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shy9-29 · 8 days ago

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My Voice Stops Where You Begin | 박성훈

“she fell first, he fell harder.” - enhypen campus series

୨ৎ You fell first—loud, chaotic, hopelessly into Park Sunghoon. He barely spoke, barely looked your way… until he did. And when he fell, he didn’t just fall—he crashed. ✉️ wc. 19.7k - quiet 박성훈 x talkative yn | PT2

🏷️ @fancypeacepersona @k1ttyjwon @m1kkso @enjakey @motherscrustytoenailclippings @dearestdreamies @wonuziex @jendeuke-bae @haerni @koizekomi @mariegibeau @sheseung @httpenhoon @sievenderz @rikifever @skzenhalove @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @bloomiize

It was the first day of university, and you were already running late. The strap of your bag was digging into your shoulder, your coffee was lukewarm, and you were half-jogging across campus trying to figure out where “Hall B, Room 204” was. You burst into the lecture hall just as the professor was introducing himself, cheeks flushed, hair slightly out of place. A few heads turned. Some people smiled politely. One guy sitting in the back corner didn’t even glance up.

You didn’t notice him at first.

You were too busy trying to find an empty seat, preferably one not directly in the line of fire for first-day introductions. You settled in the middle row, somewhere between too eager and too aloof. You pulled out your notebook, took a sip of your now-offensively warm coffee, and let out a breath. That’s when your eyes wandered—just casually, no intention behind it. And that’s when you saw him.

Back row. Headphones in. Face like stone. Tall, pale, a little slouched like he was already tired of being here. He wasn’t paying attention to anything or anyone. Just staring ahead like the world around him didn’t concern him in the slightest. And somehow… that made you look again. There was something about him that didn’t match the rest of the room. Like he belonged somewhere else entirely. You didn’t even know his name yet, but for some reason, your stomach flipped.

Over the next few weeks, you saw him everywhere.

And you were everywhere too—because that’s who you were. Loud. Friendly. Constantly surrounded by people. You liked talking, liked filling up space, liked being known. But every time you were in the same room as him, something shifted. Your words dried up. Your laugh softened. You’d glance over at him and forget what you were even saying. It didn’t make sense. You had no reason to feel nervous—he wasn’t even looking at you. But still, you felt it. That slow, creeping kind of curiosity. That quiet pull.

Sunghoon was tired. Everywhere he went, there was a shadow. And not his—an annoying 5’3 one that followed him everywhere. You were always in his line of sight. Talking to someone, laughing too loud, waving your hands when you got excited about something. You were like color in an otherwise grayscale world. Yet she never spoke to him, not a single word. Just observed him from a distance. He noticed. He just didn’t show it.

You didn’t know it then, but that was when it started—when you first fell. You didn’t fall hard, not all at once. It was quiet. Subtle. The way your heart picked up a little when you spotted him in the dining hall. The way you slowed down just slightly when you passed him outside the library. The way you memorized his schedule without meaning to. You didn’t know him. But you wanted to.

And that want? It grew.

You started timing your days around him—not on purpose, at first. It was just that your 10 a.m. lecture happened to be one he was in, and you figured out pretty quickly that he always got there five minutes early, headphones in, hood up if it was cold. He always sat in the same seat: back row, second from the window. You always sat three rows down, a little to the left, just enough to keep him in your peripheral vision. You told yourself it wasn’t weird. People watched people. That’s what people did.

But you didn’t watch everyone.

You watched him.

Sometimes you’d catch little things. The way he tapped his pen when he was thinking, or the way his fingers curled around his water bottle like he was grounding himself. You noticed how he always had one earbud out during lectures, like he didn’t fully trust the silence. You wondered what he was listening to. You wondered what his voice sounded like when he wasn’t mumbling out answers or mumbling “here” during attendance.

You had about a dozen opportunities to talk to him. You were you, after all—there was always someone asking you something, pulling you into something. You weren’t shy. You never had been. But when it came to him, you just… couldn’t. You’d freeze. Smile too quickly. Look away. And he never made it easier—never looked at you long enough to give you a window, never gave you a reason to think he even knew you were there.

But he did.

Sunghoon knew.

He wasn’t stupid. You were loud. Impossible to miss. Like a radio that never turned off. Like summer in the middle of a dull winter. He noticed how you always seemed to sit near him, always looked like you were about to say something but never did. He told himself it was just coincidence. Just one of those things. But then it kept happening. Over and over. The same girl. The same smile. The same presence that made the air feel different.

And yeah—he was tired. All the time. Not from school, not from work. Just… life. People. Noise. But then there was you. This exhausting, glowing thing that wouldn’t leave him alone. You weren’t trying to, but you were there. In his classes. In his thoughts. In the parts of the day where he didn’t expect to feel anything.

And eventually, something cracked.

But not yet. Not then. Because you had already fallen. Quietly, completely, helplessly. And he hadn’t even started.

You flopped onto your bed with all the dramatic flair of someone who had just survived a war, limbs sprawled out, backpack tossed somewhere near your desk.

“Hes sooo fine,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled but full of conviction. “Like, actually unfair. How is someone allowed to look like that and not speak to a single soul?” From the other side of the room, Stella barely looked up from her laptop. “You mean Park Sunghoon?” she asked, already sounding unimpressed. “I don’t get it. It’s like being attracted to a white wall.”

You lifted your head, offended. “First of all, he’s not a white wall. He’s more like… a minimalist painting. You know, subtle. Mysterious. Expensive.” Stella snorted. “Girl, he blinked at you once and you’ve been writing fanfiction in your brain ever since.” You threw a pillow at her. “You don’t get it. There’s just something about him.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, catching the pillow and tossing it back. “Something emotionally unavailable.” You didn’t argue, mostly because she was right. But also because you’d already started thinking about what Sunghoon’s voice might sound like if he ever actually spoke to you. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers to your Sunghoon obsession. “Do you think he even knows I exist?”

Stella let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You sit three rows in front of him. You laugh like a Disney side character. You’ve accidentally tripped twice walking past his seat. If he doesn’t know by now, he’s either legally blind or willfully ignoring you.” You groaned again, dragging a pillow over your face. “Kill me.”

“He’s cute, sure,” she continued, typing something on her laptop, “but he literally said ‘no thanks’ when a girl asked him if he wanted to join their study group. No thanks. Like he was declining an email subscription.” You laughed, muffled by the pillow. “He probably has a really soft voice. Like… barely audible. A whisper. Velvet.”

Stella gave you a look. “You need help.”

“I need him.”

She shut her laptop. “No, babe. You need to talk to him. Say something. Anything. Even just ‘hi.’ Break the curse.” You peeked out from under the pillow, heart already doing gymnastics at the thought. “But what if he looks at me?”

“That’s the whole point.”

You stared at her, horrified. “Absolutely not. I’d combust on the spot.”

“Then enjoy your silent crush from the shadows, weirdo.” You flopped again, dramatically. “Fine. But if I die from unspoken romantic tension, it’s on you.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Put it in your will, Romeo.”

The next morning, you woke up with a mission: to maybe say something to Sunghoon today. Nothing crazy. Not a full sentence or anything. Just a word. A syllable, even. A polite “hey” if the stars aligned and your voice didn’t betray you.

You spent an extra five minutes picking your outfit—something casual but not too casual. Like, “I didn’t try, but also I absolutely did.” Stella noticed, obviously. “You’re wearing the ‘Hot but I’m Not Trying’ outfit,” she said through a mouthful of cereal. “Is today The Day?” You shrugged, grabbing your bag and pretending you weren’t already sweating. “It might be.” Stella clapped slowly. “Godspeed, soldier.

By the time you got to class, your nerves were starting to spiral. Sunghoon was already there, sitting in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, fingers tapping against the desk to whatever he was listening to. He looked unfairly good in a black hoodie and gray sweats, like someone had just pulled him out of a moody K-drama. His side profile was so sharp it should’ve been illegal.

You walked past him, fully prepared to say something, anything—He looked up. Briefly. Just for a second. Eye contact.

And then—back down. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just send your soul into orbit with a single glance.

You speed-walked to your seat and nearly collapsed into it, heart pounding like you’d just run a marathon. You turned around just enough to glance back at him. Still headphones in. Still unbothered. Still so fine.

You opened your phone under the desk and texted Stella:

Me: I made eye contact. I think I’m pregnant.

She responded instantly.

Stella: omg congrats on the baby!!! do u know if it’s a ghost or a shadow????

You had to bite your lip to stop from laughing out loud. You looked up one more time. Sunghoon hadn’t moved. Still in his own world. Still completely unreadable. But you swore—swore—the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost like a smile. Almost.

You spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes while your brain went into overdrive analyzing that one almost-smile like it was a sacred artifact. Had it really happened? Or were you just so far gone that you were starting to hallucinate expressions on his face that weren’t actually there? You tried to sneak another glance at him halfway through class, just to confirm—but he was fully zoned out again, one hand lazily spinning his pen, the other resting against his jaw, headphones still in. Unbothered. Untouchable. Beautiful in the way that made your brain short-circuit if you stared too long.

When the professor dismissed everyone, you packed up slower than usual, hoping—praying—that the universe would throw you a bone. Maybe he’d glance your way again. Maybe you’d make accidental eye contact and he’d hold it this time. Maybe he’d say something. Or you would. But, as always, Sunghoon stood up, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and walked straight past you like he hadn’t just been living rent-free in your brain for the last three months. You sighed so loudly, the girl next to you looked concerned.

The time you got back to your dorm, you threw the door open with unnecessary force. Stella looked up from her desk. “Well?” You dropped your bag and collapsed onto the floor like the tragic lead in a college rom-com. “He looked at me again.”

She blinked. “…And?”

“And I felt it in my knees, Stella.” She closed her laptop, looking both amused and vaguely concerned. “You’ve got it bad.”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “I think I’m in love with someone I’ve never spoken to. Do you think they make support groups for this kind of thing?”

“I think it’s called delusion, girl.” You dramatically flung an arm over your forehead. “Well, I’m the president then.” She tossed a granola bar at you. “Eat something and touch grass.”

You caught it without looking, sighing. “I swear he almost smiled.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think that counts as a conversation.”

She snorted. “Yeah, and I think you need help.” You took a bite of the granola bar and chewed in silence, thinking about the half-second twitch of his lips.

It was barely anything. Almost nothing. But to you? It was everything.

Later that night, you were curled up in bed, halfway through rewatching a comfort show you’d seen a hundred times, when the ping of a new email lit up your phone screen. You glanced at it lazily, expecting another boring newsletter or some campus event you weren’t going to attend.

But then your eyes locked on the subject line:

Group Project – PSY214: Social Behavior & Perception

Your heart stuttered. That was the class. The class with Sunghoon.

You sat up so fast your blanket fell off your shoulders. Opening the email, you scanned the body of the message like your life depended on it. The professor had assigned a project to be completed in pairs—not groups, pairs—and said you could choose your own partner, but you had to submit the name by the end of the week.

The universe had officially spoken.

You practically flew off your bed and ran out into the common area where Stella was on the couch, face half-buried in a bowl of popcorn, watching some true crime documentary with the volume way too high.

“STELLA.” You skidded to a stop in front of her, completely out of breath. She jumped, a kernel of popcorn flying out of her bowl. “Jesus—what?” You gripped the back of the couch like your soul might detach from your body. “Group project. Pairs. In psych. With Sunghoon. This is it. This is the sign. I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask him.” She blinked at you. “Wait, you’re gonna speak to him?”

You nodded, eyes wide with some mix of fear and determination. “I have to. I’ve been given a golden opportunity by the universe. A gift. An invitation to break my curse of romantic cowardice. This is my moment. This is my origin story.”

Stella stared at you for a second. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“I know. But you know what else I am? A people person. I’ve never had trouble talking to anyone. It’s literally my specialty. I can charm strangers in line at Starbucks. I can talk my way out of a parking ticket. I can talk to Sunghoon.” She raised a brow. “Okay, but can you do that without short-circuiting and running away like a squirrel?”

You narrowed your eyes. “…I’m working on it.”

Stella smirked and popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Well, you better work fast. Because every other psych major with eyeballs is probably already plotting the same thing.” You dramatically flopped onto the couch beside her, clutching a throw pillow. “Ughhh. Why is he so fine and so quiet? It’s a dangerous combination.”

“Oh, speaking of dangerous,” Stella added casually, eyes still on the screen, “Did you hear Heeseung and his girlfriend got into a huge argument? Like it was full on hands on.” You blinked, thrown completely off track. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

“Yep. My lab partner saw them holding hands outside the music building. She said it looked… not casual.” You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Okay, one emotionally unavailable man at a time, please.” Stella laughed. “You’re doomed.” You peeked over the pillow and mumbled, “Maybe. But at least I’ll go down trying.” She tossed a piece of popcorn at your forehead. “Godspeed, loser.”

And with that, your fate was sealed. Tomorrow, you were going to ask Park Sunghoon to be your partner. Or die trying.

The next morning, your alarm went off at an ungodly hour, and for once, you didn’t hit snooze. You shot out of bed like you had somewhere important to be. Like this was a mission. Because it was.

You had exactly one hour to mentally prepare yourself for what you were about to do: walk up to Park Sunghoon—aka human silence, aka your academic soulmate and secret crush—and ask him to be your partner. Easy. Simple. Nothing to be afraid of. You’ve talked to professors. You’ve hosted campus events. You’ve literally done improv in front of strangers. But now? Your hands were shaking because you might have to say five words to a man who barely speaks.

You stood in front of your mirror, practicing.

“Hey, wanna be partners?”

“No, that’s too blunt.”

“Hi! So I was wondering if—ew, no, too formal.”

“Yo.”

…Absolutely not.

From the other side of the room, Stella, still wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, cracked one eye open. “If you rehearse any longer, he’s gonna graduate before you speak.” You ignored her. “I’m manifesting smoothness, okay?”

“You’re manifesting cardiac arrest.”

By the time you got to class, your heart was already tap dancing in your chest. Sunghoon was in his usual seat—hood down, headphones in, all black hoodie, unreadable face. You stared at him for a full three seconds before you remembered you were standing in the middle of the aisle like a lost tourist. You snapped out of it and shuffled to your seat three rows down, pulse racing. You needed to catch him before class started. That way, if he rejected you, at least you could die quietly while the lecture played.

You kept glancing back at him, trying to time it right. He was scrolling through his phone now, completely detached from the world like he was on another plane of existence. Okay. This was it. You turned around. Took a breath. Stood up. Walked up the steps to his row like you weren’t having an internal breakdown. He looked up the moment you reached him. Direct eye contact. Your brain blanked for a full second.

“…Hey,” you said, voice not nearly as stable as you’d practiced.

He pulled one earbud out, eyebrows raised slightly. “Hi.”

HI. HE SPOKE.

“Um. I was just wondering if you wanted to be partners for the psych project?”

There was a pause. Not long, but enough to make your confidence start to wither.

Then he replied, voice low and quiet, “I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

Oh.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. You hadn’t prepared for rejection. Especially not this calm, direct kind that somehow wasn’t even rude—it was just… final.

“Oh,” you said quickly, trying not to sound as mortified as you felt. “Cool! Yeah. That’s—totally fine.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just nodded once, almost politely, and put his earbud back in.

You turned around and walked back to your seat like someone had just unplugged your entire personality.

When you sat down, you stared at your notes without actually seeing anything. Your ears were hot. Your hands felt weird. You blinked a few times like maybe you could reset the whole moment.

You grabbed your phone and typed furiously.

Me: abort mission. i asked. he said no. he already asked to work ALONE. ALONE stella. like a damn lone wolf. i just got REJECTED by someone who doesn’t even TALK to people.

Three seconds later, the reply came:

Stella: …damn

Stella: okay but lowkey that’s so on brand for him

Stella: also that wasn’t even personal he probs would’ve said no if a supermodel asked

You slumped forward onto your desk.

If this was your origin story, then this was the flop arc.

And you were going to need emotional CPR before class even started.

Class ended with the usual rustle of backpacks and the scrape of chairs, but you sat frozen in your seat for an extra ten seconds, staring at the back of Sunghoon’s head like it had personally betrayed you. He was already standing up, slinging his bag over one shoulder, cool and quiet as ever. Like he hadn’t just shattered your plans and self-esteem into a thousand quiet little pieces.

But something in you snapped.

No.

You were done being shy. Done rehearsing conversations in your head and letting the moment pass you by. You were not letting Park Sunghoon disappear into the hallway without saying another word.

You jumped up, heart racing, and took a deep breath. “Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “We’re doing this. We’re not going to shrivel up and die from embarrassment this time.”

You rushed up the stairs after him, catching him just before he reached the door. “Sunghoon.”

He stopped, turning to look at you, that same unreadable expression on his face.

You inhaled. “You’re gonna work with me.”

His brows lifted, just slightly, caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. “I told you—I already asked the professor if I could work alone.”

You crossed your arms and raised your chin a little, tapping into your most extroverted, confident self—the version of you that could hold entire conversations with strangers and talk her way out of anything. “Then un-ask him.”

He blinked.

“I’m serious,” you continued, because if you stopped now you’d lose every ounce of courage. “You don’t even know me. What if I’m secretly a genius? What if we make the best team ever and win that bonus point thing he mentioned?”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, still quiet. Still unreadable.

You pointed at him. “You don’t have to like group work. But you’re gonna work with me.”

For a long second, he just stared at you.

The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile, not really. But something. He scoffed. Not in a dramatic, mean way. Just… soft. Dismissive. Like you were amusing. Or ridiculous. Or both. And then he turned and kept walking, like you hadn’t just declared war on his solo-project lifestyle. You blinked. Oh, hell no. You shoved your bag higher up your shoulder and stormed after him.

“Seriously?” you said, catching up to him in two strides. “You’re just gonna walk away after that?” He didn’t look at you. “Yeah.”

“You’re not even gonna consider it?”

“Nope.”

You huffed, falling into step beside him. “What is your deal with working alone? You allergic to people or something?” He side-eyed you. “You talk a lot.”

“Thank you,” you said flatly. “That’s literally the only reason I might save your grade.” He stopped walking. You stopped too, nearly crashing into him. He looked down at you—tall, pale, sharp-featured and quiet, like some sort of academic vampire who hated sunlight and group activities.

“Why are you so determined?” he asked finally, tone somewhere between annoyed and curious. You met his eyes, chin lifting. “Because I’ve never had someone ignore me this hard and still live in my brain rent-free. It’s annoying. So if I have to suffer through thinking about you all semester, you’re at least going to suffer with me. Equal pain.” His brows lifted just slightly.

“And,” you added quickly, “I don’t lose. So you’re working with me. End of story.”

Sunghoon stared at you for a beat longer. Like he couldn’t decide if you were insane or just persistent. Then he shook his head. And kept walking. But this time? He didn’t say no. You were halfway across campus the next day, trying to decide between skipping your next lecture or just emotionally disassociating through it, when you heard someone say your name.

Quietly. But definitely.

You turned around and almost tripped over your own feet when you saw him—Sunghoon. Hoodie, backpack, hands shoved in his pockets. Standing awkwardly like he wasn’t entirely sure he should’ve called out to you in the first place. Your heart did a full somersault. “Hi,” you said, maybe too brightly.

He blinked at you. “Hey.”

There was a weird beat of silence, filled with campus noise and your loud inner panic.

Then he shifted on his feet and muttered, “Can I get your number?”

Your brain exploded.

Was Park Sunghoon asking for your number? You stared at him, mouth slightly open, and he just stood there looking painfully neutral, like this was the last place he wanted to be.

“Are you—wait, are you asking me out?” you blurted, already regretting every second of your life.

His eyes widened just the slightest bit, like you’d accused him of a federal crime.

“No,” he said flatly. “For the project. So we can… communicate.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, eyes going wide as the heat crept up your face. “Right. Duh. Obviously. Obviously.”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable, like he wanted to disappear into his hoodie. “…Yeah.”

You scrambled to pull out your phone, nearly dropping it in your panic. “Here—yeah—just put yours in. That’s easier. I’ll text you. So we can… project. Collaborate. Academic synergy.”

He didn’t reply. Just took your phone, typed in his number, and handed it back wordlessly.

You stared down at the contact:

Park Sunghoon

(no emoji. no extra letters. just cold, clinical formality.)

“…Cool,” you said, trying to recover some semblance of dignity.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Then turned to walk away.

You watched him go, mentally facepalming so hard your soul cracked a little.

Your phone buzzed a moment later.

Unknown Number: it’s sunghoon

Unknown Number: let me know when you want to start

You sighed and saved the contact with a little ice cube emoji, because it felt fitting.

Sunghoon Park: cold exterior, barely speaking… and you were so in over your head.

Later that night, you were laying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone balanced on your chest like it owed you something.

You had been so sure he was asking you out. So sure. For 0.3 seconds, you saw your entire future flash before your eyes: couple study dates, matching outfits, walking hand-in-hand through campus while he pretended not to hate the PDA. The works.

But nope.

Just… strictly professional group project business.

You groaned and rolled over, smothering your face into your pillow.

From the other side of the room, Stella looked up from her laptop. “What now?”

“He asked for my number.”

Her eyes lit up. “What? Shut up—did he really?”

You turned your head slightly, muffled. “For the project.”

She stared. “Oh. Ew. Okay.”

You rolled onto your back again, holding your phone up like it personally betrayed you. “I thought he was asking me out. I literally said, ‘Are you asking me out?’”

Stella burst out laughing, no remorse. “You didn’t.”

“I did. And the way he looked at me? Like I just offered to burn down the library. He was so uncomfortable.”

“To be fair,” she said through a cackle, “he always looks uncomfortable.”

You sighed dramatically and stared at his text again.

let me know when you want to start

Simple. Distant. No smiley face. No unnecessary words. He probably sat there thinking about whether three words was too many.

You started typing back:

Me: hey! free tomorrow after 2 if that works? also we could meet at the lib—

Then deleted the whole thing. Too friendly.

Me: hi. library tomorrow at 2?

No. Too dry. You looked like him.

You finally settled on:

Me: hey! are you free tomorrow after 2? we could meet in the library to go over the project?

And then hit send before you could overthink it again.

You dropped your phone beside you and groaned. “This is the most effort I’ve ever put into a man who literally doesn’t speak.”

Stella didn’t even look up. “Honestly, that’s kind of your type.”

You buried your face in your pillow again.

Somewhere, your phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: ok

Sunghoon: 2 is fine

Two words. No punctuation. Classic. And yet—your heart did a full stupid little flip anyway.

You were ten minutes late.

Not fashionably late. Not oh-no-the-bus-was-slow late. Panicked, sweaty, tripping-over-your-own-shoelaces late.

The worst part? You couldn’t even blame traffic. You had literally just stood in front of your closet for fifteen minutes debating what shirt said I’m smart enough to do a group project but also hot enough to be a distraction.

By the time you rushed into the library, breathless and clutching your tote bag like a life raft, you spotted him immediately—tucked into a table near the window, surrounded by neat little piles of notes, black zip-up hoodie, dark jeans, laptop open, posture perfect.

And glasses.

You froze.

You had never seen Park Sunghoon wear glasses before. They were thin-rimmed and kind of crooked on his nose and, for some infuriating reason, stupidly hot.

He glanced up the second he noticed you, gaze sharp behind the lenses. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a weird, out-of-breath sound that wasn’t even a real word.

“…Hi,” he said, tone flat, but not mean. Just very Sunghoon.

“Hi!” you replied too loudly, stumbling as you dropped your bag into the chair across from him. “Sorry—I—I swear I left on time, but I forgot my charger and then I spilled, like, half a smoothie on my notes, and then I couldn’t find the entrance for some reason even though I come here all the time. It was a mess. I’m a mess. But hi!”

He blinked slowly, adjusting his glasses. “You’re here now.”

You nodded quickly. “I am. Present. Mentally, emotionally, physically—kind of.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with that same unreadable face, like he couldn’t decide if you were hilarious or exhausting.

You shifted in your chair, suddenly aware of how loud your breathing sounded. And your heartbeat. And how you had no idea what to do with your hands. Why did your fingers feel weird?

“So,” you said, pulling out your laptop and trying to act like your brain wasn’t short-circuiting over the glasses situation. “Psych project. Brainstorm time. Right.”

“Yeah.”

He was already back to typing something, eyes flicking over his screen, and you realized he didn’t even seem fazed. Like this was just… normal.

For you, it was a crisis.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. How did he look so composed? So chill? So academically intimidating with that stupid zip-up and those stupid glasses and his stupid, quiet, mysterious vibe?

“…Did you always wear glasses?” you blurted before your brain could stop you.

He paused. Looked at you.

“Only sometimes,” he said simply.

“Oh.” You looked back down at your screen. “Cool. They’re… you know. Fine. Cool. Very… smart.”

A long pause.

“Thanks.”

You wanted to sink into the floor.

It was going to be a long group project.

You had just started to feel semi-normal.

Sunghoon was being quiet—shock—but not cold. You were actually getting into the flow of outlining the project. He listened when you talked. Nodded. Occasionally gave input. It wasn’t comfortable exactly, but it wasn’t the awkward apocalypse you were expecting, either.

And for a brief, fragile second, you thought this might be the first chill moment you shared alone.

Naturally, the universe had other plans.

“Oooohhh, what do we have here?”

You looked up just in time to see three people you had never met stroll up to your table like they owned the entire library. One was tall, with dark eyes and a mischievous smile—Jay, though you didn’t know that yet. Next to him was a golden-haired guy with a killer grin, arm slung around girl. Jake. And Jake’s Girlfriend, apparently.

Jay gave you a once-over, then looked at Sunghoon like he’d just caught him in a crime. “We just thought we should come check out Sunghoon’s first date with a girl.”

Your eyes widened. You choked on air.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “It’s not a date.”

Jake’s girlfriend snorted. “At least he’s honest about it not being a date. Unlike my first date.”

Jake groaned beside her, dragging a hand down his face. “How many times did I apologize for that?”

You blinked. “Wait—what happened on your first date?”

She smiled sweetly. “He made a bet with his friends that he could get with me. You know, classic teen rom-com behavior.”

“Oh my god.” Your jaw dropped.

Jake threw up his hands. “And I said I was sorry! I was reckless and stupid.”

“You’re still stupid,” she muttered, but leaned into his side anyway.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon just sat there, jaw clenched, radiating quiet murder.

Jay leaned closer, ignoring the tension. “Oh, but she definitely wants it to be a date,” he said, nodding at you with a teasing glint in his eye.

You choked again. “I—What—No?!”

Sunghoon shot him a warning glare. “Jay.”

Jay held up his hands, smirking. “Alright, alright. Just saying. She looks real invested in this collaboration.”

Before you could combust, another voice burst into the mix.

“GUYS.”

You turned in your seat just in time to see a boy with bleached blond hair, glowing skin, and a phone clutched in one hand come skidding to a stop at your table.

“Heeseung and his girlfriend are having another full-on screaming match outside the student center,” he announced like it was breaking news. “It’s getting dramatic. One of them might throw hands. Or a smoothie.”

He finally looked at you. “Oh, hi. Who’s this?”

“Sunoo,” Jake sighed, “this is… uh…”

“YN,” you supplied, feeling very out of place.

“She’s Sunghoon’s group partner,” Jay said, emphasis on partner, like it was code for something else.

Sunoo’s eyes lit up. “Ooooooohhhhhh.”

Sunghoon let out a sharp breath through his nose, practically vibrating with annoyance. “Why are you all here?”

“Checking up on you,” Jay said cheerfully. “You’re weird about new people. We had to make sure you weren’t malfunctioning.”

Jake nodded. “And to be fair, you are being weird.”

“I’m literally sitting,” Sunghoon snapped.

“Okay, yeah, but like. Sitting with a girl,” Sunoo said, raising his brows. “A cute girl. You see why that’s suspicious.”

You stared at your laptop, cheeks burning. The chaos was unreal.

Jake shook his head. “Anyway, back to the drama—how long are Heeseung and his girl gonna keep doing this?”

Jake’s girlfriend crossed her arms. “Maybe don’t make bets about girls and they won’t cuss you out on campus.”

“Babe,” Jake whined, “again, I said I was sorry. Let it gooo.”

Sunghoon stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the floor.

“Where are you going?” Jay asked.

“Anywhere that’s not here,” he muttered.

You jumped up after him, trying to gather your stuff. “Wait—Sunghoon!”

He didn’t slow down, and you had to basically jog to catch up, face still on fire. Behind you, Jay called, “Have fun on your not-date!”

And Sunoo added, “She’s cute! You better not screw it up!”

You didn’t dare look back.

You finally caught up to him halfway down the library stairs, breath short and hands still fumbling to shove your laptop into your bag.

“Sunghoon—wait,” you called, your voice echoing slightly in the stairwell.

He didn’t stop, but he did slow down just enough for you to trail beside him instead of behind like some kind of out-of-breath gremlin.

You walked in silence for a second. Just the two of you. The air was heavy, thick with secondhand embarrassment and the faint smell of old textbooks.

“…They’re your friends?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. Not that anything about the last five minutes had been casual.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

You bit your lip, half-smiling. “They’re… a lot.”

He didn’t say anything, just kept walking, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands and jaw tight like he was trying to bite back actual rage.

After a beat, you added, “I wasn’t expecting company. Or, you know, being accused of trying to date you in front of half your social circle.”

He stopped suddenly, turning toward you.

You skidded to a halt too, your breath catching a little—not just from the speed, but the way he was looking at you. Glasses slightly tilted, dark eyes unreadable, lips parted like he wanted to say something and hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

Then, very quietly, he said, “You didn’t… seem mad.”

You blinked. “Why would I be mad?”

His brows drew together. “At them. For saying all that. Teasing you.”

“Oh.” You shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I was dying internally. But it’s fine. You didn’t say it. You just… looked like you wanted to strangle all of them.”

“I did.”

A short silence.

And then—you laughed. Soft and sudden, the sound surprising even yourself. “Well, thanks for that.”

His gaze flicked to you, something small softening in his expression. “They weren’t supposed to show up. I didn’t… want to make you uncomfortable.”

You stared at him for a second. Because that? That was the most he’d said to you since the day you met. And also maybe the most thoughtful thing anyone had said to you all week.

“…You didn’t,” you said, voice quieter now. “Uncomfortable, I mean.”

His eyes searched yours for a second, like he didn’t quite believe you.

Then he looked away. “Good.”

You both stood there for a moment—just outside the building now, the cold air nipping at your cheeks, the sun sliding low behind campus buildings.

You finally broke the silence, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “So… should we try again? Like, library, take two? Maybe somewhere your friends won’t crash?”

He hesitated.

Then, finally—finally—he gave a small nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

You smiled. “Cool. I’ll bring snacks this time.”

He glanced sideways at you. “I don’t eat while I study.”

“Of course you don’t,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You probably highlight in perfect straight lines too.”

“…Sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “God. You’re such a nerd.”

But he didn’t say anything to that.

Just that same tiny twitch at the corner of his lips.

And for the first time since you met him, you didn’t feel like you were chasing him.

You felt like maybe—just maybe—he was meeting you halfway.

Sunghoon should’ve known they wouldn’t just leave.

He exhaled slowly as he stepped out into the cold, the library door thudding shut behind him—and there he was.

Sunoo. Leaning against a bike rack like he’d been waiting for him since the dawn of time. His bleach-blond hair glowed under the dying sun, and his jacket was entirely too thin for the temperature, but he looked completely unbothered. Smug, even.

The second he spotted Sunghoon, his whole face lit up. “Finally. Took you long enough.”

Sunghoon gave him a flat look. “Why are you still here?”

“Because Jay and Jake went to get smoothies, and I wasn’t about to sit through their disgusting couple energy. Plus,” Sunoo grinned, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Sunghoon didn’t stop walking. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear what it was!”

“I already know it’s something annoying.”

Sunoo skipped a few steps ahead to block his path, walking backwards now, eyes wide and suspiciously innocent. “So… who’s the girl?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “Group project partner.”

Sunoo squinted at him. “Right. And I’m totally just here to study Heeseung and his girlfriend’s dysfunction like a science experiment.”

“She’s not my type,” Sunghoon muttered, looking away.

“You don’t even have a type.”

“Exactly.”

Sunoo hummed like he didn’t buy that for a second. “She’s cute.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

“And funny. And a little chaotic. But in a fun, like, ‘I talk to my plants and lose my keys twice a day’ kind of way.”

Still, no response.

Sunoo leaned in closer, eyes glittering. “Do you like her?”

Sunghoon stopped walking. Just stared at him, unreadable.

Sunoo smirked. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone.” He started to turn, then glanced back. “Actually—wait. Can I have her number?”

Sunghoon blinked. “What?”

“Just to be friends! Gosh. You think you’re the only one allowed to befriend hot, unbothered chaos girls?”

“You met her for like two minutes.”

Sunoo grinned. “And that’s all I needed. I have a sense for people. And she’s my kind of people.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.

“She’s part of our circle now,” Sunoo added, sing-song. “You brought her in. There’s no going back.”

“I didn’t bring her in,” he muttered.

“You literally let her follow you out of the library like a lost puppy.”

“I did not.”

“You didn’t stop her.”

Sunghoon looked away.

Sunoo smiled, victorious. “So? Her number?”

Sunghoon glared at him. “Ask her yourself.”

Sunoo squealed dramatically, spinning around on his heel. “Oh my god, I will. I’ll text her right after I follow her on Insta. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Behind him, Sunghoon muttered under his breath.

“…What was that?” Sunoo called over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Because for some reason, the idea of Sunoo texting you made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

And he didn’t want to think too hard about why.

You sat on your bed that night, still in your jeans and hoodie, your bag half-unpacked on the floor, laptop open but untouched, and brain moving at 300 miles per hour.

Your phone buzzed.

Stella:

Did you die or did Sunghoon kiss you or did you die because Sunghoon kissed you. I need updates.

You groaned, flopping onto your back and lifting your phone above your face.

Me:

None of the above. His friends ambushed us mid-study session and fully acted like I was his girlfriend. In public.

Stella:

WAIT. Which friends. Are they hot. I need names and Instas.

You sighed dramatically.

Me:

Jay. Jake (with his girlfriend). And some guy named Sunoo who said Heeseung and his girl were screaming again.

Also I think Sunoo might be my new best friend. He glows. Like??? How.

Stella:

JAY? As in soccer boy Jay?? Jake the business major? THEY WERE ALL THERE? NOOO I WAS ON THE WRONG CAMPUS TODAY.

Also Sunoo’s TikTok skin care routine is literally witchcraft I’ve seen it.

You laughed quietly to yourself, phone clutched to your chest for a second as your smile slowly faded into something more thoughtful.

Because, honestly?

You’d expected today to be awkward. Maybe awful.

You did not expect to feel… kind of okay.

Actually, more than okay.

Sure, you wanted to sink into the earth and die when Jay said you looked like you wanted it to be a date.

But then Sunghoon had looked actually annoyed—for you. And when you caught up to him, he didn’t walk away. He didn’t ignore you. He let you talk, let you tease him. Even cracked a tiny smile that made your entire brain short-circuit.

He didn’t seem like the type to say much. But he listened. And he noticed things. Like whether you were uncomfortable. Like how loud his friends could be.

That mattered more than you expected.

Your phone buzzed again.

Stella:

Okay but real talk. Did you feel anything? Like when you were sitting next to him? Being in his aura or whatever?

You stared at the screen for a second, then slowly typed:

Me:

Yeah.

He wore glasses.

I’m ruined.

Stella:

…That’s fair.

You rolled over, kicking your legs up and burying your face into your pillow with a groan. This wasn’t supposed to be a thing. You were supposed to get through the semester, maybe stare at him from afar a few more times, graduate with dignity.

Now? Now you were saving a contact in your phone as:

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = my downfall).

And you had a very bad feeling this was only the beginning.

The next morning, you got to class early. Like painfully early. Which was weird, because you were usually a chronic just-in-time kind of student—just enough hustle to not be late, never early enough to raise suspicion. But today? You practically skipped through the lecture hall doors, iced coffee in hand and a hopeful delusion bouncing around in your head like a movie trailer.

You spotted him right away—Sunghoon, in his usual seat near the window, hoodie pulled over his head like a warning sign, eyes glued to something on his laptop. Stoic. Brooding. Beautiful in that intimidating, I-read-whole-textbooks-for-fun kind of way. You took your seat beside him without hesitation this time. Victory, right? You were learning. Evolving. No more fear. Just controlled chaos and denial. He glanced at you as you sat. Said nothing. But you were used to that by now. Instead, you sipped your coffee and let your mind wander—straight into fantasyland.

Scenario One: You two finish the project early. Miraculously early. And somehow, that leaves just enough time for a casual, post-study hangout. Maybe he’s like, “I know this café down the street, wanna go?” And you act totally chill even though you’re internally combusting, and then one drink turns into two, and then next thing you know—

Scenario Two: He starts talking more. Like, actually talking. Maybe even laughing. You learn he’s got this dry, sarcastic sense of humor. The glasses make a comeback. He pushes them up while making some off-hand comment about people-watching or Nietzsche or whatever he reads for fun, and you just melt.

Scenario Three: He thanks you—like, really thanks you—for making the project more tolerable. You say something witty. He says something slightly flirty. There’s eye contact. And maybe, just maybe, he asks you to hang out again even after the project is over.

You blinked, realizing you were smiling into your coffee like an idiot.

“…What.” You jumped a little. Sunghoon was staring at you now, one brow raised behind his lashes, suspicious. You cleared your throat. “What?”

“You were smiling like you won something.” You coughed into your drink. “Oh. Um. No. Just… thinking.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “About?” You hesitated. You. Your stupid hoodie. Your stupid perfect jawline. How good your hands looked when you typed. Us getting married in a cozy bookstore-themed wedding. “…The project,” you lied.

He stared for another second, then looked back at his screen like he didn’t believe you but also didn’t care enough to argue. Your cheeks were burning. You turned toward the front of the room, pretending to listen to the professor. But in your head? The fake scenarios were still playing. And in all of them, Sunghoon never scoffed and walked away again.

You weren’t even sure how you got on the topic of astrology.

One second, you were casually mentioning your moon sign, and the next, you were ten minutes deep into a rant about compatibility charts, birth time accuracy, and how Mercury retrograde was definitely to blame for your chronic inability to meet deadlines.

You were in it—hands flailing, iced coffee half-forgotten, your voice carrying across your little corner of the library like a talk show guest who forgot she wasn’t mic’d.

“And I’m not saying it’s always accurate, but like—come on, I’ve never met a Leo moon who didn’t want attention in the most dramatic way—”

Then you looked at him.

And he was watching you.

Not glancing. Not politely nodding. Not half-focused while typing something on his laptop.

No.

Park Sunghoon was sitting completely still, chin slightly tilted, dark eyes locked on you like he was seeing you—really seeing you—for the first time.

And it hit you all at once: the weight of his gaze. The fact that he hadn’t interrupted you once. The way his expression wasn’t annoyed or bored or even confused.

Just… quiet.

Focused.

Curious.

Your words trailed off mid-sentence. You felt your mouth go dry.

“I, um…” you stammered, blinking hard and glancing down at your hands. “Sorry. I was rambling again.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t respond right away. You peeked up.

He was still looking at you.

For someone who rarely spoke, he really didn’t need words to fluster you.

You quickly turned back to your laptop and muttered, “We should probably get back to the outline.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than usual, but not in a bad way. Just… different.

Like maybe something had shifted. And he noticed it too.

And for once, you were the quiet one.

One week later.

You didn’t know when it happened—if it was the third study session or the way he started waiting for you outside class without saying anything, just casually lingering like he wasn’t—but something had definitely shifted.

He still wasn’t talkative, not by any stretch. Park Sunghoon was still the same quiet, unreadable guy who typed like he was solving a national crisis and stared at his laptop like it offended him. But now, sometimes… he looked at you like you were the more interesting problem.

You noticed it during Wednesday’s library session. You were scribbling notes, brain on overdrive like usual, when you cracked a dumb joke under your breath about Freud being the original red flag. And he—Sunghoon—actually smirked.

Not a full laugh. Not even a chuckle.

But a smirk. Like his mouth twitched and everything.

You were so shocked you nearly dropped your pen.

Now, seven days into being partners, your nerves still spiked whenever he looked directly at you. Which—terrifyingly—he did more often now.

Today, though, you were running late. Again. You’d had a 10-minute breakdown over whether your hoodie looked “accidentally cute” or “accidentally homeless.” When you finally rushed into the same table by the window, Sunghoon was already there—hoodie up, laptop open, long legs stretched out like he owned the entire row.

You skidded into the seat across from him, breathless and messy as usual. “Hi! Sorry—I didn’t mean to be late, I got distracted because I was reorganizing my playlist and then I realized I accidentally put a breakup song on my walking-to-class mix and it ruined my whole mood—anyway, I’m here!”

He blinked up at you.

“You always talk like you haven’t taken a breath in ten minutes,” he said flatly.

You opened your mouth to defend yourself—then paused.

Because even though his words were dry as ever, there was a glint in his eyes. A little tease. The ghost of amusement.

You grinned, emboldened. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta fill the silence between us.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he pushed your coffee toward you like he’d been holding onto it.

You blinked. “Wait. Did you—?”

“You always get the same one,” he said, shrugging, eyes flicking back to his screen. “You were ten minutes late. I figured.”

Your stomach did a weird flip.

It was a tiny thing. Barely even a moment. But it was the first time he’d done something unprompted—something thoughtful.

Something soft.

You sat down slowly, hands warming around the cup.

Before, you were a loud girl with a crush and no courage.

Now, you were still loud. Still spiraling. Still catching yourself staring when he wasn’t looking.

But somewhere in the middle of library study sessions, awkward silence, and shared glances that lingered a little too long—

Maybe he was starting to fall too.

Later that night, you were back in your dorm, lying on your bed with your laptop propped on your stomach and your Spotify playing in the background. You were supposed to be finalizing the last few slides of the presentation, but instead, you were deep in the Notes app—typing out possible conversation starters like a 14-year-old girl prepping for a first date.

Which it wasn’t, obviously.

It was just a group project. A graded group project. Which meant this mild obsession with Park Sunghoon was wildly unprofessional.

Still, your brain didn’t care.

He remembered your coffee order.

He smirked at your joke.

He bought your coffee.

You flopped your head to the side with a groan and rolled over, phone slipping out of your hand. “I’m losing it.”

From across the room, Stella didn’t even look up from her phone. “You lost it when you called his handwriting sexy.”

“I never said that out loud.”

She looked at you now. “Babe. You whispered it during your FaceTime call with me while you were editing your shared Google Doc.”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at her. She caught it with a grin and tossed it back.

“So?” you said, burying your face in it. “Is it crazy to think he might kind of like me too? Just a little?”

Stella shrugged. “I don’t know. He bought your coffee. That’s a huge deal for an introvert. It took me three months to get my introvert ex to say good morning first.”

You peeked over the pillow. “You think he’s soft under all that broody quietness?”

“I think he’s already soft,” she said, nonchalant. “You’re just the only person loud enough to poke through it.”

You blinked.

Huh.

It was a weirdly sweet thought.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, your brain doing its usual rom-com spiral. Imagining more coffee. A casual movie hangout after your project was done. Him smiling at you again. Him taking off his hoodie and you realizing he was even hotter underneath it

Your phone buzzed.

You nearly flipped off the bed grabbing it.

Park Sunghoon: Do you want to meet earlier tomorrow? Library’s crowded after 5.

Your heart skipped. He messaged you first.

You scrambled to reply, fingers shaking just a bit.

You:Yeah totally! I can do 3?

Three dots.

Park Sunghoon: Cool.

You smiled down at your phone. Not a date. Not even flirting, technically. But still… something. And it was enough to make your chest feel a little lighter as you sank back into your pillow, grinning like a complete idiot.You were definitely being dramatic.

It was just a study session. Just Sunghoon. Just your project partner.

And yet here you were, standing in front of your mirror like you were about to walk into a k-drama confession scene.

You’d tried to be casual about it at first—grabbed your usual hoodie, pulled your hair into a messy bun, told yourself today would be like any other work day. But then you’d caught your reflection and froze.

Nope.

Not today.

Today, something in your brain snapped—the part that remembered the way Sunghoon looked at you last time. The way he handed you your coffee without saying much but still said everything.

So now here you were, smoothing down the pleats of your white skirt, the fabric light and soft, bouncing just slightly with every step. You’d tucked in a pastel pink top—simple but flattering, cinched at the waist, with a soft neckline that somehow made your collarbones look like they belonged in a Pinterest moodboard.

You curled your hair into soft waves, taking your time with each section like you were preparing for a date—which again, it wasn’t. But your hair looked good, and that was reason enough.

Then came the makeup—just enough to brighten your face. A little concealer, a swipe of blush, dewy highlight, and a soft pink gloss that matched your shirt perfectly. Not too much. Not trying too hard. Just enough to feel… confident.

You stepped back and looked at yourself. Cute, but not overdone.

Like you just happened to roll out of bed this way. Like you totally didn’t spend an hour prepping for a guy who still hadn’t said more than five sentences in a row to you.

You grabbed your bag, gave yourself one last look in the mirror, and nodded. He won’t even notice, you told yourself. But your heart still raced anyway.

You arrived at the library fifteen minutes early.

Which was insane. You were never early. You were barely ever on time. But today, you found yourself practically floating through the entrance with way too much pep in your step for someone heading into a two-hour grind session.

You chose a table tucked near the windows, sunlight filtering in just enough to give you that natural-glow effect you hoped—just a little bit—he’d notice. You pulled out your laptop, opened your notebook, sipped your iced vanilla latte like it was some kind of calming potion and not a way to keep your hands from fidgeting.

Three minutes passed. Then five. Then eight.

And just when you started to spiral, you saw him. Black hoodie, dark jeans, headphones around his neck, glasses on. Glasses again? Was he trying to kill you?

He walked up without a word, dropped his bag in the seat next to you, and sat down like this was the most normal thing in the world.

You swallowed.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound breezy. “You’re early.”

“So are you.”

You blinked. He noticed?

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you said, smiling before you could stop yourself.

“I notice things,” he said, not looking up from unzipping his backpack.

Your brain promptly short-circuited.

You sat there a moment, trying to reboot your internal monologue, but he didn’t say anything else. Just pulled out his laptop, adjusted his glasses, and tapped a few keys like this was just another Tuesday.

You cleared your throat. “So… should we get started?”

He nodded, eyes flicking to the screen, and you did your best to focus, even though your heart was doing pirouettes in your chest.

Ten minutes in, he finally glanced sideways.

His eyes skimmed over you—your top, your hair, the soft gloss on your lips—and then right back to the screen.

Nothing in his expression changed.

But.

You swore the tips of his ears turned just the slightest bit pink.

It all happened so fast.

One second you were typing away, trying to figure out how to transition from your statistics slide to Sunghoon’s part about correlation, and the next, your phone buzzed with a message that made your stomach drop to the floor.

Mom:

hey—don’t panic. he’s stable. but your dad’s in the hospital. car accident. he’s asking for you.

The panic part, unfortunately, arrived immediately.

You gasped. Shot up from your seat like you’d been burned.

Sunghoon looked up, brows furrowed. “What’s—?”

“I—I have to go,” you blurted, already shoving your laptop into your bag with shaky hands. “My dad—he’s in the hospital—I have to—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t think to explain. Didn’t notice your phone sliding between the cushions of the library couch when you stood too fast. You were gone before Sunghoon could even stand.

He sat there for a while, blinking after you, confused and more than a little startled. But when the shock wore off, he assumed you just needed time. He figured you’d text when you got the chance.

Except… you didn’t. Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

The seat next to him stayed empty. And despite the hum of the library, all he could hear was the faint echo of how your voice cracked when you said hospital.

He exhaled slowly and reached for his phone.

Pulled up your contact. You’re just checking. That’s it, he told himself.

He tapped the call button. And then frowned. Because your phone—the one he was calling—was… right there. Left on the couch like a forgotten piece of clothing, glowing faintly with the light from the screen. Missed calls. Texts. And one lockscreen wallpaper of you and your roommate pulling dumb faces at the camera.

He reached for it, reluctantly.

And that’s when he saw it.

Right there at the top of the screen, when the missed call alert faded away, was his name.

Park Sunghoon (Glasses = Downfall)

He stared at it. And blinked. And stared again.

Because it wasn’t just Park Sunghoon. It was “Glasses = Downfall.”

He slowly leaned back against the couch, completely thrown off, a mix of confusion and God, was that amusement?—starting to crawl across his face. Of course you saved his contact like that. Of course. He pressed his lips together, unsure if he was more concerned about you… or the way his chest actually tightened when he realized your phone was still here, and you weren’t.

Sunghoon was still sitting there, completely frozen, your phone in one hand and that ridiculous contact name burning a hole in his brain, when a familiar voice cut through the air like a ray of chaotic sunlight.

“Oh my God, is that her phone?”

Sunghoon looked up just in time to see Sunoo appear at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised and lips already curled into a knowing smirk. His blond hair was perfectly styled, skin glowing like he drank actual light for breakfast, and he was strutting over like he owned the entire building.

“I knew something felt off,” Sunoo continued, stopping in front of the table. “She never leaves her phone anywhere. Last time she lost it for five minutes she had a full existential breakdown and accused Stella of cursing her.”

Sunghoon blinked, still not sure what to do with the phone in his hand—or the smirk that kept trying to tug at the corner of his own lips.

“She left in a rush,” he muttered, eyes flicking back down to the screen. “Family emergency.” Sunoo’s expression shifted instantly, eyes softening. “Wait—seriously? Sunghoon nodded once. “She said her dad’s in the hospital. She didn’t say much. Just left.”

“Shit,” Sunoo said, frown pulling at his mouth. “That’s… crap. Do you know which hospital?” Sunghoon hesitated. “No. I tried calling. That’s when I realized her phone’s still here.” Sunoo sighed and slid into the chair across from him, tapping his own phone screen rapidly. “I’ll call Stella. She might know something. Or at least be able to get in touch with her mom or something.”

Sunghoon gave a slow nod, leaning back again as he watched Sunoo work through his contact list like a professional. The tension in his chest refused to ease, even as help arrived.

“Oh, and by the way,” Sunoo said casually, glancing up with that glint in his eye. “You’re totally blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Sunoo grinned. “Glasses equals downfall? I mean, really? I should’ve known.”Sunghoon cleared his throat and looked away, ears tinged unmistakably pink.

Sunoo smirked. “So… are we finally admitting someone has a little crush?”

“She left her phone,” Sunghoon muttered.

Sunoo leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, completely unfazed. “Mhm. And you’re staring at her lockscreen like it’s a live stream. Just admit it, Hoonie.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“You didn’t say no to the crush part.” Sunghoon sighed deeply, resting his head back against the seat as Sunoo grinned like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing. Silence settled again for a beat—until Sunoo’s phone lit up.

“Stella’s typing,” he said, glancing down. “I’ll keep you posted. You just sit there and keep pining dramatically.”

“I’m not—”

“Sure, sure.” Sunoo winked. “Keep telling yourself that, Mr. Downfall.” Sunoo’s phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

“Stella says she doesn’t know which hospital either,” he said, brow furrowed. “But—and I quote—‘I know her lockscreen passcode because we are married spiritually.’” Sunghoon blinked. “That’s… specific.”

“She says it’s her birthday. Not Y/N’s. Hers.”

Sunghoon stared at the phone in his hand. “Why would it be Stella’s birthday?” Sunoo smirked. “Because Y/N is a simp. Obviously.” Sunghoon inhaled, then exhaled like this was already too much for one day. Still, he typed it in. The screen unlocked.

Sunoo immediately leaned over the table like it was a hot gossip vault opening in real time. “Okay, try checking her notes. Or her location app. She has a tracker on her parents, I swear—oh wait.”

He stopped. Sunghoon had paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Because the phone didn’t open to the home screen. It opened to her messages. With Stella.

And the last message sitting right there at the top read:

Y/N:

sunghoon is wearing glasses today i need the ground to take me out respectfully

Sunghoon’s jaw ticked.

He didn’t scroll. He should’ve scrolled. But he didn’t need to. Because Sunoo saw it too—and gasped like he’d just seen a scandal unfold on live television. “Oh my GOD—scroll up. Scroll up right now.”

“I’m not—”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

Sunghoon sighed in defeat and scrolled up two or three lines, just enough for Sunoo to snatch the phone halfway through and start reading aloud in a dramatic whisper:

Y/N:

i swear to god i’m trying to focus

but his glasses. HIS GLASSES STELLA

why did nobody prepare me for this man to look like a kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses combo i’m actually in pain

he said ‘can you pass me the charger’ and i almost proposed right then and there

guys I swear his shoulder look extra broad today

Sunoo smacked the table. “SHE ALMOST PROPOSED.” Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, voice muffled. “Please stop.”

“Oh, I’m never stopping. You’re officially her villain origin story. I can’t breathe.”

Sunghoon reached across the table, retrieved the phone with a blank expression, and locked the screen again. “We’re supposed to be figuring out which hospital her dad’s at.”Sunoo, still giggling, waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m texting Stella for the tracking app now. But I need you to know that she was down so bad she literally contemplated death-by-glasses. That’s… that’s poetry.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond. But the tips of his ears were pink again. And this time, he didn’t bother trying to hide them.

Sunghoon was halfway zipped up, bag slung over one shoulder, already mentally mapping the route to the hospital when Sunoo crossed his arms and tilted his head with a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you could save yourself so much embarrassment if you just admitted it.” Sunghoon didn’t pause. “Admitted what.”

“That you like her.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh?” Sunoo snatched Y/N’s phone off the table with a mischievous grin and unlocked it again. “Then I guess I’ll just keep reading her adorable little breakdowns about your glasses, and your hoodies, and—oh look—your ‘annoyingly attractive handwriting.’”

Sunghoon turned just enough to give him a warning look. “You’re making that up.”

“Sexy handwriting,” Sunoo repeated dramatically, scrolling. “Sexy. She called your handwriting sexy. Who even notices that in a group project? Oh wait—Y/N does, because she’s clearly unhinged about you and—oh my God.”

He stopped.

“Oh my God. She drew little hearts around your name in her notes app.” Sunghoon ran a hand down his face. “Sunoo.”

“I will stop,” Sunoo said sweetly, “if you admit you like her.”

“I don’t.”

Sunoo stared at him. Sunghoon stared right back, completely unreadable, posture cool and relaxed like he hadn’t just heard you almost died over the way he wore his glasses. The silence stretched. Finally, Sunoo groaned and dropped back into his seat, tossing the phone down like it offended him. “Ugh. You’re so boring.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond—just adjusted the strap on his bag, eyes flicking toward the exit. But if Sunoo had been paying attention to the way his fingers curled slightly against his side, or how his ears had gone just a shade pinker again… He might’ve known that silence wasn’t denial.

Sunghoon left the library with your phone in his pocket, steps quiet but fast as he crossed campus, hoodie drawn up just enough to shadow his face. He didn’t want to be noticed. He never did. But today especially—not with your words still echoing in his head like some cursed audio loop.

“kdrama male lead in a hoodie and glasses.”

It was ridiculous. And yet… somehow, it made the corners of his mouth twitch in the stupidest way. He forced it down, gripping the strap of his bag tighter.

The hospital wasn’t far. He caught the next bus downtown and kept checking your phone every few minutes—not that there were any new messages. But maybe… maybe Stella would text. Or your mom. Or you.

He shouldn’t be this tense. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t even your friend, really. Just a group project partner who somehow got dragged into your world like a moth to a sparkly, chaotic flame.

But still—he needed to know you were okay.

And despite everything, despite the teasing and the denial and the unread messages, he didn’t leave that hospital lobby until someone told him where to find you.

Meanwhile, back in your hospital room, you were staring at the blank TV screen, hand curled loosely around a paper cup of vending machine coffee that tasted like burnt regret.

Your dad was stable, resting just down the hall. You were grateful—more than grateful—but you’d never felt so unmoored. Like you were floating outside of your body.And on top of it all… your phone was gone.

You groaned quietly and buried your face in your hands. “Of all days,” you muttered. Your soul was actively leaving your body just thinking about it. The door creaked open.

You lifted your head, expecting a nurse, maybe your mom.

Instead—there he was. Park Sunghoon. Black zip-up, jeans, perfect hair, and those same glasses that had quite literally rearranged your brain chemistry. Holding your phone. And looking… weirdly hesitant.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened. “You—what—how did you—?”

“You left this,” he said, holding the phone out like it burned. “At the library. Sunoo and Stella figured out how to track you. I came to check if you were okay.”

You stared at him. Your phone. His glasses. Your life. All colliding in one surreal moment. And then, quietly, Sunghoon added, “Your dad… he’s alright?” You nodded, still dumbstruck. “Yeah. Yeah, just banged up. He’s resting.” QA small, relieved breath escaped him. You took your phone slowly, your fingers brushing his, and suddenly every single message you’d sent Stella flashed before your eyes in a horror montage.

He had your phone.

He read your texts.

He knew.

You swallowed. “Did you… uh… see…”

He looked at you, eyes steady behind the lenses. Then—just the faintest quirk of his lips.

“You have a really dramatic way of complimenting glasses,” he said.

You made a noise that could only be described as a muffled scream into your coffee cup. And Sunghoon—stoic, introverted Sunghoon—actually laughed. Soft and low.

But real. And it was worse than the glasses. It was so much worse.

You wanted to melt into the hospital bed and never be seen again. Just fully disappear. Cease to exist. Have your body donated to science and your soul banished to another timeline where you never sent those texts and Park Sunghoon never—never—saw the words “sexy handwriting.”

But you were stuck here. In this room. With him. And the phone that had betrayed you.

You forced out a breath and tried to smile through your humiliation. “I was… under a lot of emotional distress. You know. Midterm season. Lack of sleep. Temporary delusion.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “You wrote a three-message breakdown about my glasses before midterms even started.”

You blinked at him. “You read that far?”

He hesitated. Too long. Then shrugged lightly, gaze flicking to the floor. “Sunoo was reading out loud. I… couldn’t stop him.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m just going to die right here and haunt this room forever.”

Sunghoon stayed quiet for a second.

Then he said, “I didn’t hate it.” Your hands dropped from your face like you’d been electrocuted.

“What?”

He looked vaguely uncomfortable now, like the words had escaped before he could catch them. His fingers tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, eyes fixed on the floor. “The texts. I didn’t hate them.” You stared at him.

“No one’s ever said I looked like a… kdrama lead before,” he muttered. Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You do, though.”

Silence stretched between you. Long and awkward and warm in a way that made your stomach flip. Finally, you cleared your throat. “So… uh… thank you. For coming. Really. You didn’t have to.” He glanced up again, eyes soft behind the glasses. “I wanted to.”

Your brain short-circuited again. Before either of you could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. A nurse poked her head in. “Visiting hours end in ten, guys.”

Sunghoon gave a quick nod. “Right. I’ll go.” He turned to you, pausing just before the door.

“Text me when you get home?” he said, voice quiet. You blinked. “You want me to text you?” He looked away again, almost shy now. “Yeah. Just so I know you’re okay.” You nodded slowly. “Okay. I will.” He gave a little nod of his own, then slipped out the door. You stared after him, phone clutched in your hand, your entire body buzzing. And you didn’t even care anymore that he saw your texts.

Because maybe… Maybe he didn’t hate it.

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet chime behind him. Sunghoon leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets, the cold metal pressing into his spine as he stared blankly ahead.

He hadn’t said much on the walk out of your room. He never did. Words weren’t really his thing—they always felt too heavy in his mouth, too slow to catch up to his thoughts. But somehow, tonight, they’d slipped out easier than usual.

“I didn’t hate them.”

“I wanted to.”

“Text me when you get home.”

