opened the door, his expression softening into a smile as he took you in. His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the skirt, and you felt the heat already building between you two. He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips warm against yours as his hand slid down to rest on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin. The promise of what would happen later was clear in his touch.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured against your lips before pulling away to greet Karina and Winter behind you with a hug and a quick nod.

His eyes were back on you immediately, dark and filled with lust as they traced the lines of your daring outfit. You smiled giddily at him, excited for the night ahead. You already knew how the night would end—tangled in sheets with his body on top of yours, all heat and passion. It was the one thing you both were still good at, even when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The party was already in full swing, the bass vibrating through the floors as the scent of alcohol and smoke filled the air. The lights were low, casting the room in a warm, golden glow, with people sprawled across the couches and dancing in the center of the living room. Laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses created a chaotic but comfortable atmosphere. You could feel the buzz of energy around you as you stepped further into the house, bodies pressed together as the night unfolded. You were already excited for the night, already anticipating the way things would go later with Jeno. The fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know—tonight would be intense.

But then you noticed Mark.

He was across the room, dressed casually in jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but somehow he stood out more than anyone else. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, and your eyes found his before you even realized it. He wasn’t hiding the way he was looking at you either. His gaze trailed over your body, lingering on your legs, your hips, the tight skirt that hugged your every curve. There was something deliberate in the way he looked at you, and it made your heart skip a beat.

You huffed, quickly looking away, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. What were you doing? You were here with Jeno, after all. But when you turned back, you saw Jeno walking toward Mark, and your heart sank. You were ready for things to blow up, expecting another confrontation, but to your surprise, Jeno greeted him with a nod and an indifferent expression. At least they weren’t killing each other.

Just as you were about to relax, you saw that Mark wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him—someone you didn’t recognize. She was quiet, her eyes wide as she glanced nervously around the room, like she wasn’t used to this kind of environment. There was something shy about her, something that made you uneasy for reasons you couldn’t explain.

Jeno greeted her too, his smile a bit too bright as he introduced himself. “I’m Jeno, nice to meet you.”

The girl smiled shyly and introduced herself, but there was something else—a quick, knowing look exchanged between her and Jeno. It was subtle, but you caught it, and it sent a strange jolt of unease through you. What was that about?

Shaking your head, you turned toward the kitchen, needing a drink to calm your nerves. You grabbed a bottle of vodka, pouring yourself a shot and knocking it back quickly. Then another. You didn’t stop until the burn settled into your veins, dulling the edge of whatever was eating away at you.

Just as you set the bottle down, you felt the air shift—the unmistakable presence of Mark sliding in beside you, close enough that the warmth of his body brushed against yours. His voice cut through the noise, low and teasing, carrying that familiar edge that always seemed to pull your attention.

“Taking it a bit far tonight, aren’t we?” You turned your head slightly, catching the smirk playing at the corner of his lips. His eyes, dark and sharp, flickered between the empty shot glasses and then back to your face.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a familiar mix of irritation and something else—something that made your heart beat a little faster. “What do you care?” you shot back, but there was no bite in your voice. The warmth from the alcohol was already settling into your veins, and maybe that was why you felt more relaxed around him. Or maybe it was just him.

Mark leaned in closer, his arm brushing against yours as he rested his hand on the counter beside you. His scent—clean, warm, with a hint of something that made you want to lean in—filled the small space between you. “Just looking out for you,” he said, his voice casual, but the glint in his eyes told you there was more to it, lingering for a beat longer than necessary before returning to your eyes. It was subtle, but enough to send a small shiver down your spine. You swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as you glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Looking out for me?” you echoed, your voice carrying a hint of sarcasm, masking the way his presence was making you feel things you weren’t ready to admit. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Why don’t you look out for your date?” you shot back, your voice betraying more jealousy than you intended.

Mark chuckled, the sound low and smooth, his attention fully on you. “She’s not my date,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed hard, caught off guard by how disarming he could be. “Who is she, anyway?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though the question lodged itself in your throat.

Mark glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the girl he’d walked in with. “My best friend.”

You blinked, surprised by how easily he said it. You had assumed… well, something else entirely. “Oh,” you murmured, unsure how to respond.

Mark grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. “What? Did you think I’d bring a date to a party knowing you’d be here?”

You felt the heat creeping up your neck, but you quickly masked it with a small smile. “I didn’t think about it that much.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Mark said, his voice dipping lower as his gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, sending a shiver through you.

