FORBIDDEN ATTRACTION ( MASTERLIST ) ┊ ENHYPEN HYUNG LINE

GET WELL SOON , P.SH !

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

PAIRING: racer ! sunghoon × orphan ! afab reader.

SYNOPSIS: You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

WORD COUNT: 19.2K

FEAT: WONYOUNG from IVE, JAY from ENHYPEN, HANNI from NEWJEANS, + some ocs

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

MORE LIKE THIS? || MASTERLIST?

TAGLIST: @chexnluv @moonpri @wensurr @jiyeons-closet @isa942572 @jkslvsnella @woniefull @aleeza444 @capri-cuntz @vi-ri @hotteokisms @flwwon @shhth @lialaiakalaiiaia (the ones in bold couldn't be tagged)

AS YOU LAY IN THE HOSPITAL BED, the sterile scent of antiseptic in the air, your gaze drifted to the bouquet of white roses on the table beside you. A scoff slipped from your lips before you could stop it, a bitter reminder of why you were even here.

This was all his fault. Park Sunghoon.

For a second, you tried to maintain your calm, the nice person part of you struggling to hold on, but that guy—he tested all of it.

“Throw them away, please?” you asked, your voice clipped as you turned to the nurse adjusting your IV.

Before she could respond, an infuriatingly familiar voice cut through the room, smooth yet utterly exasperating. “You don't like white?”

You didn’t even need to look to know it was him. The sudden rush of irritation heated your cheeks as you whipped your head towards the door. And there he was. Park Sunghoon. Strolling in casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive designer coat, as if he hadn’t ruined your entire week.

“Yeah, I don’t,” you shot back, your glare burning through him. The forced smile on your face was saccharine, dripping with the very clear message that he was definitely not welcome.

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. Of course, he had the audacity to smirk—like always. "Sadly," he drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “you gotta keep them.”

Without invitation, he sauntered over to the side of your bed, his presence filling the room, as if his wealth and arrogance alone could smother the oxygen. You watched him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over your chest in defiance.

“Just leave me alone, you rich jerk,” you spat, unable to hold back the venom in your tone. Your fists clenched beneath the thin hospital sheets, a reminder that you couldn’t even storm out of here like you wanted to. You were stuck—and it was all because of him.

His face faltered for a split second, the cockiness slipping ever so slightly as your words hit him. But like clockwork, he masked it, that composed, arrogant look sliding back into place.

It should’ve been satisfying to see the momentary flash of guilt cross his features, but it wasn’t enough. Not when your life had been flipped upside down, not when you were confined to this bed because of his mistake.

BUT HOW DID ALL OF THIS HAPPEN?

Well…

FLASHBACK!

Your eyes were stinging from the tears, and you clumsily wiped them away with the back of your hand. You weren’t exactly drunk—maybe two shots deep after an agonizingly stressful day—but it was enough to make your head spin. Why did it all have to be so sad?

Sniffling, you stumbled down the empty street, your shoes scuffing the pavement as you sobbed quietly into the night. The darkness felt overwhelming, like it was swallowing you whole, and even though your tears blurred your vision, you knew where you were heading—or at least you thought you did.

It wasn’t until you heard the loud, abrupt honk of a motorbike that you even realized you were standing in the middle of the street. You barely had time to turn your head towards the blinding lights before—BAM!

The impact wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was enough. The bike, thankfully, had slowed down, but not nearly enough to stop it from hitting you. Pain shot through your leg as you collapsed onto the cold, hard ground, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You groaned loudly, clutching your leg, wincing at the sharp sting that radiated through your body. Meanwhile, the rider, who had also fallen, was busy steadying himself, dusting off his helmet as if he wasn’t the reason your entire life had just flashed before your eyes.

“THE HELL?!” you screamed, your voice cracking as you tried to shift your weight but immediately regretted it. The sharp pain in your leg intensified, forcing you back down onto the concrete. You gritted your teeth, tears stinging your eyes once again as you glared up at him.