He replayed those three lines over and over in his head, each one more revealing than he was used to. More open. Vulnerable, even. It made his chest tighten and something in his stomach twist in a way he didn’t totally understand. And then, before he could stop it—His reflection in the elevator doors caught it first.

A smile. Small. Barely there. But real.

His own face surprised him for a second. Like the muscles had moved without permission. His brows drew together slightly as he looked away, lips twitching back into something neutral. It wasn’t like him to smile over someone. But maybe… you weren’t just someone. Maybe you were starting to be the exception. And he wasn’t sure if that terrified him—or if it made him want to see you again even more.

The next morning, you were exhausted.

You’d barely slept. Between your dad being stable (thank god), the hospital vending machine coffee that had no right being that strong, and the emotional rollercoaster of Park Sunghoon seeing your texts, your brain was absolutely fried.

And yet, there you were—walking into lecture half-dazed with a granola bar in one hand and your phone in the other, scanning the room instinctively.

Your eyes found him instantly.

And you nearly tripped over your own feet.

He was wearing the glasses again.

Same black zip-up. Head down, hair a little messier today. But the glasses were there—slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as he scribbled something in his notebook.

You froze for a second in the aisle, mid-step, like your brain blue-screened. People filtered around you, annoyed, but you didn’t care. He had to know what he was doing. There was no way he didn’t, not after reading your breakdown in full 4K resolution on your phone the night before.

You finally sat down, heart doing cartwheels in your chest, and tried not to glance back every ten seconds. But of course, your eyes betrayed you. You looked again.

And this time… he looked back.

Just a flicker of his eyes over the top of his notebook. A half-second longer than necessary. Then he turned away. But that half-second? It felt like it lasted hours. And even though you were 99% sure you were hallucinating everything—You swore he was smiling.

You: stella.

You: STELLA.

You: he’s wearing the glasses again.

You: I REPEAT. THE GLASSES. ARE. ON.

You: I am not well. I will not survive this class.

You: If I stop texting it’s because I’ve passed away from ✨visual overstimulation✨

You: and I look like a sewer rat today WHY is the universe like this

You were hunched over your phone like it was sacred scripture, thumbs flying, your screen dimmed just enough to look sneaky, but bright enough to see the disaster you were creating in real time.

You didn’t notice the presence behind you until it shifted. The air moved. Subtle.

“…You text like you’re narrating a crisis.”

You froze. No. No no no no no. That voice. You turned slowly. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Reading your texts. Looking entirely unbothered. Glasses still on.

You stared up at him, every cell in your body internally combusting one by one.

“I—uh—”

He blinked down at you, face unreadable, then raised an eyebrow. “Sewer rat?” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. And then the corner of his mouth tugged up. Just slightly.

“You look fine,” he said, voice quiet. And just like that, your brain did the only logical thing it could in that moment. It short-circuited. Completely.

You were still staring at him.

He’d walked away—already halfway to his seat like nothing happened—but you were frozen in place, still clutching your phone, eyes wide, brain buffering like it needed a software update.

He said you looked fine. He said you looked fine.

You hadn’t even washed your hair last night. You were pretty sure there was highlighter on your cheekbone that didn’t belong there. Your socks didn’t match. And this man—this walking iceberg of introversion—looked you dead in the eye and said you looked fine.

Your fingers finally remembered how to move.

You: STELLA

You: HE SAW MY TEXTS

You: AND THEN SAID I LOOKED “FINE”

You: STELLA I AM NOT OK

You: AM I HALLUCINATING???

You: IS THIS FLIRTING??? OR IS HE JUST… NICE???

Stella: what’s the difference

Stella: actually nvm HE CALLED YOU FINE BYE

Stella: u need to marry him IMMEDIATELY

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the dumb grin threatening to take over your entire face. You were not going to smile like a maniac in class. Not in front of him. You looked up. And immediately made eye contact with him. He was already watching you.

Not in an obvious way. But he hadn’t even opened his laptop yet. Just sitting there, elbow on the desk, head tilted slightly like he was waiting for your next move. You blinked. He looked away first. But the corner of his mouth twitched again. And this time—you smiled.

It was Friday night, and your dorm smelled like kettle popcorn, cheap wine coolers, and the faint singe of a burnt microwave pizza. Stella was sprawled across her bed, wearing fuzzy socks and eyeliner like she was going to war. Sunoo sat cross-legged on the floor with a giant bag of sour gummy worms and a pen tucked behind his ear like he was the host of Jeopardy.

You were halfway through a lukewarm sip of grape soda when Sunoo clapped his hands together like a villain hatching a plan.

“Okay,” he said dramatically, pointing the pen at you. “What if—plot twist—we invite Sunghoon to trivia night?” You almost choked. “What?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “You heard me. Tall, pale, wears glasses, makes your heart do backflips—that Sunghoon.” You immediately waved him off, face heating up. “No, no, no. Trivia night is sacred. It’s for us, and our weird little brains. He doesn’t even talk during normal group work. You think he’s gonna scream out ‘Switzerland’ during world geography?”

“Exactly why it would be hilarious,” Sunoo grinned. “Plus, he already likes you.”

“I—he doesn’t—”

Stella looked up from her phone and cut in, “He said you looked fine when you looked like you’d just rolled out of a 2009 Tumblr grunge blog. That’s basically a confession in Sunghoon language.”

You buried your face in your pillow. “I can’t. He’ll say no. He’ll probably run in the opposite direction and drop the course.” Sunoo shrugged. “So? At least then we’ll know he’s terrified of fun and allergic to joy.” There was a beat of silence. Then Stella said, “Or maybe—he’ll come.” You slowly peeked over the pillow. Sunoo smirked. “Wanna find out?” You didn’t say yes.But you did start typing.

You stared at his text reply for a solid ten seconds.

Sunghoon: I don’t think I’m a trivia night type of person.

Ugh. Of course he wasn’t. He was the study-in-silence, read-complicated-books-for-fun, looks-too-good-in-glasses type of person. You chewed your lip and typed back.

You: it’s not that serious!! it’s just a fun little thing!! u can even sit in the corner and judge us in silence like u always do

You: pls sunghoon

You: pls pls pls

You: I’ll owe u forever

You: like forever forever

You: like I will never ask u for anything again ever unless it’s for help opening a jar or fighting off a ghost

You: pls

The little typing dots popped up. Disappeared. Came back.

Sunghoon: …what time.

You let out a squeal so loud that Sunoo jumped and flung a gummy worm at your forehead.

“I take it he said yes?” he deadpanned. You grinned. “He said yes.” Stella threw her hands up. “THE POWER YOU HOLD.” Sunoo gasped, dramatically pressing his hand to his chest. “Should I prep an extra trivia round titled ‘Things That Make Y/N Weak in the Knees’? Number one: Park Sunghoon in glasses.” You grabbed a pillow and launched it at him, still grinning like a complete idiot. Trivia night just got a lot more dangerous.

The first round of trivia began, and you were already regretting your life choices.

Sunoo had been insistent about the rules. “If you get a question wrong, you take a shot of grape soju. It’s fun, it’s fair, and it’s how we build character.”

At first, you thought you could handle it. You weren’t a lightweight, and you could definitely stomach a little soju. But after one wrong answer, you could feel the heat of the alcohol creeping into your chest, and that was when you realized: This was going to be a disaster.

The first question was easy enough, something about ancient history, but you got it wrong anyway. You were too distracted, trying to avoid glancing at Sunghoon, who was sitting quietly in the corner, eyes occasionally flicking to your team’s answers.

“Looks like you’ve got a shot coming your way,” Sunoo said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair. “You know the drill.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed the small shot glass filled with the mysteriously purple liquid. You could feel Sunghoon’s eyes on you—probably the first time you were actually hyperaware of his gaze. Your fingers shook slightly as you raised the glass.

“To ancient history,” you muttered, making a face before knocking it back in one go.

The burn was immediate. Grape soju was sweet but deceptively strong, and you felt it hit the back of your throat like a truck. You immediately slammed the glass down, half-choking, trying to ignore the laughter from Sunoo and Stella.

“Alright, next question!” Sunoo was practically bouncing in his seat, enjoying your pain. “What’s the capital of…?”

But you barely heard him. You were too focused on not dying from the aftertaste of the soju. You were about to breathe a sigh of relief when—

“Uh, Y/N,” Sunghoon said softly, his voice cutting through the noise. You snapped your head to look at him, a little too fast, probably. “Huh?” He was still staring at his phone, but there was a flicker of something behind his glasses. “You missed your answer to the last question. It was ‘Rome.’”

You blinked at him. “Wait, really? You’re sure?” He didn’t look up, but his lips twitched. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Well,” you muttered, “I guess that means more soju for me.” You swore you caught the faintest, most reluctant smile from Sunghoon as he turned his attention back to the trivia board. DBut you were too busy silently dying from the soju to care about that.

Sunoo stood abruptly, grabbing his tote bag with a dramatic groan. “Okay, I love you all, but I have to go deal with my stupid brother who just tried to microwave a fork. Again.”

“That’s the third time this month,” Stella muttered.

“I know!” Sunoo wailed, already halfway out the door. “Natural selection is right there, but he keeps surviving!” Stella stood up not long after, stretching with an exaggerated yawn. “Well, I should probably head out too. I, uh… left my straightener on. I think.”

You blinked. “What? I thought you unplugged it?” Stella smiled sweetly, eyes flicking between you and Sunghoon. “Hmm, did I? Guess I’ll go find out.”

She was gone before you could even respond. Now it was just you and Sunghoon. Alone. In a room that felt way too quiet all of a sudden.

You turned slowly to look at him. He was just sitting there, sipping water, looking completely unbothered. Glasses slightly fogged up from the warmth of the room. Zip-up hoodie half unzipped.

You, meanwhile, were sweating through your soul. You stood up too fast. Way too fast. The room tilted. And then, everything spun.

The last thing you saw was his eyes widen in slow-motion before your knees buckled and you collapsed—Right into him. You weren’t exactly the type of girl he expected to pass out on him. But there you were. Full dead weight. Head against his chest, breath shallow, skin warm. His arms had instinctively wrapped around you before you could hit the floor, but now he was just… holding you. And trying very hard not to panic.

“Y/N?” he said softly, shaking your shoulder. “Y/N—hey. Are you okay?” No response. You just… mumbled something unintelligible and curled in a little closer. Sunghoon blinked.

His heart was doing a weird stuttering thing. He didn’t like it.

You smelled like peach lotion and grape soju. Your hair was brushing his jaw. He was very aware of how close your face was to his.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip so you were slumped more comfortably against his side. Then he looked around helplessly, muttering to himself.

“This is what I get for showing up to trivia night.” Still, he didn’t push you off. Didn’t move.

In fact, he pulled his hoodie off and draped it around your shoulders, just in case you were cold. He was still holding you when you stirred a few minutes later. And he hated that part of him hoped you wouldn’t move. Not just yet.

Sunghoon didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t exactly trained in what to do when a girl passes out in your arms and also smells really good and your heart won’t stop doing weird gymnastics. So, naturally, he did the first logical thing:

He picked you up—awkwardly, carefully, like you were made of glass—and marched straight down the hall to Stella’s room. He knocked twice. Then again. Louder.

Stella opened the door a crack, chewing a piece of gum, her brows lifting when she saw you slumped half-conscious in his arms, wrapped in his hoodie like a weird little burrito.

“She’s fine,” Stella said, not even hesitating. Sunghoon blinked. “She fainted.”

“Yeah, from like three sips of soju. She does this. Lightheaded. Dramatic. A menace.” Stella leaned against the doorframe and popped her gum. “Just lay her down on the couch, she’ll wake up in like five minutes and scream about missing a skincare step.”

“…Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Sunghoon looked down at you. Your lashes fluttered slightly, your cheek pressed against his chest, breath slow and even.

“She’s drooling,” he muttered under his breath. Stella grinned. “Yep. Sounds about right. Before he could argue more, she closed the door with a lazy, “You got this, lover boy.” He just stood there for a second, deadpan. Then turned and made his way back to the living room, still carrying you like you were a drunk kitten. He carefully knelt by the couch and laid you down, adjusting a pillow beneath your head and slipping off your shoes so you wouldn’t wake up with sore feet. You looked… soft like that. Peaceful. Lips parted slightly, hands curled near your chest, still wrapped in his hoodie.

Sunghoon sat back on his heels and sighed.

“This is insane,” he muttered. But he didn’t move away just yet.

You let out a tiny groan, barely awake, before slowly turning over on the couch—and promptly rolled right off. It all happened in slow motion for Sunghoon. One second you were peacefully drooling on the pillow, the next your body was halfway to the hardwood floor with all the grace of a sleepy baby deer.

“Shit—wait—”

He caught you just in time, arms shooting out to stop your head from bonking against the floor. Your face smushed into his hoodie again, limbs tangled awkwardly, and your eyes fluttered halfway open in a dazed blink.

“…mm?”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just sat there on the floor beside the couch, exhaling sharply as he tried to situate you better. With zero idea what else to do—and absolutely no desire to wake Stella again—he gently shifted you, easing your head onto his lap.

You hummed softly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and curled in closer, like his leg was your designated pillow. Still barely awake. Still clearly unaware of everything happening. Sunghoon froze. Hands hovering. Brain static.

You looked so… small like this. Fragile. Sleepy and soft and completely unfiltered. The hoodie he gave you slipped down your shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone and the faintest shimmer of glitter from your makeup. A piece of hair stuck to your cheek. He moved it before he could stop himself.

He should’ve moved you back onto the couch. He should’ve gotten up and left. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed still. Letting your breathing settle against his leg. Letting the room fall into a warm, weird quiet. And when you shifted again, murmuring something incomprehensible and curling your fingers around the fabric of his jeans—he didn’t say a word. Just stared down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching into the smallest, most confused smile.

The first thing you registered was warmth.

Not just the hoodie—though that was still wrapped snugly around your shoulders—but something heavier. Solid. Comforting. Something that smelled like clean laundry and mint and the faintest hint of boy.

And then you blinked your eyes open. Sunghoon. Your head was no longer just on his lap. You were in his lap. Full-on wrapped up in his arms, tucked against his chest like it was a survival instinct. One of his hands rested loosely on your back, the other curled by your waist, his breathing deep and steady, lips parted just slightly.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe.

Oh my god. You were going to die. Actually die.

You could see the headline now: University Student Spontaneously Combusts from Proximity to Hot Introvert in Glasses.

You slowly peeled yourself out of his grip, as delicately as a bomb squad diffusing a mine, heart slamming in your chest the entire time. Somehow, miraculously, he didn’t stir. He just mumbled something low and incoherent in his sleep and adjusted slightly, brows furrowing for a second before settling back into what looked like the deepest sleep known to mankind.

You stared for a second. Just a second. Because what the hell. Then you bolted. You rushed down the hallway in socked feet, practically slammed open Stella’s bedroom door and—She didn’t even look up from her phone.

“I know,” she said, sipping her iced coffee. “And yes, I took a picture.” You froze. “What?!” Stella turned her phone around to show you the screen.

There it was. A full high-def, heart-attack-inducing image of you curled in Sunghoon’s lap, his arms around you, both of you asleep on the floor like a goddamn drama couple.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“No, you don’t,” she grinned. “Now go wash your face. You drooled on his hoodie.”

You groaned and rubbed your face, trying to wipe off the secondhand embarrassment still clinging to your skin.

“Also,” you muttered, already backing out of Stella’s room, “send me those pictures. All of them. I need to know what level of unhinged I looked like.” Stella smirked around her straw. “Oh, babe. You looked whipped.” You pointed at her dramatically. “I will delete your contact.”

“You won’t.”

You didn’t respond, just turned and padded back down the hallway, heart still thumping like a drumline in your ears. You were about to sneak into the kitchen and grab some water to cool yourself down when you paused in the doorway of the living room.

And saw him .Awake.

Sitting on the couch now, hoodie still half-draped on him, hair tousled from sleep, glasses slightly askew. His eyes were on you. You froze. He blinked slowly. “You drool when you sleep.” Your soul left your body.

“No, I don’t,” you said way too quickly, straightening up like that would somehow erase the last twenty-four hours.

“You do.” He yawned into his hand. “A lot.” You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“I’m not—” you paused. Cleared your throat. “I wasn’t yelling.” He leaned his head against the back of the couch, eyes squinting like he was still somewhere between dream and reality. “You asked Stella to send the pictures.”

Oh god. He heard that? You stared at him, eyes wide. “Did you—did you hear everything?”

He looked at you. Quiet. Amused. And then—just barely—he smiled.

“I heard enough.” You stared at him, completely still.

“I heard enough,” he said again, softer this time, like he was trying not to laugh. The corners of his mouth twitched, and suddenly you couldn’t remember a single word in any human language.

“I—” You blinked. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

“I was.” He stretched a little, arms lifting above his head, hoodie riding up just enough to flash a glimpse of pale skin before he dropped them again. “Then I wasn’t. Mainly because someone kept squirming in her sleep like she was fighting demons.” You smacked your hand against your face. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“You also talk in your sleep, apparently.”

“I do not.” He nodded solemnly, glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. “Something about my glasses being your downfall? Should I be worried?” Your jaw dropped.

You knew that message was on your phone. You knew he saw it.

“I’m gonna throw myself out the window,” you said, already backing away. But before you could flee into the depths of your embarrassment, he tilted his head and looked at you—really looked at you.

“I didn’t hate it,” he said. You froze.

“What?”

He shrugged. “You sleeping on me.” Your heart tripped over itself. His voice was calm. Still low and reserved like always. But something about the way he said it—the almost casual, sleepy honesty—sent your brain into freefall.

“…Are you still half asleep?” you asked cautiously.

“Maybe.”

You swallowed, trying not to combust.

“Well,” you muttered, fidgeting with your hoodie sleeve, “good. Because if you were fully awake, I’d probably be more embarrassed.”

He smiled again. And this time, it reached his eyes.

You didn’t know what to say after that.

Because what could you say when the boy you’d been lowkey (okay, highkey) obsessed with just told you he didn’t hate having you wrapped around him like a human blanket?

Nothing. That’s what.

So you just stood there, blinking at him, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they’d protect you from the way he was still looking at you. Like you were interesting. Like he wasn’t just quiet by nature but quiet because he was thinking and you were the subject.

You were fully prepared to melt into the floor.

“Well,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “I should�� probably wash my face. And, like, process… everything.”

“Okay.”

“Right.”

You turned, took one step toward the hallway—and then stopped and looked over your shoulder.

“…Are you gonna pretend this didn’t happen later?” He raised an eyebrow. “The part where you passed out?”

“The part where I passed out on you.” He paused for a second, then stood up slowly, stretching again. The early morning light caught on the curve of his cheek, his glasses slightly fogged from sleep, hoodie still draped over his frame like it belonged there—like you had put it there.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m not pretending.” Then he walked past you, brushing shoulders as he headed toward the kitchen like he didn’t just ruin your whole ability to breathe.

You just stood there. Frozen. And the worst (or best?) part? You were grinning. Like an idiot.

You made it to the bathroom on autopilot.

Face = burning.

Heart = sprinting a marathon.

Soul = temporarily vacated your body.

You splashed cold water on your face like you were trying to reset your entire nervous system. Not pretending. Those two words echoed in your brain like a broken record. Not “it’s fine” or “don’t worry about it.” Not “that was weird” or “forget it ever happened.” He wasn’t brushing it off. He saw you—drooly, embarrassing, possibly cuddly—and didn’t want to pretend.

You were doomed.

You patted your face dry and stared at your reflection. Your cheeks were flushed, lips puffy from sleep, hair a mess from the couch. And still—still—you were smiling like a middle-schooler who just got asked to dance at prom.

You pulled out your phone with shaking hands.

Me: stella. stella i think im going into cardiac arrest

Me: he was awake. AWAKE. HE HEARD EVERYTHING.

Me: AND THEN SAID HE DIDN’T HATE IT

Me: AND THEN SAID HES NOT GONNA PRETEND IT DIDNT HAPPEN

Me: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE EMERGENCY

The dots popped up almost instantly.

Stella: BREATHEEEE

Stella: girl idk whether to plan your wedding or your funeral

Stella: either way I’m bringing snacks

You snorted and shook your head, trying not to slide down the wall in emotional defeat. Then came another message.

Stella: also you left your lip gloss on the couch and he picked it up and put it in his pocket

Stella: do with that what you will

You froze. Lip gloss? In his pocket? You stared at your reflection again. Yep. Definitely time to plan your funeral.

The days after the project wrapped up had been an emotional rollercoaster.

You’d convinced yourself Sunghoon would slip back into his quiet, introverted world. That after everything, after all the moments you thought meant something, he’d go back to avoiding you and staying distant like before. You had tried to prepare yourself for it—convincing yourself it was fine, that you could handle it, that it was just the project that brought you together and nothing more.

But deep down, the idea that he’d stop talking to you again made your stomach twist. And you couldn’t shake the thought: Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe I was just his partner. And now there’s no more reason for him to even look at me. You avoided checking your phone. You couldn’t bring yourself to. It was easier to stay in the quiet, heart-aching limbo where you could pretend nothing had changed.

But then, as you sat on your couch in your hoodie and sweatpants, watching a rerun of a show you didn’t even like to distract yourself, you heard a soft knock at the door. You froze, heart skipping a beat. You glanced at the clock. No way. He couldn’t…

But when you opened the door, there he was. Sunghoon. Standing on your doorstep, with one hand nervously holding a single, bright white flower. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. His usual quietness surrounded him like a second skin, but this time, there was something else in his eyes. Something unreadable, but so undeniably there that it made your heart pound.

“Hey,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Uh, I… I know school’s over, but, uh… I wanted to ask… if you’d go out with me. Like, outside of the project. Since, y’know, we don’t have anything else left to do.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry or pass out from the sheer shock of what was happening.

Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon, the quiet boy with glasses, the one who you thought would never speak to you again, was standing there with a flower, asking you out. And for a moment, it felt like time froze.

“Are you… serious?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, looking both shy and unsure of himself, a far cry from the usually reserved Sunghoon. “Yeah. I don’t… really know how to do this, but… I’d like to take you out. If you want.”

Your heart stopped for a second. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say of course, but your mind kept catching up with your racing heart, trying to process everything in the last few seconds. And then, finally, you spoke.

“Yes.”

His eyes softened as he offered the flower to you, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice more confident now. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

The air between you seemed to hum with a sudden, undeniable connection. You could feel your cheeks heating up, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment—it was from the undeniable realization that maybe, just maybe, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You couldn’t stop smiling.

You tried. You really did. But every time you looked down at the flower in your hand—a little imperfect, probably plucked from someone’s front lawn or a park bush—you felt it again. That ridiculous, fluttery warmth curling in your chest, refusing to go away.

Sunghoon asked you out.

And not because he had to. Not because of a project or a group grade or a seating chart. But because he wanted to.

You were still holding the flower like it was made of glass, like if you squeezed too hard it might vanish. It was stupid how your brain was short-circuiting over one boy and one flower and one quiet sentence—but you’d been waiting for this. Hoping for it. Fantasizing about it, if you were being honest.

And now it was real.

“You’re staring,” Sunghoon said beside you, voice low and a little amused. You startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Was not.”

“You were.” You looked away, pretending to examine the sidewalk, the cars, the clouds—anything but the smug little smirk on his face. “Okay, maybe a little.”

He didn’t say anything back right away. Just walked beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was wearing those glasses again—of course he was—and you didn’t know if it was on purpose or if this was just who he was now, but either way: you were suffering.

“You like the flower?” he asked after a pause, like he was trying not to sound like he cared about the answer too much. You looked at it again, smiling softly. “I love it. I’m naming it after you.”

“…You’re naming a flower after me?”

“Yup. Park Sunghoon the Second. A little awkward, but sweet once you get to know him.” He let out the smallest laugh. A real one.

And your heart did a front flip.

There was a silence after that—comfortable, not awkward. One of those rare quiets where everything feels calm. You weren’t rushing to fill the space, and neither was he. You were just walking, side by side, with nowhere to be except here.

Finally, Sunghoon said, “So… Friday. 7:00. You and me?”

You turned to him, grinning. “It’s a date.”

And this time, he smiled first.

Sunghoon was stressed.

Not the obvious kind, either. No pacing, no nervous rambling, no frantic texting. No—his kind of stress came in the form of sitting completely still on the edge of his bed, staring at the one (1) decent shirt he owned and thinking, Is this what people wear on dates? Do people even wear shirts on dates? What if I show up and she’s wearing something fancy and I look like a middle schooler going to church?

He hadn’t even put the shirt on yet. It was just… there. Staring back at him with judgment. Or maybe that was just his own reflection in the mirror. Either way, he was spiraling. Silently. But thoroughly. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, it was chaos.

“Okay, gloss or matte?” you shouted, holding up two lip products like your life depended on it.

“Gloss!” Sunoo said immediately. “It’s date night. You want him to think you’re kissable.” Stella raised a brow. “Do you want him to think that, though?”

You stared into the mirror, hair half curled, blush perfectly pink on your cheeks. “…Yes.”

They both screamed.

The room looked like a war zone—outfits scattered across your bed, makeup brushes covering the desk, heels and flats and boots thrown in different corners like a mini tornado had passed through your closet.

Sunoo held up your tiny pastel pink purse. “This one. It’s giving soft girl danger.”

“I second that,” Stella said, adjusting your curling wand temperature like she was your personal glam squad. “Okay, close your eyes, I’m doing the final spray.” You did as told, heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement.

This wasn’t just any date. This was Sunghoon.

And somewhere across town, Sunghoon was now staring at himself in the mirror, glasses on, hair tousled, that same black zip-up from the library night over a clean tee. He looked… okay. But he felt like imploding. What if I say the wrong thing? What if she regrets saying yes? What if—

His phone buzzed.

Stella: She looks insane. You better bring flowers. Or I will.

He blinked. Then slowly got up, grabbed his keys, and mumbled to himself, “…I need to find a flower.”

You were ready.

Or… as ready as someone who had changed outfits three times, nearly cried over a smudged winged liner, and threatened to cancel the entire date if her highlighter wasn’t even on both cheeks could be.

“Okay,” you breathed, staring at your reflection like she was someone else. “I think I’m good.”

Sunoo clapped his hands once. “You’re more than good. You’re edible.”

Stella popped her head back in from the hallway. “Sunghoon’s outside. I just saw him through the peephole. He’s standing like he’s afraid of the air.” You ran to the door, then paused. “Wait. Do I look like I’m trying too hard?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“Good,” you grinned, grabbing your purse.

You stepped outside and there he was—hands shoved in his pockets, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing that same black zip-up he always wore… but there was something different tonight. A tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze immediately lifted when he heard the door open.

And he was holding something. A flower. Just one.

Small, a little uneven, probably stolen from a nearby bush—but it made your heart lurch anyway.

“For you,” he said, holding it out awkwardly, like he was half-expecting you to laugh at him. Instead, you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re lucky I’m weak for stolen flowers.” He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath and looked down. “You look…”

You waited, watching his face turn a little pink as he fumbled for a word.

“…Different,” he settled on. “Good different.” You gave him a teasing smile. “I’ll take it.”He blinked at you for a second longer, like he was trying to memorize the way your hair curled or the way your earrings swayed every time you moved.

Then he opened the car door for you. And just like that, the nerves melted away. You weren’t just you anymore—you were the girl Sunghoon came to pick up, with a flower in your hand and butterflies in your stomach. And you had a feeling this night was going to ruin you—in the best way.

Going on a date with Park Sunghoon had always been one of the fake little scenarios you made up in class when you were supposed to be listening.

It was a regular thing, honestly. You’d be halfway through pretending to take notes on cognitive development, and suddenly your brain would short-circuit and drift off into “What if he asked me out?” territory. Maybe he’d slide you a note during lecture. Maybe he’d wait after class. Maybe he’d say something completely out of character like “I’ve been watching you for a while now.” (That one made you cringe and swoon.)

You never thought it would actually happen. But now here you were—sitting in his passenger seat, clutching a slightly-wilted flower in your lap like it was an Oscar trophy, wearing the outfit you and your best friends had screamed over not even an hour ago.

And Park Sunghoon? He was right next to you. Driving. Quiet. Focused. Glancing over at you every so often like he couldn’t believe this was happening either.

You tried not to stare at his hands on the wheel. Or the way his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose every time he checked the mirror. Or the vein on his arm that popped ever so slightly when he turned.

It was weird. Surreal. Like you’d stepped into your own daydream. Except this time, it wasn’t just in your head.

You didn’t know Sunghoon was that rich.

Like, you knew he dressed nice. Quiet luxury vibes. Always in simple but suspiciously well-fitted clothes, like someone who didn’t want attention but still made people look. You knew he had a certain air about him—put-together, unbothered, kind of mysterious in that he definitely has secrets way. But nothing prepared you for this.

The restaurant he brought you to wasn’t just fancy—it was the kind of place that didn’t even have prices on the menu. The kind where water came in a crystal bottle and the waiters bowed when they spoke to you. The lighting was soft, the chairs were plush, and the bread basket looked like a Pinterest mood board.

You sat there, blinking around like a tourist while Sunghoon just casually sipped his water, completely unfazed. You leaned in across the table, whispering, “Do you… own this place?”

He blinked. “No.”

“…But like, do you know the owner?”

He paused. “Kind of.” You stared at him. He stared back. You narrowed your eyes. “Park Sunghoon. What is your life?” He shrugged lightly, lips twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Normal.” You looked down at the gold-trimmed menu.

Normal, your ass.

Your whole life you’d been daydreaming about going on a date with Sunghoon, and never—not once—did the fantasy include sitting in a place that probably had a Michelin star and a dress code for its bread.

And yet somehow, even with all the fancy things around you, the thing making your heart race was still him.

Still the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking. Still the way he asked, quietly, “Is this okay? I wasn’t sure what kind of place you’d like.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “This is… perfect.”

And when he relaxed just a little—just enough for his shoulders to drop and his fingers to uncurl from the edge of the table—you knew.

“I really like you,” Sunghoon said, voice soft and a little shaky.Your heart stopped.

“I mean, really like you. You’re… you’re so pretty it’s hard to look at you sometimes. And I

I’ve actually liked you this whole time. Even back in class, when you wouldn’t stop talking and I was trying not to laugh. I didn’t know how to say anything. But I want to now. I want to say everything. I want to spend my life with you.”

And then—he leaned in. His hand brushed against yours. You leaned in too, heart thudding, lips parting as your eyes fluttered shut—And just as his lips touched yours—The entire restaurant erupted into applause.

Chairs scraped, people stood, a waiter dabbed his eyes with a napkin. Someone in the back shouted, “True love is real!” The pianist transitioned into a soft romantic ballad. Rose petals fell from somewhere—somewhere.

You were glowing. Floating. Kissing Park Sunghoon, the boy you’d once been too scared to talk to, while the world quite literally clapped around you.

“Yn?” a voice said.

You blinked.

“Yn, are you… there?”

You snapped out of it, back in your seat, staring at your half-eaten appetizer. Sunghoon was looking at you, head tilted. “You zoned out for a solid two minutes. Did the salmon offend you or something?”

You blinked again, cheeks warming. “I—uh. No. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

You quickly took a sip of water. “Nothing important.”

Just, you know. The fake proposal-level confession and restaurant-wide standing ovation that just happened in your head. No big deal. Meanwhile, Sunghoon went back to eating his food like he wasn’t the main character in your delusions.

And you sat there, trying not to smile. Because, who knows? Maybe the real version wasn’t that far off.

For a normal person, this date would kind of be boring.

Like, objectively speaking—Sunghoon wasn’t exactly chatting it up. He wasn’t telling wild stories or cracking dumb jokes or even attempting to carry the conversation when it hit a lull. He was quiet. Subtle. His responses were short, sometimes just nods or hums. There was a moment when the silence between courses stretched so long, you were certain even the waiter felt secondhand awkwardness. But somehow… you didn’t hate it.

Maybe because even in the quiet, Sunghoon felt present. His gaze stayed on you like you were something worth listening to. Like your rambles about Sunoo’s latest crush and Stella’s failed DIY bookshelf actually mattered. He wasn’t loud, but he was tuned in—like you were the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

Still, halfway through the meal, you sat back with a crooked smile and said, “You know, I think I’ve spoken more in the last thirty minutes than you have all semester.” Sunghoon glanced up from his plate, blinking behind those stupidly attractive glasses. “That’s probably true.” You narrowed your eyes. “Are you ever gonna say anything that makes my heart race?”

A beat. Then, casually, without even looking up: “You’re really pretty.” You choked on your drink. He didn’t even flinch—just kept cutting his steak, a small twitch at the corner of his lips giving him away.

You stared at him. “You menace.”

He finally looked up, meeting your gaze. “You asked.”

And suddenly the quiet didn’t feel boring at all. It felt dangerous. Like every second he wasn’t saying something, he was thinking it—and one day he’d say it all at once and knock you flat.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, so you actually think I’m pretty? What’s pretty about me?” you asked, a bit of teasing lacing your voice. You were trying to play it cool, but your heart was already picking up pace, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. Sunghoon, however, didn’t skip a beat. He set his fork down, his gaze lifting slowly from his plate to meet yours. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just that steady, almost unsettling focus on you.

“Everything.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t expecting that. The way he said it, so simply, so sure, like there wasn’t a single thing about you that didn’t deserve to be admired—it hit you right in the chest.

It was one of those moments where your entire world seemed to pause, just for a second, and all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the soft clink of silverware around you.

You didn’t know what to say. How could you? You’d spent so long trying to work up the courage to even talk to him, to make him notice you. And now he was here, not just noticing, but seeing everything—and everything meant more than just your smile or your laugh or the way your hair fell over your shoulders. It meant the little things, the things you never thought anyone would care to notice.

You swallowed hard, your voice almost a whisper. “Sunghoon…” His expression softened just a little. “You’ve always been… easy to notice.” And just like that, the room felt smaller, like the two of you were the only ones in it.

For a second, you forgot about everything—about the quiet dinner, about the fact that Sunghoon had been so silent most of the night. All that mattered was this moment. The way you had finally caught his attention. The way he’d fallen.

Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, soft and unassuming, but there was a certain edge to it. “What about me?” he asked, looking at you with that same steady gaze. “Why do you like me?”

The question hung in the air, and you felt your pulse quicken. He was asking you about him. Sunghoon, the person who had always been so distant, so hard to read, was now waiting for you to give him an answer. An answer that felt so much more complicated than you had ever prepared for.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling a little too exposed under his gaze. “I—I don’t know,” you stammered, trying to find the words. “It’s just… from the moment I saw you, I knew you were different. You didn’t talk much, but you… felt like you were always thinking, you know? Like there was something more behind the quiet.”

You leaned forward, trying to get your words right. “And it wasn’t just because you were… well, you. It was the way you didn’t try to fit in, the way you didn’t care what people thought. You’re… real. And, I guess, I’ve always liked people who don’t hide who they are.”

Sunghoon stared at you, those eyes of his intense, almost searching, like he was trying to figure out whether you were being completely honest or not. And then he sighed softly, as if something in him had relaxed just a little.

“And when did you start liking me?” he asked again, this time more quietly.

You thought about it for a moment, trying to pin down when the shift had happened—the moment when you stopped just noticing him and started feeling the things you couldn’t control. “I think it was when you… when you let me in. I never thought you’d actually be willing to work with me on that project. And even though you barely said anything, you still… listened. That was when I realized I had feelings for you.”

Sunghoon let out a small, almost imperceptible chuckle. “I never thought I’d be the one to make someone feel this way.” His lips curled up in a faint smile, something almost shy about it.

There it was again. The softest vulnerability peeking through his usually composed exterior. And in that moment, you knew it wasn’t just you who had fallen.

He had fallen harder.

Enhypen campus series | part 2

1K notes · View notes

sungist · 2 days ago

Text

FOCUS .. TA sunghoon fucking you

SUNGHOON x f!r ❔ smut, unprotected sex, sir kink, sunghoon is older but not too old, mdni 18+ —4OO+

int. hes so hot

thinking of TA sunghoon whose favorite student is you. you with your short skirts and tight clothes, that hugs your body leaving nothing to the imagination.

your tits that sit so perfectly, almost spilling out over your way too small top. sunghoon tries to not look at your ass when you’re bending down to grab a paper that fell. but how could he when its so round and pretty, practically begging for attention?

he would call you up after class to ‘discuss the topic further’ but end up bent over on his desk, tits pressed on the surface.

your cheek is pressed on the cool surface of the table, ass up. his hands are on your hips, gripping it tight. “fuck- you’re so tight,” he groans.

his length moves in and out of you, tip kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. you feel so full, getting fucked dumb by your TA’s cock.

“sunghoon-“ you manage to breathe out before your mouth part, gasping, a loud smack followed by a sting lands on your ass. “it’s sir to you.”

“sorry, sir—fuck,” you moan out, it feels so good, you feel his hands spread you further apart, reaching impossibly deeper into you. “use your words, what do you want, baby, hm?”

your head is too fuzzy, to full of the feeling of him inside you. “need you,” you choke out, you feel his hand sliding down to your neck, fingers slowly applying slight pressure.

“such a good girl for me,” he hums, his snapping into you, his hungry eyes lingering on your ass bouncing with each thrust. “you gonna let me cum inside you, pretty girl?”

you nod quickly, back arching further into the table while you feel him thrust into you harder, deeper. sunghoon grunts, hips twitching before you feel your insides go warm with his release.

his hands go down to your pussy and massage your clit with his cock still in. the sensation overstimulates you, “sir— i’m gonna,” you fail to finish the sentence when the knot in your stomach finally snaps, your voice cracks in pleasure.

sunghoon slides his hand out and cradles your jaw, smearing your cum on your face. his lips find yours, kiss deep and slow. you feel his tongue teasing your bottom lip before biting down on it. you groan, allowing his tongue to slip in.

“fuck, you’re so hot” he says against your mouth when he pulls away. he lingers for a moment before straightening up, and tugging back his pants.

“i’ll see you again this weekend, pretty girl,” he drawls walking out the room. not before sliding your panties into his pocket.

389 notes · View notes

neptunsx · 21 hours ago

Text

PERMANENT | P.SH

⤷ genre: angst, nsfw.

⤷ synopsis: sunghoon as your toxic boxer ex who got your name tattooed.

You hadn’t meant to see him again.

You were scrolling absently through channels, not really watching anything. The day had been long, your body heavy with the kind of tired that no amount of caffeine could touch. You just wanted background noise. Something to drown out your thoughts.

You paused on a channel where the crowd was going wild—flashing signs, girls lifting their tops in a frenzy of excitement.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you turned your attention back to admiring your freshly done nails.

Then…his name echoed through the chaos and hit you hard, like a punch to the chest.

“Park Sunghoon steps back into the ring tonight—”

You froze.

You didn’t breathe.

The screen shifted to show him entering the ring — black gloves, cold eyes, hair pushed back the way it always was before a match. He looked sharper. Stronger. But it was him.

Sunghoon.

Your ex.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward until your elbow knocked the remote off the couch.

He looked exactly the same. Like no time had passed. Like he hadn’t wrecked you eight months ago with nothing more than distance and silence.

Your throat tightened.

You hadn’t seen him since the night he left — or rather, the night you did. The night you packed a bag after another argument that started small and turned brutal. That was your pattern: quiet resentment, building pressure, then a blowout that left both of you staring at each other like strangers.

It wasn’t always like that.

There was a time when he made you feel untouchable. When his voice in the early morning, raspy and low, was your favorite sound. When his hands were always on your waist, grounding you, and his mouth only ever knew how to say stay.

But the higher his career climbed, the more he looked down on you.

He stopped talking. You started overthinking. He buried himself in training—and in other women when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

He made you feel needy for asking to be seen, dramatic for needing his time. He mocked your softness, called your emotions a distraction.

The compliments turned to criticism. The late-night phone calls became silent treatments.

The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by cold calculation—like you were just another task he didn’t have time for.

And still, you stayed… until it hurt more to hold on than to let go.

You told yourself you moved on.

But there you were, heart racing, watching the man who used to sleep next to you throw punches with the same precision he used to kiss you with. Calculated. Controlled. Cold.

The match ended fast. It always did. A blur of footwork, one perfectly placed hit — and Sunghoon stood in the center of the ring, victorious, breathing heavy under the arena lights.

He pulled off his gloves. The camera followed the movement.

And that’s when you saw it.

A tattoo, dark and fresh, inked into the side of his ribs.

Your name.

You blinked. Your lips parted.

No. No, that couldn’t—

You leaned closer.

Your full name. In his handwriting. Just under the curve of his left ribs, near where you used to rest your head at night.

You felt like the floor shifted underneath you.

When did he do that? Why would he do that?

You hadn’t spoken in months. Not even a text. He didn’t show up when you moved out. Didn’t fight for you. Didn’t ask you to stay.

And yet there you were. Permanently etched into his skin.

Your stomach turned with confusion, heat, and something dangerously close to longing.

Midnight came and went. You paced. You sat in silence. Trying to process what the fuck you just saw.

Your fingers hovered over his name in your phone. You told yourself not to do it, told yourself you didn’t need to know.

But you called anyway.

He answered after two rings. Like he always used to.

“…Hello?”

The sound of his voice pulled something tight in your chest.

“Hi…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

A pause. Then: “Y/N?”

You ignored the way your name sounded coming from him. Focused on the tremble in his voice instead.

“Can you come over?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Are you okay?”

“I just… I need to talk.”

Another pause. Then: “Yeah. I’ll come.”

He showed up in a black hoodie and oversized jeans. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing his bruised knuckles.

When he showed up at the door, it was like everything stopped for a second. Your chest tightened, a familiar ache creeping in.

He leaned casually against the frame, his fingers flicking the keys to his expensive car, the sound of metal against metal almost too loud in the quiet of the night. The faint scent of cigarettes wrapped around him — a bitter contrast to his polished athlete image.

As he looked at you, the weight of everything unspoken between you hung thick in the air.

You moved aside, allowing him to enter your house.

He stepped inside like he still knew the way. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You sat on the edge of your couch, arms crossed over your chest. Trying to seem calm. Like you hadn’t been rehearsing this moment in your head all night.

He stood a few feet away, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to get closer.

“You said you wanted to talk.” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I did.”

A heavy beat passed.

“So?” he asked, shifting his weight. “Talk.”

You swallowed.

“I saw the fight.”

His jaw tensed. “Okay.”

“And I saw the tattoo.”

His expression cracked. Just slightly. But it was there — the flicker of surprise. The way his shoulders tensed, like he’d been caught in something.

“So…” you said, voice sharper now, “when were you planning to tell me you got my name inked into your ribs like I’m some kind of ghost you can't shake?”

He hesitated.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “So what, I was supposed to just never find out? You really thought you could keep this from me? You thought I wouldn’t find out that you permanently branded yourself with my name, like some fucking trophy?”

His eyes flickered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “I didn’t do it for you.” he said coolly, spinning the car keys around his finger. “I did it because I couldn’t pretend anymore. I’m not here to explain myself to you.”

“Pretend what?” you snapped back, stepping forward, heart pounding in your chest. “What were you pretending? That you were over me? Because you weren’t, and you knew it. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

He gave a low laugh, but it wasn’t a real laugh—it was condescending. “You still think everything’s about you, don’t you?”

He took a step closer, his arrogance flooding the room. “No. I didn’t pretend to be over you. I just let you go because you couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t about to sit here begging you to stay, like some weak, desperate idiot.”

You shook your head, your pulse rising. “And now you think you can fix it by putting my name on your fucking skin? As if that somehow makes up for the years you spent shutting me out? You didn’t fight for me, Sunghoon. You never did.”

He shrugged, unfazed by your words. “You weren’t worth fighting for. I don’t need to prove anything to you, and I don’t need your forgiveness. I did what I had to do to keep moving. You’re just... a reminder.”

“Is that it?” you spat. “I’m just a reminder? You’re so full of yourself, you think this tattoo is some kind of redemption. You don’t get to claim me like this.”

His expression darkened, but only slightly. “You never understand, do you? I didn’t do this because I missed you. I did it because it’s the only thing that won’t leave. Everything else does. You did. So I kept pushing, kept fighting, kept pretending I didn’t care. But every goddamn time I stepped into that ring, I felt your presence, like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. You never left my head, no matter how hard I tried.”

“You think this tattoo means something?” you said, the bitterness thick in your voice. “You think that after everything you did, a tattoo will fix it? You never tried to make things right, Sunghoon. You just let me walk away. And now you’re expecting me to think this is some grand gesture?”

He stepped even closer, voice dropping lower. “It’s not about you thinking anything. It’s about me reminding you of who I am, who I was to you. You think you can walk away, pretend I don’t still haunt you, but I’m still here, aren’t I? And you’re still pissed, still holding on.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine. “You’re so arrogant.” you said, the words barely escaping through your clenched teeth. “You don’t even realize that it’s not about you anymore. It’s about me and how you destroyed us. You shut me out over and over again. You didn’t give a single damn.”

“You think I didn’t know that?” He was inches from you now, his eyes burning, but there was something almost... possessive in them. “I didn’t need to call you. I didn’t need to chase you. You think I didn’t know how much I hurt you? I knew. But I was never going to chase you down, begging for forgiveness. That’s not how this works.”

“You’ve always been so damn prideful.” you seethed, voice trembling with anger. “You think you can just leave me with nothing and then show up with this thing on your skin like it makes everything okay?”

“I never said it made everything okay.” He looked at you, his gaze flicking to the tattoo briefly before locking back on your eyes. “But it’s real. That’s more than you’ll ever understand. You were always so temporary to me, and I wanted something that wouldn’t leave. You won’t leave me, not like this. No matter how much you think you hate me, no matter how many times you tell yourself you’ve moved on—you're still here.”

You shook your head, feeling something twist in your chest. “I’m still here because you never let me leave completely. You always found a way to pull me back in, and now it’s too late. I’m done. I’m done trying to fix something you never wanted to fix.”

He smirked, a faint edge of satisfaction curling his lips. “You think I didn’t know you’d say that? You think I didn’t know you were still in love with me? It’s the same shit, every time. You want to hate me. You want to make me the villain. But you still can’t walk away. You’ll never walk away.”

You looked at him — really looked at him. The tired eyes. The bruises. The tattoo. He was still him. Still sharp edges and cold fire. But now there was something soft underneath.

And you were still you.

Still in love with a boy who didn’t know how to ask you to stay until it was too late.

“I shouldn’t let you back in.” you said.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Silence. Long. Heavy.

You hated him.

You hated the way he stood there like he hadn’t torn you apart. The way his jaw clenched when you spoke, like you were the one being unfair. The way he smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne and memories you still hadn’t managed to drown.

You hated the way your body still ached for him, even now.

“You think I can’t forget you?” you whispered, stepping back, needing space, needing air. “You’re wrong. I do it every damn day.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. “Then why are you shaking?”

You froze. Your breath caught. And in a flash, like muscle memory, he was already in front of you again, backing you against the wall like gravity was pulling him there.

“You hate me,” he murmured, voice low, “but you let me in.”

“You’re still a fucking narcissist.” you hissed, but your hands had already found his chest, trying to push him away.

“And you’re still lying to yourself.” he shot back, just before his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It was angry. Raw. A clash of teeth and breath and months of words you never said. His hands were on your waist like they used to be—possessive, rough, like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

You knew you shouldn’t.

But God, he felt like fire after a lifetime of cold.

He pulled back for a second, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless.

“This doesn’t fix anything.” you whispered.

“I know.” he said, brushing his lips against yours again, softer this time. “But I need you. Just for tonight.”

You knew it was a terrible idea. Knew that the next morning, none of this would be simple. But when he looked at you like that — like you were the only thing that ever quieted the chaos inside him — logic didn’t stand a chance.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him back in before you could talk yourself out of it. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and unrelenting. He kissed like he fought. With intensity, control, like he needed to win. And maybe you did too, in your own way.

His hands were on your body, sliding beneath your shirt, calloused palms dragging across your skin like he was rediscovering a language he hadn’t spoken in months. You gasped into his mouth when his thumbs brushed under your ribs, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Still so fucking soft.” he muttered against your neck, his breath hot. “You think I ever forgot this?”

You didn’t answer — couldn’t. Your back hit the wall again and your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively. His mouth moved down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.

You tugged his shirt over his head, eyes tracing the familiar scars, the bruises from his latest fight, the ink over his ribs — your name etched in bold, defiant permanence.

“You’re fucking crazy.” you whispered, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Only for you.” he said, eyes dark as he pulled your sweatpants down.

He worked you out of your clothes like it was muscle memory — like he’d imagined it a hundred times since you left.

His mouth moved to your tits, grabbing them firmly and marking them as his.

You gripped his hair, gasping his name, and he looked up at you, lips already flushed, voice gravelly,

“Say it again.”

“Sunghoon...” you moan again, softly.

He groaned like it hurt. Like it healed.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch.

He finished undressing himself and pumped his dick a few times while maintaining eye contact with you.

When he finally pushed into you, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was desperation wrapped in need — teeth on your collarbone, fingers digging into your thighs, curses muttered into your skin. He was everywhere. He was too much. He was exactly what you needed.

He was ramming into you like crazy, like he was starved. You clawed at his back, legs locked around him, moving in sync like your bodies never forgot.

“God, you still feel like mine.” he growled into your ear, hips thrusting harder, more erratic now. “Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

You bit his bicep, half a sob, half a moan. “You never really had me.”

But even as you said it, your nails raked down his spine and your body arched into his like gravity couldn’t bear to keep you apart.

“Are you sure about that?” he said, looking at you with dark, needy eyes.

His hand crawled up, finding your neck and giving it a strong squeeze, holding you in place.

Your vision blurred as pleasure crashed over you in waves — overwhelming, all-consuming. Your back arched off the couch, breath hitching, unable to ground yourself in anything but the way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you. He slapped your cheek and grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him.

“You fucking slut,” he groaned, “missed my dick that bad?” he mocked, making you whimper and feel vulnerable under him.

“Fuck you.” you spat.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, like he loved when you talked back.

Before you could blink, he flipped you effortlessly, pressing your chest to the couch cushions, dragging your hips up with rough hands. You gasped, caught off guard, dizzy from the shift, but burning with need.

“You always needed it like this.” he muttered behind you, voice like gravel, hands gripping your hips with a possessive hold that left fingerprints in his wake. “Hard. Messy. Mine.”

And then he was moving again — deeper, rougher, pulling sounds from you that didn’t even sound like your own. You buried your face in the pillow, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear your pretty noises, “Don’t hide from me now."

“F-Fuck.” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot back, trying to slow him down.

But he didn’t stop.

He gripped your wrist mid-air, pinned it to the small of your back, and kept going — relentless, feverish, like he was trying to burn his name into your skin.

He’d never been like this before. Not this rough. Not this desperate.

Not this possessed.

Every thrust sent a shockwave through you, your cries lost in the heat between you, in the way your name kept falling from his lips like a prayer turned curse.

Your thighs trembled.

Your breath hitched.

And then you shattered. Back arching, vision blinding white, everything in you unraveling all at once. You cried out his name, broken and breathless, feeling yourself fall apart around him.

That was all it took.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to the moment — to you. Like he needed this more than air.

You were still catching your breath, your body buzzing with the aftershocks, when it hit you.

Your eyes flew open.

“Wait—” you gasped, twisting to look at him. “Did you just—? You didn’t pull out.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“Yeah.” he said, calm. Too calm. “I did it on purpose.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Are you insane?”

His hand slid down your spine possessively, slow and deliberate. “No.” he murmured. “Just done pretending.”

Your chest tightened, fury and disbelief tangling with something that felt a lot like fear.

“You can’t just—” you started.

“I already did.” he interrupted. His voice was low, dark, final. “That wasn’t just sex. That was me putting you back where you belong. You’re mine again — deal with it.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

You should’ve pushed him off. Should’ve screamed, left, anything.

But instead, you laid there, his breath still warm on your skin, trying to decide if the rapid beat of your heart was from panic… or the fact that a part of you liked being wanted this much.

Even if it was twisted.

Even if it was wrong.

#enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst

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boigyu · 8 days ago

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BEING ROOMMATES WITH 3 GUYS? 02z edition

pairing! enhypen's 02z x female!reader

genre! fluff, crack, roommate au

warnings! cursing, mentions of sex, jake having a dirty ass room, talks of football, kys joke, mention of influenza, 02z being weirdly obsessed with protein shakes, mention of sharing saliva, mention of rituals, mention of 🌽 (they don't do anything I swear), just 02z being men 🤢

notes! THE WARNINGS MAKE THIS LOOK SO BAD LMAOOOO 💀💀 02z are such crackheads here it's so?? inspired by my fear of rooming with more than 1 guy

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luvhcarly · 1 day ago

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YOU KNOW HOW TO BEG.

Every summer since you were born, you and your parents go to your friend’s house to a small town near the beach. Sunghoon which is their son, is your best friend since you can remember. You both know everything about each other. Every secret, every fear, everything. You were inseparable. But this summer is different…

PAIRINGS: dom!Sunghoon x fem reader

GENRE: smut, childhood bestfriends to lovers

TAGS: 18+, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t!), swearing, teasing, fingering, angst, rough sex?, jealousy, pet names (good girl, baby…), edging a little, Sunghoon is mean to reader, insults, arguing, they are over 18+!!, lmk if I missed anything, not proof read

WC: 9K

A/N: Hii! :) Summer is coming and I am kind of getting obsessed with this kind of trope like during summer if u know what I mean hahah. Requests are opened.

!reminder English is not my first language!

July was the month you looked forward to all year. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, but what you loved most was that you could finally see him. Every year since you were born, you went with your parents to their friend's house, who had a son named Sunghoon. You and him, since you were little, were like an inseparable pair. Your laughter could be heard throughout the house, you told each other every single thing that happened. Every single secret, every single fear, every single crush. Everything. But you had a feeling that this summer would be different.

You were sitting in the car, your head leaning against the window and your eyes watching the surroundings. You had your headphones in your ears and were enjoying the summer song ‘Xo (only if you say yes’. When you saw the familiar houses and streets, a smile came to your face. It reminded you of how you and Sunghoon used to cycle through these streets since you were little.

The car stopped in front of a familiar house that held so many memories. Immediately, you took off your headphones and opened the car door without hesitation. The familiar smell of summer, cherries and the sea, which you loved so much, hit your nose. For a moment you closed your eyes and took a long deep breath.

Your father muttered something under his breath, but you overheard and opened your eyes, immediately scanning the terrace. And there he stood. Leaning against the door frame, his hands in his pockets, his figure taller than you remembered, his white T-shirt loose as usual. But something was different. His posture was closed. No emotion. His expression almost unreadable. The worst part was that he didn't even move. He just stood there, unsmiling. Without any reaction.

"You look like you grew another foot, Sasquatch." You let out a teasing laugh, but he ignored it. You expected something like "Still shorter than your ego," or "You look like a drowned cat in that travel hair." But nothing came out of him. He didn't even laugh, nothing.

"Hey." That was all Sunghoon let out, no emotion, no enthusiasm in his eyes. You were taken aback by his reaction and furrowed your eyebrows.

"That’s it? Just ‘hey’? After eleven months?" Sunghoon looked away from you, as if he didn’t even want to look at you. As if he was forced to stay here. You didn’t understand why he was acting so strange. So measured. Every summer, when you came, he would wait for you with a big smile on his face, his arms wide open, waiting for a hug. Now…? Now you felt like a burden to him.

“Didn’t know we were counting.” A small laugh escaped your lips, unsure.

“Well, I was.” Slowly, you walked over to him. Your chest felt tight, like maybe anxiety? Or something else? But you tried to act normal. “Anyway, I brought snacks this time. The good ones. You still inhale those sour candies, right?” You added, pointing to the back where your luggage was, a smile playing on your face.

"Not really into them anymore." Sunghoon didn't even look at you, while you expected him to laugh and say he was kidding. That he was just playing with you, but nothing came out of him.

Suddenly, his mother appeared from behind him, her usual sweet, friendly smile on her face.

“Oh, sweetheart! Look at you! Taller every year.” Immediately, she pulled you into a warm hug and you returned it. His mother, who was also like your second mother, had always been very kind and friendly to you. She tried to understand you as much as she could. She pulled away from the warm hug and really ran her eyes over you again.

“And more beautiful every year!” She added, placing her hands on both of your shoulders, while you just laughed at her sweet words. “Right, Hoon?” She turned her head to her son, who was staring at his phone this time, uninterested.

“Hoon?” His mother spoke again and he looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“What?” She sighed at his rude reaction and rolled her eyes, her gaze shifting back to you.

“Boys…” She joked and you pursed your lips and cleared your throat. You had never felt so embarrassed as you did now… Sunghoon’s mom took her hands off your shoulders and gave you a warm smile again, while you kept your attention on him. Something about it didn’t sit right with you. His detachment was terrible. You didn’t understand what had changed between you. And you wanted to figure it out as soon as possible.

So when you put your things from your luggage in the closet, you looked around the room. A small sigh escaped your lips and your eyes noticed the small polaroid photos from last summer hanging on the mirror. With slow steps, you walked to the mirror and one photo, where you both lay on some field full of yellow flowers, with a smile on your faces, you took it in your hand and smiled softly at it. You didn't understand Sunghoon's behavior, why was he so cold towards you…

“Y/n, honey!” Your mother's soft voice came from behind the door and she opened the door, you quickly put the photo back in its original place and without hesitation you turned around, your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“Dinner is ready. Come on.” She announced to you and you nodded at her words and nervously ran a hand through your hair. You took a deep breath and tried to convince yourself that maybe he just wasn't in the mood, that maybe it just seemed to you that he was so distant towards you. But the opposite was true.

You didn't say a word to each other the whole evening during dinner. His gaze was still fixed on his phone, trying to ignore your presence. But you suppressed the bad thoughts and tried to join the conversation between him and your parents, hoping that the bad feeling that was squeezing your chest would stop. Sunghoon barely touched his food, he ran his fingers over the screen of his phone, his expression neutral, which was unusual. Sunghoon was always the one who joked during dinner, had funny sarcastic remarks towards you, but now it was different.

He didn't even look at you out of the corner of his eye, he didn't want to look at you. He tried to ignore you as much as he could. And he was doing well until his mother spoke to him.

“Hoon, put the phone away and talk to y/n. I am sure that you have a lot of things that you want to say to each other.” It was the first time he had looked at you during the dinner, giving you a cold look. His eyes scanned you, as if searching for something in you, but then he suddenly stood up from his chair and put his phone in his pocket.

“I’m tired.” Sunghoon let out in a cold, deep, annoyed voice. Everyone watched as he walked to his room, leaving surprised looks behind him…

“I’m sorry about him. He is just acting weird lately.” His mother's voice came out, sad and disappointed. Your mother just waved her hand at her words and said that it was okay and that he was probably just not feeling well. And you hoped she was right.

After dinner, you helped put away the dirty plates and then went to your room. The Park’s house was huge, that's why you had your own room, which was small and cozy, it had everything you needed. Tired, you lay down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling of the room. His strange behavior kept running through your mind. You were inseparable, best friends… You must have been lying like that for an hour, thinking about what you had done wrong.

You took your phone in your hand and started scrolling through Instagram, watching stories of your friends having fun at some party. You laughed at a funny video that your friend shared. Then you slid to your contacts and started to scroll through them, when his name caught your eye, you stopped.

Active.

You got up from the bed and quietly crept out of your room. You directed your steps towards his room and when you appeared in front of his door, you hesitated. But then you knocked softly three times and his deep voice spoke with the words “come in.” You gripped the doorknob tightly in your hand at first, you still hesitated but then you opened the door and saw him sitting on the bed, his hands resting on his knees, his phone still in his hand, his hair messy and he had an expression on his face that you couldn’t read.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come bug you like I always do.” He looked up from the phone at you, but then he shifted his gaze back to the phone. You cleared your throat and walked slowly towards him, as if you weren’t sure if you could do it.