The air between you felt charged, every unspoken word and lingering glance thick with an intensity neither of you was willing to name. The tension simmered quietly beneath the surface, weaving itself into the playful banter, the stolen glances. You both danced around it, staying in this delicate balance, where each smile, each teasing remark was a way to keep things light—yet everything about the moment felt intimate, personal. Neither of you dared to break the fragile line between what was said and what was truly felt.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a hand on your waist—Jeno.

You gasped softly, your mouth widening in surprise as you realized he had been watching you and Mark the whole time. His eyes were calm, surprisingly calm, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. You smiled brightly at Jeno, hoping to diffuse whatever tension was building. “Hey, baby. Do you want to dance?” you asked, your voice laced with forced cheer.

He shook his head, his expression soft yet serious. “Y/N, can we talk?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how gentle he was being. Jeno wasn’t usually like this—calm, collected. This was new. Maybe this was it, the turning point you’d been waiting for.

“Yeah, sure,” you said, following him as he led you upstairs to his room. Your heart pounded in your chest as Mark watched you go, his gaze heavy, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

Once inside Jeno’s room, you wasted no time, slipping your top over your head, your mind already racing toward what usually came next. You turned to him, expecting to see him ready to go, but instead, he sat at the edge of the bed, head lowered, fingers gripping his knees. His expression wasn’t what you were used to—stormy, tense. He wasn’t undressing. He wasn’t even looking at you.

Confused, you moved closer, kneeling in front of him. Your hands reached for his belt instinctively, trying to pull him out of his mood the way you always did. “Jeno, come on,” you murmured softly. “Let me suck you off. I’ll make you forget whatever’s on your mind.”

But instead of the usual eager response, his hand gently covered yours, stopping you. He shook his head, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Y/N, not tonight.”

You paused, your hands frozen mid-movement. “Jeno?”

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Sit down, Y/N.” His voice was soft, but firm as he gently pushed your hands away, motioning for you to sit beside him. “We need to talk.”

Jeno ran his hand through his hair again, the tension in his posture evident. His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of his words settling between you both. “We need to stop, Y/N. Stop pretending we’re a compatible couple.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, though deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

Jeno sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “You know it’s not working anymore. You feel it just as much as I do.” His eyes met yours, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the depth of his sadness. “We’ve been together for so long, but it’s not enough. It hasn’t been for a while.”

Tears immediately welled in your eyes as you shook your head, refusing to accept it. “But we’ve been together forever. We’re supposed to be together, Jeno. What do you mean it’s not enough?”

Jeno’s expression was full of regret, but his resolve didn’t waver. “I know it feels that way, but think about it. How many days have we really been happy lately? It’s just fights, making up through sex, and pretending everything’s fine. But it’s not. We both know that.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. You didn’t want to admit he was right. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t. I don’t know how to… I don’t know how to be without you.”

Jeno leaned forward, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said softly. “You still have me, okay? I still love you, and I always will. But we both deserve more than this. We deserve to be with someone who makes us happy, not just someone we’ve been with because it’s comfortable.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening. You hated how much his words resonated with you. You hated that he was right. But what scared you more was facing the truth, admitting that your relationship with Jeno was broken, that it had been for a while.

“I can’t do this,” you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. “I’d rather just… I’d rather keep pretending. I can’t face the truth, Jeno. I don’t know how.”

His eyes softened even more, filled with understanding. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. You don’t have to lie to yourself, Y/N. It’s okay to admit that things are messed up. It’s okay to be scared.”

But that was the problem. You weren’t good at facing the truth, at being vulnerable. Emotional intimacy terrified you, and you’d spent so long hiding behind the idea that everything was fine, that you could just patch things up with sex and avoid the hard conversations. Being honest, being real—that was something you’d never been good at. You’d rather live in the illusion than face the mess underneath.

Jeno seemed to sense your hesitation, your fear. He gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the sobs finally wracked your body. “I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m not leaving you. You’ll always have me, but this… this relationship, it’s not good for either of us. And it hasn’t been for a long time.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat. The thought of not being with him terrified you more than you could admit. “I don’t want to be alone,” you whispered, the words broken between sobs. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“You’re not alone,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll always be here for you. But we can’t keep doing this, pretending we’re happy when we’re not. It’s not fair to either of us.”