The guy finally looked your way, lifting his visor to reveal his face. "Ma’am, are you okay?" he asked, his voice eerily calm, as if he hadn’t just crashed his motorcycle into you. Like it was some minor inconvenience to him.

Your blood boiled. “Okay???" you spat out, your voice a mix of disbelief and fury. "I’m literally bleeding! Are you dumb?!”

The guy blinked, clearly taken aback by your outburst, but remained calm. Too calm. “Alright, alright, just calm down,” he muttered, crouching down next to you, but that only made you angrier.

"Calm down?” you snapped, clenching your fists as the pain and the frustration built up inside of you. “Say that when you’re the one lying here, bleeding out!"

He flinched at your words but didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone to call an ambulance. Meanwhile, you were still seething, glancing down at your leg where the blood was now slowly trickling down your thigh, staining your jeans. The sight of it made you dizzy, your head swimming with pain and exhaustion.

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you still had enough energy to notice him—freaking fixing his bike. He had the nerve to set it upright on its stand, making sure it was okay before coming back to check on you.

"If you even think about making this a hit and run," you rasped, your voice hoarse from both pain and anger, “I’ll haunt your entire family line.”

The guy stopped, visibly gulping as he knelt down beside you once again, clearly panicking now. "No, no, that’s not—look, the ambulance is coming, okay? Just… try to stay with me.”

Your vision blurred, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the world began to tilt. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was him leaning over, actually cleaning the blood off your thigh with his sleeve, his face a mask of panic and guilt. You didn’t know what was worse—the excruciating pain or the fact that you now hated him with every fiber of your being. Park Sunghoon.

And just like that, you passed out, your hatred for him searing into the darkness of your mind as you slipped into unconsciousness.

AND WHAT EXACTLY HAPPENED AFTER THAT?

You may wonder, but well...

Turns out, the guy—Park Sunghoon—was not just any calm, overly collected motorcyclist who’d crashed into you that night. No, he was the son of a wealthy man, one of those who didn’t have to face consequences because money speaks louder than the truth. And apparently, money really does talk, especially when you’re up against a system rigged to work in favor of the rich.

Even though Sunghoon had confessed to being at fault—had told the police it was his mistake—the tests showed otherwise. Your blood test, which revealed traces of alcohol, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. You weren’t even drunk, for heaven's sake—two shots hardly counted—but that didn’t matter. The system had already labeled you as the reckless one. Your claims of innocence? Brushed off, like dust from his expensive jacket.

It was humiliating. The police barely questioned Sunghoon. His parents swooped in like hawks, ensuring their precious son wouldn’t be held accountable for such a trivial incident, and just like that, there was no investigation, no justice. Just a quick sweep under the rug, and you were left to fester in your anger, helpless against the machine that protected people like him.

Being an orphan only made things worse. You had no guardian, no family to back you up or fight for you. Your best friend, Wonyoung, was the only one who came to your side. She tried covering your hospital bills—she had offered, insisted even—but you couldn’t let her. She needed the money more than you did, and you weren’t about to burden her with your mess. But you couldn't deny her when she showed up every day with packed lunches, smuggling in home-cooked meals like they were contraband.

On one particular afternoon, you sat in the hospital bed, poking at the warm rice she had lovingly packed in a small bento box. Wonyoung sat across from you, her eyes burning with the same hatred you felt. She stabbed at her own food, her anger simmering with every bite.

“I still can’t believe him,” she muttered, barely able to contain her frustration. “How does he get to walk away from this like it’s nothing?”

You let out a humorless chuckle, shaking your head as you swallowed a bite of food. “Because he’s rich. Rich guys don’t face consequences, apparently.”

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

You sighed, your gaze falling to your bandaged leg. It throbbed, a constant reminder of everything that had happened. “Join the club,” you muttered. “He hasn’t even tried to take responsibility. Not once.”

Wonyoung scoffed, glancing over at the sterile hospital room, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow over everything. “How does he sleep at night? Like, seriously?”