“It’s late.” He spoke in a deep tone of voice and you sat down next to him, a little embarrassed at your appearance.

"Since when do you care about sleep? You used to stay up with me till sunrise bingeing the dumbest movies." He didn't answer. He remained silent and continued to swipe his finger across the screen of his phone, uninterested.

"Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you?" This time he finally put down his phone, but he still didn't look at you. His voice was cool. Controlled. Like he was completely sure of what he was saying.

"Nothing's going on. I'm just not in the mood to talk." His words stopped you and you knew he was lying. Sunghoon had never lied and he certainly wouldn't lie to you. So why now?

"You've been 'not in the mood' since I got here. You've barely said two full sentences to me. Is this how it's gonna be now?" You threw your hands up nervously and he shook his head at you, his eyes still fixed straight ahead.

"You're overthinking."

"Don't do that. Don't make me feel crazy for noticing the shift." You cut him off immediately, he could hear in your voice that you were quite sad and hurt by what he was saying.

Sunghoon took a deep breath through his nose, scratching the back of his neck, while you watched his every little move, looking for something - anything - anything similar.

"I missed you, you know. I was counting down the days to this trip. Like I always do. I thought… we’d pick up where we left off." Your voice was quieter than usual this time and he finally turned his eyes to you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, but his expression still uninterested.

"Maybe that’s the problem, y/n.” Your heart stopped at that moment. His words were quiet, but loud at the same time.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" He shrugged, as if he didn’t even know what he meant by that.

"Maybe we’re not the same anymore. Maybe it’s not supposed to be like before." You had a puzzled look on your face, watching him speak with complete calm. You remained silent, not knowing what to say to him. The anger in you rose a little, you were angry. Downright pissed off at him for throwing your long-standing friendship in the trash like that.

"So you just…” You stopped, searching for the right words. “decided that on your own? Without even giving me a chance?" You threw your hands in the air angrily, while he rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw tightly.

"I’m tired, okay? Can we just drop it?” A tired sigh escaped his lips, he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with it tonight. Actually, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it at all. And that made you angrier.

"No. We can’t just drop it. You’re pushing me away and acting like you don’t care about throwing our friendship away just like that.” You stood up from the bed angrier than before, but he just stared at you, at first without saying a word. But then he let out something that felt like a slap.

“Maybe I don’t.” Loudly, you swallowed, surprised, staring at him, as if you weren’t sure if you heard him correctly. For a moment, you stared at him without saying a word. Your eyes were starting to get a little glassy, but you refused to cry. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room between you, but then you broke it.

“So now what, Sunghoon?” As you said his name, his gaze lifted to you. “we just... stop talking? After everything?” You crossed your arms over your chest as he watched you, watching the anger rise in you and the sadness as well.

“It’s easier this way.” You didn’t understand his words. Why was he saying that? Why was he acting like he didn’t care about your friendship?

"For who? Because it sure as hell isn’t easier for me” Bitterly you laughed, to make him feel that what he was saying was stupid and wrong of him. That he was hurting you. But Sunghoon didn’t even need to hear you, because he knew how your heart was breaking into a million pieces. That you felt like he had stuck a knife into it, and slowly and cruelly twisted it. He remained silent. And that was what you hated. Silence. And he knew it. The intensity between you was tight, suffocating, and took every breath away from you.

“You used to tell me everything. I knew what you were thinking before you even said it…” There was sadness in your voice, it was shaky, like you wanted to break down and cry, but you didn’t. “Now you look at me like I’m a stranger.” Finally, he got up from his bed and walked over to you, but there was still enough distance between you, his voice rough and cold.

"Maybe you are." At that moment, everything around you stopped. Your heart shattered, and for a moment you felt like you were literally choking.

“Wow.” You said in a low voice and put your hands in a defensive gesture, taking a step back as if his words had physically pushed you away.

"Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want me here. Message received." When you turned around and were ready to leave, your hand resting on the doorknob, firmly, his words stopped you.

"I never asked you to come." He told you with a reluctance in his voice, as if he was telling you to get out right now and that he never wanted to see you again. You froze at his words. Your heart was pounding, despite the fact that you felt broken, hurt and taken aback by his unpleasant words. Then, you slowly turned around, your eyes more and more glassy and that was when he realized that he had crossed a line.

"You didn’t have to. I came because I always do. But maybe this is the last time."

And with those words you left, closing the door firmly behind you, not caring that you would wake yours or his parents. And he… and he just stood there frozen as if he was only just now starting to realize how horrible his words towards you were. Sunghoon didn't mean to say it as nasty as it sounded. He wanted to stay away from you, but he didn't realize that by doing so he was destroying everything you had built between each other over the years. He tried to protect your friendship at all costs, but he didn't realize that by doing so he was destroying it. He had completely destroyed it and there was no going back.

The next day you didn’t speak at all, nor did you look at each other. You just walked around, without saying a word, ignoring each other’s presence. You, you sat on a chair, looking at yourself in the mirror, wondering if you were should go to the bonfire. You and Sunghoon always went to the bonfire together, you spent every single year wrapped in a blanket, sitting by the fire with his friends. Well, now… you didn’t know if you were coming, since you broke off contact and ignored each other the whole day.

You took a deep breath and nervously ran your hand through your hair. At that moment, your mom appeared from behind the door, a sweet smile on her face, but her eyebrows slightly raised, curious.

“Are you not coming to the bonfire with Sunghoon, honey?” She stepped into your room and you made eye contact with her through the mirror.

“I’m not in the mood…” She saw in you that you were sad about something, hurt. And she also saw how you and Sunghoon were acting, you weren’t laughing at the whole house, you weren’t sneaking up to the roof like usual to look at the stars together.

“Is everything okay between you and Sunghoon?” Her voice was soft and careful, she was afraid that she was interfering where she didn’t belong. You turned to her and let out a deep sigh, but then you smiled, pretending that nothing was happening and that everything was fine between you.

“Yes, everything is fine.” Even though she wasn't sure what you were saying, she nodded because she didn't want to dig into it any further. So she placed her hand on your head and caressed you, her touch gentle and loving as always.

“Okay, but I think you should go. Have some fun a little? You always loved bonfires and that was the most thing you were looking forward to.” At her words you nodded and smiled, it was true. You always loved bonfires, the pleasant atmosphere, the roaring sea and its salty smell. Why would you let someone like Sunghoon ruin your favorite event? And so you went, listening your mother’s words without hesitation.

The fire crackled in the center of the circle, sending sparks spiraling into the sky. Everyone’s gathered — drinks in hand, voices blending in laughter and stories. The air smelled like smoke, salt, and summer. The night felt alive. You sat near the fire, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a red cup of water in your hand.

Then Jay, one of Sunghoon’s longtime friends, made his way over, holding two marshmallows on sticks, offering you one with a crooked grin.

“You still burn them black on purpose, or have your roasting skills improved?” He joked and you laughed at his words, your eyes shining with surprise.

“Jay? I didn’t even see you earlier!” With a laugh you replied.

"You’ve been ignoring me, obviously."He said teasingly and winked at you, sitting down next to you and you graciously accepted the marshmallow stick from him.

"Please. If anyone’s been ignoring anyone, it’s your best friend over there." You nodded at Sunghoon, who was sitting not far from the two of you, a red cup held to his lips, sipping. Half-involved in another conversation but his eyes were watching. Always watching. He clenched his jaw tightly when he heard his name, even though you didn’t say it directly. His fingers tightened around the cup.

“Yeah, he’s been in a mood lately. Can’t figure him out.” Jay spoke up, agreeing with you. Sunghoon was acting strange around him too, which Jae didn’t quite understand. He was measured and colder.

“Join the club.” You pressed your lips together and then you laughed together. Jay smacked your shoulder playfully a little and you did the same. Nothing more intense. No flirting between you. Just two people enjoying each other's presence, friendly. But for Sunghoon it was something more. Even though he didn't admit it, his look said it all.

He couldn't stop staring at how you always slightly leaned closer to Jay when he said something and how your lips always curved into a small smile and then into a gentle and sincere laugh. The way Jay smiled at you and observed every single detail of you and the way your knees gently touched.

"Still remember the summer you beat all of us at Mario Kart and wouldn’t let it go for weeks?" Jay reminded you of the summer two years ago, when everything was still fine and Sunghoon didn't see you as a stranger.

"Obviously. That was the peak of my existence." You laughed at that and he did the same, tilting his head back a little but then looking at you with a big smile.

"You peaking at seventeen is so tragic." He joked and you rolled your eyes at him, but then you burst out laughing.

"Says the guy who got destroyed with a blue shell and threw the controller." Your laughter was loud, which made Sunghoon turn away. You teased each other more and he didn't like that. He didn't like that you were sharing something you once shared with him. His fingers wrapped around the cup more tightly, then just like that he threw the cup away and stood up. Annoyed, he stormed over to you both, you both looked up at him, not understanding.

"Didn’t realize we were all here to relive middle school memories." He let out and the circle around the fire quieted down a bit.

"Didn’t realize you were paying attention at all." You replied coolly, while Jay looked from you to him. He saw the intensity and anger between you, so he stood up and put his hands in a defensive gesture.

"Okay, I’m just gonna… roast my marshmallow now." He spoke and Sunghoon glared at him.

“Yeah, you should.” He said in a low voice and Jay sat down on the other side of the circle and you shook your head and put the marshmallow stick aside, your eyes burning with disgust and anger. But his eyes burning with jealousy, guilt.

You couldn't take it anymore, the anger, so you stood up and directed your steps towards the beach, which was nearby. Your feet sinking into the warm sand, leaving a pleasant feeling. The laughter and music blur in the distance. You just wanted to breathe — to get away from his eyes, his voice, the way he still gets under your skin with nothing but a sentence. You wrapped the blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders tighter and stopped by the seashore, watching the waves. Your nose was immediately hit by a familiar scent that you had always loved. This was exactly what you needed.

Then suddenly you heard footsteps and you didn’t even have to turn around because you knew it was him.

“Of course you had to follow me.” You muttered with an annoyed laugh and he just walked closer to you without a word, his steps heavy but quiet at the same time. “What? You’re not done embarrassing me in front of everyone yet?” You quickly turned around and he looked at you in surprise, but then just stared blankly again.

“You didn’t seem embarrassed.” He shrugged at that and you furrowed your eyebrows at it.

“Oh, screw you!” You shook your head and looked away but then you looked back at him, his lips in a thin line, his eyes dark as if there was nothing in them.

"You’ve been treating me like crap since I got here. Ignoring me, pushing me away, pretending like I don’t even exist — and then suddenly, the second someone else talks to me, you act like I’ve committed some crime?" Your tone of voice was raised and the anger in you was rising again and he was aware of it. He put his hands in his pockets, uninterested, but he answered you anyway.

"Didn’t realize a marshmallow was that intimate." Teasingly he joked and you threw the blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders at him.

“God, you are such an asshole!” You yelled at him and he just looked at you, his attitude calm, too calm.

"Maybe I just got tired of pretending we’re still who we used to be." He shrugged uninterestedly and you sighed furiously.

“I don’t get it. You used to tell me everything. And now? Now you won’t even look me in the eye unless you’re making some stupid comment to piss me off." Your voice was shaky again, but you were still angry. Sunghoon looked away from you as if he couldn’t even look you in the eye.

“And I’m standing here, trying to understand why the person I’ve known my whole life suddenly acts like I’m a stranger. And you just… act like it doesn’t even bother you.” Again, your eyes were glassy, your chest clenched with that unpleasant feeling like before.

“Maybe you should stop fucking trying. It’s annoying.” He let out a measured, cold sigh and looked at you. He could see from your expression that he had hurt you even more than before.

“Wow…” You took a step back. “If you want to pretend we never meant anything to each other — fine. I hope it keeps you warm at night.” And with those words, you walked away, leaving him alone again. And then his form broke for a moment, but then he put the mask back on and sighed. He watched your figure slowly disappear from his sight. And he, just staring, trying to come to terms with the fact that it was really all over now…

A week had passed since you last talked on the beach. You continued to ignore each other's presence and others, not just your mom, had started to notice it. You were all sitting in the garden together, grilling, laughing at silly things and other things. After a long time, you felt relaxed, sitting on a chair, a glass of lemonade in your hand. Sunghoon was sitting right across from you, his attention focused on his phone and nothing else around interested him.

“Your mom mentioned that you are leaving earlier than them?” Suddenly his mother asked and your smile slipped, and he looked up for a moment but then redirected his gaze back to the phone, but he still listened attentively.

“Yeah, I have some stuff that I want to finish before the school starts again.” You said, pulling your legs closer to your chest and taking a sip of your lemonade, which you then placed on the table.

“Oh, really? Or is there some boy in it?” She leaned closer to you, curiosity in her eyes, and as you were about to answer, Sunghoon surprised you with his sharp words.

“Nah I don’t think so. She’s got options, though. Trust me. Guys lining up to feed her marshmallows." The whole table laughed at his words, not knowing if he was serious or just joking. But you didn't find it funny.

"What's your problem?" You asked him in an angry voice. This was the first time in a week that you had looked at him properly again.

"Just trying to participate. You're the one who hates when I stay quiet, remember?" He teased with mockery in his eyes and voice.

"Better than saying something stupid." Your parents noticed how your mutual nagging sounded different than before. It was more intense and more like a snarl. And they weren't wrong.

"Guess you'll have to pick your poison." He shrugged at that.

"Kids-" his mother said, but you both ignored her.

"Can you just stop acting like a jerk for five minutes?" You furrowed your eyebrows and snapped at him, your voice raised and everyone could feel the immense anger coming from you.

"Can you stop acting like a bitch and sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you?” His eyes narrowed, as if he was watching you, watching you react to his words. Everyone remained silent, surprised by the whole situation. You, you shook your head at that and quickly stood up, staring at him.

“I’m done. Thanks for the dinner. It was lovely.” With those words you left, leaving everyone surprised and saddened at the same time by what had just happened before their eyes. Sunghoon stayed seated, clearing his throat to at least lighten the air a little but didn’t say anything. He just watched you walk away, holding tightly to the glass of water that would probably shatter in his hand if he squeezed it even tighter.

A cold breeze enveloped your body and you immediately grabbed yourself by your shoulders and hugged yourself, hoping to warm up. The sand on your feet was cold, but that was the least of what was bothering you right now. Your gaze was fixed on the sea again and you were enjoying the last moment you were here. In two days you are leaving back home, and you will probably never come back here. And you will forget everything that was. All those memories, the friendship you have built over the years. That hurt you the most. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to enjoy the moment of silence and the smell of the salty sea.

"You’re really leaving?" His voice surprised you and you flinched at it. But you didn’t look at him, even though you felt his intense gaze.

"Why do you care?" Coldly you asked him and he swallowed loudly.

"Because I didn’t think you would." Bitterly you laughed at his words and turned to him, your arms crossed over your chest. Sunghoon had an expression on his face that you couldn’t read. Did he look disappointed? No, you were probably just imagining it.

“Well, I got tired of being somewhere I clearly don’t belong.” He stayed silent. He didn’t even know what to say, because anything he said would be inappropriate and wouldn’t fix it, but he tried anyway.

“I’m sorry. About dinner. I shouldn’t have said that.” He scratched the back of his neck and bit his bottom lip, nervously. Finally, you could feel a different energy coming from him… which felt strange.

“You’ve been saying a lot of things you shouldn’t lately.” You took a deep breath and broke eye contact with him, your attention shifting back to the sea in front of you and he did the same. You both just stared, speechless, Sunghoon deep in thought. But then a thought hit his head.

"If you’re really leaving…” Softly he started speaking, as if he was afraid of your reaction. “We should swim in the sea. One last time. Just like we used to.” When he mentioned the last time you were here a year ago, you swallowed loudly, turning to him, surprised. Sunghoon chuckled at your reaction.

“What?” He slowly touched the fabric of his shirt and took it off, while you remained frozen. A smirk playing on his features, as if it wasn’t even a matter of importance that he was undressing in front of you. Your eyes were immediately struck by his chest and his tones abs, which you swallowed loudly at.

“Come on.” He pointed his head at the sea and you blinked, hesitating.

“You think some swimming in the sea like we used to will fix anything?” He paused at your words, but then let out a long sigh.

“No, but maybe we could try to remember how we used to be… before everything” You could hear the sincerity in his voice. It was strange. He had been cold towards you since you arrived, and now? Now he was trying to make up for it….

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

"Me neither." He shrugged and slowly started unzipping his jeans with his fingers, and your eyes immediately slipped in there and you widened in surprise.

"Are you fucking serious?!" You said with a slightly panicked tone and he flinched. He found it funny how you acted like you'd never done this before, that you hadn't swam in the sea. Even though you were wearing swimsuits then, it wouldn't be any different now except that you'd be naked. But it's dark, who cares? He won't be able to see anything.

"Dead serious." Before his jeans and boxers could completely fall off the sand, you quickly turned around and closed your eyes, a blush immediately rising to your cheeks. He ran into the water without a word, laughing.

"Oh my god! You're actually crazy." You laughed and immediately the hot water touching his skin made him sigh. You moved your hand away from your eyes a little and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. Once. The first time and the third time you put your hand completely down and looked at him, still hesitating. You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath and slowly started to take off your shirt. Sunghoon didn't even have to be told to turn around because he did it automatically.

When you took off your shirt, your body was immediately embraced by the evening breeze and a chill ran down your spine. Sunghoon, even though his back was turned to you, watched you slowly undress out of the corner of his eye, leading his thoughts where they shouldn't be. But he immediately suppressed them.

You put your pants aside and hugged your body and slowly started walking into the water. The water was cold at first, but then it became warm and pleasant. When you were fully in the water, Sunghoon turned towards you completely and you both looked at each other without a word. For a small moment, you both felt like a year ago, where you were here together. When you almost kissed and that summer, there was something more between you. Something more intense, more romantic than ever before.

Sunghoon disappeared under the water for a moment, his hair completely soaked and he ran his hand through it. Drops of water slowly ran down his cheek and there was still silence between you, but you interrupted him.

"Why did you throw everything away? Our friendship.” After a moment of silence, you asked him, while he just watched you. He watched as the moon fell on your shoulders, which were sticking out of the water. “Why are you acting like nothing happened? Like we didn’t almost kiss last summer? Like that didn’t mean anything to you?” Sunghoon was most afraid of this question. Exactly at this point, you almost kissed… When you were already expecting silence to remain, he spoke.

“It meant everything to me.” He said quietly, as if he was only talking to himself. But you heard him quite clearly, and you blinked at him. “I thought about it every damn day after…” He admitted and paused for a moment, took a deep breath and then continued. “I wanted to tell you. I wanted to call… But I panicked. I didn’t know what to do with it.” His words surprised you, but you still didn't understand why he had pushed you away so suddenly. "With you—with how you made me feel." Even though his words were as honest as ever, you still felt hurt. Broken into a million pieces.

“So you just… cut me off?” You spoke with a shaky voice and Sunghoon saw the drops running down your cheeks, not knowing if they were tears or just drops of water.

“I was scared. That I’d ruin it. That if I told you I wanted more, you’d look at me differently. And then I’d lose the only person who ever really knew me.” Sunghoon finally said everything that had been bothering him all year. He expected you to yell at him, to hit him, to cry, whatever. But he didn’t expect you to just stare at him silently, without a word. What he said couldn’t fix what he had broken, he knew that himself.

There was silence and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of the sea and your intense beating of each other’s hearts. You couldn’t handle it. You slowly got ready to leave, ignoring that he would see you, you didn’t care. But you didn’t expect him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the water.

“Wait—wait.” He let out a panicked sigh and you shifted your eyes from your hand to his face. He had a broken and frightened expression on his face.

“Don’t go.” He swallowed loudly, fear in his voice. “Please…” His heart was beating at an incredible pace and his breathing was heavier than usual. “I’m sorry. For everything. For messing this up.” Even though he knew that one stupid apology wouldn’t be enough, he tried, hoping you’d give him another chance.

“I don’t want you to leave thinking I didn’t care. I never stopped caring.” Your breath hitched at his words and his grip on your wrist tightened, as if he was afraid that if he loosened even a little, you would leave.

“Then why did you make me feel like I was nothing to you?” Your voice was soft but heavy, full of mixed emotions.

“Because you were everything. And I didn’t know how to hold on to that without breaking it.” He whispered, searching your eyes for anything that would tell him that you wouldn’t leave. That you would give him a chance to make it all right. That you still saw him the same way you did before. The waves of the sea touched your bodies and you shifted your gaze to your hand where he was still holding you tightly.

“You don’t get to say stuff like that after pushing me away. After making me feel like I imagined everything.” You raised your eyes and looked into his, his eyes were sad, full of longing and begging for your forgiveness and for a kinder hope.

“You didn’t imagine it.” He admitted and swallowed loudly and you bit your bottom lip, nervously.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. That night… the almost kiss. I tried to forget it. Tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything.” To keep from collapsing, you stopped and took a deep breath and then continued. “But it did. It still does.”

Sunghoon stared silently, not knowing if he had really heard correctly. His grip still firm, his heart beating intensely. He slowly lowered his hand and swallowed loudly, thinking. While you, you stared at him without a word, waiting for him to say or do something.

“Then why are we still standing here like this?” His words surprised you and without further hesitation you closed the distance between you and pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft, full of unanswered questions. You pulled away for a moment, but this time he pressed his lips first, his hand immediately slid to your waist pulling you closer and your arms wrapping around his neck.

He deepened the kiss, his other hand gently cupping your cheek. The ocean waves lapped softly against your skin, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He pulled you closer, and you could feel his heartbeat racing in sync with yours. Sunghoon couldn’t believe it that he is holding you like this, kissing you.

A small sigh escaped from your lips and for a brief moment you pulled away, looking deeply into his eyes. But then he in an instant pulled you back, kissing you harder.

"Don't run away," he whispered against your lips, one hand tangling in your wet hair. The moon above cast a gentle glow on his face, making his features even more beautiful. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, his strong arms securing you against him.

“I’m not-“ You mumbled into the kiss which made him smile softly against your lips, cutting off your words with another tender kiss. His hands began to explore your body more freely, tracing the curves of your back and hips. The ocean water swirled around you both, adding a sensual rhythm to the moment. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“Do you… do you want me to stop?” Carefully he asked, as if he wasn't sure if that was okay.

“No.” But your words reassured him and he pressed his lips to yours again. Sunghoon's hands slide down to your hips, pulling you even closer until there's no space between your bodies. He kisses you passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger he's never felt before. The ocean waves crash softly against your naked bodies.

His hands move from your hips to grip your backside, lifting you up and carrying you to the shore, carefully he put you down on the sand, his mouth never leaving yours. Your fingers slowly made their way to his hair as He positions himself between your legs, his muscular body hovering over you as he continues to completely devour your mouth. The moonlight casts a silvery glow on your intertwined bodies, highlighting every curve and muscle.

Sunghoon pulled away from you, both of you gasping for air. His eye admired every part of your body. "You're so beautiful." Fuck, you really were. The moonlight casts highlighted every part of your body. Your body was like a heaven to him. A small blush appeared on your cheeks, as his voice was soft and gentle.

When he leaned to kiss you again, you felt his hard cock press slightly against your naked thigh, making you let out a little gasp. Your body was trembling beneath him from it and he could feel it so he grinded against your thigh again, intentionally this time, wanting to feel your reaction again. One hand trails down your side, tracing your hip bone while the other supports his weight.

"Is this okay?" There was worry heard in his voice, like he was making sure that every move he made was okay with you, that he wasn’t going too fast on you.

“Yes.” A soft groan escapes Sunghoon's lips at your response, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He leans down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss again, his tongue dancing with yours. His hand on your hip slides down between your legs. Your mouth fell wide open when his fingers gently started to explore your folds, testing your readiness.

"So soft," he murmured against your lips, his fingers slowly circling your clit, making you let out a sigh of pleasure. The wetness between your legs increasing by it and it only served to fuel his desire. He broke the kiss to look at you, his eyes dark with lust.

“I want to make you feel good.”

“P-please.” With a pleading eyes you said, begging him to do something about it. Your begging face made him groan.

"Fuck, your sounds..." He murmured, applying more pressure as he continued to circle your sensitive bud. His cock throbbing against your thigh, desperate to be inside you, but he's determined to make sure you're properly prepared. Slowly, he slided one finger inside, testing how tight you are, your eyes widening at the feeling.

Fuck, how he loved how you responded to his touch. He stared into your eyes, watching your reactions as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of you.

"So tight," he groaned, adding a second finger to stretch you out. Immediately a loud moan escaping from our lips, his thumb continuing to circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck against his hand.

“Sunghoon~” The sound of his name on your lips nearly breaks his control. Again, he kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans as his fingers continued their steady pace. "You're doing so well, baby," His voice was soft but as he whispered it against your lips, his thumb increasing pressure on your clit. "I want to make you come." At his praising words, you hid your face in the crook of his neck, as the pleasure was too much.

“Mhm-“ A muffled sound came out of you as you wrapped your hand around his neck, bucking your hips more forward to his hand. He chuckled softly, his fingers curling upwards to hit that spot inside you that made you see stars.

"Look at me," he demanded gently, his thumb rubbing faster, making you gasp. He nuzzled your face back into his neck, trying to get you to look up at him. You obeyed to his words and you pulled away from his neck, locking eyes with him. Sunghoon felt your body trembling, your eyes were more and more watery from the pleasure. And fuck… how he loved seeing that.

"You're so close, aren't you?" He asked, his fingers pausing inside you to torment you further.

“W-why did you stop?” When he stopped you in an instant blurted out, trying to catch your breath, his fingers still inside but not moving at all.

"Because I want to watch you fall apart," Seductively, he whispered, his fingers starting to move again - slower this time - drawing out your pleasure. His thumb circled your clit again, knowing exactly how to touch you to drive you wild.

"Let go, baby. Let me see you come." Sunghoon leaned closer to your ear, whispering as he kept pounding his fingers into you, enjoying how you responded to him.

“F-fuck-“ As the pleasure was too much for you, you squeezed your eyes, throwing your head back a little. In an instant he buried his face in your neck, his fingers moving faster and harder as he felt your body tensing.

"That's it, come for me," he encouraged, his own breathing growing ragged. Your mouth opened in an ‘O’ as you felt your climax reaching. He wanted to watch you, but he was too focused on giving you the release you need.

Deeply, he groaned, feeling your walls clenching around his fingers as you came undone, making you moan loudly. Your moans like a music to his ears. He slowed down his movements, gently riding out your orgasm until your body stopped trembling. He pulled his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his mouth to suck off your wetness.

"Fucking beautiful.” Without breaking eye contact with you, he said, watching how your cheeks were flushed red, your breathing heavy. Your eyes slowly slid down to his red cock, pre-cum leaking from it, asking to be inside of you. Sunghoon noticed your hungry stare and without hesitation he grabbed you by your hips, roughly.

“Fuck, flip over.” At his words, you switched your gaze to him, surprised.

“W-what?”

"On your stomach," he repeated, his voice lowering as he gets more impatient. He wanted to be behind you, to wrap his arms around you and pull you onto him. When you saw how he was getting more impatient, you flipped over, supporting your body with your hands.

"Good girl," Left from his lips as he watched how you obeyed to him without a second thought. He lifted your hips up so you're on your knees. "Look at you," He murmured as he pressed his hard cock against your bare ass, making your mouth fall open. Sunghoon noticed how your body tensed when he pressed his cock against your ass. To tease you even more, he took his cock into his hand and gave it a few pumps before teasing your entrance with his tip, making you let out a little cry at the feeling. He chuckled darkly, teasing your entrance with his tip but not pushing in.

"You're so wet and ready for me," He whispered, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He pulled back slightly before pushing forward again, just enough to spread your wetness around but not entering you fully yet.

“Hoon… fuck- please don’t- don’t tease me.” You were struggling with your words and he enjoyed it, and he groaned at your plead, his grip on your hips tightening.

"Fuck, you know how to beg," He said, finally pushing just the tip inside you. He pulls back out slowly, teasing you again. "Is this what you want?" His voice strained with desire.

“Yes! Please Hoon, I- please fuck me with your cock. I-I swear I’ll be-“

"Shut up," Without mercy he slammed his entire length inside you in one go. He stayed there for a moment, letting you get used to his size before pulling back and thrusting forward even harder. "You’re gonna shut that pretty mouth of yours and just take my dick, alright?" A loud whimper came out of you as he leaned down, pressing his chest against you back, whispering into your ear. “Alright, y/n?”

At his question you nodded your head and you squeezed your eyes shut as he began to move, making you open your mouth into a little ‘O’ again. He groaned in satisfaction, seeing your reaction.

"Fuck, look at you taking my cock so well," He praised, his hips moving faster and harder, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to rub your clit in sync with his thrusts.

“Mh- H-Hoon~”

"Fuck, you're so fucking hot when you say my name," The fingers over your clit moving faster as he continued to pound into you from behind. "I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy until you’re screaming my name," he threatened, his voice low and rough.

“P-please I’m gonna-“ Again, you started to feel the familiar pleasure, and he felt it too.

"That's it, keep making those fucking noises," Sunghoon encouraged, his fingers pressing firmly against your clit as he continues to fuck you hard and fast. "You’re gonna come all over my dick, aren’t you? You’re gonna squeeze me so tight when you come." His dirty talk was like heaven, you couldn’t even think properly so you just nodded at his words, his cock hitting every right spot inside you.

"Come on then, I wanna feel you come apart on my dick," he urged, his hips moving erratically as he chased his own release. "I’m close, fuck I'm so close," You moaned as he groaned into your ear, his fingers moving in tight circles over your clit.

With every deep thrust you felt your body trembling, feeling like you would collapse from the pleasure.

"Fuck, can you feel that?" His hips were slapping against your ass with each thrust. "I’m hitting that spot deep inside you, aren’t I? The one that makes you see stars?" He leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

“Mhm-“ Even though you tried to say a proper word, nothing came out. Only moans, which were like music to his ears.

"That's it, take it," He growled feeling your pussy clamp down around him as you got closer to your orgasm. "Fuck, just like that." Gently, he bit down on your shoulder, marking you as his, his cock driving into you relentlessly, hitting the right spot. Suddenly your walls tighten around his veiny cock and you came, making a mess on his cock as he wanted. Oh, and he loved every bit of it. But still he kept thrusting into you, trying to case his own high, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back onto him even harder.

"Not done yet," You cried as he kept his ruthless pace, not stopping at all, his hips jerking erratically as he got closer.

“Sunghoon, I-I can’t-“

"Shut up and take it," Sunghoon snapped, his control completely gone as he fucked you through your sensitivity. His fingers dig into your hips harshly, holding you in place as he slammed into you over and over. And with one final thrust, he came, filling up your pussy, his hips jerking slightly with each wave of his release. "Jesus," He muttered, pulling back slightly then pushing back in again slowly, like he can't get enough. Even though your pussy was hurting from his ruthless pace, you moaned as he still kept buried inside you for a while.

"Goddamn, that was intense," Fnally stilling his hips as he catches his breath. He leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade while still buried deep inside you. His hands gently caressed your sides, a stark contrast to how roughly he just held you.

You were out of breath, your body hurting because of how rough he was, but you enjoyed it. Then he slowly pulls out of you, sudden emptiness rushing over you and slowly you flipped back into your back, trying to catch your breath. Sunghoon laid his body down next to yours, your fingers slightly brushing against each other.

After a few moments of just lying there, Sunghoon turned his head to look at you. His eyes soft and warm, a stark contrast to the intense, almost angry way he looked at you during sex. He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, making you smile. You weren’t expecting him to fuck you so good after you just found out why he shut you down. But honestly, you didn’t care. You were happy, you felt loved and that’s what mattered.

Sunghoon leaned in and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before resting his head back down. For a few moments, he just stared at you, taking in your peaceful face and the slight flush to your cheeks.

“What do we tell our parents?” You broke the silence between you two. He let out a small chuckle, brushing his fingers through your hair gently.

"I don’t know yet, but probably best not to mention the fact that I just fucked you senseless…”

150 notes · View notes

tobiosbbyghorl · 12 days ago

Text

just a shirt? | psh

It started off like any normal weekend hangout.

Sunghoon texted:

“Gym run first, then I’ll meet you at the food trucks?”

You replied with a quick “Sure, don’t forget to drink water,” expecting him to show up in his usual off-duty look — hoodie, baggy sweats, hat pulled low, and the occasional backpack slung on one shoulder. His certified campus boyfriend disguise.

But nothing — nothing — could have prepared you for what actually walks up to you twenty minutes later.

Sunghoon appears at the edge of the plaza wearing a black compression shirt that clings to his chest and arms like a second skin, paired with light grey sweatpants hanging just right on his hips. His hair’s still damp from the gym, a little tousled, a little too attractive for your peace of mind. There’s a sheen of post-workout sweat on his arms, and that smug smile he always wears when he knows he looks good.

You choke on your smoothie the moment you spot him.

“Hey,” he says casually, greeting you with a quick kiss to the cheek, totally unaware of the chaos he’s just caused inside your brain.

You blink at him, wide-eyed. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He frowns. “Uh… clothes? What, do I look weird?”

“That’s the problem,” you mutter under your breath. “You don’t look weird. You look like—like—”

You glance around and immediately regret it. Two girls passing by literally slow down their steps to look at him. Another one outright stares from the bench across. Your jaw tightens.

Sunghoon follows your gaze, a little confused. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that you’re out here looking like a walking thirst trap,” you hiss, grabbing his wrist. “You’ve been hiding this body under your oversized hoodies for months, and now you decide to dress like a Calvin Klein ad?”

He blinks, then smirks. “Wait… are you jealous?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to blush. “I’m not jealous. I’m concerned.”

“Concerned for what?”

“For public safety,” you deadpan. “And my sanity.”

Sunghoon bursts out laughing, the sound full and boyish and so annoyingly attractive. “So what do you want me to do?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Just—come back to my dorm. It’s literally five minutes away. I can’t focus if people keep checking you out. It’s like… dating a walking distraction.”

His brows rise. “You’re asking me to hang out in your dorm because girls are looking at me?”

“No,” you say, already dragging him in the direction of your building. “I’m asking you to hang out in my dorm so I can look at you in peace without someone else doing it first.”

That earns you a very pleased grin. “Damn. Three months in and you’re finally down bad.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “Sunghoon. Don’t push it.”

He laughs again, keeping pace with you, fingers lacing through yours as if he didn’t just walk out dressed like every girl’s daydream. “I’m just saying… if you wanted a private show, you could’ve just said so.”

“Shut up.”

“I could’ve brought extra gym clothes.”

“Shut. Up.”

But your ears are burning, and Sunghoon’s looking at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You’re doomed.

—

Sunghoon toes off his sneakers as you unlock your dorm room, still grinning like a little shit.

You’re trying so hard to act normal — really, you are. But it’s difficult when he’s standing there in that shirt and those sweatpants, looking like he belongs in a thirst trap compilation, not your tiny dorm room.

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you toss your bag on the chair and try to shake off the heat in your face. “You can sit wherever,” you mumble, heading to the mini fridge. “I have water or… watered-down juice.”

“I’ll take water,” he says, stretching his arms overhead with a quiet groan.

And you swear, the fabric of his shirt creaks with the motion.

You whip your head away instantly. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“What?” he says, so innocently it’s criminal. “Stretching? Baby, I just worked out. I’m sore.”

You turn and glare at him, water bottle in hand. “Stop calling me baby when you’re dressed like that. It’s a health hazard.”

Sunghoon leans back against your bed frame, legs spread slightly, one arm resting behind his head like this is a photo shoot. “Why? You said you wanted me in here. So you could look.”

You throw the bottle at his chest — he catches it easily, grinning. “You are so cocky.”

“You like it,” he shoots back, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. His throat bobs with the movement, jaw flexing as he swallows.

You nearly combust.

Sunghoon notices, of course. His smirk deepens. “You’ve seriously never noticed my gains, huh?”

You groan and flop face-down into the bed beside him, muffling your voice into a pillow. “Because you always dress like a retired idol turned Twitch streamer.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to scare you,” he teases, poking your side. “Didn’t want you to fall in love too fast.”

You lift your head just enough to glare. “Too late. I already like you, unfortunately.”

“Ouch,” he grins. “You love me a little more today though, don’t lie.”

You groan again, rolling onto your back. “Okay—fine. You look hot, alright? You look really, really hot. The kind of hot that makes girls stare and makes me want to push you into a closet so they can’t. Are you happy now?”

Sunghoon laughs, the sound lower, a bit softer now. His eyes crinkle slightly as he leans down, bracing a hand beside your head.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice smug but fond. “I’m pretty happy.”

You blink up at him, breath caught in your throat when you realize just how close he is. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being hot. In my bed. Wearing that stupid shirt.”

He grins and leans in even closer. “Should I take it off then?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“I—That’s not what I meant—!”

Too late. He’s already laughing, pressing a kiss to your cheek before rolling onto his side beside you.

“I’m kidding,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist like it’s the most natural thing. “Kinda.”

You bury your face in his chest — unfortunately, still rock solid and extremely distracting.

“…You’re sleeping in a hoodie next time.”

He hums, brushing his fingers lazily along your spine. “Only if you ask nicely.”

You groan again. This man is going to be the death of you. You’re curled into Sunghoon’s side now, half-heartedly pretending to scroll on your phone while his fingers trace lazy shapes on your back. The air in the dorm has gone warm, thick with something unspoken — a soft kind of tension that builds with every second he keeps touching you like that, like he doesn’t even realize what it’s doing to you.

But he knows. Of course he knows.

“You’re being quiet,” he murmurs, voice low and close to your ear. His breath fans against your temple. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You bite your lip. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“…Okay,” you admit, turning slightly to face him. “I might be thinking about how unfairly attractive you look today.”

Sunghoon grins, tilting his head. “Only today?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, cheeks warm. “It’s just—three months of thinking you were all soft and lanky, and now you’re suddenly a man. You’re, like… carved.”

He laughs quietly, brushing your hair away from your face. “Is that a compliment?”

You frown. “I’m being vulnerable.”

“Okay, okay. I’m honored.” His voice softens, fingertips brushing along your jaw now. “But hey… I like that you didn’t notice right away.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Means you liked me before all this,” he says, eyes steady on yours. “Before I started lifting heavier and wearing shirts that show off a little.”

Your lips curve into something tender. “Of course I liked you before. I still like you now. Doesn’t matter if you’re in a hoodie or… that menace of an outfit.”

He chuckles, but the look in his eyes is different now. Softer. Warmer. His thumb runs along your cheekbone. “You know,” he says, voice almost a whisper, “you’re really pretty when you get flustered.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it comes out breathless. “There you go again…”

“What?”

“Being hot and sweet.”

And then it happens — the silence stretches, heavy and full of things unsaid, and the space between you shrinks with each heartbeat. His gaze drops to your lips. Yours flicker to his.

Neither of you moves right away.

But then—

Sunghoon leans in slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

Your noses brush. Your lips barely part. He pauses just a breath away, eyes half-lidded. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers, almost like he’s scared to break the moment.

You nod, heart fluttering in your chest. “Yeah. Please.”

He closes the distance, lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s slow and grounding. Nothing rushed or messy. Just warmth — his warmth — and the feeling of everything soft and right in the world. His hand cradles your face, thumb stroking your cheek, and yours curl into his shirt, fingers pressing into the firmness of his chest (and okay, maybe you let yourself enjoy it a little).

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You taste like strawberries,” he murmurs.

You laugh. “It was a smoothie.”

“Guess I’ll have to get one next time. Or just keep kissing you.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

You roll your eyes fondly, but your smile gives you away. “Yeah… I am.”

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @rikifever @morganaawriterr @daisyintherainsposts

a/n: IVE SEEN THE LOOSE PERFORMANCE AND IM DEAD LIKE AAAAA THE STEPS AND FACIAL EXPRESSIONS IS MAKING ME FEEL THINGS🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

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iceprincehoonpark · 2 days ago

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His aura yesterday bro🧎‍♀️

Park Sunghoon - 02 line!

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just-nc-tea · 4 days ago

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nine and three quarters ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⭑.ᐟ Roommate to Lovers - Park Sunghoon Recovery is never linear. You knew that. You just didn’t know what to do when all the progress you’ve made disappeared in days. So you do what you’ve always done. You pretend you're fine. And your new hot and cute roommate… pretends not to notice you're not. Only, he always notices. Sunghoon stated to take care of you in quiet ways—tea left by your side, dinner magically appearing, messes cleaned before you can see them. It isn’t until you’re back home, away from him, that it hits you: how far you’ve slipped, how much he’s held together without ever asking for thanks. And suddenly, all you want is to go back—to your couch, Sunghoons tea, the olympic figure skater who made it easier to breathe.

ᝰ genre. Figure skater!Sunghoon, college sports, angst, hurt/comfort, really SLOW burn, fluff, suggestive .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings. Swearing, partying, consumption of alcohol, hospital visits, mentions of rape, mentions of date-rape-drugs, mentions of the police, panic attacks, eating disorder, psychologists PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I FORGOT ANYTHING AND PLEASE TELL ME IN CASE I MISREPRESENTED SOMETHING .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ features. Mark, Johnny, Ten, Taeyong & Jungwoo from NCT, Woonyoung and Rei from IVE ᝰ word count. 25 k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ --⟢ PART 1 ~31 k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

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

The microwave beeped, pulling you from your thoughts. The smell of Johnny’s mom’s seaweed soup wafted through the kitchen. You finally reheated it after sat in the freezer for days. You had actually taken it out of the freezer and poured a bowl this time. Small, but a bowl nonetheless. You stirred it absently, watching the steam curl upward.

The opening credits of My Demon played on the TV, casting flickering blue light across Sunghoon’s face. You carried the bowl to the living room, where Sunghoon was already sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over the back cushions. He glanced up as you approached, his gaze dropping to the bowl in your hands. A slow grin spread across his lips. "Look at you, actually eating." You rolled your eyes, perched on the far edge of the couch. "Don’t make it weird. It's not my fault my stomach is stupid." Sunghoon chuckled, shifting to make more room. The couch was still too small, forcing your knees to brush against his as you settled in. The contact sent a jolt of warmth through you, but you focused on the soup, taking a careful sip. The first sip burned your tongue, but the familiar taste of home made your shoulders relax. It was... okay. Today, it didn't feel like swallowing rocks. On screen, Guwon brooded dramatically in the rain.

"I swear she will have to die. Or he will. A hundred percent." Sunghoon said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. You scoffed. "No way. They definitely will survive. There is no way that this will have a bad ending." Sunghoon nudged your knee with his. "You’re underestimating the power of bad drama physics." You huffed a laugh, relaxing slightly. The moment Sunghoon shifted again, you became acutely aware of several problematic facts: His knee was now wedged firmly against your thigh. The arm he'd stretched across the back cushions brushed against your shoulders. You could feel every exhale he made against your hair. "Um," you said intelligently, gripping your soup bowl.

Sunghoon seemed oblivious to your internal panic as he adjusted his position, his stupidly long legs bumping into the coffee table. "Damn couch," he muttered, knees bending at an unnatural angle. "Built for gnomes."

You stiffened as his movement made his thigh press more firmly against yours. The heat of it burned through your sweatpants. "Maybe if you didn't sit like a starfish–"

"Starfish?" He turned his head to look at you, and oh god, now his face was too close. You could see the faint scar above his eyebrow, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. "I'm sitting normally. You're the one folded up like a lawn chair."

You became hyper-aware of how you were hunched over your soup, shoulders tense. "I'm trying to eat," you lied, staring fixedly at the TV.

Sunghoon shifted again, his arm accidentally brushing the back of your neck. You jerked forward so violently that soup sloshed over the rim.

"Shit–" He grabbed a napkin, dabbing at the spill on your knee before you could react. His fingers lingered a beat too long on the fabric. "You okay? You're all..."

"All what?"

"Twitchy." His brow furrowed. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Yes. No. You didn't know. The soup suddenly felt like a lead weight in your stomach. "It's just–" You gestured vaguely between your bodies. "You're. You know."

Sunghoon blinked. "Tall?"

"Everywhere," you blurted, then immediately wanted to evaporate.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Everywhere?"

"Shut up." You shoved at his shoulder, but he didn't budge. "I meant your limbs are invasive."

"Mmhm." He deliberately stretched his arm further behind you, his fingers now playing with the ends of your hair. "You know, most people would love to have longer legs."

You were pretty sure your face could power a nuclear reactor. "Most people don't think about long legs being a constitute public hazard."

He laughed, loud and sudden, and you felt it vibrate through where your shoulders were pressed together. The sound made something flutter in your chest.

He playfully tugged at a loose strand of your hair that had escaped your braid.

"My little sister used to make me braid her hair all the time. She would beg me to braid it before she went on the ice."

"Oh really?" you said and placed the now almost empty bowl onto the sofa table, trying to adjust your body in a way that wouldn't cause you or Sunghoon to have knees or elbows in places that knees and elbows were not supposed to be.

"Yeah. I bet I could still braid a banger braid. Even if it’s been like 7 years since Yeji last asked me.", he said and twirled the strand around his finger.

"Do... do you want to try if you still can?" you asked carefully and stared at the TV, pretending that you were interested in whatever Dodohee was doing just now, instead of hyper-focusing on Sunghoon’s fingers.

"Sure. If you will let me.", he cocked his head to the side.

You hummed and moved to the floor to sit between his legs. "Go for it."

His fingers were careful as they unravelled your braid, combing through the tangles with surprising gentleness. You held your breath as they grazed the nape of your neck, the touch feather-light.

"Okay, Y/N," he murmured, dividing your hair into sections. "French or fishtail?"

"You know how to do a fishtail?"

"Y/N," he said, voice dripping with mock offense, “My sister was national junior champion three years running. My fingers have trained precision."

You snorted but stayed still as he began weaving the strands, his knuckles occasionally brushing your shoulders. The TV faded into background noise, replaced by the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional muttered curse when a strand slipped.

"My brother used to braid my hair when I was little," you admitted after a comfortable silence. "Before his military service."

Sunghoon's hands stilled for a beat before resuming. "Taeyong?"

"Yeah. He'd do it while I did homework." "That's cute," Sunghoon hummed. You sat in silence for a few minutes until Sunghoon's fingers trailed down the finished braid, smoothing the ends. "There. Not bad for a six-year hiatus, huh?"

You reached back to feel his handiwork, your fingers brushing against his. The braid was neat and tight without pulling. Better than you could do yourself.

"Showoff," you muttered, but you were smiling.

Sunghoon leaned around to see your face, his grin lopsided. "Admit it. You're impressed."

"Never."

He poked your side, making you squirm. "Liar." ──────────────────────── The drama played on, but Sunghoon hadn't processed a single word in the last twenty minutes. Not when his fingers were buried in your hair, tracing the braid he'd just finished like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever touched.

He should stop. Should pull his hand back, put some respectable distance between you. But you were leaning into his touch, your head tipping back just enough that his fingertips brushed the delicate skin behind your ear.

"Sleepy?" he asked, voice lower than he intended.

You hummed in response, the sound vibrating through where your back pressed against his knees. Something dangerously warm unfurled in Sunghoon's chest.

Before he could think better of it, he undid the braid with careful tugs, letting your hair spill loose over his hands. "Your hair's soft," he murmured, more to himself than to you. It was stupid, this compulsion to keep touching, to find excuses to let his fingers card through the strands again and again. But when you didn't pull away, he couldn't bring himself to stop.

"You're gonna put me to sleep," you mumbled, even as you nuzzled unconsciously into his palm.

"Good." His thumb traced the shell of your ear. "You look like you need it."

He had noticed, of course. How could he not? The shadows under your eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. The way your clothes hung just a little looser. The careful way you moved, like you were conserving energy. It made something primal in him ache - the need to fix, to protect, to wrap you in blankets and force-feed you until colour returned to your cheeks.

On screen, the female lead burst into dramatic tears. Sunghoon snorted. "This show is so bad."

"You picked it," you slurred, voice thick with drowsiness.

"Yeah, and I regret nothing." His fingers automatically started another braid. His little sister had made him practice for hours until he got it perfect. Back then, he'd complained. Now he was absurdly grateful for the excuse to keep his hands in your hair.

Your breathing deepened, your weight growing heavier against him. Sunghoon held himself perfectly still, terrified of disturbing you. The trust you placed in him - to touch you, to hold you up, to see you like this - was a gift he didn't know how to deserve.

When your exhales evened out into sleep, he finally allowed himself to look. Really look. At the way your lashes fanned across your cheeks, at the slight part of your lips, at the tension that had finally drained from your shoulders.

"Y/N?" he whispered, knowing you wouldn't answer.

Carefully, so carefully, he resumed braiding your hair. Then unbraided it. Then started over. Again. And again.

Outside, the rain picked up, tapping gentle rhythms against the window. The drama credits rolled, casting the room in shifting blue light. Sunghoon didn't move. Didn't dare. Not when you finally looked peaceful.

So he stayed. Counting your breaths. Memorising the weight of you against him. And when his own eyes grew heavy, he let them fall shut - just for a moment - your hair still tangled between his fingers. ──────────────────────── The apartment was quiet, save for the sizzle of eggs in the pan and the soft hum of the coffee machine. Sunghoon moved through the kitchen with practised ease, flipping an omelette onto a plate.

As he reached for the salt, his gaze wandered to the flowers by the window. The yellow chrysanthemums you’d bought the morning of the party were wilting. Their petals drooped, edges browned, stems slouching in the water.

He’d noticed them days ago but assumed you would replace them.

You always did.

But it had been over a week and a half.

Sunghoon frowned, running a finger along a brittle petal. It crumbled at his touch.

When you fell asleep after your panic attack, Sunghoon went back to the kitchen. He picked up the flowers and put them in a spare mug because the vase was in pieces. He cleaned up the water and the glass. Then he stood there in the too-quiet dark, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles ached.

He didn’t go back to his room that night. He slid under the covers beside you, listening to your breathing, counting the seconds between each inhale to make sure they didn’t stop.

Now, staring at the wilted flowers, Sunghoon felt that same helplessness claw at his ribs. The coffee machine beeped, jerking him back to the present. He poured two mugs out of habit—one black for himself, one with a splash of milk for you—before stopping short.

Right. You’d left early for your studio, muttering something about a deadline.

Sunghoon set your mug down too hard, sloshing coffee onto the counter. He wiped it up with a ragged sigh.

It had been more than two weeks since the party. Sixteen days since he caught your limp body, since he’d sat in a hospital chair waiting for you to wake up. Sixteen days of watching you pick at your food, of finding you asleep on the couch at 3 a.m.

Sunghoon grabbed his keys, shoving the dead chrysanthemums into the trash. ──────────────────────── The bell above the door chimed too loudly when Sunghoon stepped inside, the scent of earth and flowers thick in the air.

Now, standing in the middle of the shop, he froze. He really didn’t think about what to buy. Which flowers you liked. Which colors.

There were too many.

Buckets upon buckets of flowers, colours screaming at him from every direction. Vibrant reds, blinding yellows, pinks so bright they hurt his eyes. His grip tightened on his keys. You never brought back anything like this. Your flowers were quiet. Soft.

A throat cleared behind him.

The florist, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a smudge of dirt on her cheek, smiled at him, her pruning shears dangling from one hand. "Lost, sweetheart?"

Sunghoon swallowed. "I need flowers."

Her lips twitched. "Well, you’re in the right place." She gestured around them. "Anything in particular?"

He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought this far.

His eyes scanned over the flowers until they stopped on a bucket full of baby blue, pale pink and white flowers. They looked like something you would pick.

He pointed. "Those."

The florist hummed, pulling the bucket forward. "Good choice. These just came in." She plucked a few stems, holding them up. "Your girlfriend will love them."

Sunghoon’s face went hot. "Oh. Yeah." He coughed. "I mean—she’s not—we’re not—"

The florist laughed, wrapping the stems in paper before he could combust. "Relax, son. I was just joking." She tied the bundle with twine, then paused. "They’ll last longer if you trim the stems underwater."

He nodded and paid for the flowers. When he left the small shop, he decided not to rush to the bus stop to catch the next bus, but rather take his time to walk through the market.

He took a wrong turn somewhere.

The alley he was in now was narrow, cramped between two buildings, the cobblestones uneven under his shoes. He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was until a glint of blue caught his eye.

There, on a rickety table outside a cramped-looking store, sat a vase next to other miscellaneous items.

It was your vase. The one you broke.

Or close enough. The same shape, the same curve at the neck. It had one deliberate gold seam running along its side.

Sunghoon reached out, fingertips hovering just above the glass.

"Kintsugi," a voice said.

He jerked back. The shopkeeper, an old man with a cane, leaned in the doorway, grinning. "Means golden repair. You break something, you fix it with gold. Makes it stronger than before." He nodded at the vase. "That one’s seen a few drops."

Sunghoon ran his thumb over the flaw. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Me too. How much?” ──────────────────────── The ice had never felt so unforgiving.

Sunghoon dragged a hand down his face, his breath coming in sharp, visible puffs in the cold rink air. His skates scraped against the ice as he came to a stop, his body aching from yet another failed routine. The Olympic trials were creeping closer, and every session felt like he was regressing instead of improving.

All he felt was exhaustion.

He gripped the rink’s barrier and let his head drop forward. What’s the point? The thought slithered in, unwelcome but persistent. He was skating worse than he had in months. His jumps were off, his landings shaky. Every session felt like running in place.

Maybe he should just quit.

Not skating entirely, he could never give that up, but this relentless pursuit of the Olympics? The pressure, the scrutiny, the way his stomach twisted every time he imagined failing in front of millions? Disappointed not just his coach and parents, but the whole South Korean peninsula.

Maybe he should go back to skating for fun. Like he used to. Only attend University or school competitions. Something that came with less pressure.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, pushing off the boards to attempt the jump again.

An hour later, he stepped into Jay, Heeseung and Jake’s apartment. The smell of spice and garlic hit him the moment he stepped inside. Jay was at the stove, stirring the pot with one hand and shoving Heeseung away with the other as he tried to steal a bite. Jake was setting the table, but he paused when he saw Sunghoon’s face.

“Damn,” Jake said, eyebrows rising. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He just collapsed into a chair, his body heavy with fatigue.

Heeseung whistled. “That bad, huh?”

Sunghoon dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m done. I’m so done.”

Jay turned off the stove. “With…?”

“Everything. The Olympics. Skating. All of it.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I’m skating like shit, and no matter what I do, it’s not getting better. I feel like I should just quit. Honestly.”

A beat of silence.

Then Jake sighed, sliding into the seat across from him. “Yeah. I get that.”

Sunghoon looked up.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “NHL draft’s coming up, and I swear to god, if I hear one more scout say ‘potential’ like it’s a consolation prize, I’m gonna lose it.”

Heeseung and Jay, who have both been successfully drafted and will play for two rather big teams, just nodded solemnly.

"Do you really want to quit the tryouts?" Jay asked from his place in the kitchen. He was frowning at Sunghoon, "Maybe just try your best there, and if you don't get in, you can still say you gave your best and tried it. Don't let an opportunity like that just go by."

Sunghoon groaned and rubbed his face with his hands, "No. I don't. I just know that I won't get in, and it's frustrating. But maybe if I do well enough they consider me for the games in 4 years or something else. Whatever."

"Well. You did have fun up to like a few weeks ago, right?" Jay turned back to the Curry and continued stirring.

"Yeah.", Sunghoon grumbled.

"Well see. Maybe if all the pressure is gone it's fun again. If you already know you won't qualify, just have fun performing. I know you love doing that.", his friend hummed.

Sunghoon just nodded and was thankful for Jake when he switched the topic to tell them about his and his girlfriend’s exes. They married last year and invited Jake and his girlfriend just to taunt them, well, at least the groom did so. Y/N reconnected with some of her friends who are still kind of friends with the bride so now she has insider information on everything that is going on.

Sunghoon’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

Y/N Thank you for the flowers And the vase

His breath caught. He hadn’t expected a response at all.

Sunghoon No worries

He paused. Then, against his better judgment typed:

Sunghoon Did you eat today?

No immediate reply.

He set his phone down, trying to ignore the twist in his gut.

Heeseung eyed him. "Y/N?"

Sunghoon nodded, stirring his curry absently. "She thanked me for the flowers."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "You bought her flowers?"

"Yeah. After—" Sunghoon hesitated. "She had a panic attack after we came home from the hospital. A Really bad one. A vase broke during it, so I… replaced it and put new flowers inside."

The table went quiet.

Jake frowned. "Shit. Is she okay?"

Sunghoon’s grip tightened on his chopsticks. "I…don’t think so? She’s not eating. She’s not sleeping. I don’t—" His voice dropped. "I don’t know how to help her. Or if she even wants my help."

Heeseung leaned forward and frowned. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Sunghoon exhaled sharply. "It's not my thing to tell."

"Fuck.", Heeseung leaned back in his seat, "I am so sorry Sunghoon. I should never have invited her."

Sunghoon's chopsticks clattered against his bowl. "It's not your fault," he said. "No one could've known that bastard would spike her drink." His knuckles went white around his spoon. "Not you. Not me. Not even Y/N knew until—"

His phone buzzed.

Y/N I did a little today I still had some of my Imus soup

My stomach handeled that very well yesterday so I ate the rest today.

Sunghoon signed. "She ate like three spoons of soup."

Jay frowned. “She is not eating? Like… at all?”

Sunghoon shook his head. “Not enough. She picks at her food or says she’s not hungry. I don’t—” His voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jake hesitated. "Have you… talked to her about it?"

Sunghoon stared at him. "What, just ‘hey, are you developing an eating disorder because a dickhead drugged you?’"

"No, idiot. Just—ask her how she’s feeling."

Sunghoon opened his mouth, then closed it.

His phone buzzed again.

Y/N The blue ones are my favorite

Sunghoon’s throat tightened.

He typed back slowly.

Sunghoon I’ll be home soon

"I cleaned up glass for forty minutes," he heard himself say, voice hollow. "She couldn't breath. When she calmed down enough she asked me to spend the night with her. Like sleep next to each other not with each other. She slept for fourteen hours."

Jay's eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "You stayed the whole time?"

"Where else would I go?" Sunghoon countered.

Sunghoon's phone lit up.

Y/N Don't rush back Have fun with the others Tell them I said hi

He stared at the message until the screen went dark.

Jake snatched the phone from his limp fingers. "Enough." His thumbs flew across the screen before Sunghoon could protest.

Sunghoon Too bad Already on my way Do you want chicken or pizza?

"You can't just—" "Watch me," Jake said, dodging Sunghoon's grab.

Y/N Oh I ate already But thank you!

A beat. Then:

Y/N Maybe we can eat it tomorrow? For lunch? Could you bring the one with the garlic powder? From Mom's Touch?

Sunghoon's breath left him in a rush.

Jay clapped him on the back hard enough to sting. "See? It's not that bad. Maybe her stomach is really just upset. Now order enough for three days worth of leftovers." ──────────────────────── The apartment was dark when Sunghoon returned, the only light coming from the muted TV casting blue shadows across your curled-up form on the couch. Your eyes were closed, but the way your fingers twitched against the throw pillow told him you weren't asleep.

"I brought the chicken," he said, toeing off his shoes by the door. The scent of garlic and fried dough lingered in the takeout bag as he set it on the counter. "With extra powder, like you asked."

You hummed without opening your eyes. "How was training?"

Sunghoon hesitated. The frustration from earlier still coiled in his muscles, but the words came out softer than expected. "Shitty. Couldn't land anything." He shrugged. "Dinner was nice, though. Jay made curry."

"That sounds good." Your voice was light, but when you finally looked at him, your gaze was clearer than it had been in days. "Did you tell them I said hi?”