His words were like a dagger to your heart, twisting painfully because deep down, you knew he was right. But the truth was too heavy, too overwhelming. You’d spent so long avoiding it, pretending that everything was okay, that hearing it now felt like your world was crumbling.

“I still love you,” Jeno said, his voice steady despite the emotion in it. “I love you, but we need to stop hurting each other like this.”

You pulled back slightly, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. The sincerity in his gaze made it hurt even more. “But what do I do without you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know who I am without you, Jeno.”

He reached up, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. “You’ll figure it out. And I’ll still be here, even if we’re not together like we used to be. You’re stronger than you think.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as you leaned back into him, unable to fully let go. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to admit that everything was falling apart. But Jeno was right—you were holding on to something that had died a long time ago, and the thought of letting go felt like losing a part of yourself.

For a long time, he just held you as you cried, his arms the only comfort you had left. But eventually, even that had to end. Jeno stood up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back.

“I’m gonna go,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Take some time for yourself. You’ll be okay, Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight with the weight of everything. You just nodded, tears still falling as you watched him leave the room, his presence fading with each step. And as the door closed behind him, you felt the crushing weight of reality settle in, the silence echoing in your chest where your heart had been breaking all along.

You were alone. And for the first time, you couldn’t hide from the truth anymore.

Later that night, Mark finds you huddled on the ground, your knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, trying to hold it all in, but you’re failing. Your body shakes with sobs that you can’t control, and when you hear footsteps approaching, you tense up.

“Mark, now is not the time, please go away.” Your voice cracks as you cry out, lips trembling. You cover your face with your hands, not wanting him to see you like this, broken and vulnerable.

But Mark doesn’t leave. He doesn’t even hesitate. He gets closer, kneeling down beside you. The quiet rustle of fabric is the only sound, and you shiver as he drapes his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm, and it smells like him—fresh and clean, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.

“Jeno told me to come,” he explains softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look up, confusion flooding your tear-streaked face. “What?” The question falls out, barely coherent, as you swipe at your face, painfully aware of how horrible you must look—mascara smudged, makeup streaked, and eyes puffy.

Mark doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he moves even closer, and before you know it, he’s pulling you into him, gently guiding you onto his lap. You don’t resist. His arms wrap around you, and you straddle him, your body sinking into his warmth as if it’s the only safe place you can find.

The sobs come harder now, uncontrollable, and you bury your face in his shoulder, clutching onto him like a lifeline. He holds you tight, one hand smoothing down your back, the other resting against your hair, cradling you like something fragile. His soft whispers, the way he gently hushes you, the quiet “it’s okay, I’m here,” all create this bubble around the two of you, making the world fade away for a moment.

Mark’s presence doesn’t fix anything, but it makes you feel less alone. There’s no judgment in his touch, no expectation. He lets you cry, lets you fall apart in his arms, and that’s what breaks you even more. You’ve been holding it in for so long, pretending everything was fine, pretending you were fine.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like this, pressed close to him, when he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “What happened?”

You suck in a breath, pulling back just slightly, though your forehead still rests against his. Your voice is small, fragile. “He broke up with me.”

Mark’s expression softens, his lips parting as he lets out a quiet “Oh.” There’s no surprise in his voice, only understanding, only compassion. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words. Instead, his hand finds its way into your hair, gently smoothing it down, his touch so careful, as if he’s afraid to hurt you more than you already are.

He doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t push you to talk more. He just holds you, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath you, offering you a calm in the midst of your storm. His fingers stroke through your hair, and his other arm is firm around your waist, keeping you anchored to him as you cry quietly into his neck.

And somehow, in the quiet of his embrace, with his soft breaths brushing against your skin, the weight of everything doesn’t feel quite as suffocating. The pain is still there, sharp and unrelenting, but Mark’s presence makes it bearable. He makes you feel seen, heard, like it’s okay to not have it all together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself feel. You let yourself break. And Mark is there to catch every piece of you, holding you together when you can’t do it yourself.

The silence between you feels intimate, not awkward. It’s comforting, the kind of silence that says more than words ever could. His arms stay wrapped around you, and for now, that’s all you need. You just let him hold you.

“Mark,” you whisper, your voice shaky, barely audible as you shift closer to him. Your thighs press against his, caging him in. You bite your bottom lip, feeling the tension crackle between you, and notice his subtle groan as his hips press up slightly.

“Yeah?” he responds casually, though his voice is rougher, his restraint evident.