You thought about that too. How did Park Sunghoon sleep at night? Probably on some ridiculously expensive mattress in his mansion, far away from the mess he’d left you in. You clenched your fists around the edge of your blanket, biting back the urge to cry. Not again. You were so tired of crying, of feeling powerless, of being at the mercy of someone else’s mistakes.

AND AS THE DAYS PASSED, the gnawing anxiety of being kicked out of the hospital clung to you like a dark cloud. Let's be honest—you had no money. The minute the hospital caught wind of that, you were sure they’d toss you out on the curb without a second thought. It wasn’t like you had any guardian to bail you out, no family waiting in the wings to cover the mounting costs. You were an orphan—alone, except for your best friend Wonyoung, who had already done more than she needed to.

Sitting up slightly in your bed, you glanced at the nurse as she came in to check your vitals. She seemed nice—too nice—and it was exactly that thread of hope you grasped at as you hesitantly asked, “So... when do I pay the hospital bill?”

You knew the question was pointless, knew the answer would sink like lead in your gut, but you had to ask. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen.

The nurse adjusted the IV drip, giving you a small smile as she jotted something down on her clipboard. “Someone already paid for you.”

Your jaw didn’t drop—not even a little—because let’s be honest, you knew who had covered it. Sunghoon’s parents. Of course they did. Anything to wipe their son’s record clean, to make sure no trace of this incident marred the reputation of their precious heir. Rich people.

“Right.” You muttered, sinking back into the pillows, staring at the plain white ceiling. It was always the same. Pay, forget, move on. No justice, just convenient cover-ups.

The nurse, oblivious to the tension building inside you, walked out of the room. You sighed heavily, closing your eyes, hoping—praying—that it wasn’t Sunghoon or one of his parents waiting for you outside. But your luck? Yeah, it never worked in your favor.

“Enjoying your stay here?” His voice was as smooth as silk, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, Park Sunghoon, standing in the doorway with that charming smile of his. It was the kind of smile that could have melted hearts—not yours, though. Not now, not when he was the reason you were lying here, stuck in this bed, smelling nothing but disinfectant and medicine.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you bit out, rolling your eyes. “A dream vacation. Smell of medicine, broken bones, IV drips—just paradise.”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, like he wasn’t standing in front of you after nearly ruining your life. You could have thrown the flower pot sitting by your bed at him—would have if the nurse hadn’t spoken up at that exact moment.

“She has a fracture in her leg and some soft tissue damage, but with rehabilitation, she should recover in twelve to eighteen weeks,” the nurse said, looking at Sunghoon like he actually cared about your prognosis.

“Alright. I get it,” he muttered, nodding as if he was taking mental notes, and you wondered why. Why was he still here? Why did he even care? He had already done his job, hadn’t he? Paid the bills, covered the mess—so why was he still hanging around?

The nurse excused herself, flashing what you swore was a knowing smile before she left the room. “Okay, then, enjoy your time with your girlfriend,” she said as she slipped out the door.

Girlfriend?! You nearly choked on your own breath. Girlfriend?? Really?! Your eyes shot to Sunghoon, demanding an explanation as you sat up straighter, the hospital blanket clenched in your fists.

“Explain,” you hissed, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. Your leg ached with the movement, but you ignored it, your whole body brimming with frustration.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... my dad wouldn’t let me get involved after the accident. But I wanted to take responsibility, and the only way I could stay connected to this without the media getting involved was to pretend you were my girlfriend. That way, it looks like I’m just... you know, paying your bills because I care.”

“Because you care?” You scoffed, your voice dripping with venom. “As expected. Rich people like you don’t actually care—you just want to clean up the mess and move on. Get the media off your back. Don’t worry about me though, Sunghoon. Just stay away from me, because if you keep hanging around, I swear, I will go insane.”

You grabbed the flower pot with one hand, aiming it directly at his face. Your knuckles whitened from the grip, the tension boiling over.

“Whoa, whoa!” Sunghoon raised his hands defensively, stepping back with a sheepish smile that only infuriated you more. “Calm down. I’m going, I’m going.”