The question startled a laugh out of him. "Obviously. Jake claimed he wants to come back here with his girlfriend so she can enjoy our apartment as well." He nudged the coffee table with his knee. "You sure you don't want any chicken now? It's still hot."

You shook your head, pulling the pillow closer to your chest. "Tomorrow. I’m full." Sunghoon glanced toward the kitchen and noticed the rinsed-out plates in the sink you used for rice and the soup.

He sank onto the couch beside you, careful to leave space. For a moment, there was only the sound of some variety show's laugh track and your steady breathing.

Then, almost shyly you asked: "Do you... want to watch My Demon?"

Sunghoon blinked.

"Yeah," he said, too quickly. "Yeah, I'd love that."

Your arm brushed against his, he didn't pull away.

And when you eventually slumped sideways, your temple coming to rest against his shoulder, he didn't mention it. ──────────────────────── The knock at your door was so light you almost missed it. You paused your sketching, charcoal smudged across your fingertips. "Yes?"

Sunghoon hovered in the doorway, shoulders hunched. His hands fidgeted with something behind his back. "I—I know you’re busy, but…" He held out a box of hair bleach, the plastic crinkling in his grip. "Could you… help me with this?"

You furrowed your brows: ”You want to… bleach your hair?"

He nodded, avoiding your eyes. "For the Try outs. I thought—" A pause. "I just wanted to try something different."

You wiped your hands on your jeans, hesitating. Your project wasn’t due until next week.

"Only if you have time," he added quickly, already stepping back. "It’s okay if—"

"I’ll do it," you blurted, interrupting him.

His head snapped up.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "J-just let me read the instructions first."

The bathroom felt too small with both of you in it. Sunghoon sat on the edge of the tub, your oversized paint smock draped over his shoulders. It swallowed him whole, the sleeves hanging past his fingertips. You bit your lip to keep from smiling. It was ridiculous. He looked ridiculous.

You squinted at the bleach instructions. "It says to do a strand test first—"

"Skip it."

"Sunghoon. This could melt your hair off."

He met your eyes in the mirror, deadpan. "Being bald would be good for aerodynamics."

You couldn’t help laughing out loud at that. Sunghoon’s shoulders relaxed .

"Are you sure about this?" you asked, watching while he wetted his hair under the faucet. The water darkened his strands to near-black, dripping onto the smock when he sat down on the kitchen chair you covered with multiple towels.

He hummed, eyes closed. "Yeah."

You mixed the bleach with trembling hands, the chemical smell stinging your nose. During the last few weeks you had more migraines then you usually had. It was probably the stress.

Sunghoon’s eyes flickered open. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah." You hesitated, the brush hovering. "It’s just… permanent."

A beat passed. Then, so quiet you almost missed it: "I know."

Something in his voice made your chest tighten. You started applying the bleach, working in small sections like the instructions said. His hair was softer than you expected beneath your fingers. It was a shame to destroy such beautiful hair with bleach. You were hoping that it would still be soft and fluffy afterwards. Whenever Sunghoon came from a shower, with his hair unstyled it made you envy having his hair. Yours has been thin and brittle for a few years now, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t grow much past your collarbones. Right now it was the longest it has been in a long time. Thanks to various scalp treatments, biotin capsules and a lot of hair care your hair could now be considered longer mid length. You would have to cut it again soon.

Sunghoon let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. "Feels nice," he murmured.

Your hands stilled above his head. "Does it hurt?"

"No." His voice was rough.

"You're sure about this?" you asked for the third time, carefully coating another section near his crown. The chemical smell burned your nose. "This isn't... reversible."

Sunghoon's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug, his back pressed against your knees where you sat behind him on the washing machine. Standing was exhausting. "Neither is fucking up my short program at trials next week." A pause. "At least this way, people will remember me for something."

Your hands stilled. "You... don't think you'll make it?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. But Sunghoon just exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back slightly into your hands. "Not sure I want to anymore."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavier than the bleach fumes. You resumed your work, fingers moving methodically through his hair to hide their sudden tremor.

"You're good though," you murmured before you could stop yourself. "Really good."

He huffed a laugh. "At jumping. Not at..." His voice dropped. "Whatever comes after. You just saw me on a good day."

The timer beeped, startling you both. As you reached to turn it off, Sunghoon unexpectedly leaned back, the full weight of his upper body coming to rest against your legs.

This close, you could feel the heat of him through his tank top and the coat against your thigh – the solid muscle of his shoulders pressing into your too-sharp kneecaps. You'd seen him shirtless once or twice in the hallway, but feeling his body against your own bony frame made your face warm. The contrast was embarrassing.

"Sorry," he muttered, though he didn't move away. "My back’s killing me."

You swallowed. "It's... fine."

An odd silence settled as you both stared at his reflection in the mirror. His dark roots slowly lightening to orange, your hesitant fingers still tangled in the strands, playing and spreading the bleach around. The intimacy of it prickled along your skin.

"You know," you said quietly, "if you quit... you could just skate for fun."

Sunghoon's eyes met yours in the glass. "Yeah?"

The word came out softer than you intended. "Yeah. Maybe you could just go to easier competitions?"

He held your gaze for a long moment before his shoulders relaxed fully against you, his warmth seeping into your legs. "Maybe I will."

Your hands resumed their work almost unconsciously, massaging the bleach through his hair with more care than necessary. The silence now was comfortable, broken only by the drip of chemicals into the towel around his shoulders.

When the timer went off again, neither of you moved immediately.

"I should—" you started.

"Right," he said at the same time.

As you helped rinse the bleach out, his hair streaming gold between your fingers, you tried not to notice how natural it felt. His head tipped back into your hands, your knees bracketing his shoulders. He looked so beautiful even in a position and an angle that would make anyone else look ridiculous.

"Shit," Sunghoon breathed when he saw his reflection after you were done, water dripping down his neck. "I look insane."

You wrung out the towel, hiding your smile. "Kinda?"

The second round of bleach smelled even stronger than the first. You wrinkled your nose as you mixed the powder and developer in the little plastic bowl Sunghoon had scavenged from the kitchen. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, his hair already a brassy orange from the initial processing, strands sticking up in damp clumps where you’d rinsed it out.

"Your scalp is going to hate me," you murmured, carefully parting another section of his hair. The gloves made your fingers clumsy, but you tried to be gentle as you painted the bleach onto his roots. Paint was something you knew how to do. On paper and apparently on hair. The strands already felt a bit rougher against your fingers when you separated his hair before putting on gloves again.

Sunghoon hummed, his shoulders relaxed under your touch. "Worth it."

You worked in silence for a while, the only sounds were the scrape of the brush against the bowl and the occasional drip of bleach onto the towel around his shoulders. The bathroom was warm, steam still clinging to the mirror from when you’d rinsed his hair earlier.

Then your stomach growled. Loudly.

You froze, the brush hovering mid-air. Heat rushed to your face.

Sunghoon tilted his head back just enough to peer up at you. "You hungry?"

"N-no," you said automatically, even as your stomach protested again. You focused on applying more bleach, willing him to drop it. You prayed he would. You wouldn’t know how to answer if he didn’t. Technically you knew how to. You just didn’t want to.

The third round of bleach was turning Sunghoon’s hair white when your stomach betrayed you again. A loud, visceral growl that echoed in the tiled bathroom. Your hands froze mid-application, bleach dripping onto the towel around his shoulders.

Sunghoon’s reflection raised an eyebrow in the mirror. "We’re definitely getting food after this."

Heat exploded across your face. "I’m not—" Your voice cracked. "It’s just digestion. Doesn’t mean I’m hungry."

Sunghoon turned on the stool, forcing you to withdraw your bleach-stained gloves from his hair. His gaze dropped to your hands, then traveled up to the sharp angles of your wrists exposed by your rolled-up sleeves. When his eyes met yours again, something in his expression made you want to disappear.

"You’re shaking," he said quietly.

You balled your hands into fists, but the tremor persisted. "It’s the chemicals. I already had a headache–"

"Y/N." He said your name like a sigh.

Humiliation burned through you. You focused on peeling off the gloves just to avoid his gaze. "I'm fine"

He knew. He had to know. You knew that hiding it in front of Sunghoon would be hard. Mark, Jungwon, Taeyong or your parents would see it immediately. They knew the signs, knew what they would have to look for. Sunoo might also know already.

Sunghoon stood abruptly, his newly blond hair catching the light. For a terrifying moment you thought he might hug you—but he just stepped around you to rummage in his duffel bag he put into the bathroom to throw it into the wash. The crinkle of a protein bar wrapper sounded like gunfire in the tense silence.

He held it out. "Here."

You stared it. The calorie count flashed in your mind before you could stop it. 280. Your throat closed up. Why did it even remember the number? Why did it start again? You were doing so good. It was so frustrating. You felt like screaming but instead you almost whispered: "I can’t."

Sunghoon didn’t withdraw his hand. "Why?"

The question hung between you. If you said it out loud, it would make it real. Make it real that it came back. That all of the work you put into a healthy relationship with food has vanished into thin air after your panic attack. Since the party. The stay in the hospital.

Sunghoon exhaled sharply and tore the wrapper open himself. He broke the bar in half, crumbs scattering across the sink. "Just this much," he said, holding out the smaller piece. "Then I’ll shut up about it."

Your vision blurred. It wasn’t fair—how gentle he was being, how carefully he’d calculated this humiliation to be bearable. The smaller piece was maybe two bites. 70 calories.

When you took it, your fingers brushed his palm. Sunghoon didn’t smile, but something in his posture relaxed.

The first bite tasted like sawdust. The second stuck in your throat. You chased it with water while Sunghoon pretended not to watch, fussing with his hair in the mirror.

"Okay?" he asked when you’d swallowed.

You nodded, even though your stomach churned with guilt. The protein bar sat like a lead weight inside you.

Sunghoon turned back to the mirror, examining his hair. "We should do one more round. Get it properly platinum."

The casual change of topic felt like mercy. You grabbed the bleach kit with too much enthusiasm, grateful for the distraction. But as you sectioned his hair again, your reflection in the mirror caught your eye—the sharp collar bones visible under your tank top, the hollows beneath your cheeks. You looked away quickly again. For the past few days you’ve been avoiding mirrors. After you realized what was happening. After you noticed your pants slipping down more and more. After you noticed what you were eating, how much you were eating.

Sunghoon leaned back against your knees as you worked, his warmth seeping through your pants. ──────────────────────── A few days later you were sitting in the front seat of Jake's car while the boys piled into the back. In the rearview mirror, you caught glimpses of them in the dark - Heeseung already asleep against the window, Jay scrolling through his phone, and Sunghoon with his hood pulled up, staring blankly at the passing streetlights.

No one spoke much. You weren't sure if it was the hour or because Sunghoon was in a really bad mood and no one wanted to make him even angrier.

The past few days were hard on Sunghoon. He went to the rink at an ungodly hour and came back late into the night. You sometimes waited for him but most of the time you were too exhausted to do so. When he told his Coach he was thinking about his chances to get into the olympic team being so low he thought about quitting, he didn't react well at all and made Sunghoon train even harder. He claimed Sunghoon had the talent and the potential and he just had to use it.

The car hummed through the darkness, the only light coming from the dashboard and the occasional streetlamp that painted the inside in fleeting gold. In the rearview mirror, you watched Sunghoon’s reflection. His hood was shadowing his eyes, his jaw clenched tight enough that you could see the muscle twitching even in the dim light.

A pothole jolted the car, making Heeseung slump further against the window. Jay reached over to adjust the beanie slipping off his forehead. You caught Sunghoon’s eye in the mirror for half a second before he looked away, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against his knee.

When you got to the arena, Sunghoon disappeared inside almost immediately. The car door slammed shut behind him before you'd even fully unbuckled your seatbelt. You watched through the windshield as he stalked toward the arena entrance, his skate bag slung over one shoulder. The boys tumbled out after him, stretching in the chilly morning air. During the past week the temperature dopped pretty suddenly and you had to start wearing jackets outside again.

"Hey! Hoon-ah!" Jay called after him, but Sunghoon either didn't hear or chose not to.

To everyone's surprise Sunghoon suddenly turned on his heel and marched back toward the car. He crushed each of the boys in quick, rough hugs. Jay first, then a sleepy Heeseung, then Jake who pretended to gag but hugged back just as hard.

Then he was standing in front of you.

The morning light caught the exhaustion under his eyes as he hesitated for half a second before pulling you in. His jacket smelled like his clean perfume he liked to use. You really liked it. "Thanks for coming," he muttered into your hair, so quiet you might have imagined it.

Before you could respond, he was gone again, the automatic doors swallowing him whole.

"Damn," Jake whistled. "He really is nervous."

You stood frozen. That was the first time he'd ever hugged you.

Jay nudged your elbow. "Come on, let's find our seats before the crowds hit. The other two are gonna get us some breakfast. Sunghoon gets some inside but we have to bring our own." ──────────────────────── The seats were better than you expected - close enough to see the skaters' expressions but high enough to view the entire rink. You had just settled in when Heeseung and Jake reappeared, their arms full with convenience food.

"Breakfast has been served," Jake announced, dropping into the seat beside you. He handed you a gimbap roll still warm from the microwave and an apple so shiny it reflected the arena lights.

Heeseung wordlessly passed you a diet banana milk, the condensation cool against your fingers. You stared at the small feast in your lap. More food than you had eaten in a single sitting in weeks.

"Thanks," you murmured, peeling back the gimbap wrapper with careful fingers. You weren’t really hungry, but you also didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

As the first skater took the ice, the others have already eaten more than half of their rolls, while you were still on your third piece. Gimbap was pretty solid against headache and wasn’t too harsh on your stomach, so you should eat some more.

You realized pretty quickly that the others didn’t really know much more about skating than you did. Well generally skating itself they probably did, but not figure skating. They also seemed awed by the performances. You wished you brought your sketchbook to sketch some of what you were seeing.

Three or four performances in Jake nudged your shoulder with his gently.

“You should finish your roll. I don’t know when we will get the chance to get more food without missing anything.”

You smiled sheepishly and ate another piece. If you took breaks in between pieces it wasn’t as bad.

Then the announcer called Sunghoon's name for warm-ups, and your breath caught. He glided onto the ice, his dark costume contrasting with his white hair.

He was right.

He was outstandingly beautiful with the white hair, or as he phrased it he looked ‘dope’.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his frame. Maybe you could sketch this from memory later.

Sunghoon looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes were visible even from the stands. He took his starting position. The opening chords of his music filled the arena, and for the first time all morning, he looked at peace, backlit by the rink lights, all sharp angles and effortless grace. You stopped breathing when he launched into his first jump.

It was perfect. Or at least in your eyes it was and considering the crowds clapping, it was a really good jump even in the eyes of a professional viewer.

When he finished his performance you were all on the edge of your seats. Jake leaned back with a satisfied sign. “Oh man he fucking rocked that.”

Heeseung grinned from ear to ear. “Of course. Sunghoon strives for perfection. And he'll get it with whatever he does.”

Sunghoon skated past your section again and his eyes found yours. He was smiling.

It was a bright and relieved smile.

You grinned back, your cheeks aching with it. ──────────────────────── Thirty minutes after Sunghoons performance you started to get tired and cold. You had gotten four hours of sleep last night and now that the adrenaline was gone you felt the exhaustion creep in together with the coldness of the rink.

A warm weight suddenly dropped onto your shoulders. You startled, turning to find Heeseung just wearing a t-shirt. His blue hoodie being draped over your shoulders. “You’re blue,” he said simply.

You blinked. “I—what?”

“Your lips. They’re turning blue,” He nudged the hoodie closer. “Put it on.”

The fabric was still warm from his body as you pulled it on, the sleeves swallowing your hands whole.

“Thank you,” you muttered.

On the ice, the first girl of the day finished her program to polite applause. The next skater was announced—Wonnie, in a cobalt-blue dress that made her skin glow.

She looked gorgeous in her cobalt-blue dress that made her skin glow.

Perfect.

She looked perfect.

Every of her movement was polished to perfection.

Her first spin sent her dark hair whipping in a perfect spiral, before settling back into place as if choreographed.

Each takeoff showed the lean muscle of her thighs through her tights. When she landed, her free leg extended in a picture-perfect line, not an ounce of unnecessary flesh jiggling beneath the sheer material. The sequins on her dress scattered light with every movement, drawing attention to how the fabric clung to her narrow waist before flaring over her hips.

A strand of hair had escaped her bun during the spin, curling artfully against her flushed cheek rather than sticking awkwardly to her forehead like yours always did.

You looked down at your own legs, the sharp angles of your knees protruding through your jeans. The sleeves of Heeseung's hoodie swallowed your hands whole when you curled them into fists.

When she finished her routine to what could be considered roaring applause from this crowd you saw how she and Sunghoon hugged each other enthusiastically in the athlete tunnel. They looked perfect together.

Sunghoon and Woonie disappeared and ten minutes later both of them stood behind you. ──────────────────────── The moment his blades left the ice after his final pose, Sunghoon knew.

Not just that he had skated well but that he’d done enough. The quad Salchow had been crisp, his step sequence sharp enough to make his coach nod approvingly from the boards. For the first time in weeks, the Olympic team didn’t feel like an impossible dream.

Wonnie crashed into him the second he stepped into the athlete’s tunnel, her cobalt-blue dress fluttering around her like butterfly wings. “You bastard!” she laughed, squeezing his arms. “Saving your best for when it counts, huh?”

He grinned, breath still coming hard. “Had to remind you who taught you that toe loop combo.”

She swatted his shoulder before darting off to prepare for her own skate, leaving Sunghoon buzzing with adrenaline. The world felt brighter, sharper—the fluorescent lights less harsh, the ice smell less bitter. Even the judges’ scores (solid, not spectacular) couldn’t dampen his mood.

“Let’s go find the others,” Wonnie said when she returned after her own flawless performance, still glowing under the arena lights. Her friends were seated near his, and suddenly nothing sounded better than being surrounded by his friends.

The arena lights were blinding as Sunghoon followed Wonnie up the stairs to the spectator section, his skate guards clicking against concrete. Adrenaline still hummed in his veins from his performance, mixing with the giddy relief of having skated clean when it mattered most.

"There!" Wonnie pointed to their friends' section. Jake was already on his feet, arms raised in victory, while Heeseung and Jay flanked you—a small figure drowning in Heeseung's hoodie, offering them a tentative smile as they approached.

Jake reached him first, crushing him in a back-slapping hug. "You glorious bastard!"

Jay went next, his embrace quieter but no less firm. "Knew you had it," he murmured against Sunghoon's shoulder.

Heeseung fake-wiped tears before pulling him in. "I never doubted you for a second!"

Sunghoon laughed as the three of them immediately turned to smother Wonnie in even more enthusiastic hugs, her cobalt dress disappearing between their broad frames.

Sunghoon’s breath caught when you shyly stepped forward and kind of awkwardly, kind of endearingly wrapped him into a hug.

Your arms slid tentatively around his waist, your forehead brushing his collarbone for the briefest second before you pulled back. “You did really well,” you said, so softly only he could hear it.

Your ears were turning pink. Sunghoon's throat went dry.

"Thanks," he managed, returning the hug carefully. "Thank you for coming, Y/N."

When he handed you that ticket three days ago, he had half-expected you to decline. Who wanted to wake at 4AM to watch near-strangers compete? But you said yes and now here you were, wearing Heeseung’s hoodie and looking so so soft. He had to resist from smoothing over the few stray hair that loosened from your braid over the course of the day.

He dropped into the seat next to Heeseung as the next skater took the ice.

"She ate," Heeseung murmured under the applause.

Sunghoon blinked. "What?"

"Y/N. Half a gimbap roll. Some apple." Heeseung's voice was barely audible over the music. "Drank all her banana milk."

Something warm and fierce unfurled in Sunghoon’s chest. He chanced another glance at you. The dark circles under your eyes were more pronounced up close, your collarbones too sharp above the hoodie’s neckline. But there was color in your cheeks, and when you caught him staring, you didn’t flinch away, just tilted your head in question.

Before he could explain himself, Wonyoung draped herself over his shoulders, her chin digging into the top of his head. "I'm so fucking glad this is over. We're going clubbing on Saturday," she announced, stealing a handful of Heeseung's chips. "No excuses."

Sunghoon laughed at her, but his eyes flicked to you. You were still smiling but it looked a lot stiffer than just a few seconds ago. Fuck, he really didn't want you to go party again or anyone to be percise. No matter if it was you, Wonnie or any of the boys, he never wanted to be in the same situation he was in five weeks ago. Waiting and hoping for someone he loves platonically? likes? lives with? to be in a date rape induced coma.

He cleared his voice and interjected before Wonyoung could continue. "Yeah, but I won't drink. If this went as well as it felt like we might have individuals next week."

Wonnie rolled her eyes. "Me neither, idiot. I just wanna dance." She turned to the others. "You're all coming, right?"

Everyone responded enthusiastically. His friends never let a good party go to waste.

Jake said a exaggerated "Duh," Heeseung answered with "If Jay pays,". Jay quietly nodded. And then all eyes landed on you.

Sunghoon saw the way your fingers twisted in the hoodie strings, how your shoulders crept toward your ears. He leaned forward before you could answer. "Won, Liv is looking for you," he lied smoothly, nodding toward a few seats a few rows behind them. "She was waving like crazy when we walked up."

Wonnie sighed dramatically but untangled herself. "Fine, fine. I'll text you the details! I'm sure the others would love to join. Let's go eat out before the club!" She ruffled Sunghoon's hair before sauntering off, her skates clacking against the steps.

Sunghoon stretched his legs, the adrenaline from his performance finally ebbing away. "You guys have any food left? I'm starving."

You blinked down at the snack box in your lap. Three remaining apple slices were laying in there. "Just these," you said, holding it out. "But they're kinda sour."

He made a show of hesitating, hoping you would not insist on him eating the slices but eat them yourself instead. "I can't take your last ones, Y/N."

"My stomach hurts from the ones I already had," you admitted quietly, pressing the container into his hands before he could protest further. Sunghoons face did something he couldn't control but he didn't comment on your admission. He just nodded as he popped a slice into his mouth.

"Damn, you're right," he grimaced, chewing. "Who picked these, Heeseung?"

"Blame Jake," Heeseung said without looking up from his phone. "He chose looks over taste."

Jake gasped in mock offense, launching into a dramatic defense of his fruit-selection skills while you stifled a yawn against Heeseung's sleeve.

The last of the sour apple slices dissolved on his tongue as Sunghoon stretched his legs. "Any more food? I’m still starving," he asked, though he’d already seen the empty snack containers.

You blinked down at the few pieces of the remaining kimbap roll in your lap before offering it to him. "Just this," you murmured. "But the filling’s kinda..."

"Spicy?" Sunghoon guessed, seeing the red paste in the filling. You have been avoiding spice recently. The big containe of gochujang you bought in the first week he moved in was still half full. You haven’t touched it in weeks.

You nodded, your nose scrunching in a way that made something in his chest tighten. "Stomach’s not happy with me."

He took it anyway, your fingers brushing in the exchange. The contact lasted half a second, but long enough for him to notice how cold your fingertips were despite the hoodie’s warmth. ──────────────────────── The car hummed through the darkened streets, the only light coming from passing streetlamps that painted the interior in fleeting gold. You curled deeper into the backseat, sandwiched between Jay’s solid warmth on your left and Sunghoon’s frame on your right. The exhaustion of the long day had settled into your bones, the adrenaline from the competition finally ebbing away.

Jay was already asleep, his head lolled against the window, soft snores escaping every few breaths. Up front, Heeseung focused on the road, his hands steady on the wheel, while Jake had his headphones in, nodding along to whatever music played.

“You looked happy out there,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper so as not to disturb the others.

Sunghoon huffed a quiet laugh, his shoulder shifting slightly against yours. “Relieved, more like.” He tilted his head back against the seat, the streetlights catching the sharp line of his jaw. “But yeah. It felt good.”

You hummed and nodded tiredly, "I am glad. I am happy you tried even if you thought you wouldn't get far."

"I am glad too.", he answered and it was silent for a few seconds before you spoke up again.

"That second skater—the girl with the purple dress," you murmured, low enough that only Sunghoon could hear. "I wish I had my sketchbook. She looked so pretty in that long dress, even if she feel twice."

The streetlights flickered across his face as he turned toward you, close enough that you could see the faint glitter of leftover rink spray in his white hair. "Next competition," he said, voice rough with exhaustion but earnest, "bring it. If you want to come again, I mean."

You studied his profile, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the passing lights. "Yeah," you said softly. "Sure. Of course."

A quiet understanding settled over you both as the car crossed the Han River, its dark waters shimmering with reflected city lights. Jay snorted in his sleep, jolting slightly before slumping against the window again. The movement made you aware of how stiffly you'd been holding yourself to avoid crowding Sunghoon.

"Here," he murmured suddenly, lifting his arm slightly. "Just—" He demonstrated the awkward angle of trying to sit upright while sandwiched between you and Jay. "It's worse if we all lean back."

You hesitated for only a second before letting yourself lean into him, your temple coming to rest against the curve of his shoulder.

Sunghoon exhaled, relaxing into the seat properly now, his own shoulders finally resting fully against the backrest.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble you felt more than heard.

You hummed in response. The scent of your detergent—something clean and faintly citrusy—mixed with the lingering traces of ice rink and the fabric softener from Heeseung’s hoodie still draped over you. It was comforting, familiar in a way you couldn’t explain.

Sunghoon didn’t move or shift, even as the car hit a bump that jostled you slightly closer. His arm brushed against yours and his breathing slowly steadied.

You felt his head tilt slightly, resting against yours as he fell asleep. ──────────────────────── The elevator doors slid open to a wave of sound that made your skull pulse. Bass-heavy music vibrated through your apartment door before you even turned your key, mingling with overlapping voices and laughing. Your fingers trembled as you finally got the lock to turn. Whether from exhaustion or the migraine brewing behind your eyes, you couldn’t tell.

Twelve hours.

You’ve just spent twelve straight hours in the university studio, your back aching from hunching over architectural models. The coffee you’d chugged hours ago had long since worn off, leaving behind only a sour aftertaste and a stomach that rolled dangerously when you opened the front door.

You knew Sunghoon was going to have friends over. He had asked you if it was okay if he had his boys, Wonyoung and a few of her friends over to pregame. Of course he could, it was his apartment as well.

As you stepped inside you were second guessing that answer right now. Your nose was assaulted by an array of smells of food and alcohol.

Sunghoon and his friends were all sitting around the sofa, Jake, Heeseung, Jay and a girl you didn’t know were playing a seemingly intense round of Mario Kart. Sunghoon was balancing three soda cans in one hand while using the other to take a shot with who you assumed was Wonyoungs friends. So much to he wouldn’t drink. But didn’t you say the same thing last time?

His entire face lit up when he spotted you hovering in the doorway.

“Y/N!”

Sunghoon weaved his way towards you with that effortless grace he carried everywhere. Up close, you could see how excited he was. His eyes were almost sparkling.

“You look dead,” he announced, reaching for your overloaded backpack. His fingers brushed your shoulder as he slid it off, and even that slight contact sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “We saved you food! I got you some of the garlic powder chicken and the fried rice cakes from Mom’s touch! With extra powder, just how you—”

A particularly loud burst of laughter from the sofa made you flinch. The motion sent a fresh spike of pain through your temples, and suddenly the smell of the food was overwhelming and nauseating. You pressed your lips together, willing your stomach to settle.

Sunghoon’s smile faltered. He leaned in, his voice dropping below the music’s roar. “Hey. You okay?”

“Migrane,” you managed, gripping the door frame for balance. Your vision swam slightly at the edges. “Just need to… lie down.”

Behind him, Jake's girlfriend appeared, her face flushed from alcohol. “Y/N! You’re coming out with us, right? We’re going to B1!” Her pout was picture-perfect, her lip gloss catching the light as she spoke. How did Sunghoon only have pretty friends? But then at the same time, pretty people attract pretty people, right?

The thought of a crowded club, of flashing lights, pounding music and the amount of hot and sweaty bodies pressing into yours made your stomach lurch violently.

“Migraine,” you gritted out again, already edging toward the hallway. “Next time.”

Sunghoon caught your wrist in a gentle but firm grasp. His thumb brushed your pulse point, his brows drawn together. “I’ll make you tea,” he murmured. “You should eat something when your head is feeling better. I bought new ginger tea. It’s in the–”

“Cabinet above the sink.” You forced a smile, slipping free of his grip. “You don’t have to Sunghoon. Have fun and be carefull.”

Escape was all you could think about. You made it three steps down the hall before the nausea crested, sending you stumbling into the bathroom. The door swung open to reveal Wonnie mid-mascara application, her reflection flawless in the fogged mirror.

“Oh, Y/N!” She turned, her head tilting in mild confusion. “You look awful.”

The words weren’t malicious, just observant. That made it worse.

Up close, Wonnie was even more devastatingly pretty. Her skin was poreless under the harsh lights, her collarbones delicate rather than skeletal like yours. When she shifted, her cropped top rode up to reveal toned abs, the kind that came from disciplined training rather than starvation.

"Migraine," you muttered, brushing past her to grab your toothbrush.

Wonnie's perfectly shaped brows furrowed. "That's too bad." She leaned against the doorframe, watching as you fumbled with the toothpaste. "I would have loved it if you came along tonight. The others too. We wouldn’t have let anyone close to you, but I understand if you don’t want to come. "

Your hands stilled. The toothpaste tube slipped from your grip, hitting the sink with a plastic clatter. ”I-yeah,” you croaked out, “maybe next time.”

Wonnie either didn't notice or chose to ignore your reaction. "Anyway, feel better!" She flashed a smile before disappearing in a cloud of her perfume.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with your reflection. The girl in the mirror was a ghost—pale skin stretched too tight over sharp cheekbones, dark circles like bruises under bloodshot eyes. The sounds of laughter from the living room seemed to grow louder as you mechanically brushed your teeth, the mint doing little to combat the taste of bile.

By the time you emerged, the group was gathering by the door. Sunghoon lingered near the back, his gaze finding yours across the chaos almost immediately.

“I made you some tea. And the rest of the chicken is in a container in the fridge. Try to eat something before you go to bed,” he said, shrugging on his jacket. The others were already spilling into the hallway, but he hesitated, one hand on the doorframe. “Text if you need anything.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.

“Have fun,” you whispered.

Then they were gone, the apartment plunging into sudden silence. It still smelled like food, alcohol and a mixture of perfumes that the others had sprayed on before leaving.

You stood there for a long moment, swaying slightly on your feet. Your body felt both weightless and unbearably heavy as you trudged towards the kitchen to clean up whatever mess Sunghoon and his friends had left and to drink some of the tea Sunghoon made. Sunghoon shouldn’t have to worry about cleaning up tomorrow and should sleep in. He deserved it.

You also had to somehow eat something so you could take painkillers.

After fifteen minutes have you opened the windows, cleaned the kitchen and living room, set a trash bag with the empty containers outside for sunghoon to carry downstairs and drank almost all of the tea.

Your migraine was now a full-force storm behind your eyes so you just dropped onto the sofa after closing the windows and dimming the lights. There was a new episode of My demon today. You would just rewatch the episode with Sunghoon tomorrow. ──────────────────────── The bass thrummed through Sunghoons ribs like a second heartbeat, the sticky air thick with sweat and perfume. Neon lights pulsed in erratic bursts, casting the writhing bodies on the dance floor in garish pinks and blues. He hated it here.

He shifted against the bar, fingers drumming on the condensation-slick glass of his untouched drink. The music was too loud, the crowd too close, the laughter too sharp. Every brush of a stranger’s elbow against his back sent a prickle of irritation down his spine. He should’ve stayed home.

Sunghoons jaw tightened.

The memory of you in the doorway flashed behind his eyes. How your fingers had dug into the frame for balance, how your face had gone pale.

He had known you had a deadline. Known you have been skipping meals again, that your headaches were more intense in the last few days. But he’d let Jake talk him into hosting, let Wonnie chatter about her plans for the evening and let his friends invade the apartment.

His teeth ground together. The club’s music morphed into a distorted screech, grating against his skull. He could be on the couch right now. Could’ve dimmed the lights, pulled up My Demon, watch you curl into the armrest you the way you did when the pain got bad. Could’ve made sure you actually ate instead of leaving you to nibble at cold chicken alone in the dark.

A drunk girl stumbled into his shoulder, giggling an apology he didn’t acknowledge.

What was he even doing here? Pretending he wasn’t itching to go back to his apartment? Pretending he didn’t feel like an asshole for coming here? For inviting his friends over when he knew you would have a deadline?

He checked his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. No messages.

He hadn’t expected any. You wouldn’t text him. Not when you thought he was having fun.

Jake materialized beside him, shouting directly into his ear: “This place sucks! Let’s bail.”

Sunghoon didn’t need convincing. By 11:15, he’d extracted himself from the group and was striding toward the bus stop, the cool night air a relief against his overheated skin.

When he reached his apartment door an hour late, thanks to the million stops the night bus made from Hongdae to Sangdo, he was surprised to see a trash bag hanging from the apartment door handle, neatly tied, the weight of it pulling the plastic taut. Sunghoon blinked at it for a second, his brain slow to process.

He hadn’t taken the trash out.

Which meant...you did.

His fingers curled around the bag’s knot, the crinkle of plastic loud in the empty hallway.

Even though you had been pale and swaying on your feet earlier. Even though you had barely been able to keep your eyes open when he left.

His chest squeezed.

He carried it downstairs, the night air cool against his skin, and tried not to think about how you must’ve dragged yourself up to clean up his mess.

He exhaled hard through his nose and carried the bag downstairs, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been.

Sunghoon turned the key as quietly as possible, easing the door open inch by inch. The apartment was dark, the only light the faint blue flicker of the TV from the living room. He toed off his shoes, stepping carefully over the threshold.

The air smelled faintly of citrus cleaner.

He crept forward, peering into the living room.

There you were. A lump of blankets on the sofa, half-buried in fabric, one arm draped over your eyes and a cooling packet on your forehead. The TV cast shifting shadows over your face, paused on the title screen of My Demon. You didn't even manage to watch longer than the intro?

Sunghoon’s throat went dry.

He should’ve been here. Should’ve stayed.

His eyes flicked to the kitchen. The counters were spotless. No trace of the takeout containers, no stray chopsticks, no sticky rings from glasses. Even the trash can had a fresh liner.

All of it—his mess—cleaned up by you, when you could barely keep your eyes open earlier.

His mug sat drying on the rack. The one he’d made your tea in.

Empty.

A stupid, warm feeling curled in his stomach.

You’d drunk all of it. Or at least he hoped you did so and didn't just toss it into the sink.

He was halfway to the couch—to wake you up, so you could go to bed and sleep in your own bed—when your voice cut through the quiet.

“Why are you home so early?”

Sunghoon nearly jumped out of his skin.

You were watching him, bleary-eyed but awake, the blanket slipping off your shoulder as you pushed yourself up on one elbow.

He swallowed. “Club was shit.”

You hummed. The TV’s glow caught the exhaustion still clinging to your face, the way you squinted at him like even the dim light hurt.

Sunghoon sank onto the couch beside you, his knee brushing yours. “You cleaned,” he said quietly.

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You turned your head just enough to look at him. “I know. But you would have to do it hungover tomorrow, and that’s worse than my migrane. I am used to it.”

He huffed, but his throat felt tight. “Still. You should’ve just slept.”

“I did,” you said, nodding toward the TV. “After.”

Sunghoon followed your gaze. The screen still displayed My Demon, paused right at the beginning.

“You waited,” he realized.

You didn’t answer. Just pulled the blanket over his legs too, your fingers brushing his knee.

“Play it,” you mumbled, already settling back against the cushions. “Before I fall asleep again.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay. Scoot over.”

You made a half-hearted attempt to shift, but the blankets had you trapped. Sunghoon huffed a laugh before wedging himself into the remaining space, his back pressed against the cushions, your legs now draped over his lap. It was awkward, too close and not close enough, the heat from your body seeping through the layers of fabric between you.

“Comfortable?” you teased, your voice still rough with sleep.

“Perfect,” he deadpanned, adjusting his arm to avoid elbowing you in the face.

You hit play.

Seven minutes in, you broke the silence. “How was it? The club.”

Sunghoon’s fingers drummed against your shin. “Loud. Wonnie spilled a drink on some guy’s shoes. The Dj played random european music because there were a lot of exchange students there.”

“Sounds eventful.”

“Boring,” he corrected. His thumb traced idle circles over the arch of your foot through the blanket. “I would have rather been here.”

"I don't want to be the reason why you aren't going out with your friends Sunghoon. I am an adult, I can be alone on a Friday evening. It's how its always been."

The admission hung between you. On screen, the demon said something sarcastic, but neither of you laughed.

Sunghoon’s hand stilled. “You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“You had plans.”

“I would’ve stayed.”

The words came out sharper than he meant. You blinked at him and then you just sighed, your toes curling into his thigh. “Point taken.”

Sunghoon swallowed. “Is it that bad that I would enjoy spending time with you, Guwon and Dodohee, here more than with the others in a warm, loud, stinky and sticky club?”

You snorted quietly. “You can just admit that you want to thirst over Song Kang with me. I don’t judge.”

Sunghoon slightly hit your ankle but didn’t deny what you said. He did enjoy watching Song Kang act, he was hot.

You reversed the part the two of you missed and pressed start again.

Sunghoon’s thumb paused it's absent tracing over your ankle and he broke the silence this time. "Did the tea help?"

You nodded against the cushion, the movement small. "Mm. I drank all of it. Thanks." The admission came softly. "I ate some of the chicken too."

His shoulders relaxed slightly. "Good." A beat. Then, quieter: "You get these often? The migraines?"

The demon on screen laughed sharply, masking your hesitation. "Not as much as I used to." You picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "They’re sort of…leftover. From when I wasn’t taking care of myself properly."

Sunghoon stilled. Taking care of yourself properly? Just like you were doing right now? Not eating, sleeping, overloading your schedule? His fingers tightened imperceptibly around your foot. "When was that?"

"High school." You shrugged, like it didn’t matter. "My body’s still mad at me, I guess."

Sunghoon exhaled slowly through his nose, his thumb resuming its gentle circles - this time against the jut of your ankle bone.

"Are you taking care of it now?," he asked quietly.

Your toes curled slightly under his palm. "I’m trying to."

The TV flickered, casting shadows across his face as he studied you - the dark circles under your eyes, the way your collarbones stood out just a little too sharply. Something in his chest ached.

"Hey." He nudged your knee with his. "Next time you feel a migraine coming on–"

"I’ll tell you," you finished softly.

Sunghoon’s lips quirked. "Good."

You turned back to the drama and for a few minutes the only sounds in your apartment was the low murmuring from the TV.

The demon heroine's voice trembled through the speakers: "You call this love? Real love doesn't make you question your worth."

Sunghoon felt your ankle tense slightly beneath his fingers as you asked, "Have you ever been in love?"

For a moment, neon lights and pounding bass flashed behind his eyes. He saw a girl in front of him, so lively it might have been real right now. Her chestnut hair smelled like vanilla. She was laughing brightly as she teased him about his terrible dancing, while she was dancing even worse. Taking his hand. Pulling him in. Kissing him.

His thumb stilled against your ankle.

"There was someone," he admitted, voice softer than he intended. "Another skater. Not serious, but..." He swallowed, watching the TV's blue light play across your blanket-covered knees. "I could've loved her, I think."

He thought about how Soomin would tuck her hair behind her ears when nervous, how she'd bring him energy drinks before morning practices, how her mittened hands would brush against his when they walked home from the rink. The way his chest would tighten when she smiled at him, when they would giggle together like teenagers in love. They were teenagers in love, both of them just loving something else more than each other.

"I was seventeen," he continued, fingers tracing absent patterns on your socked foot. It were cute socks with small flowers on them. "Right before Junior Worlds. Every of my thought was about landing that damn triple axel." His mouth twisted. "By the time I was done with all that, she'd moved to Canada to train. She still lives there."

The confession tasted bittersweet. He wasn’t exactly heartbroken back then. He was somewhat glad that he couldn’t be distracted by her anymore so he could focus on school and skating. In the years after he had often asked himself what might have been if the two of them would have taken their eyes off of the ice for just a second. They would have been a nice couple.

On screen, rain streaked down windows as the male lead walked away. You studied Sunghoon's profile in the flickering light. "Do you regret it?"

He shifted. "Sometimes. Not her specifically, just..." He gestured vaguely. "Being so single-minded. What I might have missed."

The admission surprised him. He'd never voiced that particular regret aloud - how he'd let routines and rotations come in between something so much more important.

"What about you?" he asked. "Have you been in love?"

You smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes. "Not even close. I haven't even kissed someone."

"Never?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

"Never." You plucked at the blanket's edge, the threadbare fabric catching on your fingernail. "I think, now and back then, that...if you can't love yourself properly, you shouldn't let someone else try. It wouldn't be fair to them."

Sunghoon's breath caught for a second as the pieces clicked together - your careful portions, the way you'd deflect compliments, the migraines born from "not taking care of yourself properly." Jake was right. Or well. Halfways? it did sound like you had an ed in highschool. Maybe the party triggered something and you were going back to that mindset? You weren’t eating like this before. He was sure of that.

His hand slid up to cradle your calf, fingers pressing gently into the muscle there. "That's..." He searched for words that wouldn't scare you off. "Really mature, actually."

You huffed a brittle laugh. "Or just really good at self-sabotage."

The joke fell flat between you. Sunghoon's grip tightened, his thumb finding the delicate hollow behind your knee. He thought of Soomin's easy confidence, the way she'd owned every inch of the ice and then of you, folding yourself smaller, quieter, as if trying to disappear into the couch cushions.

"Hey." His voice dropped, rough with unspoken emotion. "Knowing your limits isn't sabotage. It's..." He trailed off, suddenly aware of how close your faces were in the dim light, how your breath hitched when his fingers brushed that sensitive spot behind your knee.

On screen, the demon whispered something about second chances. Neither of you looked away.

Sunghoon's pulse thundered in his ears. He didn’t remember what he wanted to say so instead, his thumb traced slow circles on your skin.

The episode played on. The blue glow of the TV painted the curve of your cheek, the nervous flutter of your lashes as you stared at where his hand still rested behind your knee. Sunghoon could feel the minute tremors running through you.

"You know," you said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper, "that first morning you made breakfast? When we had barely known each other for two weeks?"

Sunghoon's fingers stilled against your skin. He remembered, the burned pancakes, the way you'd hovered in the doorway like you weren't sure you were allowed to eat with him. "Yeah?"

"You put honey in my tea exactly how I like it." Your fingers twisted in the blanket. "I don't even remember telling you that."

His hand slid up to cradle your knee properly now, fingers pressing gently into the soft skin behind it. "You always put in two spoons," he murmured. "Every time you make yourself a cup. It wasn't hard to notice."

You ducked your head, but not before he saw the flush creeping up your neck. "Still. Most people don't pay attention like that."

The 'most people' lingered between you, heavy with everything it implied about what you expected from the world. Sunghoon's thumb traced idle circles on your inner thigh, the touch feather-light but deliberate.

"You're wrong, you know."

"About what?" you breathed.

"About not being loved." His fingers tightened slightly around your knee. "I think people have loved you in all the small ways you didn't let yourself see. The way the ajumma at the convenience store downstairs saves you the last vegetarian kimbap. The way Mark sends you like a million pictures a day. How Jungwoo just randomly orders stuff to our apartment because he remembers you talking about it and how Taeyong remembered to pack everything you might miss from home." He hesitated, then added softly, "How I memorized your tea preferences after seeing you make it just once."

A startled laugh escaped you, bright and unexpected in the dim room. "That's not love, Sunghoon. That's just...being decent."

"Isn't it?" His thumb brushed higher, just beneath the hem of your shorts. "What's love if not noticing? If not remembering?"

Your breath hitched. On screen, the credits began to roll, the music swelling dramatically. Neither of you moved until you shook your head and cleared your throat. “I’ll go to toilet for a second. Can you stop the episode?”

Sunghoon nodded. “Sure thing.”

He stretched out across the sofa the moment you disappeared down the hall, groaning as his spine popped. The cushions still held your warmth, the blanket carrying the faint scent of your shampoo as he flopped onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. Just for a second. Just until you came back.

The apartment was quiet save for the hum of the fridge. Sunghoon let his muscles go lax. He was exhausted from the last week and from going to class and to that shitty club. His mind replayed your conversation. Of course he’d noticed. Somehow he noticed everything about you.

He barely had time to roll onto his side before you reappeared, blinking down at him where he was sprawled out on the entire sofa.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I go to pee for three seconds and you steal my spot on the sofa? Pardon me, take over the whole sofa?”

Sunghoon grinned, shuffling closer to the backrest in exaggerated courtesy. “Plenty of room,” he lied, patting the sliver of space left in front of him. He was joking and about to sit up to let you get into your original position when you suddenly lifted the blanket he was laying on.

And crawled in.

Every synapse in Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited as you settled against him, your back pressed to his chest, your hair tickling his nose. He froze, arm still suspended mid-air where he’d been about to “adjust” the pillows.

“This okay?” you murmured, already curling into the space he’d made.

Okay? His lungs forgot how to work. He didn’t know where to put his hands. Could he touch you? Would that be okay? Slowly, carefully, he let his arm drape over your waist.

“S’perfect,” he managed, voice rough.

You hummed reaching for the remote and starting the next episode.

The last coherent thought Sunghoon had before sleep claimed him was that he’d never moving again—not even for morning practice, not even if the rink burned down. Not when you were laying here, all soft and trusting against his heartbeat. ──────────────────────── The disinfectant smell of the cleaner burned in your nose as you scrubbed at the same spot on Counter #3 for what felt like the hundredth time. Your fingers trembled slightly against the rag—not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you had to press your palm flat against the surface to steady yourself.

Sunoo's hip-check nearly sent you stumbling into the popcorn machine. "Earth to Y/N," he sang, waving a bag of sour gummies in your face. The neon lights overhead made the candy look almost fluorescent. "You've been polishing that same spot for ten minutes."

You blinked, your thoughts snapping back into focus like a rubber band. "Sorry," you muttered, snatching the gummies from him and placing them back in their exact spot on the shelf—third row from the top, between the strawberry belts and the chocolate-covered almonds. "What did you say?"

Sunoo studied you, his usual playful grin fading into something more careful. "Are you okay? If you're feeling sick, I'm sure Taemin would let you go early."

The concern in his voice made your stomach twist. You forced a smile, the expression stretching uncomfortably across your face. "No, I'm just tired."

It wasn't entirely a lie. You were tired.

Sunoo leaned against the counter, the red of his uniform vest clashing horribly with his peach-blond hair. "You sure? You've been super quiet today."

You wiped your hands on your jeans and nodded. "I promise I'm fine. Don't worry."

But Sunoo's eyes flicked to your fingers.

"Did you eat something nice on the weekend?" he asked, his voice deliberately light, like he wasn't digging for confirmation.

You blinked, your mind scrambling for an answer that wouldn't make him worry. Just the fact that you had to think about an answer worried you. "Huh? Oh—yeah. I had fried chicken with Sunghoon on Saturday."

Sunoo's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Moms Touch?"

"Yeah," you said, turning back to the counter to wipe down an already-clean spot. The motion was automatic, something to keep your hands busy. "He ordered it for me when he and his friends ordered the day before because they had that 1+1 offer."

Sunoo's lips twitched.

"And then we fell asleep on the couch," you added absently.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and Sunoo's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

You froze, the rag slipping from your fingers. Shit. You hadn't meant to say that.

"It wasn't a big deal," you said quickly, your voice too high. "We were watching My Demon and I had a headache, so I kinda... leaned on him. Next thing I know, it's morning and—"

"—and you woke up in his arms," Sunoo finished, his voice pitching higher with every word. "Y/N. Y/N."

You groaned, pressing your forehead against the counter. "It's not like that."

"Oh, it's exactly like that," Sunoo said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "But we're circling back to that in a second. First—" He nudged your foot with his. "—you actually ate the chicken? Like, properly?"

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. Four pieces. Three radish slices. Two sips of yogurt drink.

"I ate," you said, the words sharper than intended. You pressed your lips together and scrubbed a bit more aggressively.

Sunoo didn't miss the way you didn't answer the question.

"Y/N," he said softly.

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a laugh. "Sunghoon even remembered to order with extra garlic powder."

Sunoo exhaled through his nose. He and Sunghoon were similar in a few aspects. They were obsessive. Insistent. Careful. And they noticed.

"You know," Sunoo said lightly, stealing a gummy worm from the display, "if you did want to talk about the whole 'waking up cuddled with Sunghoon' thing instead—"

You threw a handful of popcorn at him but took the offer for distraction. The popcorn kernels scattered across the counter, and Sunoo yelped as a few bounced off his forehead. You took a deep breath before continuing, fingers tapping nervously against the laminate.

"I came home Friday with the worst migraine," you started, keeping your voice low. "Sunghoon had friends over, and the apartment was... loud."

Sunoo nodded, uncharacteristically quiet as he listened.

You swallowed. "I barely made it to my room before almost throwing up. When they left for the club, I cleaned up. So he wouldn't have to deal with it hungover."

Sunoo's eyes softened. "Of course you did."

You ignored that. "I was on the couch watching – well i tried watching but i fell asleep – when he came back early. Said the club was 'shit.' They went to B1."

A grin tugged at Sunoo's lips. "Sounds about right."

"He sat with me," you continued, tracing a water ring on the counter. "At first it was normal—just watching the show. Then..." Your throat tightened. "I went to pee and he was sprawled out across the sofa. And I think he jokingly offered me to come lie down with him. But I was tired and…I don't know. I layed down. Like my backside to his front and shit. He put his hand around my waist. And then...I don't even remember falling asleep. Just woke up on Sunday with his arm around me."

Sunoo's eyebrows shot up. "And?"

"And nothing!" You threw your hands up. "He asked if I wanted breakfast, but it was lunchtime, so we ate the chicken. End of story."

Sunoo studied you for a long moment. "You left out the part where you told me you scarfed down the whole box alone, because you love that chicken."

Your breath caught.

"Y/N." His voice was gentle. "You're doing it again."

The concession stand suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. You focused on the popcorn machine's hum, the steady drip of the leaky soda fountain—anything but the concern in Sunoo's eyes.

"It's not like before," you whispered.

"Isn't it?"

You didn't answer. Sunoo was there when it happened the first time. He saw the signs back then. He did so now as well. This time he saw it quicker. You weren't trying to hide it, you didn’t even realize you were doing it again. You wished you could just ignore your head. Ignore the numbers, the nausea. But you couldn't and he knew.

Outside, the rain picked up, drumming against the cinema's roof.

Sunoo reached over, squeezing your hand. "He notices, you know. Sunghoon. From what you've told me he definitely did." He sighed.

You hated it. Hated how easily Sunghoon saw through you, how he'd nudged the takeout box closer when you set your chopsticks down too soon, how his eyes had lingered on your untouched plate just a second too long. You knew Sunghoon knew. He probably has for a while. Food was not in their packaging but in boxes or their packages were conveniently ripped open where the calorie label was printed on. He definitely knew after you more or less told him on Saturday. And yet, your vision blurred and the counter beneath your hands felt suddenly unsteady.

"Hey." Sunoo ducked his head to catch your gaze. "You know I'm saying this because–"

"I know," you cut him off, voice thick. "Just... not right now, okay?"

He studied you for another moment before nodding. "Okay."

The two of you kept working, you scrubbing the already clean counter and Sunoo refilling the stands for the sweets.

His silence was louder than the movie's playing quietly in the background. When you dared a glance at him, he was already looking at you. "Y/N. Sweetheart. Light of my life.", he said "do you think Sunghoon has a crush on you."

You almost choked on your own spit at the topic change. "Sunghoon has a what on whom?"

"A crush. On you.", Sunoo said, shrugging his shoulders

"What makes you think that?", you asked, trying to regain your composture.

"Well everything you've told me so far? He replaced our favourite vase? He is clearly looking out for you even if you aren’t."

"That's just—"

"Don't say 'being a good friend,' I swear to god—"

"—observant," you finished weakly, making your way over to counter 4.

"Look, even if—hypothetically—Sunghoon liked me, which he doesn't—" You ignored Sunoo's dramatic eye roll. "—we live together. It would be a disaster. I'd have to move out. Probably change my name. Flee the country—"

"Or," Sunoo interjected, following you and leaning onto the counter next to you, "you could admit you think he is cute."

"I don’t think he is cute.", you lied, shaking your head aggressively.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Don’t lie to me.”, he deadpanned. “ You do think he is cute. And I’ll tell you one thing, you beautiful disaster," he said, uncharacteristically serious. "If Park Sunghoon is out here memorizing your food preferences, you better believe he's noticed your eating behaviours too. "

Your throat tightened. “I know.” ──────────────────────── Rain drummed against Sunghoon's umbrella as he stepped into the little flower shop at the market. It smelled like damp earth and the mixture of flower scents.

The ajumma running it glanced up from trimming rose stems, her face breaking into a smile when she recognized him. "Ah! My dear boy," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "More flowers for your girlfriend?"

Sunghoon's ears burned as he ducked his head. "Ah, no—just my roommate. Y/N? She's, um. She comes here often."

The ajumma's eyebrows shot up. "Y/N?" She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "I wondered where she'd gone. It's been weeks."

Something sharp twisted in Sunghoon's chest. He'd noticed too—the empty vase on your windowsill, gathering dust. The absence of your weekly ritual of trimming stems and humming to yourself as you arranged them. The apartment felt colder without your little touches of life.

He missed the flowers.

"She has been very busy recently," he said, running a finger along the edge of a daisy petal. "Do you have anything… cheery?"

The ajumma hummed, already reaching for a cluster of flowers that looked like colorful miniature sunflowers. "For Y/N?"

Sunghoon hesitated.

"These," the ajumma said, handing him a bundle of the orange mini sunflowers. Their centers were a deep, warm brown, their petals vibrant against the gray afternoon. "Like sunshine. Good for gloomy days."

Sunghoon nodded, his throat oddly tight. "She hasn’t been feeling the best lately."

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The ajumma paused, her shears hovering over a bundle of eucalyptus. "Ah," she said softly. "That's so sad to hear."

The ajumma wrapped the gerberas in brown paper, her movements deliberate. "You tell her Mrs. Park says hello and that she has to come by soon, mhm." She tied the bundle with twine, then added a sprig of something purple and feathery. "For luck."

Sunghoon paid, tucking the flowers under his jacket to shield them from the rain. As he turned to leave, the ajumma called after him:

"That girl—she always picks the flowers that are about to wilt. Says they deserve to be pretty for a little longer too. Take care of these ones."

Sunghoon stood frozen in the rain, the ajumma's words echoing in his chest like a second heartbeat. She always picks the ones about to wilt. You, who treated yourself like something temporary. Something only meant to be pretty in passing.

A drop of rain slid down his neck as he stared at the gerberas in his hands.

His grip tightened on the stems.

You deserve more than scraps, he thought, tucking them closer under his jacket as the rain thickened. ──────────────────────── Your phone lit up with Taeyong's caller ID - the ridiculous selca of him making fish lips flashing across the screen. A grin spread across your face as you swiped to answer.

"Oppa! I was just about to call you!" you chirped, tucking your legs beneath you on the couch. The late afternoon sun streamed through the balcony windows, warming your oversized sweater. You tugged your sleeves over your hands.

"Yah, you liar," Taeyong's voice crackled through the speaker, rich with amusement. "You haven't voluntarily called me since you stole my limited edition G-Dragon album in 2016."

You gasped dramatically. "First of all, I borrowed that. Second of all, I was fourteen!"

"And yet here we are, eight years later, and my collection is still incomplete," he fired back, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "Anyway - train tickets. Did you get the 9am or the 11am?"

Your fingers absently traced the edge of your laptop. "Eleven," you answered.

You'd actually been debating between the two all week - earlier meant more time with family, but later meant less time under scrutiny. "Less chance of me being a zombie when I arrive."

Taeyong snorted. "Please, you've been a morning person since you were in diapers. Remember when you used to wake me up at 5am to watch Saturday cartoons?"

The memory made you smile. "You always pretended to be annoyed but you'd make us those weird peanut butter and kimchi sandwiches."

"Hey! Those were gourmet!" His indignation was undercut by his own laughter. "Besides, you're one to talk - you put sugar in your jjigae until you were twelve."

You were mid-retort when the screen suddenly flickered to video call. Taeyong's face filled the display, his sharp features illuminated by the warm sun light. He blinked, then his expression softened.

"Oh." His voice went quiet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to click on FaceTime."

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the phone.

For a fleeting second, you considered hanging up. The angle wasn't flattering - the sunlight catching the hollows under your eyes, the way your sweater swallowed your frame. But then Taeyong smiled, genuine and warm, and something in your chest unclenched.

"No worries, Oppa," you murmured, smiling back.

He tilted his head, studying you. "You look tired."

You shrugged. "Uni. You know how it is."

"Mm." His gaze was knowing but gentle. "Well, Mom's got three kinds of kimchi waiting for you. And Dad ordered the expensive meat. He says he's going to make you the best samgyeopsal of your life."

Your stomach growled audibly at the mention of your father's famous grilled pork belly. Taeyong's eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Someone's excited," he teased.

"I haven't had real good samgyeopsal in months," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Sunghoon tried to make it last week and it was... an experience. Our fire alarms definitely work."

Taeyong threw his head back laughing. "Please tell me you didn't burn down your apartment."

"Obviously." You grinned. "The kitchen just smells a bit weird."

The conversation flowed easily after that - Taeyong updating you on Johnny and his traveling plans for later in the year, you telling him about your art project, both of you debating which Chuseok games to play this year.

"Jungwoo is bringing that new board game he's obsessed with," Taeyong said, then smirked. "Which means we can team up against him like always."

You groaned. "Last time we did that he didn't speak to us for three days."

"Worth it." Taeyong's expression softened. "It's not the same without you, you know. The summer."

Something warm bloomed in your chest. "I know. I've missed being home too."

A voice called Taeyong's name in the background. He glanced off-screen, then back at you. "Gotta run, bug." He paused, his dark eyes serious for a moment. "One week. Don't be late."

You mock-saluted. "Yes, sir."

The call ended, leaving you smiling at your darkened screen. Excitement bubbled in your chest. You were going home. Finally. Just the thought of home made you crave eating your moms food. You realized you could actually eat some of your moms food. You still had some kolddugi muchim in your freezer. With a swift movement that made you stop and drop back down onto the sofa until your vision came back you stood up. You really had to remember to take your vitamins. ──────────────────────── The kolddugi muchim stared back at you from the plate like it had personally wronged you.

You’d cooked it perfectly—tender squid glazed in spicy-sweet sauce, the edges caramelized just enough to crunch. It smelled like home. But now that it was in front of you, your stomach twisted like you’d swallowed rocks.

Just one bite.

Your chopsticks hovered over the plate, trembling slightly. The numbers flashed in your mind unbidden. You squeezed your eyes shut.

You wanted to eat. You missed eating.

But your body recoiled like the food was poison.

The front door opened.

Sunghoon froze in the doorway, skate bag dangling from his fingers. His gaze flicked from your hunched shoulders to the untouched plate, then back to your face.

He kicked off his shoes and shuffled into the kitchen. “Did you make kolddugi muchim?” He peered over your shoulder at the food. “You gonna glare it into submission or…?”

You scowled. “I’m thinking.”

“Ah. Deep culinary meditation. Got it.” He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, his tone deliberately light.

“Need a taste tester? For scientific accuracy?”

You hesitated. Then nudged the plate toward him.

Sunghoon took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Hm.” Another bite. “Interesting.” A third. “Yep. Definitely–”

You swatted his arm. “What?”

“–needs more.” He stole your chopsticks, splitting the squid into two uneven portions. The smaller one, he pushed toward you. The larger, he drenched in extra sauce. “There. That’s more my style.”