“You’re hard,” you mumble, your tone matching his, casual, as though stating a simple fact. The firmness presses against you, unyielding, hot even through the layers of fabric between you. The heat of him radiates into your skin, the outline unmistakable as it pushes against your thigh. Your words hang in the air, blending with the warmth that rises between you, making the closeness more intimate than it should be, despite the simplicity of the moment. The feeling is undeniable, solid and real, as though the space between you is shrinking with every breath.

Mark shifts slightly under you, groaning low in his throat. He doesn’t try to deny it. “Yeah, I am,” he says, his voice deeper now, gravelly. He lets out a slow breath before adding, “It’s because you’re—”

But before he can finish, you crash your lips against his, silencing him with a kiss so intense it feels like you’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. Already straddling his lap, you press yourself closer, your thighs locking around him tighter, your body molding against his. Your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him into you as if you’re afraid to let go.

Mark responds instantly, his mouth moving against yours with a passion that catches you off guard. His hands slide down to your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you even closer. The kiss is messy, intense—tongues tangling, soft moans escaping between your lips as the heat between you grows unbearable.

Your hips move of their own accord, grinding down on him, and you feel the hardness pressing against your core, making your breath hitch. His hands roam up your thighs, sliding under your skirt, pushing the flimsy fabric up higher until it’s barely covering you. He grabs your ass, squeezing hard as you rock your hips, the friction between you igniting every nerve in your body.

You moan softly into his mouth, the heat between you both growing unbearable. When Mark’s hand moves down to smack your ass, the sound is sharp and commanding, making your body jolt in response. “Mark,” you gasp, the name slipping out in a breathless moan. His name was a broken plea on your lips as his hands continue to roam, guiding your movements as you grind harder against him, feeling the friction build between your bodies.

His hands are everywhere—palming your ass, guiding your movements, pressing you harder against him as you grind down. The heat, the friction, the way he kisses you with an intensity and desperation—it all sends your mind spinning. You feel his desire in every touch, every grip on your skin, and you want more.

You arch your back, pressing your chest against his, the kiss growing even more desperate, your tongues tangling, breaths mingling as soft moans escape between your lips. His hands pull you closer, as if he can’t get enough of you, the tension building with every second, every movement.

Mark stands, lifting you effortlessly, his strong hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, every hard muscle pressing against you. Before you even register what’s happening, he tosses you onto the bed, Jeno’s bed—and the realization of where you are only adds to the illicit thrill running through you.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles beneath. His chest is broad, his arms flexing with every movement, each line of his body carved like stone. Your gaze traces over the defined ridges of his abs, the muscles contracting with every deep breath he takes, and your heart races, pulse pounding in your ears.

Then your eyes drop lower, and you can’t help but stare at the bulge straining against his jeans. The thick, undeniable outline is impossible to ignore, and the sight makes your breath hitch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your anticipation skyrockets. The raw need between your legs intensifies, and you press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you imagine what’s coming next.

Mark moves closer, his hands reaching down to undo his belt, the metal clinking as he loosens it. But just as his fingers graze the zipper, you catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. It’s subtle, just a brief hesitation, but it’s enough to shift the atmosphere. The dangerous, primal intensity in his gaze softens, and for a moment, he looks at you—not with the hunger you’ve seen, but with something deeper, more conflicted.

You don’t say anything, but you feel the weight of the moment hanging between you. His hand pauses at his waistband, and he swallows hard, his jaw clenching. The air thickens with the tension of everything unspoken, and for the first time, you both hesitate, the thrill of the moment colliding with the reality of where you are—of who you are.

Mark leans over you, his hand brushing against your cheek, the gentleness of his touch a stark contrast to the heat that had been building just moments before. His thumb runs over your lower lip, lingering there as if he’s warring with himself, battling between desire and restraint.

“We can’t,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost regretful.

You blink, still lost in the heat of the moment, your body screaming for more even as his words register in your mind. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice breathless. You reach for him again, your fingers already working on the button of his jeans. “Come on, Mark… we don’t need to stop. I’m on the pill so you can cum inside of me, I don’t mind.”

His groan is deep, almost pained, as he steps back. One hand drags down his face, his frustration clear as he shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he mutters, his gaze conflicted. “You just broke up with Jeno—he’s my brother. And we’re in his room. You really want this to happen here? You want me to fuck you on his bed?”

Your response is immediate, unwavering. “Yes.”