He slipped out of the room with a smile that seemed too nonchalant, like none of this was serious to him. He disappeared into the hallway, leaving you to stew in your anger.

You let out a long string of curses under your breath, tossing the flower pot back onto the bedside table with a huff. Your head fell back against the pillow, and you closed your eyes, groaning in frustration.

Why did this guy have to be so infuriating? Every time you thought about him, your blood boiled, and now you were stuck in this mess with him as the person supposedly “taking care” of you. What a joke.

You clutched the blanket tighter, trying to shake off the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness.

THE NEXT DAY?

SUNGHOON WAS BACK AGAIN.

You groaned inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye as he quietly settled into the chair beside your hospital bed. He didn't speak, just sat there, his eyes glued to you. What the hell was his deal? You were already too tired to deal with the fact that this guy, who had already caused enough trouble in your life, was now making himself a permanent fixture in your hospital room.

“Can you just go away?” you murmured, voice low and raspy, refusing to look at him directly. It was irritating enough that he was here—you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly as if he were genuinely invested in whatever non-existent conversation you were about to have. “I just... I just wanted to apologize,” he started, his tone softer than you expected. “Look, I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, didn’t want you to get this fracture—”

“Don’t bother me with your false apologies,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as your eyes narrowed in on him. There was no way you were going to sit here and let him play the nice guy when he was the reason you were stuck in this bed. As far as you were concerned, his words were as hollow as his concern.

Sunghoon flinched at your dismissal, but his face quickly returned to that neutral, unreadable expression he always wore. Without missing a beat, he pulled out a small, elegant container from his side, opened it up, and began arranging a steaming bowl of ramen. The fragrant aroma hit your nose almost instantly—rich broth, a soft-boiled egg on the side, and a hint of spice. His personal chef’s touch, no doubt. How typical.

“Here.” He pushed the bowl towards you, chopsticks in hand, offering it like it was some grand gesture of peace.

You stared at it, the smell tempting your empty stomach. But hell no were you going to eat anything he gave you. Not after everything. It felt like taking pity food, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d done something nice.

“I don’t want to eat this,” you refused coldly, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your head away as if the sight of it disgusted you.

Sunghoon blinked, clearly taken aback by your blunt rejection. The chopsticks hovered mid-air, the ramen dangling precariously off the ends. “Then... what are you gonna eat?” His tone wasn’t mocking, just confused—like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse gourmet ramen made by a personal chef.

You bit back a sigh, feeling the frustration bubbling under your skin. “The hospital food,” you replied flatly, knowing full well you had no intention of eating it. Who in their right mind actually wanted hospital food? But you weren’t going to let him win. Even if it meant enduring that tasteless mush, you would.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, completely unfazed, and with the same calm indifference, he took a bite of the ramen himself. Leaning back in his chair, he made himself comfortable, savoring each bite like he had all the time in the world. The room was suddenly filled with the sound of his quiet chewing, and your irritation spiked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, glaring at him as he continued to eat in silence.

He glanced at you, the corner of his lips twitching as if he found this whole situation amusing. “You said you didn’t want it. So, I’m eating it.” His tone was maddeningly casual, as if the fact that you were lying there in a hospital bed while he enjoyed a meal meant absolutely nothing to him.

“I—” You started, but your words stuck in your throat. Was he doing this on purpose? You glared at him, eyes narrowing, your frustration palpable. Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

It hit him square in the chest, the force of it barely making him flinch, but it was enough to get his attention.

“Just eat somewhere else!” you snapped, your voice raising a bit louder than you intended. “Not near me. You’re making me feel nauseous,” you added, feigning an exaggerated gag as you pressed your hand to your stomach, though in truth, your frustration was more mental than physical.

Sunghoon paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, his gaze flickering over to you. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes—something like amusement, or maybe even disbelief. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual blank, indifferent expression.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, pushing his chair back a few inches as if to placate you. He continued eating though, leaning further back, seemingly unbothered by your outburst.