You stared at the modest pile–five manageable pieces. Five. You could do five.

Sunghoon didn’t watch as you picked up your chopsticks. He just launched into a story about his friend’s disastrous new haircut, waving his hands animatedly.

The fifth bite of squid sat heavy in your stomach. You pressed your palm discreetly below your ribs, willing the cramp to fade as Sunghoon rambled on. His voice was warm and slightly raspy from hours of yelling at the rink. You loved how it dipped when he was trying not to laugh, how he'd gesture wildly with his chopsticks when the story got good. Right now, though, you could barely focus past the fire spreading through your gut.

"—and then the clippers apparently just slipped and now—" Sunghoon paused mid-sentence. His chopsticks hovered over his plate. "You okay?"

You swallowed hard. "Just... stomach doing stupid stuff." The admission came out quieter than you'd intended.

Sunghoon didn't react dramatically. Just set down his chopsticks with a soft clink. "Spice too much?"

You nodded, shame heating your cheeks. Two months ago, you could've eaten this entire plate without breaking a sweat. Now your body rebelled against what should've been comfort food. You hated it so much.

Without another word, Sunghoon pushed back from the table. You watched his retreating back—the way his shoulders moved under his thin t-shirt as he filled the kettle, the practiced ease of his hands as he rummaged through the tea cabinet while he continued telling you about the class he had after his morning training session.

The kettle whistled. Steam curled around Sunghoon's face as he poured, his brow furrowed in concentration. You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes—the sharp angle you'd once drawn in your sketchbook, the faint scar near his ear from a childhood skating accident. How many times had you sat like this, watching him move through the kichen? A thousand quiet moments folded into the creases of your memory.

"Here." Sunghoon set the steaming mug in front of you, the scent of ginger and honey wrapping around you like an embrace. "Drink slow."

Your fingers brushed his as you took it.

"Thanks," you murmured.

He didn't sit back down. Just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you take the first sip. The tea was perfect—not too sweet, not too bitter. Exactly how you liked it.

"Better?" he asked after a moment.

The cramp had eased slightly.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Sunghoon’s fingers tapped an absent rhythm against his mug. “We should get bingsu next week someday. That place near campus.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “That sounds good.” ──────────────────────── You were sitting on top of your luggage when Mark found you, your knees pulled up to your chest and your hoodie swallowing your frame. The fabric smelled faintly of your detergent and Sunghoon's room refreshener—something crisp and clean—and you tugged the sleeves further over your hands, hiding the way your wrists had grown sharper over the past few months.

"Hey, brat," Mark called, his voice bright with excitement as he jogged toward you. "You better not have forgotten my—"

He stopped dead the moment you turned around.

You saw it happen in slow motion—the way his grin faltered, the way his eyes flickered over your face. His grip tightened on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The bus terminal buzzed around you—people talking and laughing, suitcases rolling, announcements crackling over the speakers—but all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

Mark's eyes traced your face, lingering on the hollows beneath your cheekbones, the way your collarbones jutted sharply above the neckline of the oversized hoodie. His expression darkened with each second, his initial joy draining away until only something raw and wounded remained.

"You look like shit," he said finally, his voice quiet.

You forced a laugh, standing up. "Thanks. I missed you too."

Mark didn't smile. He just stared at you, his jaw working.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, abruptly, he grabbed the handle of your luggage. "Let's go," he muttered, yanking it toward the bus without waiting for you.

You scrambled to your feet, your legs wobbling slightly as you hurried after him. "Mark—"

You collapsed onto the seat next to him, folding yourself into the seat. The bus hummed to life, the engine vibrating under your feet as rain streaked the windows.

Mark didn't look at you.

Not when you adjusted your sleeves for the fifth time, not when you dug your nails into your palms to keep yourself from fidgeting. He just stared straight ahead, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his knee.

The silence was worse than the subway stairs.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight. Mark had been the one who struggled most when you first developed your eating disorder as a teen. Where your parents, Taeyong and Junwoo had reacted with immediate concern and research, Mark had just looked... lost. Mark had been the one who found you purging for the first time when you were fifteen. You remembered how the bathroom door had crashed open, how he'd gone deathly pale seeing you hunched over the toilet. He hadn't yelled - his voice had been terrifyingly quiet when he asked "What are you doing?". The way his hands shook as he pulled you up, the broken "Why?" whispered against your hair as he hugged you too tight. He had never understood, not really - but his pain had been so raw it scared you more than your own illness.

But this was the first time he'd seen you since you relapsed. Really seen you.

And his face had fallen.

Not in surprise. Not in anger. Just—sadness. A deep, quiet kind of sadness that made your stomach twist.

The bus rattled over a pothole, jostling you sideways. Your shoulder bumped into Mark's, and he stiffened.

"You could've just told me," he said finally, his voice low.

You froze.

"I called you," he continued, still not looking at you. "Every damn week. 'Hey, let's get dinner.' 'Hey, come over.' 'Hey, Mom's asking about you.' And you—" His breath hitched. "You cancelled every time."

You dug your nails deeper into your palms.

You wanted to explain how you'd thought about calling him a hundred times, how you'd typed out texts only to delete them, terrified of seeing that helpless anger in his eyes again. How even now, sick all over again, your first instinct had been to protect him from it.

But the words wouldn't come.

Mark finally turned to you, his eyes red-rimmed. "Was this why?"

You couldn't answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus, Y/N. You think I wouldn't notice? You think I wouldn't care?"

The bus hissed to a stop, the doors groaning open. A family boarded, their laughter too loud in the tense silence.

You stared at your lap, at the way your jeans pooled around your knees. The memory of eighteen-year-old Mark sobbing "Please just eat something" while you stared at your untouched plate burned behind your eyes.

Mark leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You don't get to do this," he muttered. "You don't get to disappear and act like I don't fucking care Y/N."

You curled in on yourself, your knees pressing into the seat in front of you.

"Mom kept asking if you were sick," he continued, staring straight ahead. "I kept telling her you were just busy. That you'd call when you could." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Guess I wasn't wrong."

The words landed like a blow.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. "I'm handling it."

Mark finally turned to you, his eyes blazing. "Yeah? This is handling it?" His gaze raked over you, taking in the way your clothes hung loose, the way your hands trembled in your lap. "Jesus, Y/N. You look like a strong breeze could snap you in half."

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, willing the tears not to fall.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly.

The question hung between you, heavy and unanswerable.

You looked down at your hands, at the way your fingers curled into fists. "I couldn't... watch you hurt like that again," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Last time it destroyed you."

Mark exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well. You destroying yourself destroys me worse."

The silence that followed was thick.

You turned away as a tear escaped the corner of your eye, tracing a hot path down your cheek.

Mark saw it.

His expression crumpled.

"Ah, shit," he whispered, reaching for you.

And then, for the first time in months, you let him pull you into a hug.

His arms were warm. Familiar.

You buried your face in his shoulder, your breath hitching.

"We're fixing this," he murmured into your hair. “You’re going to be okay.” He said more to assure himself than you.

You didn't answer, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket. ──────────────────────── The taxi ride from the bus terminal to your family’s home was silent. Mark sat beside you, his knee bouncing the entire way, fingers drumming against his thigh. You kept your gaze fixed out the window, watching the city blur into countryside, the weight of what awaited you settling heavy in your gut.

The moment the car pulled into the driveway, the front door flew open.

Your mother stood in the doorway, her apron dusted with flour, hands pressed to her mouth. Even from the car, you saw the way her eyes immediately welled up.

Jungwoo appeared behind her, his usual grin faltering for just a second before he recovered, waving exaggeratedly. “Finally! We were about to send a search party.”

Your stomach twisted—not from his words, but from the way his voice hitched ever so slightly when he saw you.

Mark yanked the car door open with more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah, missed you too,” he muttered, already rounding the car to grab your luggage.

You stepped out slowly, legs unsteady. The scent of grilled meat and garlic hit you like a wave, thick, heavy, greasy. Your stomach recoiled.

Your mother was on you before you could take a second breath. Her hands fluttered over your face, your shoulders, your arms, like she was afraid you might dissolve under her touch. “My baby,” she kept whispering, her voice breaking. “My baby, my baby–”

You stood stiffly, letting her hold you, arms limp at your sides. Over her shoulder, you caught sight of your father in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral. Taeyong stood just behind him, arms crossed, but his usual sharp gaze softened when it landed on you.

Jungwoo was already talking, filling the silence before it could settle. “Okay, but seriously, did you walk here? Traffic wasn’t that bad.” He reached out like he was going to ruffle your hair, hesitated, then settled for poking your shoulder instead. “You look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Jungwoo,” Taeyong sighed, but there was no real scolding in it.“What? I’m just saying!” Jungwoo threw his hands up, grinning, but his eyes flickered over you too quickly, too carefully. ──────────────────────── Dinner was loud.

It was always loud.

Your father had grilled samgyeopsal. Thick slices of pork belly, the fat sizzling on the pan in the center of the table. The smell alone made your stomach turn, but you forced yourself to sit, to pick up your chopsticks, to pretend.

Jungwoo was mid-story from one of their evenings during the summer break, gesturing wildly with his utensils. “–so then the manager actually tried to kick us out, but Taeyong just–”

“You’re exaggerating,” Taeyong cut in, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Am not! Tell him, Dad!”

Your father chuckled, flipping another piece of meat. “I wasn’t there, but knowing you? Probably true.”

Your mother laughed, passing you a plate of ssam vegetables without comment. “Here, Y/N. The lettuce is fresh.”

You nodded, wrapping a small piece of meat, chewing slowly.

No one stared. No one pointed out how your hands shook.

But you noticed.

You noticed the way Jungwoo’s jokes came just a little too fast, the way Taeyong’s usual teasing had an edge of something softer. You noticed the way your father slid the leanest cuts of meat toward you without a word, the way your mother “accidentally” nudged the banchan dishes you used to love closer to your side of the table.

Mark’s knee pressed against yours under the table.

“–and then Mark actually tripped over his own feet–” Jungwoo continued, grinning.

Mark groaned. “We agreed never to talk about that.”

“No, you agreed. I just nodded and lied.”

Laughter filled the room. You let it wash over you, let their voices drown out the static in your head.

You made it through half your plate before your stomach cramped violently. You set your chopsticks down carefully.

No one paused. No one looked.

Your mother reached for the kimchi, chatting about the neighbor’s new dog.

Jungwoo stole a piece of meat off Taeyong’s plate, yelping when Taeyong smacked his hand.

Your father hummed, flipping the last slice of pork belly.

"Okay, dessert time!" your mother announced suddenly, standing up.

Jungwoo perked up. "Finally. I’ve been waiting for this."

Taeyong smirked. "You’ve been waiting? You ate half the meat."

"And I’ll eat half the cake too."

Your mother returned from the kitchen with a small, simple vanilla cake, no frosting, just a light dusting of powdered sugar.

It was your cake. The one you used to love when you were younger, before things got complicated. Light, airy, easy to eat even when your stomach rebelled against everything else.

You looked around the table.

Jungwoo was watching you, his usual grin softer now. Taeyong took a sip of water, pretending not to notice your reaction. Your father busied himself with clearing the grill.

Your mother set the cake in front of you, her voice deliberately casual. "I thought you might like something sweet."

And that’s when it hit you.

The meal. The banchan. The way they’d all avoided commenting on how little you ate. The cake.

They’d planned this.

Not just dinner–all of it.

Every dish, every joke, every distraction. They’d orchestrated the entire evening so you wouldn’t feel pressured, so you wouldn’t feel watched.

So you’d feel safe. ──────────────────────── The house was quiet when you crept through the apartment, the wooden floors cold beneath your bare feet. You had only meant to grab water but the hushed voices from the kitchen stopped you in the hallway.

"I just don’t get it." Jungwoo’s voice was thick, barely above a whisper. "Why wouldn’t she say anything?"

A chair creaked. "You think I know?" Mark shot back, but there was no real bite to it. Just exhaustion. "She didn’t tell me either."

"She didn’t tell anyone," Taeyong said quietly.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your breath shallow.

"It’s happening so much faster this time," Jungwoo muttered. "Last time it took months before she looked like—" He cut himself off, but you knew. Like this.

A heavy silence settled. Then Mark, his voice cracking: "I should’ve noticed."

"None of us did," Taeyong said.

"You knew," Jungwoo accused, though it lacked heat. "You saw her a week ago. You had to have—"

"And what was I supposed to do?" Taeyong’s chair scraped. "Force her? Yell at her? You think that fucking helps?"

Another pause. Then, softer: "No. But... fuck. I just thought we were past this."

Your chest caved in.

You didn’t hear the rest. You couldn’t.

You waited until you heard the soft snores from your parents’ room, until your brothers went to their rooms, until the glow under their door went dark. Then you slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you with a quiet click.

For the first time in five years, you knelt on the cold tiles, trembling fingers shoved down your throat.

The relief was instant followed immediately by a wave of crushing shame.

Tears spilled hot down your cheeks as you gagged, your body revolting against itself. Between heaves, you thought of Jungwoo’s broken "I just thought we were past this." Of Mark’s guilt. Of Taeyong’s quiet helplessness.

You were doing this to them again.

The vomit burned coming up. It tasted a bit like the strawberry cake from dinner, which made you gag even harder.

You were failing them again, you were hurting them again. No matter how much they loved you, you would always end up here, on your knees, betraying them in the worst way.

When it was over, you slumped against the bathtub, your forehead pressed to the cool porcelain. Your stomach ached. Your throat was raw. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You weren’t sure which was worse—the purging, or the realization that after everything, you didn’t change after all.

You were still breaking their hearts.

You were still unable to stop.

Outside, the house was silent.

You wondered if they could hear you crying. ──────────────────────── The first light of dawn painted the sky in soft pinks and golds as you slipped out of the house, the screen door clicking shut behind you. The air was already warm, thick with the salt-scent of the sea, and the streets were quiet except for the occasional scooter rumbling past.

You walked the familiar path to your favorite beach. The sand was cool under your bare feet, the tide rolling in with a steady, soothing rhythm. You settled onto your usual bench—the one slightly hidden by a curve in the shoreline, where the tourists never wandered—and let the sun warm your skin.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of the waves and the distant cry of seagulls.

"Y/N?"

You turned, startled. Johnny stood a few feet away, Dukoo’s leash in hand. He looked older, the lines around his eyes deeper, but his smile was the same as when yu first met him. His golden retriever wagged his tail furiously at the sight of you, straining against his harness.

Johnny looked just as surprised as you felt. "I didn’t expect to see you here," he admitted, letting Dukoo drag him closer. The dog immediately shoved his head into your lap, his wet nose bumping your hand until you scratched behind his ears.

You managed a weak smile. "I could say the same."

Johnny sat beside you, stretching his legs out in front of him. He didn’t ask why you were here at sunrise. Didn’t comment on the way your clothes hung off you or the shadows under your eyes. He just let the silence settle between you, the kind of quiet that had always made Johnny easy to be around.

Dukoo flopped onto your feet with a contented sigh.

After a while, Johnny spoke. "How are you doing?"

You stared at the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a blur of blue. You captured this view well when you painted it a bit ago. It was Sunghoons favourite painting in the flat.

"I think you know how I’m doing," you said finally, your voice bitter.

Johnny didn’t flinch. "Yeah," he admitted. "I do."

Another stretch of silence. The waves lapped at the shore. Dukoo snored lightly against your ankles.

"You seeing anyone?" Johnny asked.

You stiffened. "What?"

"Therapy," he clarified. "Are you in therapy?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "Oh. No."

Johnny nodded, like he’d expected that answer. "You remember Dr. Lee?"

Dr. Lee was your old therapist. You remembered sitting in that sterile office, kicking your feet too hard against the chair while Johnny waited outside. How always stoped for ice cream after, even when you refused to eat it.

"He’s still practicing?" you asked, voice thick.

"Has his own clinic now." Johnny's thumb rubbed over his promise ring. "He asks about you sometimes."

You'd been one of Dr. Lee's first patients, back when he was just starting out. Back when Johnny just finished his PhD and believed he could fix you through sheer willpower alone.

You picked at a loose thread on your skirt.

Johnny glanced at you. "He’s good. You liked him, didn’t you?"

You shrugged. "He was nice."

Which, in therapy terms, was practically a glowing review.

"You should call him, when it gets bad." Johnny leaned back on the bench, letting the sun warm his face.

You didn’t answer.

Dukoo rolled onto his back, demanding belly rubs. You obliged, your fingers sinking into his soft fur.

"Taeyong’s worried," Johnny said after a while.

Your hand stilled. "I know."

"He’s not the only one."

You swallowed hard. The guilt sat heavy in your stomach, worse than any food ever could.

"I hated you," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. "When you'd make me get on the scale. When you'd watch me eat."

Johnny smiled a bitter smile. "I know."

A wave crashed against the shore, the sound loud in the silence between you.

"I hated it too," he admitted after a moment, his voice softer now. "Standing there, writing down numbers like they meant something. Watching you pick at food like it was poison." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I used to wish I could just—magic it away. Like if I studied hard enough, if I became a good enough doctor, I could fix it. Cure you."

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in Dukoo’s fur.

"I know relapsing is part of it," he continued, staring at the horizon. "Logically, I get that. But fuck, Y/N—I still wish it wasn’t happening." His voice cracked just slightly. "I wish you didn’t have to fight this again."

The honesty in his words made your chest ache. Taeyong sitting on the bathroom floor with you at 3 AM, holding back your hair, helping you up when you were too weak to stand. Johnny bringing home nutrition textbooks, highlighting passages, determined to understand. The way they’d take turns sleeping in your room during the worst of it, just in case.

You had to look away.

Dukoo whined, pressing his warm weight against your legs.

"I purged last night," you whispered. "First time in five years."

Johnny went very still beside you.

"I don’t even know why it came back. I just started again," you continued, staring at the ocean. "Just… skipping meals. Then weighing myself more. Then–" Your throat closed. "Sunghoon noticed before I did. Started ripping calorie labels off everything." A wet laugh escaped you. "He thinks he’s subtle."

Johnny didn’t say anything. Just waited.

"I’m trying," you said finally, your voice breaking. "I really am."

Dukoo licked your wrist, his tail thumping softly against the sand.

You stared at the ocean, the waves rolling in and out. "That's the worst part," you admitted. "I know what to do. I know the meal plans, the coping strategies, all of it. But this time—" Your throat tightened. "This time is different."

Johnny turned to face you fully, his expression unreadable. "How?"

"Last time," you continued, "I just wanted to be skinny. I thought if I was thin enough, I'd finally be pretty. Happy. Enough." You dug your fingers into Dukoo's fur. "But now? I don't want this. I don't want to be a skeleton. I miss having curves. I miss not being freezing all the time. I miss my hair not falling out in clumps when I shower. I miss being able to think."

The words tumbled out now, raw and unfiltered. "I can't concentrate in lectures. I almost missed two deadlines last week because my brain just—shuts off. The migraines are constant. And I hate it. I hate all of it."

A tear slipped down your cheek. "But I still can't stop."

Johnny was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured. "You know what I remember most from back then?" He didn't wait for you to answer. "The day you ate half a bowl of kimchi jjigae without crying afterwards. You were so proud of yourself. And then you looked at me—really looked at me—and said, 'I think I forgot what hungry felt like.'"

Your breath hitched.

"That's what this illness does," he continued. "It doesn't just take your body. It takes your hunger, your joy, your ability to recognize what you need. And the worst part? It convinces you that you're doing it to yourself."

You wiped at your face roughly. "But I am. I'm the one who—"

"No." Johnny's voice was firm. "You're not. Just like you weren't the one who chose to get sick the first time. It's not a fucking choice, Y/N. It's an illness. And it lies to you."

The words landed like a punch to the chest.

"I feel so guilty," you whispered. "For worrying you all. For disappointing you. For making you go through this again."

Johnny exhaled sharply. "You think we're disappointed in you?" He shook his head. "We're scared. We're heartbroken. But not for us–for you. Because we love you, and watching someone you love suffer and not being able to fix it?" His voice cracked. "That's the worst feeling in the world."

You curled in on yourself, your arms wrapping around your middle. "I don't know how to stop," you admitted, so quiet it was almost lost to the sound of the waves.

"You don't have to know," Johnny said gently. "You just have to keep trying. And let us help you."

Dukoo whined, nudging your hand with his nose and you resumed petting him.

"I'm tired," you said after a while.

Johnny nodded. "I know."

"And scared."

"I know."

The sun climbed higher, painting the water gold. Somewhere down the beach, a child laughed.

"You're not alone in this," Johnny said quietly. "You never were."

After a long silence, Johnny checked his watch and sighed. "It's too early to call Ten now. But I will later–today." He met your eyes, his gaze firm.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Johnny shook his head. "Ten never really celebrates Korean holidays anyway. You know how he is—he'll probably be grateful for the excuse to get out of his apartment." A small smirk tugged at his lips. "Last Chuseok, he texted me complaining about how bored he was. He'll come."

You swallowed hard, staring down at Dukoo’s golden fur between your fingers. The thought of seeing Ten, of sitting in his office with the ugly abstract paintings he refused to replace, made your chest tighten. But beneath the dread, there was something else. Something like relief.

"Okay," you whispered.

Johnny exhaled, his shoulder pressing against yours. "We’ll figure this out."

Dukoo rolled onto his back, paws in the air, demanding belly rubs again. The sky lightened slowly, the pale gold of dawn bleeding into blue. Somewhere down the beach, the first early risers were beginning to appear—fishermen checking their nets, an elderly couple walking hand in hand. ──────────────────────── The leather of Johnny’s desk chair was cool against your arms as you curled into yourself, knees pulled to your chest. Outside the window, the last streaks of sunset bled into dusk, painting the walls of his home office in watery gold. The room smelled like him. Like cedar and the faintest hint of coffee grounds.

A soft knock at the door.

You didn’t turn. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Ten stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind him. He was wearing one of his old college hoodies, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a steaming take out cup in each hand.

“Brought you tea,” he said, setting one on the desk near you. “Ginger-lemon. ”

You hummed but didn’t reach for it. The paper was probably warm under your fingertips, but the thought of lifting it made your arms feel heavy.

Ten settled into the armchair across from you, stretching his legs out. He didn’t speak right away. He just let the silence settle between you, the way he always did. The clock on the wall ticked.

“Johnny said you wanted to talk,” Ten said finally.

You stiffened. “He made it sound like I asked you to be here.”

Ten raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”

The question hung in the air.

You looked away.

Silence stretched. Ten waited. He’d always been good at that. Letting the quiet press until you cracked open just to fill it.

“I relapsed,” you said finally.

Ten didn’t react. Just nodded. “Tell me about it.”

So you did.

You told him about how you starte to skip meals. How food made you nauseus, the smell of it, sometimes even the thought of it. How your head still remembered the numbers so well and wouldn't shut up. How you purged yesterday.

Ten listened, his expression unreadable. When you finished, he leaned forward slightly. “What do you think triggered it?”

You laughed bitterly. “If I knew that, would you be here?”

Ten didn’t smile. “Try.”

You stared at the bookshelf behind him—at the framed photo Taeyong took of you and Johnny at the beach last summer, both of you sunburnt and grinning. “I don’t know. Stress, maybe. School. Life.”

“Mm.” Ten tapped his fingers against his knee. “When did it start?”

You hesitated. “A few months ago.”

“Anything special that happened a few months ago?”

Your chest tightened. “Nothing. Just-just normal stuff.”

Ten’s gaze sharpened. “Y/N.”

You exhaled sharply. “Fine. There was…an incident.”

Incident. Such a clean word for it.

Ten waited.

You swallowed. “I was at a party. Some guy…put drugs in my drink…” Your voice cracked. “I...Sunghoon and Sunoo called an ambulance after I fainted in the kitchen. Noting bad happened.”

Ten’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on his mug tightened. “And after?”

“I went home. It's not like something bad happened, right? People get blackout drunk often, right? I mean he didn't...touch me.” You picked at your sleeve. You actually couldn't remember if he touched you. “Then the skipping meals started. Then the scale. Then—”

Your fingers tightened around the arms of the chair. "But that's the thing - nothing even happened. Not really. I just overreacted. Sunghoon and Sunoo got there in time, I went to the hospital, end of story." You shook your head, frustration creeping into your voice. "The next day I had this stupid panic attack in the kitchen and Sunghoon had to talk me down for twenty minutes. That's it. That's all that happened."

Ten's gaze remained steady. "And how did that feel?"

"Embarrassing," you admitted immediately. "Sunghoon had to bring me to practice because he was scared of me being alone. I wasted hospital resources over..." You waved your hand vaguely. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Ten echoed.

"Well, nothing compared to what could have—" You cut yourself off, pressing your lips together.

Ten leaned forward slightly. "What could have happened?"

You exhaled sharply. "That's not the point. The point is, nothing did happen. So why am I..." Your voice dropped to a whisper. "Why is this happening now?"

The room felt too quiet suddenly. The ticking clock, the distant hum of the refrigerator - everything seemed amplified.

Ten studied you for a long moment before speaking. "Tell me about the panic attack with Sunghoon."

You shrugged, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "It was dumb. I just... couldn't breathe all of a sudden. Sunghoon made me breath with him."

"And since then?"

"I don't know," you admitted, frustration creeping back in. "I just started noticing food differently. Like... if I could just control this one thing, then..." Your voice trailed off as the realization hit you mid-sentence.

Ten waited, letting the silence stretch.

You swallowed hard. "Oh." The word came out small.

The pieces were falling into place, and you didn't like the picture they formed. Your hands started trembling slightly. "But that doesn't make sense. Nothing bad actually happened to me."

Ten's voice was gentle but firm. "Your body doesn't know that."

"What?"

"When you were drugged, your nervous system went into survival mode. It doesn't care that Sunghoon intervened. It only knows that for those moments, you were in danger." He tapped his temple. "Up here, you knoiw you're safe. But in here—" He placed a hand over his chest. "Your body's still trying to protect you from what might have been."

You stared at your hands, the knuckles too prominent. "That's... not fair."

"No," Ten agreed softly. "It's not."

The clock ticked loudly in the silence. Somewhere downstairs, Dukoo barked once, his nails clicking against hardwood as he ran to greet someone, probably Taeyong, at the door.

You pressed your palms against your eyes. "So what? My brain just... made up this eating thing to cope with something that didn't even happen?"

"Not made up," Ten corrected. "Adapted. It's grabbing onto what it can control because that night, control was taken from you." He paused. "Doesn't matter that it stopped before the worst could happen. The threat was real enough."

A hysterical laugh bubbled up. "Some protection system. Starving myself over a maybe."

Ten didn't smile. "It's the only language your survival brain knows."

You let out a shaky breath, the truth settling heavily in your chest. This wasn't comforting. It wasn't reassuring.

It was terrifying.

The paper cup of tea had gone cold, the lemon scent fading into the evening air. You stared at the condensation rings it left on Johnny's desk, tracing them with your finger. Circles within circles. Like how one bad night kept rippling outward, touching everything.

"I keep thinking," you started, then stopped. Your throat felt tight. "If I had just been more careful—"

Ten shook his head before you could finish. "This isn't about what you should have done differently. This is about what was done to you. Someone did something horrible to you Y/N. Getting drugged is horrible. It’s scary. Just hearing about this makes me scared for you. Anyone would have a hard time dealing with this. I am so glad Sunghoon and Sunoo found you before it was too late."

The words landed strangely. You'd spent months minimizing it—it wasn't a big deal, nothing really happened, other people have it worse.

"But I—" Your voice cracked. "I don't even remember most of it. Just... waking up in the hospital with Sunoo crying over me." You swallowed hard. "Shouldn't I be over it by now?"

Ten set his own cup aside. "Trauma isn't about what you remember consciously. It's about what your body remembers." He tapped his chest again. "The panic attacks, the food stuff—that's your body's way of saying it's still working through what happened."

Downstairs, the faint sound of Johnny laughing at something drifted up.

"So what do I do?" you whispered.

Ten leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "First, we stop comparing your pain to some imaginary threshold of 'bad enough.' What happened to you was violating. Full stop."

You blinked rapidly, surprised by the sudden burn in your eyes.

"Second," Ten continued gently, "we start helping your body feel safe again. That means regular meals, yes, but also..." He paused. "Have you told anyone? Besides Sunghoon and Sunoo?"

You shook your head, picking at the edge of the paper cup. "Mark was there. In the hospital. He called mom and dad and they told Yongie and Woo. But i didn’t tell him about the panic attack. Or that it came back. I didn't want to worry them. And like... what would I even say? 'Hey, remember that time nothing happened to me? I think its fucking me over.'"

Ten's expression softened. "Nothing didn't happen, Y/N. Someone drugged you. That's not nothing."

You realized you'd been holding your breath.

"Think about this," Ten said. "If it had been Sunoo, if someone had slipped something in his drink, would you tell him he was overreacting?"

The immediate "no" caught in your throat. You wouldn't. You'd be furious. You'd—

Oh.

Ten saw the realization dawn on your face. He nodded slowly. "Sometimes we need to imagine it happening to someone we love to understand how bad it really was."

A tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. You swiped at them angrily, but they kept coming.

Ten waited, giving you space. The clock ticked. Dukoo barked again downstairs. Finally, you took a shaky breath. "So where do we start?" Ten smiled—small, but genuine. "Where ever you need to. Maybe with telling Johnny and Taeyong everything. Maybe with just getting through tonight." He nodded to the cold tea. "Want me to get you a fresh cup? I am sure Johnny has some good teas." It was such a simple offer. Such a normal thing. For some reason, that made your chest ache and remind you of Sunghoon. You wished you could go home and curl onto the sofa watching My demon with him.

"Yeah," you whispered. "That'd be... yeah." "I'll be right back.” As Ten stood, the door creaked open slightly. Dukoo's golden head poked through, his tail thumping cautiously against the doorframe. You let out a wet laugh. "Oh, come here." The dog bounded over immediately, shoving his head into your lap with a whine. Ten paused at the door. “Y/N?" He waited until you looked up. "This is already progress."

As his footsteps faded down the stairs, you buried your hands in Dukoo's warm fur, breathing in his familiar dog smell. Outside, the last light of sunset had faded, leaving only the soft glow of streetlights through the window. ──────────────────────── Your apartment was quiet, but your pulse roared in your ears. You stood in front of the stove, hands steady despite the tremor in your breath. Ten’s voice played in your head—"Small, frequent meals. Balanced. No extremes."—but you ignored it. The nutrition plan Johnny had printed for you sat untouched on the fridge. They’d run tests, checked your levels, gave you meal plans and recipes. This much protein. This many carbs. This often. The butter sizzled violently when it hit the pan. You added twice the oil the recipe called for, watching it pool golden and thick. The scent of garlic should’ve made your mouth water. Instead, your throat tightened reflexively. No. You clenched your jaw. Not this time.

The noodles were a normal portion, more than Johnny recommended you to eat at the beginning and probably with too much seasoning for your stomach. You drowned them in sauce until they shone. A sprinkle of cheese melted instantly on contact. A norma portion. Normal. You just wanted to be normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. You chewed slowly, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose.

Halfway through, your stomach cramped—not from hunger, but from the sheer volume of food it hadn’t had to handle in so long. You set your fork down, pressing a hand to your ribs. The urge to stop, to push the plate away, surged up like a reflex. But then you thought of Johnny’s face when he’d seen your bloodwork. The way Ten had said, "Your body doesn’t trust you right now. You have to show it you’re safe." You picked up the fork again. This is what normal people do, you told yourself. They eat until they’re full. They don’t measure every gram. The ice cream you ate afterwards was even worse. Your stomach cramped violently but you gripped the counter and breathed through it, finishing the whole bowl.

Then your body betrayed you. One second you were standing in the kitchen, the next you were on your knees, heaving into the toilet. The noodles came up still whole, the ice cream sour with bile. Tears streamed down your face as you gagged, your body rejecting what your mind had forced into it. When it was over, you slumped against the washing machine, trembling. The bathroom smelled like vomit and that stupid air freshener Sunghoon insisted on buying. But as you wiped your face with a shaking hand, something unexpected bubbled up—not guilt, not shame, but anger. This isn’t fair.

You’d done everything right. You’d eaten like a normal person. You hadn’t purge but just vomited. Why can't you just eat. You wanted to eat that stupid ice cream. Those three spoons of chocolate.

You dragged yourself to your feet, flushed the toilet, and watched the evidence swirl away. Tomorrow, you’d try again. ──────────────────────── You woke to sunlight stabbing through the curtains, your skull throbbing in time with your pulse. The clock read 2:37 PM. Shit. You’d meant to wake up early. To clean, to air out the apartment, to erase any trace of last night’s failure before Sunghoon came home. Three meals yesterday. Three. The number echoed in your aching head. You'd done everything right—ate the portions Ten recommended after you failed with noodles two days ago, kept it down even when your stomach rebelled—and now your body was punishing you for it anyway. Your stomach lurched as you sat up, a sour taste flooding your mouth. You pressed a hand to your mouth, breathing hard through your nose. Don't. You know better. But your body didn't care. A dry heave wracked through you, your stomach contracting violently. Nothing came up—just bile, bitter at the back of your tongue.

The migraine pulsed behind your eyes as you stumbled to the bathroom. You splashed water on your face, the cold shock making you gasp. Your reflection looked haunted—dark circles, pale lips, hair sticking up in every direction. All you could think about was how you’d lost control. Three meals. Three full meals. You stumbled to the bathroom, knees hitting the tiles hard. The urge to purge rose like a tide, your throat tightening reflexively. But nothing came up—just dry heaves, your body straining against nothing. You'd been so excited for Sunghoon to come home. Had carefully packed containers of your mom's kimchi, bought that stupid squid magnet from the Busan aquarium you went to with Johnny. You planned to stick it on the fridge with a silly doodle you drew on the bus ride back onto a random piece of paper. Now all you could think about was how you had finally done things right yesterday, and your body was still treating food like the enemy.

You slumped against the toilet, pressing your forehead to the cool porcelain. You wanted to throw up. Needed it, almost. But you couldn’t. You knew better. The front door open. "Y/N? I'm home!" Sunghoon's voice rang through the apartment. The familiar thud of his duffel bag hitting the floor. "Brought you mochi from that place you like—" The bathroom door was slightly ajar. One deep breath and he would smell the bile. One glance and he would see the way your hands braced against the toilet. Another dry heave threatened. You swallowed hard, tasting metal. Not now. Please not now. Sunghoon’s smiling face appeared in the crack of the doorway—sun-kissed from his trip to hawaii with his family, his stupidly perfect white hair slightly messy. His grin faltered the second he saw you.

"Whoa—" His hand shot out to steady himself against the doorframe. "Shit, are you sick?" You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand too fast. "No. Just—" Another dry heave threatened, your throat convulsing. You turned back to the toilet, gripping the edges until your knuckles turned white. "I’m just having a bad migrane." The lie hung pathetic between you. Sunghoon didn’t move. You could feel his eyes on the back of your neck, tracing the tense line of your shoulders. The silence stretched, broken only by the drip of the faucet and your own ragged breathing. You heaved again. Sunghoon’s palms settled on your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the knots of tension there. "Breathe," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Just breathe, yeah?" You wanted to shake him off. Wanted to snap that you were breathing, that you didn’t need coddling, that he should just go unpack his stupid bag and leave you alone. But then his fingers slid up to cradle the base of your skull, his touch feather-light as he massaged the spot where your migraine pulsed the hardest. A broken noise escaped you before you could stop it.

"Hey." His breath stirred your hair as he leaned closer. "I got your text about the kimchi. You didn’t have to—" Another heave cut him off. This time, when you gagged, Sunghoon’s hands moved and he brushed your hair out of your face, gently holding it in a ponytail. "It’s okay," he said, so quiet you almost didn’t hear. "Just let it out." You shook your head violently, tears pricking at your eyes. "Don’t say that. I’m not—" Your voice cracked. "I’m not doing that anymore." Sunghoon went still behind you. For one horrible second, you thought you’d said too much. Then his forehead dropped against the back of your shoulder, his exhale warm through your shirt. "Okay," he said simply. "Okay." His hands slid down to wrap around your wrists, his thumbs stroking over your racing pulse. "Then let’s get you some water. And maybe that mochi I brought. It’s the strawberry kind you like."

You closed your eyes. Sunghoon pulled you away from the toilet and made you sit on the cold floor. You leaned back against the washing machine while Sunghoon went to the kitchen to get you some water. He came back carrying a bottle of water and sat down next to you. Sunghoon opened the bottle and offered it to you. You took a sip and quietly thanked him before the two sat in silence for a few minutes. "It started when I was fourteen.", the words tumbled from your mouth.

Sunghoon stayed quiet, but you felt him shift slightly. "I was...chubby." You swallowed hard, picking at a loose thread on your sweatpants. "Not even really fat, just—soft. I had round cheeks. Thighs that rubbed together when I walked. My skin was always dark from being outside too much." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears. "There was this girl in my class. Park Soomin. She was pretty. And petite. A nationally ranked figure skater, actually." Sunghoon went very still. You picked at a loose thread on your sweatpants. "We were partners for a science project. One day she grabbed my wrist and said—" The words stuck in your throat. "Wow, your arms are so thick. Do you even fit into normal uniforms?" A beat. Then Sunghoon made a wounded noise low in his throat.

"It wasn't even true." Your laugh came out broken. "Then a few days later my PE teacher made us all weigh ourselves in front of the class." Your throat tightened. "My number was higher than everyone else’s. The girl and her friends laughed. Someone called me whale." You could still hear it—the giggling, the way your face had burned as you’d stepped off the scale. "That night, I skipped dinner. Then breakfast. Then—" You shrugged, your knees pulling tighter to your chest. "It felt good, at first. Like I was finally in control. Like I was winning. If I was skinny they couldn't say shit about me anymore, right?" Sunghoon made a quiet, wounded noise in the back of his throat. His hands flexed like he wanted to reach for you, but he kept them pressed to his own knees. Your fingers drifted to your throat unconsciously. "I found forums. Learned how to make it look like I'd eaten. How to hide the throwing up." The admission hung between you. Sunghoon's breathing had gone shallow. "Mark walked in on me when I was fifteen." You stared at the toothpaste splatter on the baseboard. "He came home early from soccer practice and heard me in the bathroom. He–" A wet laugh escaped you. "He didn't even yell. Just stood there crying, asking why I was hurting myself." A tear plopped onto your knee.

"My parents were clueless until then." You wiped your nose with your sleeve. "They sent me to therapy. Put me on meal plans." The overhead light buzzed. Somewhere in the apartment, the fridge hummed to life. "Johnny and Ten turned into my personal doctors overnight. Both of them were fresh out of school." You wiped your nose with the back of your hand. "Meal plans, weigh-ins, fucking nutritional supplements. I hated it. Hated how they watched every bite, how they celebrated when I finished a whole bowl of rice like it was some fucking achievement." Sunghoon stayed silent, but his shoulder pressed more firmly against yours. "This time isn't even about being thin." You dug your nails into your palms. "It's about—" Your voice broke. "It's about subconscious control or something. After the party, after that guy—I couldn't control anything. Not my body, not what happened, nothing. But food? That was something I could fucking decide about." A sob clawed its way up your throat.

You finally risked a glance at Sunghoon. His eyes were red-rimmed, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. "And you—" Your voice broke. "You've known me three months and you're already stuck dealing with this mess. I am so sorry for—" Sunghoon moved suddenly, cupping your face in his hands. His palms were warm, his grip firm but gentle. "Look at me." When you didn't, he ducked his head to catch your gaze. "I don't care if it's been three months or three minutes," he said, voice rough. "You think I'd walk away from someone I—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard. "From someone important to me because things got hard?" You started shaking your head, but he held you steady. "That night at the party?" Sunghoon's thumbs brushed your cheekbones. "When I carried you to the ambulance, you know what I kept thinking? Thank god I was there. Not why me, not what a burden—just that I could be the one to keep you safe." A sob ripped from your throat. Sunghoon pulled you against his chest, tucking your face into his shoulder as you finally, finally broke. "I don't care if it's about weight or control or the fucking weather." His thumbs traced your shoulder blades. "You're not a burden. You're not weak. You're just—" His breath shuddered. "You're just someone who's been fighting for too long."

Sunghoon leaned his head against yours. "Let me help," he whispered. "Please." ──────────────────────── His heartbeat was steady under your ear. His arms tightened around you when you weakly nodded against his chest. Sunghoon listened to your soft breathing as it filled the dim bedroom, your body curled into his. You felt so small like that. Fragile in a way that made his stomach knot. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, one hand moving absently through your hair, gentle and rhythmic. His throat tightened. Park Soomin. He knew that name. Knew the precise curve of her smile, the confident flick of her hair behind her ears before she stepped onto the ice. He could still hear the echo of her laugh at 5 AM across the rink, still feel the icy jolt of her hands pressed to his neck after practice. She used to do it just to make him yell. He'd kissed Soomin for the first time behind the equipment room when they were sixteen. Defended her when people whispered behind her back. Let her sharpness slide because her jumps were perfect and her fire made his heart race. He told himself that was just how brilliance came–razor-edged. Beautiful and cruel. Sunghoon adjusted his hold on you carefully, his palms grazing the angles of your shoulders.

Purging. The word echoed in his head. He hadn’t realized you were doing this. He was pretty sure you hadn’t been like this before… right? He would have seen it. The image of a younger you, kneeling on bathroom tiles just like you did when he came home, your brother's horrified face in the doorway. If it had been Yeji he would’ve burned the whole world down. He still had Soomin’s number in his phone. He wanted to hit something. Scream. Fly to Soomin’s apartment and— A soft whimper from you snapped him back. You twitched in his arms, fingers brushing lightly against his chest. His breath caught. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead, thumb pausing on the pronounced ridge of your cheekbone. His exhale was long. Anger wouldn’t help you now. All those little moments where he thought you were getting better—when you finished half a bowl of rice, when you ate that soup from Johnnys mom—did you…did you keep it in? He tightened his arms around you instinctively.

Three months ago, he thought you were just shy. A bit quiet. A little too thin, maybe, but nothing alarming. Now he could trace every rib through your shirt. Three months of watching you paint, listening to you rant about brutal professors and architecture deadlines, catching you hum off-key to your favorite songs. Somewhere in all of that, you stopped being just a roommate. You became you. The person whose laugh made his chest ache, whose sleepy grumbles made him smile, whose stubborn "I’m fine"s made him want to shake you and hold you in the same breath. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. You stirred, your nose nudging the base of his throat. Sunghoon froze, barely breathing. Then, your fingers curled into his shirt. “S’ghoon…?” Your voice was heavy with sleep, slurred at the edges. “Shh,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he could second-guess it. “I’m here.” A broken little sound slipped from you as you burrowed closer. He closed his eyes, heart aching in places he didn’t know could hurt.

He shifted gently, sliding one arm under your knees, the other behind your back. You didn’t stir as he picked you up, head falling against his shoulder. You weighed almost nothing. His grip tightened without thinking. Your bedroom door creaked open at his push. Streetlight spilled across your sheets. A half-finished architectural sketch sat on your desk. He set you down as if you might break, hands lingering longer than necessary to make sure you were okay. But when he started to pull away— “No.” Your voice was a rasp now, but urgent. Your hand fisted in his shirt. “Stay.” He froze.

He should go. You were roommates. This wasn’t his place. It wasn’t right. “Please,” you whispered. He caved. “Okay.” The bed dipped as he laid beside you, leaving space. You moved toward him instantly, pressing your face into the curve of his shoulder with a sigh. Your knee moved over his thigh. Sunghoon stared at the ceiling, your scent curling in his nose, your breath warm on his neck. And for a second, a stupid, fleeting second, he felt happy. That you trusted him enough to tell him what was going on. That you wanted him to be close. Then he remembered the retching. He clenched the sheets in his fist. Soomin had been his first love. Or whatever sixteen-year-old heartbreaks were. He cheered for her. Believed in her. Watched her fly to Canada with a lump in his throat. And she’d been the one to make you feel ugly. She and her little minions. He bent toward you, barely brushing his lips against your hair. Outside, the city hummed. The clock ticked on. Your fingers slowly loosened their grip in sleep. ──────────────────────── Sunghoon’s heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek. You lay curled into his chest, your hand resting lightly against his ribs, feeling the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. You thought he’d fallen asleep. You almost hoped he was. He hadn’t spoken in a while, hadn’t moved. The room had gone still except for the hum of the city through your half-open window and the occasional creak of your bed frame as one of you adjusted. You shifted. His arm was around you, heavy and unmoving.

You stayed in this position for a long moment. Just breathing. You should’ve been spiraling. Should’ve been replaying every raw word, every breath of last night with shame crawling over your skin. But you were too tired for shame. Too tired for fear. And too… glad. Glad he was still here. Glad he knew. Really knew now. He probably did know before too. But telling him made you feel... better. Relived. So instead of panicking, you just listened to the soft thud of his heartbeat, felt the quiet hush of his breath under your palm “You know,” he said quietly, startling you, “when I was twelve, I broke my ankle two weeks before Nationals.” You didn’t lift your head. Just listened. “I couldn’t eat for days,” he continued, voice low and steady. “Thought if I just—” He made a small, sharp movement you could feel more than see, his muscles tensing under your palm. “If I controlled that, it would make up for everything else I couldn’t control.”

You blinked up at the ceiling. A slow, painful ache bloomed in your chest. “What changed?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. There was a beat of silence. “My coach force-fed me kimchi jjigae,” he said. You felt a quiet huff of air from his nose—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “And my mom cried. That sucked worse than the hunger.” You wanted to cry too. Sunghoon wasn’t supposed to understand this kind of thing. Not the gnawing emptiness. Not the counting. Not the bargaining, the guilt, the endless loop of maybe if I were smaller, quieter, prettier, then— Your heart cracked open in places you didn’t expect.

You hated that he had to feel that. That someone like him, someone so pretty and good, eve had to think that. You blinked back the sting in your eyes and shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “Tomorrow,” he said softly, “let’s get fried chicken. From Mom’s Touch. Let’s try the new flavor.” Your throat tightened. The tears stung again, hot and unspilled. You whispered, “Okay.” And when his pinky found yours beneath the blanket—light, tentative, warm—you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

You were so grateful that he stayed. Even after knowing the ugliest parts of you. A while later he shifted slightly, his voice even quieter than before. “Are you hungry?” You froze. You didn’t know how to answer. Not immediately. You turned your head into his chest, let the quiet settle for a few seconds. Let yourself think.

Were you hungry? You weren’t sure. You know you should be hungry, you haven't eaten since yesterday evening, but that didn’t stay down. So technically your yogurt and banana you had for breakfast yesterday was the last “meal” you had. And after a long moment, you gave the smallest nod against his chest. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think… I am.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Okay,” he said softly. “Do you know what you feel like eating? Something you think you can keep down?” You hesitated, then pulled back just enough to look at him. “I have a list,” you said, your voice scratchy but steady. “Ten, my psychiatrist helped me put it together. And Johnny, too.” Sunghoon’s brows lifted slightly as he watched you.

“They talked to my doctors from when I was a teen. Helped me figure out meals that weren’t too much,” you continued. “ Like… one egg, some toast. Or rice with soft veggies. Fruit I like. They even made a stupid little calendar and color-coded it. Like back when I was a child. I even have little monkey stickers that I am supposed to put onto it.” Sunghoon smiled, so soft it barely touched his lips but warmed his entire face. “That sounds like they really care a lot. Those monkey stickers would be a great addition to our kitchen.” You huffed a tiny laugh. “I was supposed to try one of them yesterday but I… I threw up.I tried to eat a normal sized portion. But just felt like too much and i think it just was. My stomach was so upset. I know Johnny said to start small. Half-portions, even less if I need to. I know it’s not about doing it perfectly. Just… trying.” He nodded, brushing his thumb against your pinky, still tangled with his. “Then we’ll try,” he said gently. “Just a little. Whatever you can do today. And if it’s too much, we stop..”

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat and nodded again. ──────────────────────── The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clatter of plates and the low hum of the fridge. The sky outside had gone dusky. Streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting golden lines across the countertop. Sunghoon stood at the stove, watching the water boil. He had rinsed the egg twice already. Peeled the cucumber slowly. Checked the cream cheese twice for mold. Behind him, you moved like a ghost. It made his chest ache. You didn’t say much. Just pressed the lever on the toaster and waited. Your hoodie sleeves were pulled over your hands, fingers curling in and out of the fabric like you didn’t quite know what to do with them. Sunghoon turned down the burner.

“One egg for you,” he said quietly, “and three for me.” You glanced at him, a flicker of something close to amusement in your eyes. “Greedy.” “Hungry,” he corrected, giving you a small smile as he sliced through the cucumber. “Greedy would be me eating the rest of the egg, too.” He saw the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of your mouth. That was something. The toast popped, and you startled a little. Sunghoon slid the peeled egg, the cucumber slices, and the toast onto a plate and set it down in front of you. “Voilà,” he said softly. “Culinary masterpiece.”

You hesitated. Just for a second. Then you sat down. Sunghoon tried not to stare at you. He just took the seat across from you and started peeling his own eggs, letting the quiet settle between you. Every few seconds, he looked up. Not to check. Just to witness. You took a bite of toast. He didn’t let himself react. Then the egg. And finally, the cucumber, one thin slice at a time.

You didn’t talk. Neither did he. But when you pushed the plate away, eyes soft and shoulders just a little less tense, he felt something bloom in his chest that he didn’t have a name for. “You ate everything,” he said, voice low. You nodded. “Yeah.” His smiled, gentle and quiet “I’m really proud of you.” You blinked down at the table, lashes casting shadows against your cheeks. “Thanks.” Sunghoon picked at a bit of shell stuck to his second egg, heart thudding a little too hard for how calm everything looked. You had eaten. You were trying.

And God, he’d never wanted to hold someone so carefully in his life for eating a toast. ──────────────────────── After dinner, the apartment settled into a quiet lull. You padded to the couch while Sunghoon rinsed the plates. The finale of “My Demon” had dropped a new episode just the day before, and he didn’t even have to ask. You were already pulling up the streaming site by the time he sat down. You curled up in the corner of the couch like you always did, legs folded up against you, sleeves covering your hands again. But five minutes into the episode, you stretched your legs out slowly… and draped them over his. Sunghoon didn’t move or say a thing. Just shifted slightly to give you more space and let one hand drift to your shin, his fingers tracing idle, feather-light patterns into your skin the way he always did. Somehow him sitting somewhere on the sofa and you laying down had become your usual position for watching TV.

He felt your breath stutter just a little the first time his thumb grazed over your ankle. But you didn’t pull away. The episode played on. After a good chunk of the first episode you asked, so quietly he almost missed it, “Do you… wanna lie down again? Like last time?” Sunghoon’s brain short-circuited for exactly one second. Lie down again. Like last time. With you in his arms and his heart threatening to break through his ribs. He kept his face neutral and just shrugged lightly. “Sure. If you want.”

You nodded and shuffled down, adjusting until you were stretched out on your side with your back pressed against his front, the two of you folded together like puzzle pieces. His arm slid naturally beneath your head, his other resting lightly at your waist. You didn’t say anything else. Just exhaled, soft and shaky, and settled. Sunghoon stared at the screen, but he wasn’t really watching anymore. He could feel the shape of you against him. The weight of your trust. The rhythm of your breath slowing as you got comfortable. By the time the episode ended you were still there, unmoving, tucked under his chin. Sunghoon didn’t care about who of the two protagonists will die. He didn’t care about the other guy.

All he cared about was the girl in his arms. ──────────────────────── The episode rolled into its credits, soft music drifting through the room, and neither of you moved to reach for the remote. Your body was still nestled against his, back to chest, your fingers now loosely tangled with his where they rested against your stomach beneath the blanket. The glow from the TV painted your skin in flickering hues—blue, then gold, then back again. You were quiet for a long moment. You weren’t asleep. He could feel the way your breathing shifted. “Would you… would it be okay if we slept together tonight?” You hurried to add, “Not—not like that. Just. Sleeping. I don’t want to be alone. I just… I don’t think I can be.” His heart broke a little at the way your voice shook at the end. He leaned in, just slightly, his chin brushing the top of your head as he spoke.

“Of course,” he said gently. “You don’t even have to ask." You let out a breath then. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. Relief, he thought. Like maybe you’d been holding that question in for hours. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “Hey.” He gave your hand a tiny squeeze. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You nodded. He felt it against his chest. “I sleep better when someone is there,” you murmured. Sunghoon closed his eyes, just for a second.

“Then I’ll stay,” he said. “Every night you want me to.” You were quiet again. Eventually, you moved. Stood slowly, blanket still wrapped around you like armor, and waited while he turned off the TV and followed you back toward your room. He didn’t say anything when you crawled into bed and left a space for him. Didn’t say anything when you curled instinctively into his side, your cheek finding the same spot over his heart where you'd rested before. But when your fingers brushed against his shirt and curled there—quiet and anchoring—he murmured, “Night, Y/N.” You whispered it back. And when your breathing evened out, Sunghoon stayed awake just a little longer. Not to watch you. Just to make sure the calm stayed, at least for tonight.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty CONTINUE ON READING --⟢ PART 3 COMING SOON all feedback and reblogs is welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ if you liked this you might also like the rest of this series ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @firstclassjaylee @enhaprettystars @vantxx95 @stormy1408 @fancypeacepersona @jaylvrsworld @xylatox @bluxjun @sumzysworld @outroherrr @50-husbands @ikeumina @softchannie @sirens-dreams @schmocolateschmchip @vviolynn @nishiimuraka @enhalxvr @ijustreallylike2read @enhastolemyheart @wintereals @planetmarlowe @baeeeeah @wonzzziezzzz @mochamvgz @lovtaesunu @makeme1cream @stars4jo @vviolynn @lylaloopsie @meimeiyh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @haerni

ᝰ an. AGAIN! A special mention and thanks to @xylatox for dealing with me and giving me advice! I am kinda sorry that this is split in three parts, but I wanted to adress Y/Ns ED properly. Recovery is never linear and it's okay to relapse and getting help is an important but very very hard step. If you are sturggling with an ED please know that you are perfect the way you are. Life is to precious to worry about number sall the time. Please take care yourself, Love Patty ₊ ⊹

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jaylaxies · 15 days ago

Text

A REUNION TO REMEMBER

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, public sex, car sex, shower sex, squirting, lots of kissing, slight jealousy, slight degradation (slut) and praising, mentions of drinking, mentions of jay and karina (aespa), and other idols, mentions of nicknames (baby, princess, kitten), more to be added.

WORD COUNT: 15.3k words.

SYNOPSIS: You last met Park Sunghoon when you were attending high school, more precisely, when he had gained enough courage to ask you out, not knowing that the most popular girl of the school was already taken by the senior who was equally as popular. Four years later, your batch decided to hold a reunion back in your town, where you meet Sunghoon again. Only, the problem is that he's hotter than ever and you can't, for the life of you, keep your eyes off him.

PLAYLIST: here!

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, angels! i’m done revamping the hoon fic, i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

“There’s absolutely no fucking way he didn’t know!”

You exclaimed, frustration clear on your face, recalling how things went down back in tenth grade to prove your point.

Karina only sighed on the other end of the call, “listen, babe, I love you but you have to take into account how oblivious the poor boy was back then! He studied and skated, that’s literally all he did, that was him,” she spoke, emphasizing on the but part.

You huffed, sitting down on the edge of your bed, nodding to yourself slowly as you let it sink that her point was actually a valid one for once.

“It’s still awkward though,” you mumbled, playing with a loose thread of your sweater.

“It’ll be fine, okay? It’s been four years, and it’s not like you have to talk to him.” Her words were true yet again, and this is why you loved her.

Karina had been your best friend since you were in middle school, she’d always been honest and the social butterfly everyone loved, but at the same time, she was humble and kind, always taking care of the ones around her, not to mention how she was possibly the prettiest girl you’d ever met.

You were relieved to know that she would be with you for the school reunion—an event which was planned thoroughly, it was a big deal.

It wasn’t just a meet up, it was a three day trip back to your hometown, the whole itinerary was planned, as per the usual ritual:

The first day being the reunion dinner night—the most important one out of the three days, a day where everyone shows up clad in their best outfits, a day where they flaunt every bit of success and achievements they’ve accomplished.

The second being the beach day, to make sure no one is left out on the fun factor, also

The last being the night out at the newest club of your city, a night to let loose, especially when it concerns rekindling the old flames (happens more often than not).

The idea itself was thrilling, not to mention how desperately you needed this break, Karina was even quicker to express her excitement by booking two hotel rooms, non refundable at that, for you both as your parents now lived in Seoul, and not in your hometown.

Another sigh left your mouth as you plopped down on your bed, staring at the ceiling while wondering why you even bothered to check the guest list, to check whether Park Sunghoon was invited or not.

It was no surprise when you saw his name in the list, gulping as you recalled the embarrassing incident which took place between you both, the one in which you never got the opportunity to confront him, or explain yourself by any means.

You closed your eyes, revisiting the ever so embarrassing memory.

It was the last day of the tenth grade, your exams had just gotten over and the student crowd was elated, throwing notes everywhere to celebrate the fact that they were not chained to their textbooks anymore, not for a month at least; which caused you to scrunch your nose at the sight of paper wastage, not to mention, the meaningless litter all over.

“Uh—Hey,” a sweet voice called your name at the exact second, succeeding in grabbing your attention.

You recognized him as your classmate, Sunghoon, who was also a good friend of your own friend, Jay.

“Hey! Hoon, right?” You smiled at him, a slight red colour spread on his cheeks at the sight of you.

He nodded, also politely saying ‘hello’ to Karina, who was right next to you before his gaze fell to his fingers as he fiddled with them, his fang-like teeth biting down on his plush bottom lip with anxiety as he worked on mustering enough courage to look into your eyes, only to find your own ones staring at him with curiosity.

“I just—I wanted to ask if you’d like to, you know, go out with me sometime?” He let out the question, unsure of what words he had used and cringing at how shaky his tone was.

He had completely forgotten what he practiced in front of the mirror a thousand times, but he knows for sure that the result was not supposed to come out as horrendous as this one.

Your eyes widened as you looked at Karina with pleading eyes, asking for help. It was no secret that you were one of the popular girls at your school; sweet, hardworking, and humble.

Getting a confession such as this one was nothing new to you, declining politely always worked, however, that was when you were single and not in a relationship with the most popular guy in the school (as cliché as it was), who was also your senior. It was almost like a fanfiction with how the ace of the school, Lee Heeseung, had ended up falling for you.

The news was quick to spread, fast enough for your group chat to go crazy, asking you questions so diabolical which almost made you throw your phone away with embarrassment.

In the span of three days, the whole school was aware of the new ‘it couple’. Except for Sunghoon, that is.

“As, uh, friends?” You winced at how pathetic your question was, which certainly made things ten times more awkward than they were supposed to be.

“N—no, as something more?” Sunghoon helpfully explained, looking everywhere but at your face now.

“Sunghoon,” Karina spoke up, causing you to release your breath, thankful that she was here to control the situation when you could say nothing and feel uncomfortable looking at his disappointed face.

“She’s taken, love! Sorry,” she informed him, his eyes widening and mouth agape.

You wondered if he was genuinely clueless about this, he did look lost to you.

You gasped, suddenly feeling an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you stared at Heeseung in surprise, who was already looking down at you with a smirk.

“Hey, baby. I missed you,” he spoke up, kissing you right on the mouth, more exaggerated than usual.

Sunghoon witnessed the whole scene, a frown settling on his face, embarrassment clear on his face which was now red and showed clear signs of sadness as he softly said, “e—excuse me,” leaving as soon the words left his mouth, shoulders slumped.

You never met him again, only seeing him with Jay at times.

He was quick to change his school soon after it, knowing that he’d be able to do so easily since the finals were over.