He stares at you, huffing out a breath of disbelief. “Y/N…” he starts, voice softer now, laced with something between guilt and restraint. “No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. Not like this.”

For a moment, everything pauses. The weight of his words crashes over you, bringing with it a wave of reality you’ve been avoiding. The intensity of what almost happened—the way you nearly crossed a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be undone. Embarrassment starts to creep in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone.

You sit up, hurriedly pulling your clothes back on, avoiding his eyes as the thrill of the moment fades, replaced by a deep ache you didn’t expect. The tension between you feels different now—charged, yes, but laced with something more painful. Something you can’t quite name.

Mark doesn’t say anything as he watches you, his chest still rising and falling heavily, the conflict clear in his eyes. You know he wants you, you felt it, but there’s a line he won’t cross. Not like this. And you hate that it makes sense. You hate that he’s right.

As you stand, buttoning your skirt, you bite your lip, fighting the urge to cry. You weren’t ready for all of this to stop so abruptly. You didn’t want to face the truth of the situation or the complicated mess your feelings had become. And more than anything, you didn’t want to be alone tonight.

“Do you want to come to mine?” you ask, the words shaky, but you force them out. There’s a part of you that fears he’ll refuse, that this will be the moment everything falls apart completely. But you can’t help but hope he’ll still want you, even if not here. Not like this.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. His expression is unreadable, his eyes searching yours for something you’re not sure you can give. The silence stretches, your heart pounding in your chest, the fear of rejection threatening to overwhelm you.

Then, finally, he nods, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand reaches out, offering to help you up, and for the first time since this whole mess started, there’s a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice soft, yet sure. “Let’s go.”

Relief washes over you as you take his hand, the touch of his fingers grounding you, soothing the frayed edges of your emotions. As he helps you stand, the tension between you shifts again—not gone, but different. The heat is still there, simmering under the surface, but it’s mixed with something softer now, something that feels more real.

──────────────────────────────

Back at your apartment, the quiet felt almost surreal after the chaos of the night. The familiar warmth of your space wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, a stark contrast to the lingering tension still buzzing between you and Mark. You felt the shift in the air the moment you stepped through the door—the atmosphere was softer, quieter, more intimate, and the reality that it was just the two of you sank in.

Mark followed you inside, his eyes taking in your surroundings with quiet interest. The apartment was all yours for the night, a small comfort in itself, and you were already beginning to sober up. Mark, as if reading your mind, immediately took care of you, handing you a bottle of water. “You need this,” he said softly, his tone gentle, but there was an undercurrent of care in his voice that made your chest tighten.

You took small sips, the cool water refreshing as it slid down your throat, grounding you back to the present. Meanwhile, Mark wandered around your room, and you couldn’t help but watch him, feeling something shift between the two of you.

Your space was a reflection of you—a safe haven filled with little pieces of your world. The fairy lights you’d strung up glowed softly, casting a warm, golden hue over everything. The air smelled faintly of lavender, the scent of your candles lingering in the air. Your walls were lined with your art, pieces of yourself you rarely shared with anyone else. There were posters of abstract designs, dreamy landscapes, and sketches that felt like fragments of your soul on display.

Unique and delicate things decorated your shelves—a crystal lamp you had found at a flea market, a few small plants in pots you had painted yourself, and a collection of books you loved but hadn’t read in ages. The room felt like a mix of creativity and chaos, an organized mess that somehow made sense only to you.

Mark’s eyes moved from one corner to the next, a small smile tugging at his lips as he took everything in. He seemed fascinated by the art on your walls, lingering over certain pieces as if trying to figure out the stories behind them. You could see the admiration in his gaze, the way he appreciated your space without needing to say much.

“You really made this place your own,” he commented softly, running a hand over one of the posters, careful not to disturb it. “It’s beautiful..”

A warm flush crept up your neck at his words. You weren’t used to someone appreciating your space like this, not in such a genuine, heartfelt way. Mark wasn’t just complimenting the decor—he was complimenting you, the person who had created this world.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling shy all of a sudden. “It’s nothing special.”

Mark shook his head, still gazing around. “It’s special because it’s yours.” His voice was soft, sincere, and it made your heart do a strange, fluttery thing in your chest.

“Can you help me get my necklace off?” You ask, smiling as he’s already making his way over to you.