You watched him in silence, your hands clenching the hospital blanket in frustration. How could someone be so infuriating? Every fiber of your being screamed to tell him off, to shout at him for being so... so... indifferent.

But deep down, you knew you couldn’t push him too far. As much as you hated it, this guy and his filthy rich family were the ones footing your hospital bills. Without them, you’d be in deep trouble, maybe even kicked out by now. You needed to be civil—just civil enough—to keep this uncomfortable arrangement going. But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

As Sunghoon continued eating, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering. Your job. What the hell were you supposed to tell your workplace? They were going to fire you for taking such a long break, weren’t they? You were already behind on rent, behind on everything. And now, because of him, you were going to lose the only shred of stability you had left.

You glanced at him again, annoyance bubbling up inside you. This was all his fault.

Every second he stayed here, pretending to be remorseful, pretending to care—it only fueled your hatred more.

After finishing up his food, Sunghoon finally stood up from the chair, and for a blissful second, you thought he was about to leave. Peace, at last.

But no. You watched in dismay as he turned toward the door, only to return moments later with another steaming bowl of food—something undoubtedly made by his annoyingly talented personal chef again. Your stomach growled involuntarily at the sight of it, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing you wanted it.

Just as you were about to shoot him a glare, the nurse caring for you entered the room, pushing a small tray cart with the dreaded hospital food on it. Great. She offered a brief, polite smile as she placed the tray on your bedside table. The food looked even worse today—if that was even possible—bland and unappetizing, the kind of meal that probably hadn’t seen salt or seasoning in years.

“Here you go, sweetie. Make sure you eat something,” the nurse said warmly before quickly leaving the room, clearly unaware of the ongoing battle of wills between you and Sunghoon.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you looked over at him. He was watching you, his elbow lazily perched on the arm of the chair, his hand supporting his chin. A slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That damn smirk. The one that made you want to throw something at him—if it weren’t for your fractured leg keeping you bedridden.

“Thank you,” you muttered halfheartedly, reluctantly picking up the plastic spoon that came with the hospital food. You took a bite of the mushy, tasteless concoction, and immediately regretted it. It was like eating wet cardboard. You fought hard not to gag, your throat tightening as the flavorless blob slid down.

Sunghoon chuckled quietly from across the room, his eyes never leaving you. “I thought you wanted hospital food?” he teased, leaning forward just a little as if to get a better look at your suffering.

You made a face, a sickened grimace pulling at your lips as soon as the nurse was out of sight. The taste was vile. And worse yet, Sunghoon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle.

“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk widening. He knew you didn’t want the hospital food. He knew, and that only seemed to make this entire situation even more entertaining for him.

Your pride was the only thing stopping you from throwing the tray out the window and devouring the meal he brought, but your body was betraying you. Your stomach growled again, loud enough for Sunghoon to hear. He chuckled, clearly amused by your stubbornness.

Before you could protest, he moved closer, balancing the bowl of ramen on his knee as he picked up his chopsticks. With an exaggerated nonchalance, he twirled some noodles around the chopsticks and brought them to your lips.

“Here,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “Just try it.”

You stared at the chopsticks hovering in front of you, your resolve weakening. The savory scent of the ramen was intoxicating, and before you knew it, your body betrayed you once again. You leaned forward and took a bite, unable to resist the warm, perfectly seasoned noodles. The difference in taste was almost enough to make you groan in relief.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he watched you chew, his eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s a good girl,” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a teasing lilt.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, and you glared at him through a mouthful of ramen. “Don’t call me that,” you muttered, voice muffled as you chewed.

“Why not?” He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking up in playful curiosity. “You don’t like being called a good girl?”

“It’s cringe,” you replied shortly, swallowing the bite. “Just... feed me, dude.”

He raised an eyebrow at the casual “dude” and let out a soft snort of laughter. “Don’t ‘dude’ me,” he shot back, his tone playfully offended. He twirled more noodles around the chopsticks and held them up for you again.

You glared at him but leaned in for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring the flavor. Dammit, the ramen was good. Stupid rich kids and their personal chefs.