You were going to meet him now.

Your eyes snapped open at the thought of that, you just wished for the trip to be a pleasant one. Furthermore, from your side, you’d make sure to not be awkward around him, pretending as if the whole situation didn’t happen in the first place.

If you’d even get to talk to him, that is.

“Wow, you really are dumb,” Jake laughed uncontrollably once Jay finished telling him the story of none other than Park Sunghoon.

“Shut up,” Hoon mumbled, annoyed that the topic which he had wanted so desperately to be buried in the corner of his heart forever was brought up, once again.

“Wait, but if you knew about them dating then why didn’t you tell Hoon?” Jake pointed the question towards Jay.

“Because he never told me he was going to confess in the first place!” Jay’s eyes widened almost comically as he exclaimed, “and it was exam time, finals at that, Sunghoon had sworn he wouldn’t use his phone till the exams ended, and you probably don’t have any clue as to how big of a nerd he was—”

“Jay! Fucking stop this,” Hoon whined, covering his face with his palm as Jay took out his phone, scrolling to find a picture of Sunghoon.

He looked a lot smaller than he is now, wearing a yellow, collared t-shirt and round specs, lips curved into a small smile as he looked into the camera.

“Holy fuck! You could have been easily casted for the live action of Doraemon, as Nobita, of course.” Jake high-fived Jay after taking a look at the picture, the latter almost falling down with the laugh he had let out, the similarities were uncanny.

“The fuck—Nobita? Oh god this is so fucking annoying, can you guys shut up now? I don’t even want to go and face her ever again,” he snapped, whining like a kid right after.

He had been overthinking about everything that could happen once you meet him again, his brain running at the speed of light with the unless possibilities.

Would you laugh in his face and remind him of how stupid he looked asking someone like you out?

Heck, would you even remember him?

You honestly didn’t have any reason to.

Acting nonchalant didn’t help his case one bit, his self awareness higher than ever, especially when it concerned you.

It mattered to him a lot more than he’d like to admit, your opinion mattered more than he’d like to admit, even after all this while.

A four year gap should have been enough to let his embarrassment fade away, however, all his efforts went to vain once he got invited to the reunion.

“Listen, it’ll be okay. She probably doesn’t even remember you!” Jay tried to make him feel better.

“That’s very consoling, that totally calms me down, thank you very much,” Hoon rolled his eyes, wondering if you’d forgotten him already. It wasn’t as if you both had been close, but you did see each around and during the classes.

He can’t lie, the thought made him sad.

“You definitely have a chance now though, if that makes you feel any better,” Jake let out slowly, noticing the glow up Sunghoon had after comparing him with his old picture.

“Shut up, It doesn’t matter, I don’t even like her anymore,” he mumbled, a light blush creeping up his neck as he did so.

Jake and Jay exchanged a knowing look, putting on a smile as they dragged Sunghoon for shopping while Jay went on talking about what all they should be packing for the three day trip, bringing a genuine smile to Hoon’s face as he looked at his goofy best friends.

Maybe the trip wouldn’t be so bad, he thought.

“Ay babe! You look hot,” Karina winked at you, eyeing you up and down while you glided your lipstick along the expanse of your lips, smacking them together a few times to spread it evenly.

You winked back, “you look hotter.” She laughed just as you said that, engulfing you in a hug.

“Ready to leave?” She asked, getting her luggage out as you followed with a nod, smiling while you got into the cab, Karina being quick to snap a few selfies to mark the start of your trip.

The entire time on your way to your destination, you felt giddy, wondering how everyone looked now, how their life must have changed, did they even remember you, would they even recognize you?

It had been a while since you had last met them and you secretly hoped that you’d get a chance to get laid—your frustrated mind needed this, the studies kept you busy and you hadn’t got time to tend to your personal needs.

Your mind was full of scenarios as you imagined how your stay would go, what all activities you’d do and so on, falling asleep on the plane while envisioning the same.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” Karina shook your arm slightly, waking you up from your dreamland.

It took you a second to realize that the plane was going to land, followed by the announcement of the same and you were still sleepy when you put on your belt, eyes barely open as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

The journey was short, and you were checked into your hotel room in no time. As soon as you jumped on the bed, Karina came into your room holding a bunch of skincare products and sheet masks.

“Get up! We need that glow for tonight,” she demanded, plopping on the bed with you as she ushered you to go and wash your face while you mumbled complaints with the need to sleep more.

Skincare was therapeutic for you, however, it also made you sleepy, even more so when the hotel beds were the absolute definition of comfort and pleasure, helping you slip into dreamland in no time.

Your skin felt radiant, so lovingly soft by the time you woke up, also checking the time so see that you had to start getting ready for the reunion dinner at once for you to reach there in time.

“No! You’re not wearing that,” Karina pointed at your trouser outfit, a pathetic scowl on her face, looking at the clothes in disapproval.

“Why not?” You asked, looking at it with genuine confusion. It did seem like a decent outfit to you.

“Because we have to show everyone that you’re still the it girl you were four years back, now hotter than ever,” she mumbled, looking into your luggage as you let her take the matter into her hands, your focus now on styling your hair.

“This!” She exclaimed, getting a dress out which made your eyes sparkle. It was a new dress which you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear before, and she was right, it’s the perfect opportunity for you all to dress up a little.

“Huh? I don’t remember keeping this in my bag,” you looked at her.

“Well obviously, I did,” she flipped her hair, proud of herself.

That was it, the music was blasting, the room was a mess with the makeup sprawled all around, also little articles of clothing as you both dolled yourself up.

“Ready?” She smiled. She looked stunning in that black dress of hers, her freshly coloured hair only added to her beauty.

“Ready,” you confirmed.

“Y/n!” You heard your name, and suddenly you felt warm hands around your body, pulling you into a friendly hug.

Sweet voice and strawberry scent was enough for you to know it was Isa. A big smile spread on your face as you hugged her tighter, looking around to see all of your classmates hugging and talking to each other.

“You look so pretty!” You were in awe, seeing her gummy smile and the pink dress she sported, she was no less than a princess.

“Girl look at you? You’re glowing! You literally grow prettier each day,” she giggled, making your heart melt. She had always been kind and bubbly, another one of the reasons why you were so close to her.

You looked around the restaurant, it was new and the interior was modern, booked for the night for your batchmates. Meeting everyone was like a breath of fresh air.

You didn’t even manage to say hello to everyone before they announced the start of the dinner, asking everyone to take seats, however, one of your old friends Jay was quick to reach to you, his smile as sharp as you remembered it to be.

“As stunning as ever,” he complimented you, hugging your side.

He stood tall in front of you, sporting a scent that gave you the essence of richness which only complemented his black suit, worn with a white button up inside, a gold chain dangling down his slender neck, resting well on his clavicle.

You can’t deny, he looked handsome.

“Thank you,” you said softly, “you look chic as always too.”

A sly smile graced his face, “do I now?” He chuckled, “come on, let’s go and sit,” he said.

You nodded, following him as you noticed that almost everyone had taken seats, Karina waving at you, pointing at the seat she saved, which you gladly took, fixing your dress while you did so as you started rambling about everyone you met till now.

What you had failed to notice, however, was the person sitting right next to you—someone who had visibly stiffened with your sudden appearance. He didn’t move an inch, not until you finally turned your head to look his way.

Your breath hitched, and you prayed that it wasn’t visible how your eyes widened by just a fraction, your mouth stayed agape, and your body frozen, all at the mere sight of Park Sunghoon.

Glow up would be an understatement, he looked like a completely different person without his specs and baby fat resting on his cheek.

His eyes were the perfect shade of chestnut brown colour, it was the first time you had looked into them so clearly, face sculpted with a sharp jawline and pointed nose, lips naturally shaded into a glossy reddish hue, his fangs peeking out by a midge, and hair parted to the side, styled accordingly to match his black button up.

“Hey,” a deep voice snapped you out of your observation session and you realized that it was him.

“Sunghoon, hey. It’s been a while,” you smiled at him softly, hoping that he didn’t notice you staring at him just a second back, mentally slapping yourself for reacting that way.

Meanwhile the boy was surprised to learn that you indeed did remember him, his heart beating a little faster now that he was in such a close proximity with you.

It was something he had ran through his mind a few times—the possibility of you both running into each other, the possibility that you’d care to remember him, the possibility that you would talk to him, however, now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t help but admire your beauty, absolutely no coherent thought graced his mind.

“You look so beautiful,” he whispered mindlessly, mouth opening again as he realized what he had said out loud, “uh—how have you been?” He quickly asked, mentally slapping himself for being such a mess.

That only made you smile further, a glint in your eyes as you replied, “thank you, Hoon. You look really handsome too.” You let out almost in a whispered breath, and you did mean it.

Your words made him smile, which displayed his fangs. Everything about him intrigued you all of a sudden, his presence affecting you in a way you didn’t think it would, your curiosity higher than ever.

Before you could talk more, the servers came out, bringing the starters as everyone chatted excitedly at your table, Karina pulling you to her side rather abruptly as you yelped while she whispered in your ear.

“Is that him? Fucking hell, Y/n, you couldn’t say yes then but it’s not too late—just four years, do it now!” She rushed to speak into your ear, making sure no one else heard it but you.

“Karina shut up, I just met him,” you whispered urgently with wide eyes to warn her.

“So? You have three whole days to be with him! And to be honest, he looks like he knows how to give a girl a real good fuck—” you covered her mouth, not letting her finish the sentence.

“Oh lord! I’m not going to do that!” You exclaimed, taking a bite of your soup, mood uplifting at the scrumptious taste.

“But why?” She was almost going to whine before Sunghoon called out your name, saving you from this conversation.

The sound of him pronouncing your name was rather attractive, especially the way he enunciated it so perfectly, your face heating up with the sudden conversation.

“Yes?” You asked too quickly.

He chuckled softly and you swore your name had never sounded any better.

Maybe you were too into studying all this while that even the littlest things made you jumpy.

Or maybe it was the hottest looking man sitting right next to you.

“Could you pass me that napkin, please?” He asked politely.

You were quick to grab one for him as you nodded, not trusting your voice any further, his slender fingers brushed against yours as he took the napkin from you, saying thank you softly, the slight touch of his cold hands made you shiver.

You needed a distraction before you’d make fun of yourself, and soon, you found one.

Yeonjun, who sat right in front of you, was successful in distracting you, asking about your life in Seoul and about what you’ve been studying.

He was also a student like you, although he liked to work as a model in his free time, “it pays well and you get free clothes too!” He explained with a goofy smile.

You felt content, loving how friendly the atmosphere was as if you guys never lost touch in the first place, everyone drinking champagne to celebrate with a cheer that you join in too, maybe this is why people hype up reunions.

Sunghoon was attentive to everything you had said till now, not wanting to eavesdrop yet way too curious to learn more about you, trying his best not to stare at you every few minutes. Your smile made his lips curve into one as well, unconsciously at that.

The dinner concluded soon, everyone getting up and gathering for a round of group pictures.

Sunghoon’s hand brushed against yours in the process, succeeding in giving you goosebumps again, which he didn’t fail to observe this time.

“Are you cold?” He asked, noticing your goosebumps.

You didn’t have any better explanation, and you couldn’t possibly tell him that he was one responsible for it.

“Oh—yeah, a bit,” you answered, looking at the height difference between you both, his body looked buff underneath his shirt, his veins visible now that he had rolled his sleeves up.

“Here,” he offered his blazer to you, gently wrapping it around your frame as you could feel yourself being overdosed with his scent—it was attractive, engulfing you as a whole.

“I—thank you.” Your cheeks felt hot as you looked away, trying to control your breathing.

Sunghoon was clearly pleased to see you in his clothes, he had seen you after a solid four years and yet, his opinion about you didn’t change in the slightest, you looked perfect to him.

You both reached the group, you trying to tiptoe more as to ensure your visibility in the picture. It was hard to fit such a big group into a frame, especially when people simply couldn’t stand straight out of pure excitement, posing with silly expressions.

“Y/n! Come here,” Karina called your name, pulling you close for another set of pictures with everyone.

“Listen guys! Tomorrow we’ll meet at the beach by twelve, make sure you reach there on time!” Hyunjin announced.

You loved beaches, the sunlight made the water shine like it hid the prettiest set of diamonds in there, the smell of land and water meeting was soothing to your senses, a place so calming, you could spend hours there just staring at the beauty of nature, just to see the sky switching it’s colours from hues of blue to deepest of the orange to the darkest shade of black.

It all made beaches beautiful and you were excited about tomorrow already.

As you made your way out of the restaurant, you noticed two other people waiting for you along with your best friend, Jay and Sunghoon.

“You’re here! We’re taking a cab together to our hotel, apparently they’re staying over at the same place as ours,” she explained, “they probably have their rooms in front of ours too!” She joked.

Sunghoon looked at you in his blazer, deciding that he won’t even ask you to give it back to him, it suited you too much.

His clothes suited you way too much.

He wanted to spend more time with you, he wanted to sit next to you in the cab and he made sure to sit in between you and Jay, his side pressed against yours.

“Are you comfortable?” He asked softly.

“Oh, yeah. Are you?”

He nodded, loving the arrangement so far. Living in the same hotel meant that he’d get to see more of you while Jay sniggered, causing Sunghoon to elbow him as he let out an ‘ouch’. Opening his mouth to ask you questions now.

“So, Y/n, how’s it going with uni? Do you have a boyfriend or someone special in your life?” Jay asked, knowing that his friend was dying to know the same.

“It’s honestly so hectic but somehow still manageable, I like what I’m doing and I won’t be leaving without that degree so, yes I feel like the hard work would pay in the end,” you explained confidently, “and no, I sadly do not have a boyfriend. It’s honestly hard to go on dates when you barely have time for yourself.”

Sadly you had said yet Sunghoon couldn’t have been happier with your answer.

You’d always been hard working and Sunghoon admires that about you, his focus was solely on you ever since you stepped inside the restaurant and talked to him. It wasn’t easy for Sunghoon to fall for someone, but once he saw you again, it was as if his feelings for you had never left.

Just then, the car swiftly came to a stop, jerking forward slightly as Sunghoon quickly put his arm around your waist, pulling your body into him, securing it.

Some car had successfully jumped the red light, almost causing an accident, but thankfully you guys were all safe and without any scratch as the driver was quick to use the brakes, before driving again, making sure everything goes smoothly now.

“You okay?” He asked, whispering as he cupped your cheeks.

You nodded, unconsciously shifting closer to him and he didn’t make any efforts to move his hand away, letting it rest on your waist while your head rested against his shoulder. You were hyper aware of the proximity but the scare was enough for you to not pay attention to it.

It felt comfortable, his scent, his touch, but more than that, it felt genuine, which is why you closed your eyes, sleeping on his shoulder while his breathing hitched, looking at your sleeping figure.

So pretty, he thought, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face, tucking them behind your ear, letting his fingers linger there for a while. It felt like a dream to Sunghoon, and he wished that he could get more of this — more of you.

The comfort and your warmth seemingly got to him as well, his head resting on yours as he drifted off to dreamland with a slight smile ghosting on his lips.

“Cute! So fucking cute what the fuck?”

“They look like a couple, woah.”

A series of flashes was quick to disturb your sleep, eyelids slowly opening to see two phones being shoved into your face, clicking pictures of you, the chatter coming from the very same pair of people.

Just then, you realized that the picture in question was not just of you, but of the guy who so gladly let you sleep on his shoulder.

Your eyes widened when he blinked open his eyes too, Karina and Jay laughing at his reaction when he saw you staring at him, face inches away from yours.

His eyes widened comically before he diverted his attention to Jay, slapping his hand away who was busy shooting all of this on his phone, even the cab driver watched it with a fond smile on his face.

“You guys are adorable,” Karina squealed when you got out of the cab, rushing to get back to your room, cheeks heated and heart racing.

Were you embarrassed? Yes. But not even a single cell in your body can deny that it felt good—being close to someone.

“Can you stop pairing us as if we’re school kids?” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes at her excitement.

“Absolutely not, it’s fun.” She shrugged, joining you in the lift, “oh, and by the way, nice blazer you’ve got on,” she smiled, continuing to tease you.

Right, you had to return the blazer to Hoon.

Turns out, Karina was borderline prophetic and both of them were indeed on the same floor as you, your room right in front of Sunghoon’s room as if universe was hinting at something.

“Good night guys,” she sang, leaving for her room, a smirk on her face as she subtly pointed at Sunghoon’s room.

Jay followed suit, leaving for his own room, not forgetting to send a wink your way, which the other boy noticed with a frown on his face.

Your outstretched hand got his attention, his blazer now in your hand, “thank you so much for giving me your blazer, Hoon,” you spoke up.

His nickname comes out of your mouth seamlessly, making him smile.

“You can keep it with yourself,” he started, causing you to tilt your head in a questioning manner, “in case you feel cold again, y’know?”

“Yeah? What if I want you to be the one who keeps me warm if I feel cold tomorrow?” You looked into his eyes, testing the waters to ensure if he was actually confident enough to handle you now.

“I—Yes I can keep you warm,” he stuttered.

“Y’know we won’t be needing the blazer then,” he answered a second after overcoming the initial shock of you saying that, stepping closer to you.

“Perfect. Good night then, Hoon,” you spoke sweetly, a playful smirk on your face, your own heart racing at the exchange.

However, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist the second you turned around, spinning you so you stood right in front of him, hands on his chest to support yourself as your eyes widened at his bold move.

“Good night, love,” he whispered, his finger tracing your jaw, before he leaned in to place a soft kiss on the apple of your cheek, a teasing smile on his face before he walked two steps back, his bottom lip bitten to conceal his smirk as he got into his room.

Your fingers instantly touched the place where he had kissed you. The small display of affection earlier had left you restless and desperate for more, wondering how his lips would feel against the expanse of your skin.

“God, Sunghoon,” you whispered to yourself, eyes closing as you realized;

You wanted more.

“Fuck—oh lord! Faster, please,” you whined, as his fingers pressed against your cunt, rubbing your soft folds in an agonizingly slow pace, his lips planting hot open-mouthed kisses down the valley of your chest.

“You like that, huh?” He asked, mumbling against your skin, biting and sucking on your hardened nipples harshly, doing it enough to imprint marks on your body.

The pain was more pleasurable than you could have ever thought of.

“So fucking much,” you hummed, fingers grabbing onto his roots, tugging his hair slightly.

You cried out of pleasure when he inserted two of his fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out before he came to whisper against your lips.

“Bet you’ve been dreaming about this—about me,” he smirked.

A moan left your mouth, which he swallowed by kissing you right away, taking all your lewd noises in.

“Don’t you, kitten?” He asked against your mouth, his fingers leading you to your orgasm, the nickname only acting as a catalyst to the high of your pleasure.

All until your alarm rang and your eyes snapped open, a gasp leaving your mouth as you sat up straight in a go, once you came to the realization that it was just a dream.

A wet dream.

About Park Sunghoon.

“Oh god, oh my fucking god, no way,” you groaned, hiding your face into the blanket, pussy tingling with the dream you had a few seconds back, mostly due to how realistic it was.

You had no other option but to hop into the shower and lean against the shower wall, your fingers inching down to play with your soaked folds, rubbing your clit in gentle circles as your phone played a sensual song from your playlist, remembering how Hoon touched you in your dream.

You moaned, shoving two fingers in, curling them inside you with a desperate moan, a moan of Sunghoon’s name, as you bit your lip to conceal your lewd noises, you thrusted your digits with need, till you made a mess on your fingers, breathing hard as you struggled to stand straight.

You looked into the mirror, breathless, realizing just how pathetic your condition was, even more so when you had made yourself cum by thinking of Park Sunghoon.

You wondered how you were ever going to face him after this.

Especially when you had a beach day ahead and the possibility of seeing Hoon shirtless would be high.

Ignoring the fact that you had a wet dream about the man sitting in front of you during breakfast was a tough thing to do, yet you managed it well.

He looked like a prince even in casual clothes and he knew how to make you go crazy by just a wink of his, even giving you the doughnut in his plate, which you wanted so dearly.

His appearance was innocent, unlike last night where he was in a black button up—hot and attractive beyond words, he left you speechless.

“Are we renting a bike or not?” You asked Karina with a smirk after you were done eating.

“I’m down,” she gave you a high-five, “I don’t know about the boys though.”

“Wait, you can ride bikes?” Jay asked, impressed.

“Of course, we can, Jay,” You answered proudly.

“Take us on rides then,” he said, brow raised at the offer.

“Sure, select your rider, we’ll go to the beach on the bike then,” you smiled.

By the time you got ready in shorts and a top, which you wore on your bikini set, the sun had come up and was shining brightly. You had your bag packed with all essentials and two sets of extra clothes because you never know when you’re at the beach, not to mention how much sunscreen you had used to protect your skin.

All four of you got into the lift, and you noticed how you and Karina were wearing the same colours, while the boys were in shorts and t-shirts.

“Who’s coming with me then?” She asked, showing her bike keys.

“I am,” Jay spoke up, as if it was their plan to leave you with Sunghoon, alone at that.

You bit your lip, closing your eyes for a second before turning to look at Hoon, “you’re stuck with me then.”

“Perfect,” he smirked, following you out.

“Wear this,” you passed him the helmet, which he put on.

But your gaze went on his arm, which flexed as he fixed his helmet, the short sleeved t-shirt did nothing to hide his muscles.

You were surely not gonna survive this day.

“Let’s go,” he smiled, snapping you out of your daydream.

“You ready?” A smirk settled on your face as you checked the rear view mirror, looking at Sunghoon, who was quick to send a nod back.

What he didn’t expect was that you’d speed up the second you start the bike, making him jerk forward and hold on to your waist, making you shiver slightly before you began your journey of a total of ten minutes, the beach being close to your hotel.

“Woah, fuck!” You heard the boy say from behind, making you smile as you zoomed past the cars and other vehicles.

“Hold on tight,” you screamed against the wind, loving the light breeze caressing your skin, and Sunghoon’s body pressed against yours.

His arms tightened around you with your command, and your mind wandered to the morning when you dreamt about him.

It did feel good, and you were certain you wanted more.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was looking around, enjoying the scenery, but most importantly, he was enjoying the time he got to spend with you — his old crush. He leaned in, taking in your scent, smiling at how you didn’t change your perfume still.

He was highly attentive and observant when it came to you.

A series of hooting was heard in the parking lot, where all of your gang was waiting for you four to arrive, thoroughly surprised to see you riding bikes.

“That’s so fucking hot,” Yeonjun came over, wearing only beach shorts, abs on display as he saw you take off your helmet, the scene looked as if it came out of a movie.

“Dang, Junnie, been working out?” you asked, focus now on him as you happily chatted and took his hand, which he offered with his charming smile, and walked towards the beach with everyone else.

Sunghoon watched it all with his jaw clenched, Jay and Karina approaching him with a knowing expression on their faces. He wanted to spend time with you, and he didn’t expect anyone to steal you away from him so soon.

He was pissed.

“Maybe she’d notice you if you remove your SpongeBob t-shirt,” Jay adviced, keeping his elbow on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with SpongeBob?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Oh god, what would you do without Jay, he’s right by the way. Also, do you have abs?” Karina asked, doing the same from his other side.

“Uh huh—does it matter?” Hoon huffed, shrugging their hands off and walking further.

“It does matter when you’re whipped and trying to impress a baddie!” Jay announced helpfully, making Hoon stop to slap his shoulder.

“Stop shouting for fucks sake!” He warned.

“You’ll never get her at this rate. Trust me, go shirtless and see the magic. Also, stop being a loser and move your ass, go and approach her before someone else does,” Jay said.

Sunghoon simply looked around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on their conversation, his friend embarrassed him enough and your best friend didn’t help either. Did he actually make it that obvious? He wondered.

Seeing you laughing with Yeonjun did make him want to step up his game.

“Guys! Get changed and then the ones who wanna enjoy the water are free to do that, while those who wish to do water sports, gather around that area,” Taehyun announced, pointing at a shed area meant for the registration of water sports.

You simply wanted to enjoy in the water, so you made your way towards the changing stalls, getting rid of your shorts and top to reveal your bikini, after which, you looked into the mirror to ensure your appearance was okay.

“Love the bikini,” Isa complimented and you cooed at her one piece swimsuit. Everything she wore suited her perfectly.

And Isa didn’t lie, a lot of heads turned to look at you once you were out, some silently admiring your beauty, for instance—Sunghoon, with his eyes fixated on you and your body.

While others, like Yeonjun, didn’t hesitate to show how pleased they were by your entrance, whistling slowly, which flustered you slightly as you rolled your eyes at him, rushing to get under the beach umbrella, eyes darting away to look at Sunghoon, who was already staring at you.

“See you in the water,” Karina left, running away with excitement clear on her face.

That left you two alone under the umbrella.

“You’re not going?” You asked Sunghoon, getting sunscreen out of your bag.

“Just waiting for you,” he spoke smoothly, causing you to look at him.

“Help me then?” You passed him the bottle of sunscreen, turning around with your bottom lip bitten.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, he wanted to touch you in more ways than one. He squeezed out some sunscreen, his cold fingers touching your skin as he applied it on your shoulder with a gentle massage.

His strong hands made you sigh with pleasure, head tilting to give him more access to your neck area, his fingers paying attention to each inch of your back, fingers digging into your inner shoulder with his breath fanning your neck.

He took your name, almost as a whisper.

“Yes, Hoon?” You looked back at him, only to find his face inches away from you.

He came closer, looking into your eyes, “let’s go,” he smiled, heart racing from the proximity and he wasn’t sure how longer he could handle staying so close to you without even kissing you.

“Race you to the water,” you screamed, running away with a smile so big, it naturally made the boy smile as he realized how much he wanted you.

You were fast, but he was faster and his arms wrapped around your waist the second your feet touched the water. Soft giggles left your mouth as he turned you around and ran further, standing in the water with his arms open and a victorious smile graced his face.

“That’s fucking cheating!” You pointed your finger at him, others laughing at your childish bickering as he defended himself with a serious expression, trying not to give in to your pout.

“I don’t cheat,” he came close to say, pouting on his own.

Before you could retort, he started splashing water all over your body, others joining soon and splashing water everywhere.

“Hoon, what the—” You squealed, rushing to splash water back on him, only to trip and fall right into his arms, his hands firmly holding you close to him.

“What? Falling for me already?” He asked, a cocky smirk on his face.

“In your dreams,” you retorted.

“You were,” he shrugged, confusing you yet again.

“Where?”

He hooked his finger and lifted your chin tenderly, making you look into his eyes, “in my dream, last night,” he whispered, leaning in closer, leaving you speechless.

Sunghoon was the shy, nerdy kid who used to sit in the front of the class, always keeping to himself, talking to only Jay.

Now, however, you couldn’t even recognize the guy in front of you. While you found the old Hoon to be cute, you wouldn’t lie when you say that the confidence he oozed now made you want to know him more. The words rolled off his tongue so smoothly, which made you wonder if he flirted with others too.

It seemed as if he was on a roll to make you go speechless, and his plan was working. By the time you turned around to reply to him, you saw him swiftly remove his t-shirt.

Your body stilled as your eyes traveled up and down his body, skin shining with the sunlight that complimented him perfectly. He was lean but muscular, muscles flexing as he took off his SpongeBob t-shirt, abs now on display for everyone to see. He looked flawless.

Karina elbowed your side, eliciting a yelp out of you, “ow fuck—what?” You whisper yelled.

“You’re drooling,” she pointed out, “get that man,” she tapped on your shoulder, pushing you towards him.

However, when you observed some girl, who wasn’t a part of your group, coming close to Hoon while placing her hand on his bicep and asking if he was single, it made you want to run away and not witness the exchange of Sunghoon smirking at the other girl.

Jealousy was a nasty disease, and sadly you were terminal.

Naturally, you made your way out of the water, face hot as you fanned yourself walking towards the beach chairs under the umbrella, not knowing that the boy had no other job but to follow you, politely rejecting the other girl.

You sat down, closing your eyes as you tried your hardest not to think about the dream you had earlier, your desire only fuelled when he flirted with you with that ever so stunning smirk of his.

Seeing him shirtless was your last straw.

You needed alcohol in your system to survive this, to let yourself free. Sunghoon was already resting on the chair next to you by the time you opened your eyes again.

“I’m hurt,” he started, looking your way.

You raised your brows at his comment, “why? I thought you had company.” You took a sip of your drink, enjoying the bitter taste on your tongue and the slight warmth it brought to your throat.

The statement was of immense pleasure to him, especially when he sensed the hint of (read: obvious) jealousy that your words radiated, and he just wished he wasn’t being delusional, his ego boosting alongside his confidence.

Everyone was out of the water by now, the gang was done with their water sports activities as well, coming and sharing their experiences with a loud chatter, also talking about arranging a bonfire as the sky turned into the prettiest shades of yellow with orange and red hues.

“I do have company,” he whispered, coming closer for you to hear, “a very pretty one at that.”

He took the beer bottle from your hand, taking a long sip of it, your eyes fixated on how his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped it down.

You snatched your bottle from him, watching as two drops trailed down his chest and towards his abs.

“Sorry, but you left your pretty company back in the water,” you huffed, smiling sarcastically before leaving to get a shower and change back into your shorts before the bonfire.

Sunghoon held on to your wrist before you could escape, pulling you so your back was flesh against his chest, his lips on your ear, brushing it slightly, “you sound jealous, princess,” he teased.

You turned to look at him, lips an inch away from his, your head tilting, “I don’t have a single reason to be jealous, Sunghoon,” you quipped.

With that, you walked away, knowing well you were jealous when you had no right to be so.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was having the time of his life stealing your attention and having you to himself. Your reactions only encouraged him to do more, he wasn’t the one to flirt, however, he loved to get a reaction out of you.

Being together for two days was enough for Sunghoon to realize that his feelings for you never faded, it only grew more after spending more time with you. He couldn’t hide the smile forming on his face as you denied being jealous, it gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d have a chance to win your heart. The fragrance of your body mist lingered around him because of the earlier proximity.

He swore it was his new favourite scent.

His eyes followed you, admiring your beauty from afar before he too went to get a shower and freshen up.

“So, you and Sunghoon, huh?” Yeonjun asked, sitting down on the sand next to you.

The shower did make you feel better, the cool breeze and the sunset creating a calming atmosphere, the bonfire in front of you only making it cozier.

The question caught you off guard, resulting in an awkward cough from you, “what do you mean?”

“Come on, anyone can notice the sexual tension between you two, or maybe I’m just observant,” he shrugged, “you can’t deny that he’s hot,” he pointed out helpfully.

“I’m not denying anything, but I don’t think anything will happen between us,” you pouted, watching the man walk towards your group, drying his hair with a towel.

A gesture so natural, but he made it seem so enthralling that you couldn’t help but stare.

“So you do think he’s hot,” Yeonjun followed your gaze with a smirk.

He wasn’t going to let this go, and you were sure of that, a groan leaving your mouth as you divert your attention towards him.

“I’ll help you get his attention, although I think you’re doing pretty fine yourself,” he lowered his voice at the last few words as Sunghoon sat down next to you, passing you his charming smile.

“Truth or dare,” Yeonjun asked you, starting to implement his plan, passing you another can of beer.

Sunghoon looked at you with curiosity filled eyes, jaw clenched slightly as he noticed your closeness with Yeonjun, why is he always around you?

��Uh—truth?” You asked more than answering.

This also gained the attention of your group, everyone cheering to play a round of truth and dare just like the old times.

“That’s boring,” he scrunched his nose, “how about I dare you to kiss or rather, makeout with someone in this circle?”

“Yeah, absolutely not. I’m not playing,” you took a long sip of your beer, ignoring the series of disappointed grunts coming your way.

“Why?” He whined, “I bet anyone would want a kiss from you,” he emphasized, looking around the circle dramatically before he swiped his tongue on his bottom lip.

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance, eyes never leaving your face as he saw you disagree, a small smile on his face at your rejection.

Oh boy, was he going crazy with his ever so often mood swings, only when it involved you.

He also wondered if Yeonjun wanted that kiss for himself.

“He’s right I mean, you are beautiful and oh god, I remember the number of proposals you used to get on Valentine’s day,” someone pointed out as a matter of fact.

Seems like everyone was drunk already and the night had just started.

That statement made Hoon go stiff as he remembered his own memory of confessing to you.

“Oh, that reminds me of the time Sunghoon had come to ask you out,” Yunjin mentioned with a mischievous smile, as if everyone was on a mission to have you and Sunghoon in the spotlight.

You closed your eyes, dreading the topic that was about to come up right in front of everyone, moreover, deep down you did wish to hear what Hoon had to say, after all these years.

The said guy groaned, hiding his face when the topic he so desperately wanted to avoid, came up out of nowhere, secretly hoping that you didn’t find him weird after remembering the same.

“Sunghoon confessed?”

“What? When did this happen?”

“Did you reject him?”

A bunch of questions were thrown your way and you looked at Hoon with a panicked face, him doing the same, biting his cheek yet again and looking away in, well, rejection.

“It was in high school, and that’s all we’re telling you,” you answered, dismissing the crowd.

“So you can kiss him as your dare,” someone proudly suggested.

He looked bothered and you frowned, “guys, no. Let’s not make him uncomfortable now, it should be consensual y’know,” you spoke gently and Yeonjun took the hint to change the conversation really quick, daring someone else to drink five shots in a go.

If only you knew how much he yearned for it, yet he was sensible enough to not let it happen in front of an audience; batshit drunk and immature audience if he must say so.

“Hey. Are you alright?” You kept your hand on his surprisingly warm ones.

“You’re cold,” he frowned, intertwining his fingers with yours effortlessly and keeping them inside his jacket’s pocket, “I have to keep you warm, remember?” He said, still looking elsewhere as to hide the evident blush creeping up his face, not sure if it was due to the prior embarrassment or the newfound warmth of your body.

He was nervous, trying his best to divert the topic and you let him, scooting closer to feel his warmth.

“I really did not know you had a boyfriend back then,” he confessed with reddened cheeks, “I was just so fucking busy with exams and—”

“You don’t have to say anything, Hoon. I do understand and I’m sorry for what happened that day,” you tilted your head to look at him, blinking slowly as you finally felt your alcohol kicking in, “you’re pretty,” you whispered.

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank that much, knowing well you can’t handle, or anyone can handle you after you reach that level of drunk.

Hoon was on his fourth can of beer already, his tolerance level not being too high, causing him to get drunk faster—it showed on his face.

His heart hammered against his ribs when you whispered that to him, and he pulled you closer, “you’re the prettiest,” he mumbled, tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear.

Everyone seemed to be in their own worlds, laughing at random things, playing music and dancing, however, your drunk self wanted nothing more than to be with Sunghoon, to kiss him, and it took all of your self control to restrain yourself from doing so.

Sunghoon pulled you closer and on his lap, your face buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around you. He wanted you more than ever and being drunk, he couldn’t help but pull you impossibly closer to him.

His palm rested on the side of your waist, gentle caresses sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. It felt too

Despite everything, you did admit how his presence made you feel warm inside, and it wasn’t solely because of alcohol.

He bummed a song under his breath, you almost slept in his hold, his deep voice giving you butterflies. His embrace made you feel wanted, just like you had wanted him, and you indeed were in your own world, soon being disturbed by others saying it’s time to go back.

Someone made you drink water, and soon, you were in a cab with your best friend next to you, Sunghoon on the other side and Jay riding shotgun.

“Good night,” Karina sang out once you reached your hotel, Jay leaving soon after.

“Come with me, I want to sleep with you,” you whined, no control over your mouth anymore, you took Sunghoon’s hand, pulling him into your room.

“Y/n,” he whispered, closing the door behind him.

“Fuck,” he muttered out, seeing you remove your denim shorts, leaving you in your t-shirt as you climbed on your bed.

He followed, discarding his clothes and getting into the bed with you, a blanket covering your bodies. Your back was pressed against his muscular chest, his arm around your waist keeping you in place.

A soft gasp left your mouth as you felt his hot breath on your shoulder, his lips touching your skin, making it burn with warmth, “Hoon,” you softly whined.

“Yes, baby?” He continued placing open mouthed kisses on your skin.

“Kiss me,” you breathed out.

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, so much,” you confirmed.

“I want to kiss you,” he confessed, “but not when we’re drunk. If you ask that of me tomorrow then I’ll do it without question.”

“No—right now,” you mumbled, whining.

“Shh, sleep for me baby,” he said, distracting you with soft kisses on your shoulder again.

“But—”

“Go on, princess, sleep, hm?”

You smiled even though he couldn’t see you, “okay,” you said softly, admiring how beautiful the man was.

You turned around to face him, “good night, Hoon,” your voice came out as a whisper.

“Good night , princess.” You felt his lips on your forehead before you drifted off to dreamland.

A dull ache in your head disturbed your precious sleep. Your eyes opened with a few blinks, settling down on Sunghoon, who laid next to you with his eyes capturing your each movement. You stiffened for a good second, remembering how hot his lips felt on your body the last night.

“Fuck,” you groaned, hand on your head as the effects of hangover started to kick in.

“Here,” he got up, passing you a bottle of water.

“Hoon,” you started, not sure what to say about last night.

“I’ll go,” he says, “I—I didn’t want to make things awkward between us,” he apologized, getting up quickly, putting his clothes on and leaving before you could say much.

“Ugh,” you groaned, hating how the situation turned into what it shouldn’t have been, you wanted him, drunk and sober, in both states.

But he didn’t know that. You were worried if he didn’t want that, or if his gestures were friendly all this time.

His kisses weren’t friendly last night, your mind reminded you, and you let out a series of curses at that, at how desperately you had wanted him to be close to you, all this in a span of two days.

Sunghoon was breathing hard by the time he locked his room, going straight in the shower. He was frustrated. The hot water droplets paired with his flashbacks from the last night, the way you said his name in a whisper, the way your bikini fit you perfectly, and how you looked at him like you wanted him just as much as he did.

He groaned, hand traveling down his skin to pump his semi hardened cock, gulping as images of you invaded his mind. With his head resting against the tiled wall, his fist moved on his length with speed, with need.

He had never jerked off to the thought of anyone before you came into his life again, it was his first time and he admitted, he didn’t know that just the thought of your body pressed against his would make him this hard.

With a moan escaping his lips, he painted the tiles white with his cum, your name leaving his lips as he stood there, breathing hard and deep in thought.

He had to have you.

Tonight.

“We’ll go first,” you tell Karina, getting ready together for the last night — the club night.

“Sure, but why?” she asked, trying to perfect her already perfect liner.

“I don’t wish to face Sunghoon,” you mumbled, sitting down on the bed to wear your heels.

She stopped her movements, turning to look at you, “I thought you guys hooked up last night, it was going well, wasn’t it?” She asked, confused.

“I don’t know, babe. He didn’t do anything yesterday because we were drunk, which was very sweet of him, but then he left this morning without talking about it,” you explained.

“So talk tonight, and maybe do more cause you don’t have much time left,” she reminded you, “maybe go with Yeonjun’s plan too, Hoon would definitely reach out to you once he sees you with him. I’ve seen that he doesn’t really like when Jun’s with you, it shows on his face.”

“Really?” You asked with a frown, “making him jealous sounds very high school core to me.”

“So what? It works!” She smiled, “and I’m ready, how do I look?”

“Stunning, gorgeous, perfect,” you answered, “and I think I’ll take up your advice this time.”

She smirked, “let’s go and get you your man,” she said, coming close to you, getting a shade of lipstick out which suits you through and through, knowing well that it’s the perfect opportunity to use it.

Flashy lights, loud music, drinks and dancing bodies everywhere. It was easy to spot Yeonjun on the DJ stage, vibing to the music feely. Life of the party as always.

“Let’s grab some drinks,” Karina spoke in your ear, the music being too loud for you to hear much from a distance.

You nodded, following her and smiling when you saw a few people from your batch standing there and drinking.

“My ladies, you look hot,” Beomgyu said, kissing your knuckles and ordering drinks for you both.

Seems like making Hoon jealous won’t be a problem after all, especially when everyone has a flirty nature.

You weren’t going to drink today, you had to be sober and in your right mind, so you settled for orange juice instead, the music making you move on your own.

“My lady!” Yeonjun spoke up, popping out of nowhere, pulling you into a hug before he came closer to whisper, “you look stunning,” his eyes shining as he said so, “but I don’t see lover boy, where’s he?”

“Will be here soon I hope,” you replied.

“Dance with me, he’ll definitely come sooner if he sees you with me,” he smirked as you took his hand, taking up on his offer.

Yeonjun was a good company after all, your eyes widening at his bold moves before he pulled you in with a smirk, “lover boy’s here, and he’s looking at us,” he informed you, your eyes moving behind to look at him.

Sunghoon was agitated, fuming almost with the sight in front of him.

He wanted you all to himself, for tonight, tomorrow, and if possible by any means—forever, and he wasn’t going to shy away, not this time.

“Are you just gonna stand and watch while he takes away your girl?” Jay asked from beside him.

“Not today, not this time, Jay,” Hoon replied simply, his eyes following your actions, watching as Yeonjun took you to the bar, Gyu on the other side as you laughed about something you were talking about, whispering in each other’s ears.

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes as he walked towards you. He didn’t wish to be nice all of a sudden, it was the last night, last possible chance for him to actually do something or regret sitting back forever.

He stood right behind you at the bar, eyes fixated on your face, the shade of lipstick you had on suited you so perfectly that he wanted to ruin it by smashing his lips onto yours, turning you around in a single go and claiming you his.

Instead, he tapped on your shoulder, successfully capturing your attention as you finally looked at him thoroughly — he was clad in black trousers, a loose black shirt with two top buttons kept open, his chest slightly on display. A delicate chain on his slender neck, hair parted to the side to match his look and his defined jaw clenched as he looked at you with a desire filled gaze.

His eyes held a different kind of intensity tonight, almost the kind you’d want to get lost in, his lips curved into an attractive smirk as he finally spoke.

“May I steal you for a moment?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded mindlessly, gulping at how fine he looked.

He didn’t wait for you to follow him, instead, he held on to your wrist and pulled you with him, your eyes widened at his bold move, your feet moving quicker to match his pace as he dragged you out from the back door, to an alleyway which was empty.

“Sunghoon—” you called out his name, but he was quick to push you against the wall.

His eyes looked into yours, they were dark with a feeling you couldn’t quite understand before he leaned in, “remember what you said yesterday?” he asked, nose touching yours, frustration clear in his voice.

“W—what?” Your voice came out shaky, his fingers on your arms were enough to make you shiver.

“Fuck, kitten. Forgot already?” He chuckled and you let out a shaky breath at how easily he called you such nicknames.

“Forgot what?” You asked, looking into his hooded eyes.

“That you wanted me to kiss you,” he leaned in further, his lips brushing against yours with his statement.

“Yeah? And what about it?” you asked, trying to sound stern, as if your legs weren’t about to give out right this second.

He scoffed, “I fucking bet you’d love it if Yeonjun would do that, won’t you?”

“I could be wrong, but I have a teeny tiny feeling that you are jealous, Hoon,” you replied, a small satisfactory smile on your face when you saw him scowl, your index finger resting on his clavicle.

He tilted your head upwards, his slender fingers holding your chin up so you looked into his eyes, “fuck—yeah,” he breathed out, “yeah I am, because I fucking want you all to myself—” he confessed.

“Fuck it,” you muttered midway his sentence, breaking your tough girl act and pulling him closer by his collar, your hand on his shoulder as you pressed your lips onto his.

He was quick to react, pushing you against the wall harder while also pulling you closer by your ass, his other hand on your nape. His lips moved against yours in a perfect harmony, you felt your knees getting weaker as his soft lips kissed you with no intention of letting go—not now, not never.

He separated your legs apart with his knees, pushing it in between them with ease, you pushed yourself further till you could feel his thigh in between your legs, applying pressure to your core which had you moaning into his mouth, almost to the point of drooling.

“Fuck,” he cussed, separating your lips to place rushed kisses on your neck, your head tilting to give him space as you grinded on his thigh, head ringing with the high he gave you just with his kisses.

“Ah—Hoon,” you whined, causing him to stop his actions, his slender fingers wrapping around your neck as he pulled you closer yet again, speaking against your lips.

“I really thought I was over you after not meeting you for four fucking years, baby,” he almost growled, “but nah. I saw you at the party sitting next to me and I realized that I still want you, now more than ever,” he whispered, staring deep into your eyes.

“I—I want you too, Hoon,” your voice came out breathy.

He let out a low laugh at that, “you sure you don’t want Yeonjun?”

He was jealous, he didn’t bother denying that and you admit you found this side of him hot, possessiveness clear in his eyes, which had turned even darker if it was possible.

“His name wasn’t the one on my tongue when I touched myself last night, y’know,” you admitted, not missing the look of slight surprise on his face, “it was yours, only yours,” you tiptoed to whisper in his ear.

A barely there smirk settled on your lips as you tried to leave, but Hoon was quick to pull you back, his hand on the back of your head as he pushed you against the wall yet again, and you loved how easily he handled you, as if your body moved the way he wanted it to.

“You’ll be the death of me, kitten,” he said, “it makes me want to mark you up.”

“Why don’t you do it then?” you whispered, raising your brow as a challenge.

He didn’t need to be told twice, his lips were on yours the very next second, your fingers tugging at his silky roots, sighing in exasperation with the wetness pooling in your underwear, your mind going fuzzy and your insides melting as you let him take control of you.

He nips at your bottom lip, hand traveling down to cup your breasts, squeezing them lightly before he pinches your hardening nipples, your back arched into him as you feel a shiver going down your spine.

Your short dress and its sheer fabric does nothing to help you, your skin feels as if it’s on fire with how passionately he kisses you, pulling you into him with desperation while pushing you back against the wall, your hand going under his shirt, tracing his faint abs softly.

He knows it’s not even nearly appropriate to do this in public, but he can’t, for the life of him, stop his hands from roaming over the expanse of your body, from his fang-like canines to bite your clavicle and his eyes darkening from lust as he sees your body responding to him exactly how he wants to.

“I won’t be able to stop myself anymore,” he grunted, taking your name.

“Take me back to the hotel,” you breathed out, intertwining your fingers with his.

He nodded fervently, hoping that his hard-on won’t be visible as he drags you through the sea of dancing bodies, biting his lip before you both get to the parking lot, getting into the car he had rented earlier.

He tried his best to be a gentleman as he opened the car door for you, bending down to press another sloppy kiss on your lips, the atmosphere warm with how drunk he looked in your essence.

It was hard for him to walk and get into the car himself, especially when you were right there, ready and just as desperate as him, your deep breaths only making him breathless.

His hand rested on your thigh the whole fifteen minutes of the drive, inching upwards with docile squeezes which made you squirm in your seat, low whines leaving your mouth desperately.

“Shh, baby. I’ll have to park the car right here if you keep making such sweet noises,” he warned.

The offer was tempting—tempting enough for you to let out a moan, to which he did what he had to. He swiftly took a turn, parking the car at the empty lane, switching the engine off before he unbuckled his seatbelt.

He turned your way, lips on yours as he unbuckled your belt too, a gasp leaving your lips as he effortlessly pulled you to his lap.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” His thumb traced your lip, which you parted looking up at him with innocent eyes to suck on two of his digits, swirling your tongue around it, your cheeks hollow as you took it in. You could feel his hardened length just under your clothed cunt, which made you move your hips slightly, just to get a reaction out of him, testing the waters.

However it backfired once he smirked against your lips, the warmth of his palm travelling up your body, resting on your clavicle as his fingers closed in around your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze before he thrusted up.

You moaned, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“I want you, please!” you begged, unbuckling his belt as he watched your every move.

“I can’t believe I get to have you now,” he says.

“What do you mean?” You stop to look at him, arms around his neck.

He puts his arm around your waist, picking you up slightly to get rid of his pants and boxers, “you’re the only fucking person I’ve ever wanted,” he says, whispering your name right after, eyes on your dress strap which slid down your shoulder, “tell me what you want, baby.”

Every word he spoke, every sound he made, it all caused an influx of this feeling in your chest—your heart raced, butterflies erupting into a wild fashion as your face heated up with the depth of this situation.

“You. All of you,” you answered in a beat, “I can’t wait anymore, I can’t stop thinking about you, Sunghoon,” you said.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered, kissing a sensitive spot below your ear, “don’t fucking stop, kitten,” he mumbled as he licked your neck, his fingers pulling your panties to the side simultaneously, pressing them to your wetness.

You held onto his shoulders as he rubbed your sensitive folds, his cock poking at your entrance alongside, “such pretty moans,” he groaned, feeling you being a mess in his arms, “all for me?”

“All for y—you!” Your words came out in fragments, legs shaking as he pushed his fingers inside you, your back arching into him yet again. His lips were busy planting kisses all over your tits, ensuring not to leave a single spot, pushing your dress down to reveal every bit of you.

Sunghoon was a patient person, but not when it came to you. You were driving him insane with just how vulnerable and needy you appeared to be in his arms, his eyes fixated on how your chest rose up and down, his own sweat making his hair stick to his forehead, your breaths intertwining as he plunged his fingers harder into you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, strong enough to leave crescent marks, the sound of your low moans, his grunted murmurs, and the deep breaths interfolded impeccably with the music playing on the radio, reverberating through the car.

Once he felt like you were prepped enough, dripping on his fingers, he swiftly pulled you up, pressing his lips upon yours as he pushed you down on his cock, your walls clenching around his length, the stretch too pleasurable for it to hurt you.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, scrunching it up as to support yourself against his body, each touch of his igniting your senses. His muscles tensed beneath your touch as your hand unbuttoned his shirt, the cold of your hand juxtaposing the warmth radiating his body.

“You’re not real,” he mused, mesmerized, “so fucking pretty, taking my cock like that.” Sunghoon knew he was far gone when it concerned you, but now that you were actually here, closer to him than ever, he couldn’t help but let his mouth run loose to tell you just how stunning you were.

“You’re mine tonight, huh?”

“So—so fucking yours,” you moaned.

He scoffed, grabbing your jaw to make you look at him, “say it, clearly.”

“I’m so fucking yours Sunghoon,” you gasped, feeling him twitch hard inside of you.

“That’s it, that’s my good little kitty,” he chuckled against your mouth, kissing your swollen lips yet again.

You both muttered a string of curses before you started shifting your hips, his hands on your waist guiding you up and down, eyes closing but he was quick to grab your neck, “look at me when I fuck you,” he said, bucking his hips up to meet yours.

He loved how you looked, hair messy, lips swollen and eyes slightly teary as you tried to form coherent sentences but failed miserably, all of which Sunghoon loved.

You were just as gone for him as he was for you.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” He asked, taking your hand and pressing it to your lower abdomen where you could feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out effortlessly, given how wet you were, practically dripping all over his lap and the car seat, something that the rental company wouldn’t really appreciate but that was the least of your worries.

“Gonna make you scream my name till the windows fog up with your desperation,” he rasped near your ear and you couldn’t function anymore, not when the hottest man ever had you spiralling for him.

“Sunghoon, H—hoon!” Your voice got louder as you did exactly what he had promised you’d do, making him chuckle against your neck, nipping on the skin with the intentions of leaving marks, his marks, “slow, please!”

You were lying to yourself by now, you didn’t want him to be slow, you just weren’t sure how much you can take before you lose the final string of your sanity—if there’s any left, that is.

“God,” Sunghoon mumbled, “slow? I’ll fuck you hard enough you’ll feel me in your cunt for days, kitten.”

“Fucking hell, I—I’m close,” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulder.

“Let go, baby,” he said, groaning as he felt your juices coating his dick, your moans louder than before, eyes closed and his name like a mantra on your lips.

He grunted, rubbing your clit as he slid out of your pussy, stroking his cock until he spilled his cum all over your inner thigh.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he breathed out, “not so quick.”

You were fucked, quite literally. He kissed you, once, twice, and again till he was moaning in your mouth, so dazed he could barely function for a minute when you tried catching your breath.

He helped you get into your seat again, not even bothering to put his shirt on as he drove back, jaw clenched, your eyes on him the entire time, pussy tingling as his hand squeezed your thigh every two seconds.

And he didn’t lie, his movements were more frantic than ever as he drove back to the hotel with record speed, making sure to stay and help you look presentable, the small touches of him all over your face made you feel an feeling which you couldn’t quite name, it was indescribable, but you knew it gave you butterflies.

And you wondered how this guy who fucked you so roughly not even ten minutes back could also be this sweet and caring, kissing you every chance he got.

You giggled as you ran into the elevator, a smile gracing his own face at your giddy mood, “I don’t want this night to end,” he confessed.

“It won’t end just yet,” you said, taking out your room card and opening the door, which he closed equally soon as he pushed you against the wood.

He looked perfect, swollen red lips, shirt barely buttoned, hair all over the place, and eyes so shiny as if he held a whole universe in them, or maybe that was just your reflection.

“Kitten,” he sighed, “let me taste you,” he requested.

You looked at him with teasing eyes, a smile of the same fashion gracing your face as you went on, unzipping your dress and moving towards your bed while facing Sunghoon, letting the dress fall along with your underwear, uncovering your bare body to him, as if offering the last morsel of meal to a hungry man.

He unbuttoned his shirt, discarding all his garments. You could finally see him in light, his eyes hooded, body sculpted by the gods themselves, the v-line and his big cock making you gulp as you remembered how good he felt inside you.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered you, to which you obliged.

“God, such a good little girl for me, spread your pretty legs and let me see you, baby,” he spoke, getting in between your legs, his chain dangling down.

The nickname made you shiver, Park Sunghoon made you feel weak, in all the best ways, the way he kissed your thighs, inching closer to your inner thighs, so close to your core which was still wet, all of this made you breathless.

A pathetic whine of Sunghoon’s name slipped past your lips the exact second he licked your pussy, his big hands keeping your legs open, “eyes on me,” he spoke against your wetness, humming at the taste.

He wastes no time in immersing his tongue into your pussy, licking and sucking as you panted, thighs shaking, his tongue tracing your vulva, groans vibrating against your folds, your hips bucking up into his mouth as he delved deeper, pushing his tongue into you.

Your soft folds made him growl, nuzzling closer. Nothing was enough, he couldn’t get enough of you, even the scent of your arousal had his cock twitching, it was harder than ever, almost painful at this point, his nose nuzzling deeper, brushing against your heat.

“H—hoon,” you cried, a tear streaming down your face, your fingers tugging on his hair, which only urged him to growl more into your cunt.

It was so raw, so filthy.

You feel ecstatic as his thumb probes at your narrow depths, stimulating your clit while he pushes his tongue in, “want you so much,” he spoke against you.

“Hoon! Please, can’t wait anymore,” you said, pussy swollen and you needed his cock inside you.

“So needy, and for me?” He asked cockily.

“Y—yes! Please,” you begged.

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” He comes up, kissing you, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

His chain dangled around your collarbone, his intense gaze focused on your expressions as he pumped his cock a few times, his tip on your entrance.

He spit into your mouth, diving right in to kiss and capture your moan.

He pushed himself in with a swift movement, bottoming out. He asked if you felt fine, giving you time to adjust, he moved in and out of you swiftly, body pressed against your warm one, his each thrust getting deeper with the roll of his hips.

You could swear you had never felt this way before, he hit your g-spot so precisely, and the feeling of him being inside you, all raw and thick, made you mewl with pleasure.

“You look so pretty,” he groaned, licking your neck where he had just marked you, “falling apart on my cock like that.”

Your toes curled each time he opened his mouth to whisper something filthy into your ear, making your head spin in a good way.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, your fucked out face, swollen lips and the innocent eyes begging him to go faster made it harder for him to hold back. He, in fact, didn't wish to hold back anymore.

He thrusted in harder, squeezing your tit as you cried out his name, your walls clenching around him, making his length twitch as his fingers dug into your ass, pulling you closer, your tits pressed against his chest, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Can’t get enough of you, it’s like your body was made for me,” he smirked lazily, fangs showing as you told him how you can’t wait any longer, you can’t hold back any longer.

He was just as desperate, not being able to hold his dick twitching in you with a need to release.

“Cum in me!” You moaned out.

That drove him over the edge. You filled with his cum? His warmth dripping out of your soft little cunt? Fuck, he could burst his load right into you but he needed you to be completely, truly okay with it.

“Y/N, are you sure?” He asked, cupping your face, leaning in to brush his nose against yours, foreheads pressed as he breathed in deeply to control himself, just like you, a different kind of warmth spreading through your body.

He had never done that before, neither had you, however, you wanted nothing more than to experience it for the first time and you wanted it with each other.

You nodded, “yes—yes please,” before he pushed his cock harder, as you rutted your hips absentmindedly to ride out your high.

The room smelled like sex, the mist clouding it as your sounds resonated the walls, you didn’t even try to conceal your voices anymore, the dim lights only made the atmosphere hotter.

“Oh, fuck!” He grunted.

Your orgasm ripped through you as you pulled his nape closer for his lips to be on yours, his own climax rushing as you felt the warming sensation of Sunghoon’s cum filling your cunt up to the brim.

You both stilled, taking deep breaths and coming down from your state of euphoria, gulping as you saw him looking right at you.

“C’mere,” he said softly, getting up and watching his cum dripping down on your sheets, gulping as the tip of his ears getting red.

You couldn’t get up, only looking up at Hoon with teary eyes, he swore you looked like a broken puppy to him, which only made him wanna scoop you up in his arms, his muscles flexing yet again as he held you up, kissing the corner of your eye, tasting the salty tear that escaped, courtesy of his cock which provided you with the best orgasm of your life.

“Fuck—ah,” you whimpered, only boosting his ego.

You couldn’t walk, he made it happen.

Which made it his duty to take care of you, biting down on his smile, he chuckled, making you groan and slap his shoulder, only causing him to laugh without hesitation this time, you swore it was the prettiest laugh ever.

“You alright, love?” He asked, eyes shining as you nodded, both walking towards the bathroom.

“God—don’t say that,” you mumbled, shyness creeping through.

“What? My love?” He said again, smiling as he emphasized again.

“Hoonie,” you warned and he only kissed you again, before you pushed him playfully, stepping into the shower, barely holding yourself up.

“Need help, princess?” He asked, eyebrows raised as he stared at your body, and you gave him a look, almost surprised to see him getting hard again.

Oh boy, was he crazy for you.

“In the shower?” You raised your own brows.

“Well, I fear if I was the one who filled you up with my cum, I should be the one to help you clean it,” he whispered, getting into the shower, closing the glass door behind him, sneaking his hand up your waist.

“You’re crazy,” you said, looking up at him with a grin which you did try hard to conceal.

“Hey, it also helps us save water,” he added, smile widening, before he leaned in, lips on your neck, as you felt the warmth of the water cascading down your bodies.

“Missed this?” He asked, shoving his hand between your legs, “god, you’re so full of my cum,” he chuckled proudly as you shivered in his arms.

Sunghoon wasn’t usually this confident, however, seeing you breathless, whimpering and asking for more even though he had just destroyed your cunt was doing something to him, he couldn’t help but admire the sight—something he’d never get used to.

He was gonna get what he’s wanted all along, once wasn’t enough, even a thousand times won’t be enough, he wanted you for the course of his lifetime, eerily romantic thought for someone who was fucking the girl of his dreams in a shower. Lovely.

You pulled him in for another rushed kiss, feeling him smirk against you, chasing your lips as you tried to move back in hopes of whining, but he was greedy enough to grab your nape, greedy enough to swallow all your moans, keeping it for himself.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, fingers teasing your cunt, or what he’d like to say, cleaning your cunt which he so nastily claimed, “not clean enough, hm? I think we’ll have to use a deeper approach.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” you panted, his cock lining up against your wet cunt, and you could only look up at him.

His hair sticking to his forehead, water droplets dripping down his face to your cheek, steam fogging up the glass door as you tried to keep yourself up on the slick tiled surface, his muscles flexing as his veiny hand held you up, his grunt loud as he pushed himself into you yet again tonight.