Mark’s fingers worked gently at the clasp of your necklace, his touch soft and deliberate. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as he carefully unhooked the delicate chain from around your neck. The warmth of his fingers brushing against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold—it was the softness of the moment.

He moved slowly, taking the necklace and walking over to your jewellery stand. You watched as he placed it neatly on one of the hooks, his movements calm and precise, as if he had done this a hundred times before. There was something almost tender in the way he handled your things, treating them with care, as if they were an extension of you.

Mark turned back to you, his eyes soft as he reached for your earrings next. His fingers grazed your earlobe, and you held your breath, feeling the closeness between you both. The quiet of the room wrapped around the two of you, making the moment feel even more intimate. One by one, he removed each earring, placing them in their designated spot, never once rushing or making you feel hurried.

The silence was filled with unspoken words, a shared understanding that neither of you dared to voice. When he was done, he looked back at you with a small, almost shy smile. “There,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You needed to clear your head, to shake off the growing feelings you had for him, so you excused yourself to take a shower. As you stood under the warm spray, washing away the remnants of the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mark had looked at you. The way his presence had shifted from something casual and playful to something deeper, more intimate. The thought scared you, but it also made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

When you finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a soft bathrobe, you found Mark sitting on your bed, strumming a gentle tune on a guitar. You paused, tilting your head in confusion. Where did he get that from? You didn’t remember him carrying a guitar around at the party or on the way home. Had you really been that out of it?

“Where did you get a guitar from?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you watched him hum and play a melody, his fingers dancing over the strings with ease.

He looked up at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I always carry it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if you brought a guitar with you to the party.”

Mark chuckled, his laughter soft and infectious. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the room to sit beside him on the bed. “So, you play basketball and the guitar?” you teased, feeling more relaxed now, the tension easing into something more playful.

He nodded, plucking a few more notes before setting the guitar down. “My major is music.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, Troy Bolton.”

He chuckled along with you, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “It’s way past midnight,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more serious. “You should get some sleep. Don’t you have lectures tomorrow?”

You shrugged, already feeling the weight of the day catching up to you. “I’m not going.”

Mark gave you a pointed look. “Don’t say that. Yes, you are.”

You sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Instead, you moved to the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers and sinking into the soft sheets. The warmth of the bed, combined with the softness of the moment, made your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

As you began to drift off, you noticed Mark standing up, throwing a blanket onto the chair in the corner. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “You don’t need to sleep there,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost shy. “Come here. There’s so much space in my bed.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s literally a single bed.”

You rolled your eyes, patting the space beside you. “I just want someone to hold me so I can sleep.”

For a moment, Mark hesitated, his eyes searching yours. But then he sighed, his expression softening as he crossed the room and slipped under the covers beside you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close in a way that made your heart race, but also made you feel safe.

Mark held you tightly, his arms pulling you closer, enveloping you in his warmth. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the soothing rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in so long. His breath was warm against your forehead, gentle, almost protective, as he leaned in and whispered, “Sleep well, Y/N.”

The sound of his voice, low and intimate, sent a soft shiver down your spine. His words weren’t just a wish; they felt like a promise, like he was going to hold you through the night and keep you safe.

His hand, large and warm, rested softly on your waist, fingers brushing against the bare skin under your shirt with the lightest of touches. It was a subtle, almost unconscious gesture, but the intimacy of it sent your heart fluttering. He didn’t pull away; he stayed close, his body pressed gently against yours, grounding you in the moment. Every small shift of his body, every breath he took, seemed to ease the tension that had been weighing on you for so long.

You let your hand rest on top of his, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His fingers instinctively intertwined with yours, the touch delicate yet reassuring. It was more than just physical contact—it was the silent understanding that you weren’t alone anymore, that he was here, holding you through it all.

His lips brushed lightly against your forehead, a featherlight kiss that made your heart swell. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in his tone wrapped around you like a blanket.

With a soft sigh, you let yourself relax completely, your body melting into his. You could feel the last remnants of stress slipping away, replaced by the steady, calming presence of Mark beside you. His embrace was warm, solid, and it made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in what felt like forever.

As your eyes fluttered closed, you let yourself fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, your mind finally quiet, the weight of the world finally slipping away, knowing he would be there when you woke.

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authors note — surprise!! i’ve been teasing this one for a while and just wanted to drop it without any prior warning :) this is gonna be a long ride and have many more parts so comment if you want to be on the tag list :) send an ask through telling me what you thought or interact !! thank you

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