His thrusts were languid as you tried your hardest to breathe, his head leaning down, with his mouth open, practically breathing you.

“I fucked you so hard and yet you’re so fucking tight,” he grunted, “god—baby, you feel so fucking good,” he muttered. “So fucking good—fucking perfect—mine.”

“Yours,” you mewled out, eyes closing with each of his hard thrust.

Lasting long wasn’t an option, not when you were this close to reaching euphoria, but it was different this time, and you feared what might happen if he went on like this. His cock was so thick, also the biggest you’d ever taken, to the point you could feel its bulge on your lower abdomen.

“Can’t—can’t anymore,” you stuttered, legs shivering to the point your knees gave out and Hoon held you up with ease.

“Doing so good for me baby, let go, hm? Be a good little slut for me,” he rasped.

That tumbled you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you let out the loudest moan of Sunghoon’s name, thighs shaking as a jet of liquid gushed out of your quivering slit, surprising the boy who let out a groan, filling your cunt again as you squirting all over his cock, the sensation overwhelming you to the point your body almost fell limp in his arms, panting harshly as Sunghoon moaned.

“Did you just—”

“I didn’t—know I could,” you mumbled, hiding your face in his neck, embarrassment creeping through.

He breathed in deeply, kissing you again, “that was the hottest fucking thing you could have done, baby” he mumbled against your lips, “you’re perfect, you did so well for me, you’re my good girl.”

Sunghoon barely held himself up, the way you reacted to him, the way you looked when you let yourself loose, it was going to be etched in his mind forever.

It took you both a while to calm down again, and he kissed you all over to do so, soft pecks all over your face, making you smile lazily at his sudden cuteness. He made sure you were clean and helped you shower properly this time before coming out.

Sunghoon was clingy, absolutely not having it in him to leave your side, observing every move of yours as if trying to memorize every bit of you, even making sure you’re clad in his shirt as you both made your way towards the bed, a soft glow gracing your faces.

“Hey,” he said, getting into the covers with you.

“Hey,” you turned towards him, still feeling giddy.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he said, touching your cheeks softly.

“Why would you say that?” You asked, keeping your hand on his.

“Before tonight, I had only ever dreamed of being this close to you, I never thought I’d even get to kiss you,” he spoke.

“Hoon, I’ve been thinking about you since we met again,” you told him, brushing his hair with your fingers softly, “actually, ever since I got the invite,” you confessed sheepishly.

That made him smile, “can I ask you something?”

You hummed, “yes?”

“Can we, maybe, if you’re okay with it then y’know—” he fumbled with his words, making you laugh, even the slight lisp of his was so perfect.

“Shh, we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? Hold me to sleep, Hoonie,” you said, putting your arm around him.

His heart melted at the sight, and what made him happier was the fact that you didn’t just want him for sex, your smile expressed it all. The thought of you actually liking him back, reciprocating his feelings made his heart beat faster, anticipating a future with you.

“Good night, baby,” he kissed you, just like last night. However, he kissed your lips tonight, making you giggle softly as you held onto him tighter.

He stared at you, not being able to hide his smile and wondering how he could ask you out again, especially when it would be easy for him to meet you since you both lived in Seoul.

The trip was officially over, and you could proudly admit that you loved every second of it.

Your flight was the same as Jay and Sunghoon’s, courtesy of you living in the same city, in which he couldn’t help but keep his eyes fixed on your seat. He appeared to be a pathetic puppy who couldn’t help but stare at his owner, gone to the point he picked the same movie to watch as you, talk about being a stalker in love.

Jay was sitting next to Hoon and he desperately wished he could kick Jay out and ask you to be next to him but he managed to behave these few hours. He was happy as long as he could look at your pretty face.

Both Jay and Karina screamed in shock when Sunghoon kissed you at the airport before leaving for their own apartments, he wasn’t shy about his, almost boasting in a way to show off how you were his, almost.

A text popped up on your notification panel as soon as you reached your place, still smiling like a madman while answering all the questions Karina threw your way.

Hoon <3: hey i was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime?

You: as friends?

Hoon <3: god, baby c’mon

You: as friends? 🥺

Hoon <3: Y/N what if i kms

You: as friends? 😁

Hoon <3: okay, fine 😔 nooo, as something more :(

You: fuckk you’re so cute like a puppy

Hoon <3: oh

You: don’t tell me… you like being called that?

Hoon <3: why don’t you try and say it then the next time i’m deep inside your cunt?

You: oh fuck

Hoon <3: is that a yes baby?

You: what if it is?

Hoon <3: that’ll make me very very happy, princess

You: AHAAHDHSJ text me the date and time 😚

You smiled, loving how things had changed from the first time he asked you that question.

It was indeed a reunion that you could never forget.

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@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified

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#fic : a reunion to remember #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #kpop smut #enha smut #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios

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morganaawriterr · 1 day ago

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this is the moodboard for the "still monster" fic I'm working on. it's going to be a sad one for sure...

its about vampire!reader and human!sunghoon, who were lovers in his past life. but since you are immortal (and he is not), you live long enough to witness sunghoon's reencarnation. will he, in this life, accept you for who you are or be afraid of the strong bond you two seem to have? heavy on the angst, will be very cute and passionate, veryy suggestive (very carnal, very intense) and the genre will be soulmates who always find a way to each other. also... very tragic (if you just came across this, click on this post to read the intro of the story!) very inspired by the song "still monster" by enhypen! sunghoon will be sensitive, passionate, raw and overall a very dedicated lover. (a bit of a loser and a sucker for you too) the reader (you) are very intense, very unique and with a lot of love to give (and a bunch of suffering too) they are both very in love and obviously made for each other.

im very excited about this fic, and I will try VERY HARD to finish it. i promise you, and myself! i've planned everything that I want to happen and made some changes to the plot to make it interesting!

comment below if you want to be added to the taglist of the fic! This friday i will post the navigation (with the official synopsis and chapter names) and saturday/sunday will post the first chapter!

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itendtothinkalot · 24 days ago

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u talk, i listen

summary: you’re loud, dramatic, and one emotional spiral away from a breakdown. he’s quiet, calm, and allergic to unnecessary words. at first, you drive him insane but maybe that’s part of your charm. you make the chaos, and he makes sure you don’t burn the whole world down with it.

genre: fluff | hyper gf x calm bf

characters: sunghoon x f!reader

words: 13k

warnings: none i think!

The first time you met Park Sunghoon, you’re pretty sure he hates you.

To be fair, it was your first day, and Ni-ki—who you knew for exactly ten minutes—told you pressing the green button on the espresso machine would help "wake it up."

It did not.

Instead, it made the machine scream, shoot steam into your face, and sent you stumbling backward with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a dying goose. A tray of croissants nearly went down with you.

“OH MY GOD—Ni-ki!” a voice shrieked from somewhere near the pastry display.

You coughed, flailed, and possibly cried, when someone silently reached past you and switched the machine off with a flick of his wrist. No words. Just calm, collected competence. The kind that makes you feel even more like a human disaster.

You looked up—and saw him. Park Sunghoon.

He’s quiet. Like, unnervingly quiet. Dressed in black from head to toe with his sleeves rolled just enough to show his veins (rude), and eyes that flick to you once before looking away again. Not a single word. Just a blank expression like you’re a fly he’s choosing not to swat.

“Don’t mind him,” Sunoo said, swooping in with a comforting hand on your shoulder. “That’s Sunghoon. He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not mean. I promise.”

“I didn’t say he was mean,” you muttered, still trying to rearrange the croissants you nearly obliterated.

“You thought it, though,” Sunoo grinned, like he’s already read your soul.

Meanwhile, Ni-ki was cackling in the corner, filming your breakdown for "training purposes."

Sunghoon, still wordless, wiped the steam wand clean, glanced once at the mess you’ve made, then—finally—muttered, “You shouldn’t listen to Ni-ki.”

His voice was soft, low. Dangerous. Like he only spoke when absolutely necessary.

You blinked. “Thanks for the early intel.”

He looked at you again. Longer this time.

And then, he walked away.

No other words. Just disappeared behind the back counter like you were the one who interrupted his day.

“…So anyway!” Sunoo chirped, practically dragging you away, “Let’s get you trained before you break anything else, hmm?”

You glanced back once, just in time to see Sunghoon glance over his shoulder at you.

He looked away first.

And for some reason… that annoyed you.

—

You’d worked four shifts now. Sunoo was basically your fairy godmother, Ni-ki was your unpaid therapist-slash-chaos agent, and Sunghoon?

Sunghoon was still a cardboard box with perfect skin.

He didn’t talk to you unless he had to. Didn’t smile unless he was laughing at something Sunoo said. Didn’t even look at you unless you were actively on fire, and even then, you weren’t sure he’d do more than mildly raise an eyebrow.

Which was extra annoying because somehow he was also weirdly funny. When he talked to Ni-ki or Sunoo, he’d drop the driest one-liners out of nowhere, and suddenly everyone was on the floor laughing. You tried to talk to him? Nothing. Crickets. Maybe a blink, if you were lucky.

You were cleaning the counter one evening when you caught him saying something to Ni-ki, low and casual, and Ni-ki absolutely lost it.

“Okay, that was actually good,” Sunoo wheezed. “Where was that energy earlier when she knocked over the milk?”

“She was already dying,” Sunghoon replied. “Didn’t need to bury her.”

Your head snapped up. “Excuse me?!”

He looked at you, slow and lazy, like he was surprised you heard. “It’s a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?”

He shrugged. “You’re resilient.”

You stared. “I—what—resilient?! I tripped over my own shoelace!”

“I noticed.”

Sunoo clapped a hand over his mouth like he was about to implode.

You blinked at Sunghoon. He blinked back.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re so—”

He lifted a brow. “You’re loud.”

You opened your mouth, but Sunoo threw an arm around your shoulders like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

“Okayyy! Let’s all take a breath,” he sang. “Some of us process friendship through gentle banter and others process it by… doing whatever it is Sunghoon does... verbal sparring?”

“I’m not sparring,” Sunghoon said, already walking away.

You glared at his back. “You never spar. You just vanish.”

“Exactly,” he called over his shoulder.

You looked at Sunoo. “I don’t get him.”

Sunoo just smiled. “You will.”

You really thought you wouldn’t—until God bestowed upon you a tragic prophecy, disguised as the café schedule for the following week.

Mon–Fri Closing Shift (5PM–11PM): YOU + SUNGHOON

You stared and blinked, rubbed your eyes, tried processing.

Sunghoon saw it at the same time you did.

“…No,” he said flatly.

You crossed your arms. “Wow. Good to see you too.”

“Sunoo,” he called toward the kitchen. “Switch me. Please.”

“Nope!” Sunoo’s voice floated back. “You’ll thank me later!”

You both stared at the schedule like it had personally offended you. Then—slowly—at each other.

This was going to be a long week.

—

Monday was… quiet.

You tried to make conversation—about the playlist, the new coffee beans, even the weather—but Sunghoon gave you absolutely nothing. Just a few nods and hums, like you were a podcast playing in the background.

You swore he spent more time restocking stirrers than actually speaking to you.

You huffed under your breath, finding him impossible to work with. The shift felt ten hours longer than it actually was, and you were convinced the silence was slowly killing your soul.

As the evening dragged on, you caught him sitting at the back counter, pulling out a laptop in between cleaning duties. You tried not to be nosy—but it was hard not to peek.

Tabs upon tabs of schoolwork were open on his screen—assignments, lecture slides, even a color-coded spreadsheet. You blinked. Huh. Sunghoon was more hardworking than you’d expected. You thought he was just the type to show up, do his job, and disappear back into the void—but here he was, typing away like the shift never even ended.

You munched on your dinner, a sad slice of pizza you grabbed from down the street during your break. The cheese had hardened and the crust was borderline cardboard, but it was food. You leaned against the counter, chewing quietly, when you realized—

Sunghoon hadn’t eaten anything. Not since the two of you started at five.

You watched him from the corner of your eye, fingers tapping against his keyboard, face unreadable in the glow of his screen.

You opened your mouth. “Hey, do you—” But you stopped yourself. Closed it again.

He’d probably just get annoyed. Or say no in that flat, disinterested way of his. And then you’d feel stupid. Still, you kept glancing over at him, stealing quick looks in between bites. At one point, you noticed his hands pressing lightly against his stomach, like he was trying to ignore it. His expression didn’t change, but the movement said enough.

He was probably hungry. You looked down at the last bite of pizza in your hand and sighed.

Tuesday, you decided, would be different.

Tuesday, you showed up with an extra sandwich from the convenience store.

You didn’t say anything. Just slid it across the counter around 7PM, because the night before, he hadn’t eaten dinner and you weren’t about to let him pass out mid-espresso pull.

He stared at the sandwich. Then at you.

You raised a brow. “You didn’t eat yesterday.”

He blinked. “…Okay.”

“You’re welcome.”

You didn’t hear a thank you. But he didn’t give it back either.

Progress.

Wednesday, there was a cup of noodles in your locker.

Just sitting there. No note. No explanation. Just… sitting.

You marched up to Sunghoon, holding it in your hands like evidence. “Did you put this in my locker?”

He looked at the cup noodle. Then at you. Then blinked, deadpan. “…No.”

“Really.”

He shrugged.

You squinted at him.

He walked away.

You were this close to launching the noodle at the back of his head. Instead, you ate it. And maybe smiled. A little.

Thursday, you both brought each other dinner. At the same time.

You froze at the counter, holding out your plastic bag just as he set his down.

“…I got you something,” you said.

He stared at your bag. Then gestured to his. “So did I.”

You glanced at each other, at the food, and then away.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He nodded. “Mm.”

You caught the tiniest tug at the corner of his mouth as he turned around.

You smiled too. But only when he wasn’t looking.

Friday, you didn’t expect anything. You were restocking the fridge when you heard it:

“Hey.”

You turned around, startled. “What?”

Sunghoon was standing there, one hand on the fridge door, the other in his pocket. His voice was quiet, like he was testing it out on you for the first time.

“I—uh,” he started, eyes flicking to yours, then away. “You always wear that hair clip. The pink one. With the sparkles.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “I thought it was dumb at first.”

“Okay…?”

“But now it’s kinda…” He paused, scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. Cute, I guess.”

You stared at him.

“Forget it,” he muttered, moving past you.

“No wait,” you said, stepping into his path, a slow grin spreading across your face. “Did you just say I’m cute?”

He didn’t look at you. “I said the clip is cute.”

“That I’m wearing.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Sunghoon thinks I’m cute~” you sang, spinning in a circle while he groaned and walked away.

But you caught it—right before he turned around completely.

The smile. The real one.

And for the first time all week, you were pretty sure… he might have liked you back.

The silence didn’t feel heavy anymore. It wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable. Like a pause instead of a wall.

You were sweeping. He was mopping. The usual end-of-shift rhythm. You hummed a song under your breath—something from the café playlist that had been looping for hours. He didn’t comment on it this time. Just kept mopping in sync with you.

The air smelled like cleaning solution and vanilla syrup. The lights were dimmed to their soft closing hour glow. Outside, the city buzzed quietly under the street lamps.

Then you heard it—his voice. Low. Careful.

“I hear you’re starting college soon.”

You blinked, glancing up from your broom. He wasn’t looking at you, just focusing on a coffee stain near the back corner of the café.

“Yeah,” you said. “Orientation’s next week.”

He nodded once. “Same.”

You stopped sweeping. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded again, this time glancing at you. “Business major?”

“Yeah. Are you—”

“Same.”

You stared. “You’re kidding.”

He shook his head, mouth twitching like he couldn’t believe it either. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

You couldn’t help it—you grinned. “Wow. And I thought this week was the end of my suffering.”

He smirked, just a little. “Mutual, believe me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks felt warm. “This is gonna be weird.”

“Probably.”

You leaned against your broom, tilting your head. “What if we get put in the same class?”

“I’ll transfer out.”

You laughed. Actually laughed. And the look on his face softened in that tiny, quiet way he did sometimes—like a blink-and-you-miss-it moment of fondness.

“So,” you said, brushing past him on your way to put the broom away, “does this mean we’re friends now?”

He paused. Looked at you.

Then—“You’re loud.”

You turned around, walking backward. “Not a no~”

He rolled his eyes. But he didn’t say no.

—

Your first day of college started in a lecture theatre that looked like it belonged in a movie.

Wide rows of tiered seats. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive screen at the front welcoming new students with a generic but oddly comforting "Welcome, Future Leaders!" banner.

You slid into a seat at the back row, instinctively avoiding the eager clusters forming near the front. It was still early, and the place buzzed with chatter, nerves, and the rustle of free tote bags and pamphlets.

You opened one of the pamphlets a student ambassador had handed you earlier and scanned it while sipping on the last of your bottled tea. Campus map. Co-curricular activities. After-school programmes. There was even a flowchart on how to balance academic and personal development. It was cheesy, but a part of you—the part that studied like hell to get here—felt… proud. You belonged here. You were surrounded by people who cared just as much as you did.

You let out a small sigh, the kind that came from contentment, then finally looked up—

And blinked.

Sunghoon was walking toward you.

Brown coat sweeping behind him. A scarf looped casually around his neck. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, framing his face in a way that made him look straight out of a campus brochure. He carried two cups of coffee in one hand, the sleeves of his coat pushed just enough to reveal the band of his watch.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just placed one of the cups in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You stared at it. Then at him.

“…You stalking me now?”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You’re sitting in the back row. That’s the least stalkable seat.”

“Mm,” you hummed, smirking as you took the coffee anyway. “So you do want to be friends.”

He slid into the seat beside you. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You raised the cup. “Acts of service. Love language. I’m flattered.”

He gave you a look. “It’s just coffee.”

“And glasses,” you added, gesturing to his face. “You’re really committing to the college-boy aesthetic, huh? Next you’re gonna pull out a book of poetry.”

He rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his lip twitched like he was holding back a smile. “You’re annoying.”

You took a sip. It was warm. Slightly sweet. Exactly how you liked it.

“And yet,” you said, nudging his arm with your elbow, “here you are.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked ahead at the empty podium, his fingers wrapped around his own cup. But his shoulder stayed against yours—light, steady, unbothered.

And you… didn’t move away.

Then, the two of you were a part of a routine.

Ever since you both found out you were classmates, Sunghoon would wait in the apartment lobby every morning with a drink in hand—tea or coffee, depending on how late you texted him the night before.

Before 12AM? Chamomile. After 12? Iced latte, extra pumps of vanilla. No questions asked.

It had been a whole month of college, and while you were still adjusting, you were glad you had Sunghoon. (More like—Sunghoon was glad he had you.)

You were outgoing. People liked you, drawn in by your energy. Sure, you could be shy at first, but once you warmed up, you were easily the heart of any group. Loud. Expressive. A little dramatic. And though Sunghoon called you irritating more times than you could count, he couldn’t deny it was part of your charm.

Part of why he noticed you in the first place.

Now here you were—walking side by side, warm drink in hand, on your way to your first class of the day. You were mid-story about something ridiculous your professor said in a group chat. Sunghoon just walked quietly beside you, listening.

And somehow, that felt like the best part of your morning.

You were walking across the quad with Sunghoon, your cup in one hand, rambling about something dumb from class when a football came flying almost knocking you out.

A second later, a tall guy sprinted into your path, trying to catch it—and collided right into you.

You gasped, stumbling back, but before you could even register what happened, Sunghoon had already pulled you aside, his hand wrapping firmly around your arm, shielding you behind him.

“Shit—sorry!” the guy said, breathless, catching the ball. His cap was turned backwards, and strands of his hair stuck to his forehead from running. He looked at you, eyes wide. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes locking with his.

He smiled.

And for a moment, your heart stuttered.

He was cute. Really cute. Sharp jaw, dimpled grin, that kind of effortless charm that made you forget what you were saying.

“I—uh, yeah. All good,” you mumbled.

Sunghoon’s hand slowly dropped from your arm. You didn’t notice. You were still looking at Yeonjun.

He looked at you too. “I’m Yeonjun, by the way.”

You smiled, just a little. “Nice to meet you.”

Sunghoon stood still beside you, silent as ever.

But he saw it.

The look. The smile. The way you laughed, a little softer than usual. The way Yeonjun’s eyes lingered when he handed you back the drink you almost dropped.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything.

He just looked away.

—

Yeonjun showed up at the café on a Friday afternoon, all sunshine and charm, and you were too busy juggling orders to notice him at first—until he waved from the counter with that same boyish smile.

Your eyes lit up. “Oh my god—hey!”

He leaned over casually, glancing at the menu. “Didn’t know you worked here. I guess I’ll have to stop by more often.”

Meanwhile, across the room, Sunghoon sat at a corner table with a textbook open in front of him and an untouched iced americano beside it. According to him, he was there to study. According to Sunoo, he was there to “keep an eye out for Selenur.” (Sunoo’s thoughtful codename for you, since he was very sure Sunghoon had a “thing” for you)

Sunghoon told him to shut up.

Now, he watched silently as you and Yeonjun exchanged numbers, your head tilted toward the screen, smile wide. He saw Yeonjun grin, say something that made you laugh, and hand you his phone.

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened.

Not my problem, he told himself, eyes flicking back to his textbook. Not. My. Problem.

You walked over seconds later, practically skipping, still holding your phone like it was made of gold. “Can you believe it? He asked me out!”

Sunghoon didn’t look up.

You slid into the seat across from him anyway, hitting his arm repeatedly with giddy little slaps. “Sunghoon. He asked. Me. Out!”

He sighed, finally meeting your eyes. “Stop hitting me.”

“Sorry,” you giggled, not sorry at all. “I’m just excited!”

He watched you bounce in your seat, hair bouncing with you, eyes sparkling like you just won the lottery. He hated to admit how adorable you looked when you were like this. But he had a reputation. And emotions. And he was firmly committed to ignoring both.

Still. Something didn’t sit right.

Sunghoon had done a little digging after the football incident. Nothing crazy. Just… a casual scroll through Instagram. And maybe a few archived posts. Some comments. A look at mutuals. Purely for research.

Yeonjun was a third-year business major. A senior. Popular. Handsome. And according to a few posts Sunghoon definitely did not save—someone who changed girlfriends like he changed outfits.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like him.

Not for you.

But what did he know?

He looked down, turning a page in his textbook. Not my problem, he chanted in his head.

Definitely not.

—

Sunghoon stood in the apartment lobby, one hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order. He checked his phone for the time, glanced toward the elevator—then froze.

You stepped out, smile already bright, your phone in one hand and the hem of your dress held lightly in the other. It was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen you wear—soft fabric that fell just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist, the color making your skin glow. Your hair was styled, subtle makeup dusted across your cheeks, and your lips were curved in that effortless way that made it suddenly very hard to breathe.

You looked… gorgeous.

His heart did something stupid in his chest, but he quickly cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be fascinated by the vending machine.

“How do I look?” you asked, voice playful.

He didn’t meet your eyes. “The same,” he muttered.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Do I?”

You sighed, and he heard the disappointment in it—saw the way your shoulders dropped just slightly.

Guilt hit him instantly.

“In a good way,” he added quickly, almost too quickly.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He finally looked at you, then down at the coffee he was still holding. “You look… pretty today.”

He cleared his throat and shoved the cup toward you before you could say anything else. Then he turned and started walking first, trying to escape the inevitable teasing.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, you smiled behind your cup and jogged up to walk beside him.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked after a few beats of silence.

“My date with Yeonjun’s today,” you said with a grin.

His step faltered for a split second. “You like him that much?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know about like, but… it’s just—I’ve never been asked out before.”

You tilted your head as you said it, your voice soft. Honest.

Sunghoon frowned. “I’m surprised.”

“What’s so surprising?” you laughed. “You’ve met me. Everyone’s either calling me loud or annoying.”

“Isn’t that what’s so charming about you?”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

You turned to him, eyes wide, mouth parting. “Did you just—compliment me?”

“No,” he said immediately, gaze fixed ahead like it never happened.

You didn’t press it.

You just smiled again, even softer this time, and walked beside him like nothing had changed.

But for Sunghoon… everything had.

—-

The date started off… nice. Not mind-blowing. Not movie-level magical. But nice.

Yeonjun took you to a rooftop café near campus—fairy lights strung across the ceiling, soft music humming under the chatter. He pulled your chair out like a gentleman, complimented your dress, and told you you looked beautiful in the golden hour light. You laughed, cheeks warm, nerves fluttering. You weren’t used to this. To being seen.

“You know,” he said between sips of his coffee, “I heard you got into the business faculty because of some competition?”

You nodded, a little surprised. “Yeah. The Young Entrepreneurs’ thing in my final year.”

“That’s so impressive,” he said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “You must have had a really solid proposal. What was it about?”

You blinked. “Um… a sustainable student-run café model. With profit-sharing incentives and local sourcing.”

Yeonjun’s smile widened. “That’s genius. Seriously. Are you using it for any of your current modules?”

You hesitated. “Well… sort of. I’m reworking the model for this semester’s proposal project.”

He nodded slowly. “Wow. You must be at the top of your class already.”

There was a pause. You tried to smile, but something twisted in your gut. He kept asking—about the proposal, your outline, your ideas. Details most people would only bring up if they were in your group, or at least interested in the topic.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom. The second the door closed behind you, you leaned against the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something about this didn’t feel right. You couldn’t place it, but the way he kept circling back to your work felt… off.

When you returned, Yeonjun was all smiles again. Charming. Sweet. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just gently interrogated you for thirty minutes under the glow of fairy lights.

You tried to shake it off.

The next day, your phone stayed quiet. And the day after that. And the one after that, too.

No texts. No calls. No explanation.

Yeonjun ghosted you. Completely. Like the date never happened. Like you never happened.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t like you were in love with him. That it was just one date. One boy.

But it still stung.

It wasn’t about Yeonjun, not really. It was about what it made you wonder.

Maybe you were hard to like. Maybe you were too loud. Or too awkward. Maybe you talked too much, or didn’t say the right things. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Or cool enough. Or quiet enough.

He smiled at you. Told you you were smart. Sweet. Pretty. And still—he left. Without a word.

And it made you wonder if all the things people always said about you were true. If deep down, you were too much of everything… and not enough of anything.

You didn’t even like Yeonjun like that, not really. But being left behind like you didn’t matter—that part hurt more than you'd ever admit out loud.

Especially when all you did was try to be yourself.

Then came the worst part.

You were working on a different assignment, digging through your laptop for a reference doc when you realized… your final business proposal was gone.

Completely gone.

You stared at the empty folder for a long, frozen second. Then searched again. And again. You turned the whole desktop inside out, but the file wasn’t there.

Panic bloomed in your chest. You didn’t delete it. You never would.

Desperate, you made your way to the engineering block where your friend Heeseung was camped out, headphones around his neck and an energy drink half-empty beside him.

You dropped beside him and wordlessly shoved your laptop in front of him.

“I think my file’s gone,” you muttered. “Like—gone gone.”

Heeseung frowned, pulling the laptop toward him. Fingers flying across the keyboard. You sat still, breath caught in your throat.

After a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair.

“It says here your laptop’s last file access was through a thumbdrive. Someone plugged one in, moved your business proposal, then took it out.”

You stared at him.

“What?” you said. Your voice barely above a whisper.

He clicked again, tilting the screen. “Time stamp says it happened the day before yesterday. Around 8:42 PM.”

Your mind flicked back.

Yeonjun. That was the night of your date.

No. No way. He wouldn’t— He couldn’t—

But the timing fit. The questions. The ghosting.

No. No fucking way.

—

You were pissed.

You wiped the counters with a little too much force, angrily scrubbing at invisible stains like they personally betrayed you. The blender hadn’t even been used today, but you cleaned it twice. You huffed. You sighed. You muttered curses under your breath while flinging dishrags and slamming cabinet doors just a bit harder than necessary.

Sunghoon stood at the sink, quietly washing mugs like you were a rabid animal he didn’t want to startle.

“I—” he started.

You grunted.

“You—”

You sighed.

He blinked. You hadn’t let him get out a full sentence all shift. At this point, you were acting like him, and he was the one trying to initiate conversation.

It was terrifying.

Thirty minutes of silence passed before you finally spoke.

“You know what I hate about men?”

Sunghoon froze mid-dry. He glanced down at his own very male hands. Great. He was framed by default.

“You people,” you said, voice rising, “and your terrible innate sense of justice.”

You slammed the rag down onto the counter. “Stealing a person’s work? Pfft. How stupid do you have to fucking be?!”

Sunghoon stayed quiet, lips pressed into a thin line. He had no idea what you were going on about—only that your date with Yeonjun clearly didn’t go well.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you waved a wet dishcloth in his face like a white flag of fury.

“And you know what else?” you went on, eyes blazing. “You people are just little gremlins who take. And take. And take.”

You let out another heavy sigh, leaning against the counter like you were carrying the weight of all modern betrayal.

“And for what?!”

Your voice hit a pitch so sharp that Sunghoon actually flinched. He snapped upright like you’d physically struck him.

“I’m guessing the date didn’t go so well?” he offered carefully.

“He stole my business proposal.”

Sunghoon paused. “…What do you mean?”

You exhaled through your nose like a dragon mid-breakdown, pacing the space behind the counter as you told him everything. The date. The weird questions. The missing file. The thumb drive. Heeseung’s diagnosis. The awful, dawning realization.

By the time you were finished, Sunghoon just stood there—speechless. Stunned.

“He’s an… asshole,” he said finally, slow and deliberate, like he needed to taste each word before letting it out.

“Yuhuh,” you mumbled, flopping into the stool behind the register and dragging your hands down your face. “What am I gonna do? The deadline’s on Friday. I spent two weeks on that thing. I’m screwed.”

Sunghoon reached for the industrial bag of coffee beans under the counter, tearing it open like this was a normal Tuesday. “Well, it’s not like you can sneak into his house and steal his laptop back.”

You froze.

“…Come again?”

Sunghoon paused, one hand still buried in the bag. “No. That was just a comment. Not an idea.”

“But a good one.” You turned toward him slowly, a little too bright. A little too smiley.

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“You have to help me.”

“Why me?!”

“Because you gave me the idea!”

Sunghoon sighed. Loudly. Dramatically. Like he already knew he was going to give in but had to fight for the sake of his pride.

“You’re lucky I don’t believe in karma,” he muttered.

You grinned, victory written all over your face. “So that’s a yes?”

—

It was 3:07AM when Sunghoon found himself walking through a quiet residential street, questioning every decision that had brought him to this point.

The address you’d sent him earlier lit up on his screen. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, exhaling into the chilly night, when—

“Psst!”

He turned his head toward a cluster of trees—and nearly jumped out of his skin.

You were crouched behind a bush, donned in an all-black ensemble: black beanie, oversized black hoodie, black jeans, and…

“Slippers?” he blinked.

You grinned, proud. “I see you noticed the vibe. I’m dressed up as a burglar.”

Sunghoon stared. “…Isn’t that a little on the nose?”

“Isn’t it cute?” you whispered, excited. “I got it all on sale just now.”

“At what? A Target for burglars?”

You swatted his chest with the back of your hand, ignoring the way he flinched with a low sigh.

“There,” you said, pointing toward the modest two-story house across the street. “That’s his house.”

“Okay, and what’s your—” You swat him again.

“Our plan?” he corrected, exasperated.

You beamed. “Glad you asked. See that room on the second floor? With the string lights and the cracked window?”

He squinted. “Yeah?”

“My intel says that’s his room.”

“…Your intel. You mean, Sunoo?”

“Yes.” You wiggled your brows mysteriously before turning serious. “So. We put up the ladder. I climb. I sneak in. I get the laptop. We disappear.”

“You’re actually insane for this,” he muttered under his breath.

You ignored him, eyes locked on the prize. “The windows are open, and I made sure he’s distracted tonight.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “How exactly?”

“I texted him from a fake number pretending to be a girl he ghosted last semester. He’s currently having a breakdown about his ‘reputation.’ I give us twenty minutes.”

He stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

And then he sighed. Deep. Long. Existential.

Is this worth it? He thought to himself.

He glanced down at you again—eyes full of unhinged determination, your hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists, that tiny pout on your lips as you tried to judge the ladder distance.

God. You looked ridiculous. And cute.

So yeah. It was worth it.

“…Let’s do this,” he said.

You grinned like the gremlin you were. “I knew you liked me.”

He rolled his eyes, cheeks just a little too warm. “Regretting this already.”

But he followed you anyway.

—

You set the ladder against the side of the house like you’d done this before. Sunghoon, meanwhile, stood beside it with the stiff posture of someone definitely not okay with committing a crime at 3:15AM.

You looked back at him. “Hold it steady, okay?”

“Just… for the record,” he muttered, “this is breaking and entering.”

“I prefer the term justice retrieval.”

He sighed so hard you thought his soul left his body. “Just don’t fall and die. Please.”

You winked. “Aw, you care.”

“No, I just don’t want to explain to the police why you’re dressed like a criminal and wearing slippers.”

You began to climb.

The first few steps were fine—until one of your slippers nearly slipped right off.

“Oh, fuck—” you hissed, gripping the ladder.

“Do you need to wear those?” Sunghoon whisper-yelled from below, clutching the base of the ladder like his life depended on it.

“They’re comfy!”

“They’re a hazard.”

You ignored him, determined, as you reached the second-floor window. The breeze fluttered through the half-open pane, moonlight pooling gently across Yeonjun’s empty room. His laptop sat on the desk, closed. Glowing faintly.

Target acquired.

You carefully pushed the window open wider and swung one leg through.

Sunghoon watched from below, jaw tight, muttering to himself like a man saying his last prayers. “This is how I go down. Helping a girl in bunny slippers commit theft.”

You managed to slide inside without knocking anything over. Heart pounding. Hands slightly shaking.

You tiptoed across the carpet, grabbed the laptop, and slipped it into your drawstring bag like the world's most underqualified spy.

You were halfway back out the window when—

“HEY! WHO’S THERE?!”

A voice rang out from somewhere downstairs.

Your eyes widened. You turned to look down at Sunghoon, who was still grabbing the bottom of the ladder.

“Go, go, go—!” you whispered harshly.

You clambered down the ladder as fast as you could, nearly taking Sunghoon out as you reached the bottom. He caught your wrist before you could stumble, pulling you into a sprint without a word.

Your feet pounded against the pavement—slippers slapping, bag bouncing, hearts racing. Behind you, a door slammed open.

“HEY!” Yeonjun’s voice echoed into the street.

Sunghoon didn’t slow down. “Left!” he hissed.

You turned sharply, ducking into a narrow alley between two quiet apartment buildings. The shadows swallowed you both instantly.

“Over here—quick,” he muttered, yanking you behind a large trash bin and squeezing into the tight space beside you. It was small. Barely enough for one person, let alone two.

You pressed your back to the wall, chest heaving, adrenaline thrumming in your ears.

Sunghoon’s face was too close. Way too close.

You turned to whisper something, only to notice the way his profile was still partially visible, his cheek nearly poking out past the safety of the shadow. Panic surged through you as Yeonjun’s footsteps grew louder.

Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed Sunghoon’s face—gentle but urgent—and pulled him toward you, forcing him deeper into the corner.

He blinked, startled, his hands landing on either side of you to steady himself.

And suddenly—everything stopped.

His breath hit yours. Warm. Shaky. His nose nearly brushing yours. Your fingertips still on his cheek. You could feel the heat rising between your bodies, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You were so focused on listening for footsteps that you didn’t notice the way he was looking at you.

His eyes were locked on yours, soft and unblinking. Like you were something precious. Something fragile. Something he wasn’t supposed to want but couldn’t help reaching for.

But then—he cleared his throat.

You blinked, still slightly dazed, and smiled—completely unaware of how close you were until you finally pulled away.

He stepped back the moment you did.

You laughed, breathless, heart still sprinting inside your chest. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“I can’t believe you dragged me into it,” he said, grinning despite himself.

Your laughter echoed down the alley, light and free and bubbling with triumph.

And even as the moment passed, and the footsteps faded, and you both stumbled back out into the quiet night—

Sunghoon couldn’t stop thinking about how your hands had felt on his skin.

—

Sunghoon unlocked the door and stepped into the apartment as if nothing about the situation was even remotely unusual. You followed close behind, hoodie pulled low over your head, black beanie snug, sleeves covering your hands, and—most incriminating of all—a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers completing the look. If anyone had seen you on the way over, they might’ve called the cops.

Inside, the living room was dimly lit, the glow of the TV casting flickering light across Jake and his girlfriend, who were curled up under a blanket, halfway through a rom-com rerun and clearly deep into their peaceful little couple night. That peace shattered the moment Jake looked up and saw you.

He froze with a chip halfway to his mouth. His girlfriend stiffened beside him. Their gazes locked on your all-black ensemble, eyes trailing from your hoodie to your slippers, as if unsure whether to scream, laugh, or call for help.

“Sunghoon,” Jake said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Why is there a burglar in our house?”

You smiled brightly, completely unfazed. “Hi!”

Jake blinked, turning to Sunghoon for confirmation. Sunghoon simply sighed, kicked his shoes off, and muttered under his breath, “Not how I wanted you to meet her.”

“You brought her to the house,” Jake said, still staring. “At 3 a.m. Dressed like that.”

You shrugged, strolling toward the desk and pulling Yeonjun’s laptop from your drawstring bag. “We’re breaking into a computer, not the house. Totally different vibe.”

Jake’s girlfriend leaned forward. “Are those bunny slippers?”

You nodded proudly. “They’re for stealth.”

“Right,” she said, blinking. “Very… quiet.”

Sunghoon dropped his keys on the table with a sigh, already preparing himself for the chaos about to unfold.

“She’s trying to hack into a guy’s laptop,” he said, walking to the kitchen like he needed caffeine and therapy at once. “Don’t ask.”

“Why are you helping her?!” Jake asked, scandalized.

Sunghoon opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. “I’m not.”

“You literally held the ladder for me twenty minutes ago,” you called over your shoulder.

Jake choked. “Ladder? What ladder?!”

You turned around, laptop booted up, the login screen glowing faintly. “The one I used to climb through a second-story window.”

Jake gaped. His girlfriend quietly set the chip bag down, her expression somewhere between horrified and fascinated.

“I love her,” she whispered to Jake.

“I fear her,” Jake whispered back.

Sunghoon leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. He looked at you—messy hair peeking out from under your beanie, eyes focused, face lit by the laptop screen. Completely unbothered by the scene you’d walked into.

And for some reason, despite all the madness, he still thought you looked kind of cute.

“God help us all,” Sunghoon muttered.

By the time you cracked into the laptop, Jake and his girlfriend had already retreated into their bedroom. Sunghoon had closed the door behind them with a roll of his eyes and a muttered, “That’s just code for they’re about to smash, so we should probably play some music or something.”

You’d snorted at the time, but now the silence in the room felt heavy.

The soft hum of the laptop was the only sound between you, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor next to Sunghoon’s desk. He sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms loosely folded, eyes flicking over the screen with quiet interest—until he glanced at your expression and realized you’d stopped scrolling.

“What is it?” he asked.

You didn’t answer.

Your eyes were fixed on the folder open in front of you. Document after document lined the screen, all titled neatly with class names and—oddly—names. Different ones.

Mina. Elly. Jisoo. Grace.

And then… your name.

You clicked on it. Your proposal opened, just slightly reworded, your diagrams rearranged—but it was yours. Every piece of it.

You stared at the screen and crossed your arms tightly, a cold knot settling in your chest. The adrenaline was gone now. In its place was something much heavier. You felt small. Humiliated.

“I was just another one,” you muttered.

Sunghoon looked over, brows drawing together.

“Just another girl he got close to for an assignment,” you said, voice flat. “Was I that boring? That forgettable? Was I really so—unlikable—that the only time a guy showed me attention, it was because he needed my fucking work?”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head as the words tumbled out, unfiltered. “God. What is wrong with me? What did I think was gonna happen? That someone like him actually liked someone like me?”

You let your arms drop and folded your hands over your face, pressing your palms into your eyes.

“I’m so stupid,” you whispered.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close but not touching, eyes fixed on the floor like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say and coming up completely empty.

You wiped at your face with the back of your sleeve, but it was no use—your mascara had already betrayed you, running in streaks down your cheeks. You were crying harder than you realized, tears silent but relentless.

You turned to him, half-laughing, half-sobbing. “So you’re just gonna stay quiet?”

He looked up, startled. His gaze met yours, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. You looked—God, you looked like a mess. Eyes red, lashes damp, your hoodie sleeves pushed up unevenly, and cheeks stained with tears.

And somehow, he thought you’d never looked prettier.

You weren’t pretending. Weren’t smiling for the sake of others or hiding behind jokes. You were just… you. Raw and hurting and real.

He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “What do you want me to say? I’m not good at comforting people.”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled. “Say he’s an asshole or something.”

Sunghoon shrugged a little. “Well, he is.”

You looked at him, still waiting, unsure if that was all he had in him. He looked like he was about to say more, and then—he did.

“He is an asshole,” Sunghoon repeated, louder this time. “I don’t know why you even agreed to go out with him.”

You opened your mouth, confused. “I—”

“You’re loud,” he said suddenly. “You’re pretentious. You’re annoying—”

Your eyes widened, and you flinched.

“What—”

“You interrupt people all the time,” he continued, voice rising with something that wasn’t quite anger—something messier. “You talk too much. You never stop moving. You’re chaotic and stubborn and you don’t think things through—”

Tears were streaming down your face again, this time faster. You looked away, chest tightening.

But then his voice softened.

“...And you’re also caring. Kind. God, you’re the only person I know who goes to the store at four in the morning to feed stray cats in an alley every two days.”

You blinked. Slowly turned back to him.

Sunghoon exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re funny. You’re thoughtful. You remember the little things people say even when they forget they said them. Anyone would be lucky to be your friend… let alone always be with you.”

He looked at you then, eyes steady and full of something warm. Something aching.

“I’m lucky,” he said, quieter now. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive, as long as I get to stand next to you and call you my friend.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, lips parted, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

Because for the first time… it felt like he wasn’t just calling you a friend.

—

Maybe it was the crying. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of the night—the heist, the heartbreak, the sudden unraveling of every thought you’d kept tucked neatly away. Maybe it was the way Sunghoon had looked at you when he said he was lucky.

But either way, you couldn’t keep your eyes open.

One moment you were sitting beside him, the warmth of his words still lingering in your chest like a quiet heartbeat. The next, the world had blurred softly at the edges, and your body gave out beneath the weight of it all.

So now, you were on his back.

He’d barely hesitated before lifting you, tucking your arms around his shoulders and hooking his arms under your knees. You didn’t even protest—you were too tired to argue, too comforted by the way he held you like he’d done it before.

Your cheek rested against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest as he walked, the rhythmic sway of his steps, the subtle hum of a tune you didn’t recognize—but it was sweet, and low, and made your heartbeat slow down.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just walked.

Past the quiet streets. Past flickering streetlamps. Past your favorite corner store and the alley you fed cats in and the bus stop where he first bought you coffee.

He didn’t complain about your weight. Didn’t tease. Didn’t say a word about the mascara smudged against the fabric of his coat.

You didn’t know if he knew you were still half-awake, but when he gently adjusted your leg, you heard him murmur so softly you almost missed it:

“You’re not stupid.”

Your heart ached.

And then you let sleep take you.

Because if there was ever a place to rest— It was here. On his back.

—

You woke up warm.

Too warm, actually. Wrapped in layers you didn’t remember putting on. The hoodie you had on last night clung loosely to your body, sleeves pushed halfway up your arms, and your slippers were neatly placed by the side of your bed—something you definitely hadn’t done.

You sat up slowly, blinking at the sunlight streaming through your curtains. Your room was quiet. Peaceful. And completely unfamiliar in the sense that… you had no idea how you got there.

You rubbed your eyes, your body aching in the most confusing way—like you’d run a marathon, cried through an entire movie, and fought off an emotional breakdown all at once. Oh. Right.

The heist. The yelling. The crying.

Sunghoon.

You swung your legs off the bed, still a little dazed, and padded out of your room.

That’s when you smelled it—eggs. Butter. Something slightly burnt, but in a way that made your chest tighten.

You turned the corner and froze.

Sunghoon was in your kitchen.

His hair was messier than usual, falling into his eyes as he stood in front of the stove, flipping something that might have once been a pancake. He was wearing the same hoodie from the night before, sleeves pushed up, a spatula in one hand, your mismatched cat-print apron tied haphazardly around his waist.

You blinked, brain short-circuiting. “What the hell…?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re awake.”

“I…” You looked down at yourself. “How did I get home?”

“You passed out,” he said simply, turning back to the stove. “I carried you.”

You stared at him. “You carried me?”

“Like a princess,” he deadpanned. “Except you drooled on my shoulder.”

You gasped. “I did not.”

“You did.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

He flipped another pancake—slightly more edible this time—and shrugged. “You needed the sleep.”

You looked up at him again, softer this time. “Why are you making breakfast?”

He didn’t look at you. “Felt like you could use something warm.”

You felt your throat tighten. You wanted to say something, but the words sat too heavy on your tongue. So instead, you just stood there in the doorway, watching him quietly.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks—you felt safe.

Breakfast passed in silence.

Not awkward, not heavy—just... silent. The kind of silence that settled like sunlight through the window, warm and gentle and unspoken.

You sat across from him at your little dining table, your knees brushing every so often beneath the wood, your plate mostly untouched. He ate like nothing was different, like he hadn’t carried you home last night, like he didn’t make pancakes in your kitchen while wearing your cat-print apron.

And yet, something had shifted.

You kept stealing glances at him in between tiny sips of orange juice. The way his lashes dipped as he focused on his food. The subtle curve of his mouth as he chewed. The way his hair curled just slightly at the ends when he didn’t style it.

Your heart fluttered.

Your stomach twisted—but not in the way it did when you were nervous or sad. This was... different. Lighter. Warmer.

What is this? you thought. This weird, floaty feeling in your chest. This little ache every time you looked at him.

Sunghoon glanced up, catching your gaze.

You quickly looked down at your plate.

He didn’t say anything for a moment—just reached for his cup, took a sip, then set it down with a quiet clink.

“Go take a shower and get dressed,” he said casually.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He leaned back in his chair. “You heard me.”

“But it’s Saturday. I don’t have any—”

“I’m taking you out.”

You stared at him. “Out? Like… out out?”

“Let’s go,” he said again, nonchalantly, like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t just casually turned your whole world upside down with three words.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh,” you said. Quiet. Surprised.

Sunghoon stood and collected your plate like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’m not giving you the plan. Just go shower.”

And then he walked off toward the sink, sleeves rolled, calm as ever.

You sat there for another ten seconds, frozen, heart racing.

What is this feeling?

And why did you suddenly never want it to stop?

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of your yellow chiffon babydoll dress for the third time. It swayed lightly around your thighs, soft and airy, the color bright against your skin. You’d tied your hair into two loose pigtails, hoping it came off cute and not childish—just… soft. Sweet. Something that might look good next to him.

Sunghoon, with his wardrobe of tailored coats and muted sweaters. All clean lines and high-end simplicity. He never had to try, and he always looked perfect.

You hoped—just a little—that standing beside him, you wouldn’t look too out of place.

You took one last look in the mirror, then stepped out of your room.

He was sitting on your couch, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling casually through his phone like he hadn’t just changed your entire Saturday morning. He looked up when he heard your footsteps.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

Then back down to his phone.

No double-take. No compliment. Not even a blink.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up with a stretch.

You stared at him, jaw tight. “Stupid idiot,” you muttered under your breath.

“What was that?” he asked, turning toward you, brows raised.

You plastered on a fake smile so quickly it nearly hurt. “Nothing.”

He watched you for a beat, unreadable as always, then looked away.

“You look pretty,” he said softly—so quiet it was almost drowned out by the rustle of his coat sleeve as he reached for his keys.

You blinked.

But before you could respond, he was already walking toward the door, acting like he hadn’t said anything at all.

Typical Sunghoon.

Your heart fluttered anyway.

—

“Are we there yet?” you sighed for what had to be the fifteenth time.

Sunghoon didn’t look at you—just kept walking ahead with that maddeningly steady pace. “Almost,” he said.

“You said that two hours ago.”

“Mm.”

Just a hum. No explanation. No sympathy.

You followed anyway, flats sinking further into the mud with every step. You’d taken two buses, a ten-minute train ride, and now you were walking deep into a part of the park you didn’t recognize at all. Far from your neighborhood. Far from everything.

You glanced down at your shoes, now spotted with dirt and regret. This dress, the hair, the whole effort—you were starting to think it had all been a mistake.

Then Sunghoon’s pace suddenly picked up. His eyes lit up, focused on something just beyond the next turn.

“There,” he said softly.

And before you could ask what he meant, he reached for your hand—sudden, unthinking—and pulled you with him.

Your breath caught in your throat.

His hand was warm, firm around yours, fingers interlaced like it had always been that way.

You didn’t say a word. Just followed.

He led you past a line of trees, through tall grass, and down a narrow slope. Then finally—you saw it.

A small, glimmering pond hidden in a clearing. The water was still, mirror-like, catching the soft gold of the late afternoon sun. Willow trees bent low over the banks, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Wildflowers bloomed in quiet clusters along the edge—lilac, yellow, soft blue—and dragonflies skimmed the water’s surface, their wings catching the light like tiny stained-glass windows. It was quiet. Peaceful. Untouched.

Like something out of a fairytale.

You stared, mouth slightly parted. “How’d you even—how’d you find this place?”

Sunghoon didn’t answer right away. He just stood beside you, still holding your hand loosely.

“When I was younger,” he said after a moment, voice softer than usual, “my family came here for a vacation. My sister and I snuck out one morning and found this by accident.”

You glanced over at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just at the water, like it still held something sacred.

“I used to take her here when she cried,” he continued, “whenever she got scolded by our mum. I don’t know... it always calmed her down.”

You smiled, quietly listening.

“Why’d you bring me here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He laughed under his breath, the sound light, almost shy.

“It’s silly,” he said, eyes still on the pond. “But last night, when you were crying…”

You looked at him then—really looked at him.

His expression was unreadable, caught between memory and now. He glanced at you finally, voice quieter.

“You reminded me of my childhood. Of her. You looked so… innocent.” He gave a faint, crooked smile. “And maybe I thought this place would cheer you up.”

Your chest ached in the most unexpected way.

Not from sadness. Not even from joy.

Just from the quiet knowing that someone had thought of you that deeply.

You looked down again at your joined hands.

Still holding. Still warm.

The two of you made your way closer to the water, weaving past the low-hanging branches until you found a flat patch of grass near the edge. You sat down carefully, smoothing the fabric of your dress beneath you, your feet dangling just above the still surface of the pond.

Sunghoon dropped beside you, resting his arms lazily on his knees, legs slightly apart, sneakers almost brushing the water. The breeze was cooler here, brushing your cheeks with the scent of wildflowers and grass. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of cicadas, and the quiet ripples of the pond.

He didn’t speak.

Of course he didn’t.

You’d grown used to his silences. They weren’t cold, or distant—not really. They were just… Sunghoon. Thoughtful. Still. The kind of quiet that made you want to fill the space, not because it was empty, but because he made you feel safe enough to.

So you talked.

About everything. About nothing.

You told him about the weird dreams you’d been having lately, about the girl in your class who kept trying to copy your notes, about how you once tried to bake cookies for your primary school crush and forgot the sugar. You pointed out shapes in the clouds. Gave names to the dragonflies. Talked about the playlist you made for a fictional road trip you hadn’t taken yet.

And Sunghoon?

He just listened.

Not distracted. Not fake-listening like some people did, nodding along while their mind was elsewhere.

He listened with his whole body. Slight tilts of his head. The way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. The quiet little hums when something made him laugh. The barely-there smile when you said something completely ridiculous.

You kicked your feet gently above the water.

“Sorry,” you said at some point, half-laughing. “I talk too much when you’re quiet.”

He shook his head slowly, still looking out over the pond. “I like it.”

You blinked. “You do?”

“You talk like you’re alive,” he said softly.

You turned to look at him.

His expression was unreadable, gaze fixed somewhere across the water. But his voice—his voice sounded like truth.

Your heart beat a little faster. You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to will the blush away.

The two of you had been sitting there for a while now, feet dangling over the edge of the pond, sunlight dancing on the surface of the water. You’d done most of the talking—naturally—and Sunghoon had just sat beside you, quietly listening like always, eyes half-lidded from the warmth, arms resting lazily over his knees.

You were halfway through a very dramatic retelling of the vending machine incident from earlier in the week when something soft landed on your head.

You paused, blinking. “Did something just…?”

Before you could reach up to check, Sunghoon leaned in.

His hand came up slowly, fingertips brushing through your hair with careful precision. You stilled completely. He was close—closer than usual—and the moment stretched, your voice caught somewhere in your throat.

His face hovered just inches from yours, eyes focused as he plucked a single pink petal from your hair. The breeze tugged at your dress, your heart did a weird little somersault, and your brain short-circuited trying to process the proximity.

You barely dared to breathe. His breath brushed your cheek, warm and soft. He didn’t move away.

And somehow, your mind made the leap.

Oh my god. He’s going to kiss me.

Your heart leapt. You shut your eyes without thinking, every nerve in your body suddenly very, very aware of the shape of his mouth and the way your knees were touching.

But instead of a kiss, you got—

A throat clear.

You opened your eyes to find Sunghoon leaning back like nothing happened, examining the flower petal with the clinical interest of someone assessing a grocery receipt. Like he hadn’t just completely hijacked your central nervous system.

You blinked at him, heat flooding your face.

He glanced up, clearly fighting back a smirk. “Did you just—”

“No.” Your answer was immediate. Loud. Defensive.

“I didn’t even finish my senten—”

“Shut up.” You whirled on him, hands flying dramatically as the full force of your embarrassment took over. “You scooted so close to me, and you leaned in and, and I—I didn’t know what to expect, okay?!”

Sunghoon’s eyes sparkled, lips twitching. “I was taking a petal out of your hair.”

“You took your sweet time, that’s what you did,” you huffed, arms flailing now. “God, you and your–cold–cold boy exterior. I can’t read your face! You could be about to kiss me or about to tell me my card got declined, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that made your chest ache a little. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Excuse me for assuming I was about to have a romantic moment by a magical pond with a boy who—”

He reached forward suddenly, both hands cupping your cheeks, and you froze mid-rant.

The world slowed.

His palms were warm. Gentle. Holding your face like you were made of something delicate. You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

Then his voice came, low and steady.

“Do you want me to?”

Your words died in your throat. Your heart thundered somewhere behind your ribs.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unsure what to say.

He didn’t press. Just looked at you with that infuriating, calm expression—the kind that made it impossible to tell if he was teasing you or being completely serious.

And somehow, that only made you fall harder.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

“I—” you tried.

Sunghoon waited.

You panicked. “You took way too long with the petal.”

He laughed. This time, fully. And God, if your heart hadn’t already betrayed you, that laugh would've done it.

“Okay,” he said eventually, letting go of your cheeks like he hadn’t just gently cradled your entire soul.

You immediately buried your face in your hands.

You hated him. You adored him. You had no idea what this was.

But you kind of never wanted it to end.

—

The walk back was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind that usually settled between you and Sunghoon. This one was thick. Tense. A silence so loud it felt like it echoed.

You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the pond.

He’d glanced at you a few times as you walked side by side, but you kept your gaze stubbornly forward, arms crossed, cheeks still warm from earlier. You couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head—his hands on your face, that question, your silence, the way your heart had practically stopped beating altogether.

And now, here you were. Standing outside your apartment. Streetlights glowing gold above you. Crickets chirping. The air cool and still.

He hadn’t said anything either.

Not until now.

Sunghoon cleared his throat softly. “You’ve been quiet since the park.”

You let out a small, unbothered-sounding tch, keeping your eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

What a stupid question. He knew why.

You were embarrassed. Flustered. Emotionally compromised and desperately trying to hold it together. And he just stood there, calm and collected, as if he hadn’t casually almost kissed you and then walked away like it was nothing.

You turned toward him, fire rising again. “You—!”

You raised your hands, ready to start waving them mid-rant like you always did. But before a single word left your mouth, Sunghoon stepped forward and grabbed both your wrists gently, stopping them midair.

You blinked.

“What are you—?”

And then he leaned in.

Soft. Quick. Certain.

He pressed a kiss to your lips—just a brief, featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your thoughts scatter in all directions.

It was simple. Barely a second long. But it knocked the wind out of you.

“There,” he said, voice low and calm, as he pulled back.

You stared at him, completely frozen. Mouth slightly parted. Eyes wide.

“Y-You—” you stammered, hands still in his.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. “You were being loud in your head. I could hear it.”

“I—That’s not—You don’t just—!”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Feel better now?”

Your heart was a mess. Your brain was fuzz. But still… you nodded.

He let go of your hands slowly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Goodnight,” he said, and turned to walk away.

You stood there, stunned, watching him go. And somewhere between your heart trying to reboot and your hand brushing against your lips…

—-

The library was quiet, save for the occasional turning of pages and the distant hum of the printer.

You were trying to focus. Really, you were. But it was hard.

Not because of your thesis—which was enough of a monster on its own—but because of him. Sitting right next to you.

Sunghoon.

The boy who kissed you once. Who sent you home after and said nothing. The boy who still picked you up for class, still shared his earbuds, still split convenience store snacks with you like nothing had changed. And maybe it hadn’t. Not really.

You weren’t kissing everyday. You weren’t dating. There were no labels. Just… this strange, sweet in-between. And it was driving you insane.

You’d been hanging out every day, and yet neither of you had brought up the kiss. Not the one by the pond. Not the one on your doorstep.

You were somewhere between friends and more, and he seemed perfectly content to sit in that quiet space—while you were losing your mind wondering what it meant.

You were currently scanning the shelves, trying—and failing—to find a book for your thesis. You swore it was here. The catalogue said it was. But after combing through the aisle three times, you were ready to throw yourself into the return bin.

“Ugh,” you muttered, turning to scan the shelf one more time.

And then, like some book-finding angel, Sunghoon stepped beside you. He reached forward casually, plucked the exact book from the shelf above your head, and handed it to you without a word.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”

You snatched it from his hand, dramatic as ever, and turned to him with wild eyes.

“I’ve been here for twenty minutes! And you—!”

Your hands flew up instinctively, ready to gesticulate in full rant mode when—

He caught them.

Both of them.

Warm fingers wrapping around your wrists, stopping you mid-rant with that infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

And then he leaned in.

And kissed you.

Just like that.

Soft. Steady. No hesitation.

Your breath caught completely. Your brain shut off. The library, the thesis, the confusion—all of it disappeared under the pressure of his lips against yours.

It was over in seconds.

He pulled back like nothing happened, still holding your hands.

“Loud,” he said, voice low and amused.

And then—he let go and walked away.

You stood frozen in the aisle, mouth still parted in disbelief, the book clutched to your chest like it had personally witnessed a crime.

Your heart was pounding. Your face was burning. You were sure your soul had just left your body.

And once again… He didn’t look back.

Typical Sunghoon.

You were unwell.

Absolutely, fully, catastrophically unwell.

Because Sunghoon kissed you again.

In a library.

After handing you a book like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And when you raised your hands—to explain, to demand answers, to yell in three different emotional languages—he just… kissed you. Again. Calmly. Casually. And walked away like it hadn’t just restructured your entire brain.

You tried not to think about it. You really did.

But the moment you sat back down at the table, book open in front of you, and he slid a highlighter across the desk toward you like he hadn’t just emotionally detonated you—

You exploded.

“Okay,” you said, too loudly for a library. “What are we?”

He looked up from his notes, blinking once.

You leaned forward. “Because you kissed me. Twice. And you keep holding my face like I’m a traumatized woodland creature and then walking away before I can process anything.”

He tilted his head, resting his chin on his palm. “So you have been thinking about it.”

You sputtered. “Of course I’ve been thinking about it!”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, flipping to the next page of his notes.

You blinked at him. “Are you ignoring me?”

“I’m studying.”

“I’m spiraling.”

“Noted.”

Your hands flailed.

And just as you raised them again, fully prepared to unleash wave two of your emotional breakdown—

He stood up from his seat, leaned across the table, and kissed you. Right there. Again.

Quick. Soft. On the corner of your mouth this time.

You froze.

“I—” you squeaked.

“You were getting loud again,” he said, sitting back down like he hadn’t just completely ended your speech mid-sentence.

You gawked at him, face on fire. “You can’t just kiss me every time I get dramatic.”

“That’s what you think.”

You opened your mouth. He raised an eyebrow.

You closed it again.

He handed you your highlighter. “Let me know when you’re done with denial.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so hard you could hear it echoing in your skull. He was calm. Unbothered. Absolutely smug.

You hated him.

You wanted to kiss him again.

You highlighted the same sentence seven times just to avoid looking at his stupid perfect face.

—

You were walking home from the library with Sunghoon again. Just like always. Quiet sidewalk, golden streetlights, late-night hum of the city in the background.

Except nothing about it felt normal anymore.

Not after the kisses.

Not after the looks he kept giving you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Not after your brain had chewed itself into pieces trying to decode what you were to him.

And tonight—you were done pretending you were fine with it.

“I just think,” you said for what felt like the fifth time, voice rising as your steps quickened, “that if you’re gonna keep kissing me, then maybe—and this is wild—I deserve to know what it means!”

Sunghoon didn’t answer. He kept walking beside you, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Infuriatingly calm.

“And if it doesn’t mean anything, that’s fine,” you added, already lying to yourself. “But then stop doing it! You can’t just weaponize your mouth to shut me up like some human mute button—”

He stopped walking.

You blinked, still mid-rant, too fired up to notice that he’d turned until his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back—swiftly, gently, deliberately—until your back hit the cold brick wall of the nearest building.

The shock of it knocked the words straight out of your mouth.

“Wha—”

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

No hesitation. No teasing.

His lips found yours in one clean, fluid motion, like he’d been waiting, burning, counting every second leading up to this moment. His hand pressed firmly against the wall beside your head, his body angled toward yours—not pushing, just close. Too close. Close enough that you felt the heat radiating off of him, the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

You didn’t even get the chance to breathe before his other hand slipped to your jaw, tilting your face up slightly—and then his mouth opened against yours, and his tongue slid in. Slow. Confident. Sure.

You gasped softly into him, your fingers gripping the front of his sweater like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing. And God—he tasted like mint and quiet danger, like late nights and secrets he hadn’t told you yet.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize your mouth.

Like he wanted you breathless and boneless and ruined in the best way.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like it had been building inside you too, like you’d been waiting for him to break first—waiting for this exact kind of dizzying, spine-melting surrender.

By the time he pulled back, you weren’t sure where you were anymore.

Your chest heaved. Your lips tingled. Your back was still pressed to the wall, legs weak, thoughts tangled.

Sunghoon didn’t move far—just enough to speak, his thumb still brushing softly along your cheek.

“You’re loud,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “But not when you’re kissing me back.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even glare. Your eyes were still wide and unfocused. Your body felt like it had been struck by lightning wrapped in velvet.

And him?

He just took your hand again like nothing happened.

“Let’s go,” he said, like he hadn’t just absolutely wrecked you against a wall.

You followed.

Stunned. Silent.

And for the first time in your life— You understood exactly why he did that.

Because nothing had ever shut you up like that before.

—

The next morning, Sunghoon was already waiting outside your apartment by the time you stepped out, bleary-eyed and still emotionally unstable from the night before. He stood there with his usual sleepy calmness, one hand in his pocket, the other holding your usual coffee order.

Of course he knew you hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t either.

Because while you were lying awake replaying that kiss over and over again, so was he. He’d tried to read, tried to distract himself—but every time he closed his eyes, all he could feel was you against the wall. Your fingers in his sweater. The way your lips opened under his, soft and wanting. The sound you made when he bit down gently on your lip before pulling away.

He was in trouble.

You walked toward him slowly, eyes puffy, your hoodie a little crooked from sleep. You didn’t say anything—just snatched the coffee from his hand and took three aggressive gulps like it personally wronged you.

“Hmph,” you huffed, before storming three steps ahead of him like an angry little duck.

Sunghoon blinked.

Then he laughed.

God, he was so gone for you.

“Why are you mad?” he asked, catching up easily.

You didn’t look at him. “Because—because you won’t tell me what we are. You keep kissing me every time I get dramatic, and you don’t say anything after, and you won’t tell me if you even like me, and—”

“Don’t you like it when I kiss you, though?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t setting your entire nervous system on fire.

You stumbled. “I—! I—”

He looked far too smug. You hated how good he was at this.

“You can’t just say smug shit like that and make me not want to choke you—”

You didn’t finish. Because just like last time, he moved without warning.

In one sharp, fluid motion, he backed you into the nearest tree, the rough bark grazing your spine as your back hit it with a quiet thud. His hand slid around to the small of your back, pressing you against him, while the other gripped your waist and dragged slowly down to your hip, fingers curving around it possessively.

His mouth was on yours before you could speak. No hesitation this time.

His lips crashed into yours—hot, hungry, open. He tilted his head, deepening it fast, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you harder against him. Your gasp disappeared into his mouth.

His tongue slipped past your lips, slow and deliberate. He kissed like he knew exactly what he was doing—like he knew how to pull sound from your throat without a word. His body pinned yours to the tree, firm and steady, his hips brushing into yours just enough to make you lose your balance and grab his sweater for support.

He groaned lowly when you kissed him back, your fingers bunching at his chest, his thumb digging into your side as his mouth moved harder, needier, lips parting, tongue sliding deeper.

And then—he bit down on your bottom lip, just enough pressure to make your breath catch.

“You didn’t stop me,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin.

Your mouth opened. “Because—”

“Because you like it,” he said again, low and certain.

You glared at him. “And what if I do?! At least I’m being honest with my feelings.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “Are you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Because you haven’t really told me anything about your feelings,” he said simply.

You threw your hands up. “Is it not clear?!”

You folded your arms, frustration bubbling up.

“Is it not clear that I clearly like you?!”

And just like that—he was silent.

Sunghoon had always been calm, collected, a little unreadable—but something in his expression faltered then. His cool cracked just a little, the tiniest stutter of surprise flickering across his face.

His heart was doing things he would never admit out loud.

Because no matter how smooth he could be, no matter how many times he kissed you like he knew exactly what he was doing—you were the only one who could completely unravel him.

He looked at you, smiling softly.

“Look under your cup.”

You frowned. “What?”

“The cup,” he said. “Turn it over.”

You squinted at him suspiciously, lifting the cup over your head like it owed you answers. And there—scrawled in slightly smudged black marker under the base—was one word, just barely legible in his messy handwriting:

GIRLFRIEND?

Your breath hitched.

Your arms dropped.

You stared at it, then at him.

He stood there with his usual hands-in-pockets posture, pretending to be all calm and collected—but you saw it. The way his ears were just a little too red. The faint twitch of his mouth like he was holding his breath.

You blinked. “You wrote it… on the bottom of a coffee cup?”

“I thought it was romantic,” he said, completely deadpan.

You raised a brow. “You know people usually use, like, their mouths to say these things, right?”

“I figured this way, you’d actually read it instead of yelling over it.”

You paused.

Touche.

“You truly are a man of few words.”

He shrugged. “You use enough for both of us.”

You rolled your eyes—but your grin gave you away.

And then, quietly, you held the cup closer to your chest.

“…Yes,” you muttered.

His lips twitched. “You’re supposed to say it louder.”

You glared. “Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”

He smiled, wide this time. “Too late.”

Before you could react, his hands wrapped around your waist—confident, steady—and he pulled you in all at once. You let out a small yelp, half laugh, arms instinctively catching onto his shoulders as he swept you closer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And then he kissed you.

His lips pressed into yours like he already knew you’d say yes, like your quiet little “yes” had unlocked something in him. There was no teasing this time, no smirk hiding behind it—just him, kissing you like he meant it.

His grip tightened around your waist, grounding you against him, your body flush to his as his other hand came up to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb brushing just below your ear. You melted into him without a thought, your fingers curling around the back of his sweater, trying to pull him even closer.

You could feel his heartbeat, fast but steady, pressed right against yours.

When he finally pulled back, just barely, his lips hovered over yours—still close enough to steal another breath.

“I’ve been waiting to do that properly,” he whispered, voice low and warm.

3K notes · View notes

shy9-29 · 12 hours ago

Text

ONE NIGHT STAND ⟡ psh

professer sunghoon x collage student ୨ৎ

⟡ synopsis: You let a stranger ruin you one night — then he turned out to be your professor. Now every class feels like foreplay. ✉️ wc. 10350 ⚠️ tw smut, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap ur willies), professor/student relationship, one night stand, fingering, oral (m. receiving), spanking, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation, spit kink, possessiveness, jealousy, public teasing, rough sex, aftercare, slight angst, emotional manipulation, implied age gap, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use (basically just porn)

genre. smut, (mdni!) romance, drama, angst, forbidden love, slow burn, erotica, university au, power dynamics, emotional tension, secret relationship, student/professor romance

It’s your last night of summer. Tomorrow, you move into your dorm, trade your parents’ house for a tiny twin bed and a stack of syllabi. So tonight — just for tonight — you want to forget about responsibility. About expectations. About the version of yourself you’re supposed to become.

The club is loud and packed, the bass from the speakers deep enough to rattle in your chest. Lights flash red and purple overhead, casting shadows that move across the crowd like ghosts. Bella clutches your wrist, pulling you deeper into the sea of people with a giggle.

“You’re not allowed to be shy tonight,” she shouts over the music, leaning close so you can hear her. “It’s your last night of freedom. Go flirt with someone. Get drunk. Maybe get laid.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. She’s already halfway to drunk, her glossy eyes and flushed cheeks proof of that. But she’s right. You didn’t dress like this to be a wallflower. You came out in a tight black dress that hugs your curves just right, your makeup smoky and bold, your legs aching slightly from the heels you swore you wouldn’t wear and did anyway.

You make your way to the bar to order something — anything — that’ll warm your throat and lower your inhibitions just a little. That’s when you feel it.

Eyes on you.

You turn your head slightly, pretending to scan the crowd, but you already know exactly where it’s coming from.

He’s sitting at the bar alone. A half-finished whiskey glass in front of him, one elbow resting lazily on the counter. His hair is dark and parted just enough to fall over one brow. Clean-cut, but not preppy. Dressed in all black — a simple shirt, watch glinting at his wrist, rings on two fingers. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze?

Intense.

You don’t know how long he’s been looking at you, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wink. Just watches. Calm. Curious. Like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

Your heart skips a beat.

You look away first, pretending to fidget with your phone as you wait for the bartender. But your pulse is racing, and you can still feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“Vodka soda,” you say when the bartender finally notices you. Your voice is slightly unsteady, and it annoys you.

You don’t look back until the drink’s in your hand — and when you do, he’s still watching. But this time, he’s moving.

Straight toward you.

You freeze. Instinctively fix your hair. Sip your drink too fast. Then he’s there, standing beside you at the bar like he’s been invited.

“First drink of the night?” he asks, voice smooth as silk, low enough that you have to lean in to hear him.

You glance up at him — and now that he’s close, you can really see him. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Eyes so dark you’re not sure where iris ends and pupil begins.

You try to play it cool. “Second.”

He nods once. “Good. First would’ve meant I was a little early. Second means I’m right on time.”

You raise a brow, trying not to let your smile show. “For what?”

He leans in slightly, and you catch the faintest whiff of cologne — warm, musky, expensive. “For meeting you.”

The line should be cheesy. It should make you roll your eyes. But it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he actually means it. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes like he’s cataloging the way your mouth moves when you smile.

You take another sip of your drink. “Do you always hit on girls at bars?”

“Not always,” he says, not missing a beat. “Only the ones who can’t stop looking back.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. He saw that?

Before you can come up with a response, he extends his hand. “Sunghoon.”

You hesitate — just a second — before slipping your hand into his. His grip is firm, but not too tight. Warm. Steady.

You tell him your name. He repeats it back to you like he’s tasting it.

And then he leans in again. “Let me buy you your third drink.”

You’re not drunk — not really — but there’s a buzz in your blood, a warmth that runs deeper than alcohol. It’s in the way Sunghoon keeps watching you, the way his eyes drop to your lips every time you speak. His voice is steady, smooth, but there’s something beneath it — a restraint. Like he’s holding himself back.

You talk. About nothing, mostly. Music, favorite cities, late-night cravings. You learn he’s a little older, but he doesn’t say exactly how much. You don’t ask. You don’t want to ruin the spell by making it real.

At some point, you end up on the dance floor. You didn’t plan to — you never really dance — but he takes your hand without asking, and suddenly you’re there, surrounded by pulsing lights and bodies and heat.

He doesn’t keep his distance. One hand finds your waist. The other drifts low, fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your dress. He moves slow, but deliberate — his chest against your back, his lips ghosting near your ear.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, voice low, breath hot against your skin.

You laugh — breathless. “Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t usually do this either.”

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Do what?”

He leans in. His mouth grazes your jaw, then your cheek, then finally — your lips.

It starts soft. Testing. His hand slides around your hip, pulling you closer, and then he kisses you deeper — fuller — like he’s been waiting all night for it. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into his shirt until he pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing yours.

“My place is five minutes from here,” he says. “Say the word.”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you don’t want it — but because you want it too much.

“let’s go,” you whisper.

The ride to his place is a blur — fast, silent, electric. He doesn’t touch you in the car, but his knee brushes yours, and it feels more intimate than anything else so far.

His apartment is clean. Minimalist. Expensive-looking. You barely notice any of it.

Because the moment the door clicks shut behind you, he’s on you.

His hands cup your face as he kisses you again, harder this time. Hungrier. He backs you against the door, lips crashing into yours like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers slide into his hair. His hands drop to your hips, then lower — gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting you effortlessly.

You gasp against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you like you weigh nothing, walking you through the apartment until you’re in his bedroom.

He drops you gently onto the bed, standing over you for a second. His chest rises and falls with every breath. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room — like he’s starving and you’re the meal.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod. “Please.”

He smirks — just a little. “Take off your dress for me.”

Your breath catches. But you do it — slowly, fingers slipping beneath the straps and easing it down your body.

Sunghoon watches the whole time, not blinking.

You’re left in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties. You start to reach behind to unhook it, but he stops you.

“Let me.”

He steps forward, kneeling onto the bed between your legs. His fingers find the clasp, and the bra falls away. His eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, leaning down to kiss between your breasts. His hands trail up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arch into him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, mouth dragging lower, tongue flicking across one nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Your back arches, a soft moan slipping past your lips.

His hand moves between your thighs, fingers tracing over your panties. You’re soaked.

“You want my fingers?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

You nod — desperate now.

“Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers,” you breathe. “Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

He pushes your panties aside and runs two fingers along your slit, groaning at how wet you are. Then he slides one finger in — slow, deep — and your body trembles.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re tight.”

He adds another, curling them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

Your hips start to move with his rhythm, grinding against his hand.

“Touch yourself,” he says suddenly. “I want to see you do it.”

You hesitate, flushed, but obey — hand slipping between your legs to rub slow, needy circles over your clit while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.

The sounds — wet, messy, obscene — echo in the quiet room.

You’re close. So close.

“Come for me,” he says, lips against your ear. “Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And you do.

You’re still catching your breath when Sunghoon pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt, glistening with your orgasm. He brings them to his mouth, lips curling around them without breaking eye contact.

“Taste so fucking good,” he murmurs. “Could eat you for hours. But right now…”

His voice trails off as he sits back on his heels, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. His chest is toned, lean muscle carved beneath smooth skin. His belt comes next, then his zipper—

And when he pushes his pants down, your mouth goes dry.

Holy. Shit.

He’s big. Thick. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard and flushed, a single bead of precum glistening at the tip.

You stare, stunned for a second, and he notices.

His mouth curves into a dark smile. “Too much?”

You shake your head, eyes locked on his length. “No. Just…” Your voice trails off, and you bite your lip. “Big.”

He groans softly, palming the base of his cock. “Come here, baby. Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You crawl toward him, sinking to your knees at the edge of the bed. He stays standing, hand stroking his cock slowly as you settle in front of him.

“Spit on it,” he says, voice rough. “Then use your tongue.”

You obey. Spitting into your palm first, you rub the wetness over the head of his cock, then down the shaft. He hisses under his breath, hips twitching.

Then you lean forward and press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair. “Such a good slut.”

You wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling over the sensitive head before sinking lower. He’s thick — you can barely fit him in your mouth — but you try, inch by inch, letting your saliva drip down to make it easier.

Sunghoon groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck, just like that. You look so fucking good on your knees.”

You moan around him, and the vibration makes his hips jerk. You bob your head slowly, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit, drool running down your chin.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice like gravel. “Eyes on me while you suck my cock.”

You lift your gaze, lashes wet, cheeks hollowing around his length. He growls.

“God, that mouth. I could fuck your throat all night.”

He starts to guide your head, setting a rhythm — slow but deep, letting you feel every inch. Your throat tightens around him, but you don’t pull away.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Like choking on my cock like a desperate little slut?”

You moan again, louder this time, and he groans — head falling back for a second before he looks down at you again.

“Bet your pussy’s still dripping,” he says. “Bet you’d let me bend you over right now and fuck you until you forget your name.”

You whimper, sucking harder, desperate for his praise — for more of that filth spilling from his lips.

Then suddenly, he pulls back. His cock slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you blink up at him, confused.

“On your hands and knees,” he says. “Now.”

You scramble onto the bed, body aching for more, cunt still pulsing from your earlier orgasm.

Sunghoon climbs behind you, running a hand down your back, then up again — slow, possessive.

Then—smack.

You gasp as his palm lands on your ass, the sting sharp and sudden.

“Too much?” he asks, even as he squeezes where he just spanked.

“No,” you whisper. “Do it again.”

He groans. “Fuck, you really are perfect.”

Smack. Again — harder this time. Then he soothes the spot with his palm, leaning down to murmur against your ear.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he breathes. “Stretch this tight little pussy open with my cock, fuck you so good you’ll still be shaking in your dorm tomorrow.”

You moan — loud, desperate — pushing your hips back against him.

“Please, Sunghoon,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

His voice is a low growl. “Beg prettier than that.”

You shudder. “Please. Want you to fuck me. Want your cock, please—”

He growls again — deep, raw — and grabs your hips, lining himself up.

You feel the head of his cock slide through your folds — slow, teasing — dragging against your already-sensitive clit before he lines up at your entrance. He pauses, both hands gripping your hips.

“Deep breath, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not small, remember?”

You barely have time to nod before he pushes in.

Your gasp is instant. He’s thick, stretching you open inch by inch, and the burn is sharp in the best way — the kind that makes your back arch, your mouth fall open, your eyes roll back. He goes slow at first, letting you feel every inch, and your body clenches tight around him, trying to adjust.

“Shit,” Sunghoon groans, voice strained. “You’re so fucking tight—trying to suck me in.”

He bottoms out with one final thrust, hips flush to your ass. You cry out, gripping the sheets.

“Too much?” he asks, voice low.

“N-no,” you stammer. “Just—so full.”

He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth right by your ear. “You can take it. And you will.”

Then he pulls back — just the tip — and slams back in, hard enough to make you moan. He starts moving, hips snapping forward, fucking into you with smooth, relentless strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with the filthy wet noises coming from between your legs and your own desperate moans.

Sunghoon’s grip on your hips is bruising. He fucks you like he owns you, like you’re his toy and no one else’s. He leans back just enough to admire the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Taking all of me like a good little slut. You were made for this cock.”

You whimper, trembling, already close again — the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words all pushing you toward the edge.

“You gonna come again?” he asks, breathless. “Already?”

You nod, too far gone to answer properly.

He slaps your ass again — smack. “Say it. I wanna hear you beg.”

“Please,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come, Sunghoon—fuck, please let me.”

He growls, pounding into you faster. “Come for me. Now.”

You break.

Your second orgasm crashes over you hard, clenching around him like a vice, and he doesn’t stop. Keeps fucking you through it, unrelenting, merciless. Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the mattress, trembling and whimpering.

But he doesn’t let up.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he pants. “Not even close.”

He pulls out suddenly, and you barely have time to catch your breath before he flips you onto your back. He grabs your legs, spreads them wide, and lines himself up again.

“Want to see your face this time,” he murmurs. “Want to watch you fall apart.”

Then he thrusts back into you, hard and deep, making you cry out. Your body is already too sensitive, your pussy still fluttering from the last orgasm, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he likes how overstimulated you are.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “How your pussy’s still squeezing me like it never wants to let go?”

You nod frantically, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Too much—fuck—it’s so much.”

“But you’re taking it,” he says. “Taking it so well.”

He fucks you like a man possessed, like he’s trying to carve himself into your memory. Every thrust hits deep, the angle perfect, and your legs start to shake.

“I can’t—” you choke out. “Gonna come again—”

He grabs your throat — not hard, just enough to hold you in place. His other hand finds your clit, fingers rubbing fast, merciless circles over the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna come again. You’re gonna soak my cock. I want to feel you milk me.”

You shatter.

The third orgasm hits you like lightning — hot, electric, impossible. Your vision blurs, body writhing beneath him, voice cracking into a broken moan as your pussy clenches around him like a vice.

But he still doesn’t stop.

Sunghoon fucks you through it, hips slamming into yours, jaw clenched like he’s holding back everything.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groans. “Wanna come all over this tight fucking pussy. You want that, baby?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Where?” he grits out. “Tell me.”

“Inside,” you whisper. “Please—come inside me.”

His eyes darken.

He slams into you one more time and groans deep in his chest as he spills inside you — hot, thick, and endless. You can feel it, the way he pulses inside your overstimulated cunt, and it makes you moan all over again.

He stays there for a moment, both of you panting, sweaty, trembling. Then he leans down and kisses you — slow and deep, like he’s trying to remind you that he can be gentle, too.

When he finally pulls out, your thighs are sticky, trembling. You’re completely wrecked — legs spread, sheets soaked, lips swollen, hair a mess. And Sunghoon just looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You nod, exhausted. “That was… insane.”

You wake up sore.

Between your legs, mostly. Every shift of your thighs reminds you exactly what happened last night — the ache, the stretch, the way he didn’t stop even after your legs were shaking. You wince a little as you turn over.

The bed beside you is empty.

Sheets crumpled, slightly warm, but no Sunghoon.

You sit up slowly, the duvet slipping down your bare chest, blinking against the morning light that filters in through half-open blinds. The room’s unfamiliar. Sleek. A little too neat to feel lived in.

Strange. Isn’t this his place?

Your clothes are scattered across the floor, but none of his are. No signs of a toothbrush on the bathroom counter. No jackets hanging by the door. No photos. No clutter.

Airbnb, maybe. Just a place he rented for the weekend.

You frown as you rub a hand over your eyes. Your head is foggy, still wrapped in the lingering haze of alcohol and sex. You try to piece together last night — the way he looked at you at the party, the feel of his fingers, his mouth, his cock — and then… it’s all just heat and noise and black.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You sigh. Hard.

Your phone’s nearly dead, and the time glares back at you: 11:02 AM.

Classes start tomorrow. Perfect.

No note. No message. Not even a name.

You don’t even know his last name.

You pull your dress on — wrinkled and inside-out — and shove your heels into your bag. You call an Uber before you’ve even finished brushing your hair with your fingers.

The car is quiet. You don’t talk.

You lean your forehead against the window, eyes half-lidded, sore and still a little hungover, the ache between your legs throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

One night stand. That’s what it was. Nothing more.

Still… you can’t help thinking about him. About the way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. The way he—

You shake your head.

It was one night. You’ll never see him again.

Tomorrow, university starts. Time to focus on new things.

You have no idea what’s coming.

You’re late.

Of course you’re late.

Your phone had died overnight, and you’d barely dragged yourself out of bed in time to throw on the cleanest outfit you could find and rush across campus with half-brushed hair and your coffee still in a to-go cup. Your legs are still sore, your thighs brushing uncomfortably with every step, and you haven’t stopped thinking about last night.

Or him.

The guy you let wreck you in a stranger’s bed. The guy who disappeared before morning. The guy you’ll never see again.

Right?

You shove open the door to the lecture hall, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumble as you slip inside, your voice echoing faintly. The place is massive — a hundred seats, maybe more — and every single one of them is already filled with someone more punctual and better-rested than you.

You find a seat near the middle, head ducked, ignoring the stares as you slide your bag off your shoulder and collapse into the chair. You’re still trying to catch your breath, sipping your lukewarm coffee, when a voice carries from the front of the room.

“Glad you could finally join us.”

Your stomach twists.

That voice—

No way.

You blink.

Then slowly — so slowly — you look up.

And your heart stops.

There he is.

At the front of the room, standing beside the projector screen with a laptop open on the podium, is him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes.

Sunghoon.

Your one-night stand.

Your mystery man.

Your professor.

You blink again, hoping you’re hallucinating. That you’re still in bed. That you’re still dreaming.

But he just stares back at you — a flicker of recognition in his eyes, so fast and so subtle that if you didn’t know, you’d miss it.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react.

He just says, cool and calm, “As I was saying — welcome to Modern Media Theory. I’m Professor Park. This semester, I expect you to show up on time, be prepared, and keep your personal lives out of my classroom.”

You go still.

The air in your lungs vanishes. Your cheeks burn.

He didn’t just fuck you.

He’s your professor.

And he’s pretending nothing happened.

You don’t hear a single word of the lecture.

Not a single one.

Your eyes stay locked on him the whole time — on Professor Park — trying to reconcile the man in front of the class with the man who had you bent over a bed less than twenty-four hours ago.

He’s even more handsome when you’re sober. Clean lines. Sharp cheekbones. That same deep voice, now filled with authority instead of filth. It should be illegal to look that good in front of a classroom.

And the worst part? He acts like you’re no one.

Not a glance. Not a flicker of amusement or recognition. Nothing.

You spend the next ninety minutes trying not to squirm in your seat — from nerves, from heat, from the dull ache still between your thighs. His voice carries over the room in calm, measured tones, talking about frameworks and theory and authors you can’t even remember, because all you can think about is his hand gripping your throat, his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ear telling you to beg for it.

By the time class ends, you’re practically vibrating with frustration. The students file out one by one, chatting, oblivious, until finally the room is empty — except for you.

And him.

You wait until he’s closed his laptop before standing.

He doesn’t look up. “Class is dismissed.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight. “I got that.”

That makes him pause. Slowly, his eyes lift, meeting yours. The coolness in them is surgical. Detached.

You swallow. “So… you’re a professor.” He doesn’t react. “Looks that way.” Your heart pounds. “You didn’t think that was something worth mentioning last night?” Sunghoon tilts his head, finally closing the distance with his eyes, not his body. “You didn’t ask.”

You laugh — sharp, disbelieving. “Seriously?” He slides his laptop into his bag. Calm. Controlled. Like this is nothing to him. You take a step closer. “You just left. No note. No text. You didn’t even tell me your last name, and now I find out you’re standing at the front of my class like nothing happened?”

He sighs — not guilty, not even annoyed. Just tired.

“Look,” he says. “Last night was a mistake.”

The words hit like a slap.

“A mistake,” you repeat, voice flat.

“Yes.”

He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then finally — finally — meets your gaze with something resembling emotion. But it’s not warmth. It’s not regret. It’s caution. “You didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who you were. But now we do. And nothing else happens. Understood?” You blink at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Professor Park,” he corrects, firm. “From now on, in this room, on this campus — you will refer to me as Professor Park. You will not speak of last night. And you will not treat me like anything other than your professor.”

Your throat tightens. “So that’s all I was to you?” His jaw flexes. Just once. “I’m not here to discuss feelings,” he says. “I’m here to teach.” He moves to leave, but you step in his path.

“One night,” you say quietly. “That’s all it meant to you?” He pauses. Doesn’t look at you. Then—

“Yes.”

And then he walks past you, out the door, gone before you can even breathe out the response stuck in your throat.

You’re alone. In your first lecture hall. On your first day. Still sore. Still remembering. Still burning. And now you can’t stop thinking about him. Not because he touched you. But because now, he won’t.

You practically collapse into your dorm room chair.

The walk back from class did nothing to calm you down — not with your thoughts spinning and your thighs still sore. You’re halfway through Googling Is it illegal to hook up with your professor if you didn’t know he was your professor when the door swings open and Lily walks in, dropping her tote bag with a sigh.

“Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of class like I almost did,” she groans.

You shake your head. “No. I… had Modern Media Theory.”

Lily perks up instantly, eyes wide. “Wait—wait—don’t tell me you got Professor Park?”

You freeze.

She gasps. “You got Park? Are you serious?”

You just blink at her, unsure how to answer.

Lily throws herself onto your bed dramatically. “Oh my God. Half the campus is obsessed with that man. Like, seriously. Even the guys think he’s hot.”

You say nothing. You can’t. You’re still trying to figure out if this is hilarious or humiliating.

“And people say,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing top-tier gossip, “he’s huge.”

You sip your water slowly, hiding the way your breath catches. Yeah. You wouldn’t need rumors to confirm that. You still feel it.

You try to play it cool. “Huge how?”

Lily looks scandalized. “Y/N. Please. You know how.”

You choke on your water, coughing as Lily bursts out laughing. “Seriously! That man has big dick energy like—actual BDE. Someone in second-year swore he stretched her friend so bad she couldn’t sit for two days.”

You look down at your lap. Yep. Sounds familiar.

“Didn’t know the media department had this kind of drama,” you mutter.

Before Lily can reply, Kitty walks in with a protein shake and zero chill.

“Wait, are we talking about Professor Park?”

Lily lights up. “Y/N has him!”

Kitty gasps. “No way. The hot one?”

Y/N stays silent. Kitty throws herself into the chair across from you.

“I heard he’s really good in bed,” Kitty says casually, like she’s talking about the weather. “Like, life-changing. My cousin said her roommate slept with him at some faculty party or something—pre-semester—and she still can’t shut up about it.”

Your jaw clenches.

Yeah. He is.

Too good. Too cocky. Too unforgettable.

You cross your legs without thinking — a weak attempt to soothe the ghost of last night’s ache still pulsing between your thighs.

“Anyway,” Kitty says, oblivious, “you’re lucky. Most profs are ancient or weird. If I had Park as my first Monday lecture, I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Lily grins. “I wouldn’t even miss a class. Ever.”

You force a tight smile. “Right.”

They move on to some other topic — campus events, party rumors, who hooked up with who — but you barely hear it.

Your mind’s still stuck on his voice. His hands. The way he called you a good little slutand then looked right through you the next day like none of it mattered.

Your friends think he’s a fantasy. You know he’s a mistake. And yet, you can’t stop thinking about him. Still sore. Still remembering. Still wanting more.

“Y/N… can we talk?”

His voice is low, almost gentle. You turn around and he’s standing there — in the doorway of your dorm, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You don’t say anything.

Sunghoon steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s afraid you might run.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For being so cold. Yesterday.”

You cross your arms over your chest. You want to be mad — you should be mad — but all you can do is stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his voice dips when he talks to you, like you’re the only one in the world who can hear him.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to say. I panicked.”

He’s inches away now. You can feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne — clean, warm, familiar. He reaches out slowly, fingertips brushing your wrist, trailing up your arm like he’s checking if he’s allowed to touch you again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs. “About that night.”

Your heart pounds. His touch burns.

“I wanted to forget,” he admits, voice rough. “But I can’t.” Your back hits the wall. He cages you in without touching you — one hand braced beside your head, the other hovering just inches from your waist. His breath fans over your skin.

“I still remember how you sound,” he whispers. “How you taste. How your body felt under mine.” You shiver. Your eyes flutter closed, just for a second. “I should stay away,” he breathes. “But I don’t want to.” His lips are so close. His mouth hovers over yours, not touching, not yet — just letting the moment drag out, all heat and tension and want. You reach for him first.

Your fingers curl into his shirt. He groans into your mouth when you kiss him, slow and desperate, hands grabbing at each other like you’ve both been starved. His body presses against yours and you feel it immediately — hard, hot, eager. Just like before.

He lifts you easily, and your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. His mouth moves down your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, and you tug his shirt up, frantic.

“I missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you.” Your hips grind against his, and he groans again, rutting forward like he can’t help himself.

“I’m gonna take my time with you this time,” he says against your skin. “Gonna fuck you slow… make you cry for it…” He lays you down, starts kissing down your body, eyes dark with hunger. You moan his name.

“Sunghoon…”

But then—You wake up.

Your sheets are twisted around your legs, your body damp with sweat, and your hand is fisted tightly in the fabric of your tank top like you were reaching for something. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. You stare at the ceiling.

He wasn’t here. He didn’t say anything. It was just a dream. And now you’re even worse off than before.

You don’t say anything the next time you walk into class.

But you don’t have to.

Your skirt is shorter than usual — just enough to ride up when you sit down — and your legs are crossed deliberately, slowly, as you ease into your seat near the front. No tights. No leggings. Just skin and confidence.

You feel his eyes on you the second you walk in.

He doesn’t look at you directly — of course not. He’s smarter than that. But you can see the way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers hesitate on the mouse before clicking to the next slide. The way his throat bobs when you shift in your seat and uncross your legs, only to cross them again.

You rest your chin in your hand, eyes locked on him like he’s the only thing worth watching.

Sunghoon keeps talking.

But now, there’s a pause between his sentences. A slight rasp in his voice. A subtle glance in your direction every few slides, never lingering too long — just enough for you to catch it.

You smile.

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong.

You’re just a student in his class. Listening. Participating. Sitting there in a skirt that barely brushes your thighs, biting your lip every time he says something remotely commanding.

“Pay attention,” he says at one point, when a group in the back is whispering.

You straighten in your seat, lifting your eyes slowly.

“I am, Professor,” you say, soft and sweet.

His eyes flicker.

You don’t miss the way his grip on the podium tightens.

By the end of class, you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His sentences get shorter. His lecture speeds up. His eyes don’t meet yours again.

When the students begin to pack up, you move slower than the rest. You lean forward, elbows on the desk, letting your skirt ride up even higher as you adjust your bag. You can feel his stare this time — heavy, hot, lingering.

You don’t look at him. Not until the last of the students file out and the door swings shut behind them.

Then — and only then — you turn your head, lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“I liked today’s lecture,” you say, casual.

He exhales slowly, not moving from behind the desk.

“Did you.”

You stand, swinging your bag over your shoulder, stepping just close enough that the air between you feels like a challenge.

“I liked the way you said my name during attendance,” you murmur. “You sounded… tense.”

His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “You think this is a game?”

You shrug. “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t move, but the heat in his stare makes your skin prickle. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take a step back toward the door, still smiling.

“Then burn me.”

And just like that — you’re gone.

Leaving him standing there, pulse racing, jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You can feel his gaze on your back the whole way down the hallway.

You don’t expect him to follow you.

You think he’ll stay behind like always — composed, in control, untouched by the things you do just to watch him flinch.

But the second you turn the corner into the empty hallway, you hear it.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Determined.

Before you can fully register it, a hand wraps around your wrist and yanks you back — hard. You gasp as your back hits the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Sunghoon towers over you, eyes blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at him, playing dumb. “Walking.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t play games with me.”

You tilt your head, letting your skirt shift just slightly higher as you shift your weight against the wall. “You’re the one who said it was nothing, remember? One night. A mistake.”

His jaw tightens. His hands are still gripping your wrists — not hard, but firm enough to make your pulse stutter. His body is so close you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, caging you in.

“You wore that on purpose,” he mutters, eyes dropping to your legs.

“Wore what?” you ask sweetly.

He scoffs, low and dangerous. “You think I haven’t noticed? The skirts, the looks, the way you sit front row with your legs wide open like you want me to do something about it.”

You stay silent — because he’s not wrong.

Sunghoon leans in closer, voice like a growl in your ear. “You want to get fucked over a desk, is that it?”

Your breath catches.

“You want your professor to lose control,” he continues, his mouth just shy of touching your neck, “to bend you over the nearest surface and remind you exactly how good it felt to be ruined by me.”

You’re shaking now — but not from fear.

From how badly you want him to do it.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Then do it.”

He freezes.

You swear you see the moment something in him breaks.

Sunghoon grabs your chin, tilting your face up to his, and crashes his mouth onto yours.

There’s nothing soft about it — no hesitation, no pretending this is still something he can control. It’s heat and teeth and frustration, his tongue sliding over yours with a groan like he’s been holding this in for too long.

You gasp as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters against your mouth.

“But you are,” you whisper, tugging his hair, grinding down on him.

And fuck, he’s already hard — painfully hard, pressing against you like he’s seconds from snapping all over again.

“I tried to forget you,” he breathes, dragging your skirt up.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. “Neither did I.”

His mouth crashes onto yours again, more desperate now — hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your panties to the side like he can’t even wait to undress you.

“You think teasing me was a good idea?” he growls. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing when you act like a little slut in my class?”

You moan. “Then teach me a lesson, Professor.”

His eyes burn.

“Oh, I will.”

Sunghoon doesn’t take you to his office.

He doesn’t even bother finding a classroom.

He kicks open the door to the nearest supply closet — small, dark, barely wide enough for the both of you — and presses you against the wall before it even shuts behind you. His mouth is back on yours, rough and hungry, hands everywhere, grabbing and pulling like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“Turn around,” he growls against your lips.

You obey, chest heaving as your hands brace against a metal shelf full of paper and printer ink. He pushes your skirt up roughly, revealing the soaked fabric clinging between your legs.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging his fingers up your inner thigh. “You were dripping through this during class?”

You moan when his fingers brush your slit, teasing the soaked fabric. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You wanted me to see, didn’t you?” he says darkly, yanking your panties to the side. “Wanted me to lose it in front of everyone and fuck you over the desk.”

You whimper, pushing back against him.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me,” he mutters, pressing two fingers inside you without warning.

You cry out, gripping the shelf tighter as he curls them deep inside you.

“So tight… shit, you’re perfect,” he groans, fucking you slow and deep with his fingers. “Still so wet for me. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—God, yes.”

He spanks you once — hard — and you gasp, the sting sharp and delicious.

“Say it properly.”

“I missed your cock, Professor.”

He groans low in his throat. You hear the sound of his belt, the zipper, the shuffle of fabric. Then his hand returns to your waist, and the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance.

You barely get a breath in before he thrusts inside.

“Fuck—Sunghoon—!”

“God, you take me so well,” he hisses, slamming into you again, and again, until you’re gasping with every thrust. “This is what you wanted, huh? To be bent over like a bad student and filled up with my cock?”

You can’t even answer. He’s too deep. Too thick. Stretching you open so perfectly your knees almost buckle.

He grabs your hair, pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“Not gonna stop this time. You’re gonna take it all.”

And you do.

Every thrust slams into you, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny closet, filthy and raw. Your walls flutter around him with every stroke, clenching tight like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

You don’t even care that you’re in a damn supply closet — not when he’s fucking you like this, like he’s punishing you and worshiping you all at once.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he groans. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod, crying out when his hand slips between your legs and rubs circles against your clit, fast and unforgiving.

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”

You break with a scream, your orgasm ripping through you like fire — legs shaking, walls spasming around him, soaking his cock as he pounds you through it.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Too much—!” you whimper.

“You can take it,” he growls. “One more. Be a good girl.”

You’re already too sensitive, your body twitching with every thrust, but the way he fucks you — like he owns you — has you falling apart again.

“Please—Sunghoon—!”

“That’s it,” he pants, thrusting even deeper. “Such a good little slut for me. Letting me fuck you where anyone could walk in…”

You cum again — hard, sudden, your moans cut off by the hand he slaps over your mouth as you scream into his palm.

His hips stutter.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—fuck, take it—”

You feel him twitch inside you, hot and thick, and then he’s spilling into you with a deep, broken moan, his cock throbbing as he presses deep and stays there, panting against your shoulder.

You both stay like that for a moment.

Breathless. Sweaty. Soaked.

Then he pulls out slowly, and you both groan at the mess — his cum dripping down your thighs, your panties ruined, the air thick with sex.

He zips up without a word. You adjust your skirt with shaking hands.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You smirk over your shoulder. “And you’re weak.”

He glares.cYou wink. And you leave him there — still flushed, still catching his breath, already addicted again.

The next morning, you walk into class like nothing happened.

Your skirt’s a little longer today. You’re not wearing lip gloss. You even show up on time, quiet and composed.

But nothing feels the same. Sunghoon doesn’t look at you once during the lecture.

Not when you raise your hand. Not when you bite your pen. Not even when you catch his eye on purpose and hold the stare. He acts like you don’t exist. But you know better.

You can feel the tension in the way he paces the front of the room. The way he rushes through the slides. The way he won’t call on you even though your hand’s been raised for five minutes. He’s avoiding you. And it’s almost funny, how obvious it is.

When class ends, you take your time packing up, but he’s already halfway out the door. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t say a word.

Coward.

You don’t chase him. You don’t have to. Because two seconds after you step into the hallway, your friend Lily grabs your arm with a smirk.

“You look like you got wrecked,” she whispers, dragging you to the side. “Don’t even lie. You’re glowing.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” she grins. “Is this about Professor Park?”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird since the semester started,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t pretend you didn’t notice how he was looking at you the other day. I was two seats behind you. The man looked like he was about to explode.”

You say nothing. Your silence is enough. Lily’s eyes go wide. “No fucking way.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“You fucked him?!”

“Lily.”

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Was it hot?” You hesitate. She laughs. “That good, huh?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She ignores you. “Okay but like… is what they say true?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” she whispers. “Is he… huge. Like huge. Like, wreck-your-life huge.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to. Her eyes go wider.

“Wait. He is, isn’t he?!”

You just shrug, lips twitching.

“And really good in bed?” she adds. “Like, dangerously good. Like… ruin-you-for-everyone-else good.”

You don’t even try to hide the way your thighs press together.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “No wonder you’ve been walking funny.” You slap her arm. She laughs louder. “You lucky bitch.” You groan, covering your face. “It was just a one-time thing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You want to believe it.

But then you get to your next class and open your laptop, and the first thing that flashes through your mind isn’t the lecture — it’s the way Sunghoon’s hand had clamped over your mouth while you came around his cock.

And when you pass him in the hallway later — by accident, this time — he barely glances your way.

But his jaw clenches. His hand balls into a fist. And you know he remembers. You bite your lip as you keep walking, not looking back. You don’t need to. You already know he’s watching.

Class is halfway through when Sunghoon finally breaks.

You can feel it before it happens — the way he keeps glancing your way, how his words are sharper than usual, how his hand keeps flexing on the desk like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You’re sitting near the front again. Of course you are.

Legs crossed. Skirt riding just a little too high. Innocent face like you’re not begging to be noticed.

And he does.

“Y/N,” he says, voice casual. “Can you help me with something for a second?”

Heads turn. You blink up at him, playing your part perfectly.

“Sure, Professor.”

You rise slowly, adjusting your skirt with deliberate care, and walk to the front like you’re not already soaking through your panties. You can feel the stares on your back, but all you care about is his.

His jaw is tight. His eyes flick down your body once — fast, hungry, dangerous — and then he steps back, motioning toward his desk.

“Over here,” he murmurs.

You round the desk, heart pounding as he opens a drawer, pretending to rifle through it.

“I need you to grab—” he starts, but you cut him off with a look.

“Don’t lie,” you whisper, stepping closer. “You just wanted me near.”

His breath hitches. “You’re insane.”

“You asked for help,” you say sweetly. “I’m just being a good student.”

Your hand brushes over the front of his pants — and sure enough, he’s already hard.

He grabs your wrist. “We’re in the middle of class.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “So stop me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he groans — low and harsh — as you sink to your knees behind the desk. The rest of the class is quiet, heads buried in their notes or staring at the projection screen. No one even notices you’re gone.

No one can see.

Your fingers undo his belt with practiced ease, and when you free his cock, you have to stifle a gasp.

You forgot how thick he is.

How heavy he feels in your hand.

How your mouth waters at the sight of it.

“You’re fucking insane,” he mutters again, voice strained now.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand up the length of him, thumb teasing the slit at the top. He’s hot and pulsing in your grip, already leaking, and it takes everything in you not to take him in your mouth.

But you want him squirming first.

You tighten your grip slightly, stroking him slow — too slow — watching his stomach tense, his breath catch.

“You like when I touch you here, Professor?” you whisper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, gripping the edge of the desk. “Keep your voice down.”

“You like when your student gets on her knees for you in the middle of class?” you tease, twisting your wrist at the top just how he likes.

His hips twitch.

You speed up, stroking him faster now, loving how he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. He looks down at you once — just once — and you see it in his eyes.

He’s right there.

You lean in, spit on your hand, and stroke him harder — faster — and he curses under his breath, head falling forward.

“Shit—Y/N—stop—gonna—”

You don’t stop.

You squeeze, twist, stroke him right through it, and he cums hard in your hand, biting his lip so hard you think he might bleed. His cock twitches as you milk every last drop, your hand warm and wet with him.

You look up at him, breathless.

“Still need help with anything?”

He glares down at you, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“You needy girl,” he whispers.

“And you’re obsessed,” you whisper back, standing and licking your palm clean with a slow swipe of your tongue — just because you can.

His eyes darken like he wants to drag you under the desk and fuck you right there.

But he doesn’t.

He swallows, adjusts his pants, and turns back to the class like nothing happened.

You walk back to your seat with your legs trembling — and the biggest fucking smile on your face.

He calls you to his office after class. Not right away — no, he waits a full ten minutes after the room clears, like that’ll somehow make this less obvious. You knock once, and when you step inside, he’s leaning against his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Close the door.”

You do.

“Lock it.”

You hesitate, then click it shut behind you. He exhales sharply. Doesn’t look at you.

“We can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice low. You blink. “Can’t do what?” He glares. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” you shrug. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean the part where I made you cum in the middle of a lecture? Or the part where you let me?”

His jaw clenches. “Y/N.”

You take a step closer. “Or do you mean the one-night stand? The closet? The fact that you begged me not to stop?”

“Stop.” His voice cracks on the word. You smile sweetly. “You dragged me into this. Not the other way around.”

“I’m your professor.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate. “This has to end before we get caught. Before I lose my job. Before—” You cut him off by sliding between his legs, standing so close your thighs brush his. His hands are still clenched at his sides, like he’s holding on to the last bit of control.

“Then why did you ask me to come here?” He says nothing.

“You could’ve ignored me. Failed me. Told me to stop. But you didn’t.” His eyes lock onto yours, burning with something darker than anger.

“Because you can’t,” you whisper. “You don’t want to.” His breathing is ragged. “That’s not the point.” You lean in, voice softer now. “So make a rule. Try.” You watch him fold, just a little. He grabs your waist and spins you — suddenly, roughly — pinning you between him and the desk.

“No more games,” he says, voice low, lips inches from yours. “No more teasing. You come to class. You do your work. You don’t speak to me unless it’s about the course. Understood?” You raise your chin, defiant. “And if I break the rules?” His grip tightens. “Then you won’t like the consequences.” You smile, slow and wicked. “I think I will.” He growls under his breath, turning away like he needs the space, like he can’t breathe when you’re that close.

You take one step toward the door. Pause. Glance over your shoulder. “Oh,” you add innocently, “I won’t be wearing panties next lecture.” He doesn’t move. But his fingers twitch. And when you finally leave the office, you know you’ve already won.

You knew he wouldn’t last.

Sunghoon made it exactly three days before he cracked.

You showed up to every lecture like the perfect little student.

Took notes, nodded along, answered questions.

Sat right in the front, of course — legs crossed, skirt a little too high, no panties underneath.

You saw the way his eyes lingered.

The way his voice faltered every time he called on you.

You didn’t even have to touch him. Just existed. And watched him unravel.

So really, you weren’t surprised when class ended and he barked your name in front of everyone.

“Y/N. Stay behind.”

You fought your smile. Nodded. Waited.

The second the last student left, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward his office — not saying a word, walking fast, grip tight like he was scared he might change his mind.

The door slammed shut behind you. Locked. And then he shoved you against it.

“I told you to stop,” he growled. You smirked. “But you didn’t want me to.” He kissed you before you could finish the sentence — all tongue and teeth and frustration, like he hated you for what you did to him. His hands were already under your skirt, shoving it up, confirming exactly what he’d been suspecting all week.

“No fucking panties,” he muttered against your lips. “You really are a little slut, huh?”

“Only for you,” you whispered. That’s what did it. He spun you around, bent you over the desk without warning, and shoved your legs apart with his knee. You gasped at the cold wood against your cheek, his hand pushing down between your shoulder blades to keep you there.

“No teasing this time,” he hissed. “You want to play games? Fine. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve ruined you.” You whined when you felt his fingers glide between your folds — soaking wet, dripping for him already.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled. “You like being used, don’t you?” You nodded desperately. He spanked you, hard. “Use your words.”

“Yes, hoon, yes—!”

He groaned and unzipped his pants so fast it was like he’d been holding back for days. Probably had. You felt the thick head of his cock press against you, tease your entrance, and then— He rammed into you.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just one rough, brutal thrust that had you screaming his name against the desk.

“God—Sunghoon—”

“That’s Professor to you,” he growled, grabbing your hips and slamming into you again.

You were soaked, your body clenching around him like it couldn’t get enough — and you couldn’t. His cock stretched you so deep, so perfectly, it was like your body was made for him. He fucked you hard, fast, filthy — the desk creaking under the weight of it, your nails clawing at the wood, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Thought you could tease me?” he hissed in your ear. “Sit in my class like a good girl and pretend you’re not dripping for me?” You moaned — helpless, breathless, aching for more.

“You don’t get to tease me,” he growled. “You don’t get to fucking win.” He fucked you harder, his cock slamming into your soaked cunt with punishing thrusts, the sound of your bodies echoing off the walls like it was the only thing that mattered. You could feel him everywhere — hands, hips, voice — all of him taking and taking and taking. And then his hand snaked around your front. Two fingers on your clit. Fast, rough, no mercy. You sobbed.

“Too much—!”

“Take it,” he snapped. “You wanted this.”

Your body was already on edge — too sensitive, too full, too overstimulated — and you shattered around him with a scream, legs trembling, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, not slowing down, not letting up, chasing his own release with the desperation of a man possessed.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “So deep you’ll still feel me in the morning.”

You whimpered, overstimulated and aching and still somehow needing it.

“Beg for it.”

“Please—fuck—fill me up—need it, please—” That was all he needed. He cursed, shoved deep one last time, and came with a low, broken groan, spilling inside you so hard you could feel it flood your insides — hot, thick, endless.

You stayed there — bent over, legs shaking, completely ruined — as he caught his breath behind you. And then, when he pulled out, his cum dripped down your thighs and onto the floor, and you knew this was it. There was no going back now. He was yours. And you were so far from finished.

It had only been three days. But you missed him like it’d been weeks.

He was sick — a bad fever, rough cough, too weak to teach, let alone sneak off to fuck you breathless behind his desk.

Still, you called. Every night.

At first, it was innocent. How are you feeling? Are you redtng enough? Do you need anything?

But tonight, something was different.

His voice was lower. Rough from congestion, but still laced with that dark, velvety tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I miss you,” he rasped into the phone. Your breath hitched. “I miss you too.” You were curled under your blankets, phone to your ear, nothing but a t-shirt and your own restless thoughts keeping you company.

“What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly, voice a little more awake now. Teasing. Familiar.

You bit your lip. “Just your shirt.” He groaned quietly. “Fuck.” There was silence for a beat — hot, heavy.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your heart thudded.

“Sunghoon—”

“Please,” he whispered. “I need to hear you.”

Your hand slipped beneath the covers before you could think twice, fingers grazing your thighs, your core already warm and aching. You let out a soft sigh, just for him.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me hear you, baby.”

“Are you…?” you breathed.

“Yeah,” he said, voice strained. “Got my hand around my cock right now. Thinking about how wet you probably are.”

You whimpered. He knew what to say. Even sick. Even over the phone. He had you melting with nothing but his voice.

“Are you teasing yourself?” he asked. “Or are you already fucking those fingers in deep like I would?”

“Just rubbing,” you gasped. “It’s so sensitive.”

“Wish it was my mouth,” he growled. “I’d suck your clit nice and slow. Keep you spread open and messy for me.” You moaned louder now, fingers working faster, thighs shaking.

“I miss your tongue,” you whimpered. “And your cock. I miss everything.” He groaned again, breath stuttering. “I’m close. Just thinking about you falling apart for me.”

“I’m gonna come,” you panted. “Sunghoon, I—”

“Do it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

And you did — hard, trembling, breath catching as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You heard him gasp, a deep, raw sound on the other end. Then silence. Just heavy breathing. You clutched the phone tighter, flushed and buzzing.

“I can’t wait to fuck you when I’m better,” he said finally, voice thick and low. “Gonna make up for every night I couldn’t touch you.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Now go to sleep, baby. I’ll dream about you.”

And you did — still aching, but content. Because even when he wasn’t here, he still was.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name, even when he was pissed. The way he always made sure you got home safe, even if it was just a quiet Text me when you’re in bed.

The way he kissed you when no one was watching — not hurried, not hungry. Just… like he wanted to remember it.

You didn’t mean to fall for him. You knew what this was. A mistake. A fling. A secret that could ruin both your lives. But somehow, between the stolen glances and the late-night fucks in his office, you started to feel it. That pull. That ache. It wasn’t just lust anymore. Not for you. So when he texted you at 11:42 PM — come over. need to blow off steam — your heart stupidly fluttered.

And when you showed up at his apartment, when he pulled you in without a word and kissed you like he missed you, you let yourself believe, for just a second, that maybe… maybe he felt it too. You made love that night. Not rough. Not fast. Not like every other time. His hands were gentle. His kisses slow. His body moved with yours like you were something precious — not just a girl he wasn’t supposed to touch.

And afterward, when you curled into him, bare skin against bare skin, you whispered it before you could stop yourself.

“Sunghoon.”

He hummed, half-asleep, arm draped over your waist.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Silence. Not a breath. Not a blink. Just… nothing. You turned your head to look at him. He was wide awake now.

“Y/N,” he said carefully. Too carefully. Your chest tightened. “Say something.”

He sat up, rubbed a hand over his face. “You weren’t supposed to—” You pulled the sheet up around your chest like it could protect you from the sharpness of his words.

“Wasn’t supposed to what?” you asked quietly. “Catch feelings? Think this meant more than just… late-night texts and quick fucks between lectures?”

His jaw tightened. “You knew what this was.”

“Did I?” You blinked at him, heart splintering. “Because it didn’t feel like just sex.”

He didn’t look at you. And that told you everything. You swallowed hard, throat burning.

“You don’t feel anything for me?”

He paused. And then he shook his head once. Quick. Cold.

“I can’t.”

It hit like a slap. You nodded slowly, forcing down the sting. “Right. Of course.”

“Y/N—”

“No, I get it,” you said, getting up and grabbing your clothes. “You’re just my professor. And I’m just the dumb girl who thought maybe this was something.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You didn’t look back. Because if you did — if you saw even an ounce of regret in his eyes — you’d break. And you were already breaking.

You didn’t go to class the next day. Or the next.

You stopped answering his texts. Left them on read. Blocked the number, even — not because you didn’t want to see them, but because you knew you would.

And you were done giving in.

He didn’t love you. He didn’t even like you, not really. To him, you were just a distraction. A body. A pretty little secret to keep him entertained. You weren’t going to be that anymore.

So you went quiet. Silent.

You didn’t show up to his lectures, didn’t sit in the front row in those too-short skirts, didn’t flirt with your eyes across the room. You handed your assignments in online. You stayed invisible. And for a while, it worked.

You didn’t cry anymore. You didn’t dream about his mouth on your skin. You didn’t ache at night thinking about the way he used to look at you like he needed you.

You even let Lily drag you to a party.

He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. Why would a professor hang out with freshmen? But someone else was. He was tall. Soft brown eyes. Big hands. Good Looking

Nice.

You let him kiss you. Let him press you against the wall. Let him fuck you in some stranger’s bedroom with your skirt bunched around your waist.

It wasn’t like Sunghoon. Not even close. But it was something. And for a few minutes, it helped you forget. Until the next morning — when you checked your phone, and saw his name lit up the screen.

Park Sunghoon [3 messages]

Where are you?

You missed another lecture.

Y/N, please.

You stared at the screen for a long time. And then you deleted them. Sunghoon was losing his goddamn mind.

The first day you skipped, he told himself it was nothing.

Maybe you were sick. Hungover. Avoiding him. Whatever.

By the third, he was pacing in his office, checking the attendance sheet, rereading your last assignment just to see if there was a hint — anything — in your tone.

By the fifth, he was showing up to dorm buildings and walking past study halls just to maybe catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him. You’d said you were falling for him.

And he’d brushed it off. Because he was scared. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen. I mean, what was he thinking? Fucking his student relentlessly thinking she wouldn’t fall for him? But now? Now he realized he’d been lying to himself the entire time. He missed you.

More than just your body. More than the games. He missed your laugh. Your attitude. Your soft little sighs when you fell asleep against his chest.

He missed you. And when he saw you again — two weeks later, walking across campus in a low-cut top and short skirt, laughing with some guy he didn’t recognize — it hit him like a fucking truck.

You were moving on. And he was still stuck in the night you left. He waited until the guy walked off. Then followed you.

“Y/N.”

You stopped. Turned. Your expression shifted from surprised to cold in half a second.

“I’m busy.”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Please—”

“You made it clear how you felt,” you said, voice sharp. “Don’t backpedal now.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—” You crossed your arms. “You meant it enough to let me walk out.” He hesitated. “You blocked my number.”

“You said it was just sex,” you snapped. “So why would I stay?” He looked at you — really looked at you — and something in his face cracked.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “That’s not an excuse. But I didn’t know what to do. I’m your professor. I could lose everything.”

You stared at him, trying not to let your heart soften.

“And now?”

He stepped closer. Slower this time. Careful, like you might run.

“Now I don’t care,” he whispered. “I’d risk everything if you’d just look at me the way you used to.”

You looked away.

Because you still wanted to.

But he’d already broken you once.

And you weren’t sure you could let him close enough to do it again.

You lay there in the dark, chest heaving, body limp from everything he’d just taken from you — and everything you’d given him.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb stroking absently over your skin like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like if he kept touching you, maybe you wouldn’t disappear again. You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve said this doesn’t change anything. But it did. It changed everything.

And when you finally found your voice, it was quiet. Fragile.

“You can’t keep doing that.”His thumb stilled. “Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s nothing one second, then showing up the next like you’d burn the world down for me.” He turned toward you, arm curling around your waist.

“I would,” he said simply. “Burn it all down.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why did you let me go?”

He exhaled, forehead pressing gently to yours. “Because I thought I had to.”

“But you don’t now?”

“I can’t let you go again,” he whispered. “Not after that. Not after this.”

You searched his eyes.

And this time, you didn’t find silence. Didn’t find cold. You found regret. Longing.

Something that looked too close to love to ignore.

“Say it,” you breathed. “Say it wasn’t just sex.” He didn’t even hesitate.

“It never was.”

The breath you’d been holding spilled out all at once, shaky and full of every broken piece you’d been holding in since the start. You closed your eyes, voice cracking.

“Me either.” He kissed your temple, your jaw, your lips — slow and reverent, like he finally understood what he’d almost lost. And when he pulled you against him, wrapping himself around you like a shield, you knew something had shifted for good.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t a secret. This wasn’t a one-night stand stretched into months of denial. This was real. And this time, neither of you was running.

was so horny writing this (send req)

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