“Why can’t you be nice to me for just one second?” he asked, his voice light but with an edge of genuine curiosity.

You scoffed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Maybe because you literally got my leg fractured.”

He let out a low sigh, his face softening as he leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other still held the chopsticks. “That was a mistake.”

“A mistake that cost me my life,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitter sarcasm. You gestured to your leg, propped up awkwardly with a cast. “I can’t work. I’m stuck here. All because of you.”

He winced slightly, but it was brief, his calm expression returning just as quickly. “Yeah, but I’m paying for your bills and feeding you gourmet food. I think that counts for something.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks. I guess I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re throwing your money at the problem you caused,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He leaned in again, closer this time, his face just inches from yours as he held up the chopsticks with a piece of soft-boiled egg. “You need protein to recover,” he said with mock seriousness, as if that somehow excused everything.

You gave him a long, unimpressed stare but opened your mouth reluctantly, letting him feed you the egg. It was delicious, of course.

Your bickering continued, the tension between you palpable—part frustration, part something you didn’t want to examine too closely. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something almost... comfortable in this strange back-and-forth. Even if he was insufferable. Even if he had ruined your life. There was something about the way he teased you, the way he looked at you with that annoying smirk, that was... unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Next time,” you muttered between bites, “just don’t call me a good girl.”

Sunghoon grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see.”

A WEEK HAD PASSED,

AND SOMEHOW, THIS GUY,

PARK SUNGHOON—

Had become an inescapable shadow in your life. He was always around, lingering like a ghost in the corner of your hospital room, and frankly, it was getting on your nerves. You’d half expected him to get bored and move on, but no, he was persistent. Today was no exception, as he casually strolled in, dressed far too well for someone who supposedly had nothing better to do.

As if the universe wanted to test you even more, you suddenly realized you needed to use the bathroom. Perfect. With a fractured leg and several other annoying injuries, it wasn’t exactly a simple task to just get up and go.

Your eyes flickered over to Sunghoon, who, as usual, was making himself comfortable in the chair beside your bed, scrolling through his phone like he had all the time in the world. How does he not have work? you wondered. But then again, he was rich. He probably was the boss—no one to yell at him for skipping out.

An idea popped into your head, one so devious it made you almost grin. If you were stuck in this hell because of him, then he was going to suffer for it, too.

“I need to use the washroom,” you said, your voice dripping with forced sweetness. You shot him a smile so sugary it could give someone a cavity.

He looked up from his phone, raising a single eyebrow, his expression both confused and slightly suspicious. “And why are you telling me this?” His tone was casual, but you could tell he was wondering what you were up to.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Did he really not get it?

“Well,” you said, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly, “because you’re going to help me get there.”

Sunghoon’s face twisted into an expression of disbelief, the confusion deepening as he stared at you. His brows furrowed, and he glanced from you to your cast, clearly trying to make sense of the situation. “Can’t you just call the nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.

You shrugged again, acting as though the answer was obvious. “The nurse is probably busy with other patients. You’re here, so... help me.”

For a moment, Sunghoon just stared at you, realizing that this was your revenge—your small, petty way of getting back at him. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed his options, but ultimately, he sighed, knowing full well this was his fault. He couldn’t say no. Not this time.

He stood up from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket, and walked over to you. “Fine,” he grumbled under his breath, though there was a subtle trace of amusement in his voice. “Let’s get this over with.”

You smirked, raising your arms toward him in a silent, exaggerated demand for help. He gave you a look—one that said he knew exactly what you were doing—but he bent down anyway, carefully placing his arm around your back to help you sit up.

His movements were surprisingly gentle as he shifted you, mindful of your injuries. For a moment, you almost forgot you were supposed to hate him, but the memory of your fractured leg came rushing back as you awkwardly stood, balancing on your good leg while he held you up.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you teased, leaning a bit more heavily on him than necessary.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer, his grip tightening around your waist as he helped you off the bed. “Just don’t fall on me,” he muttered, his voice laced with mild frustration.

You let out a small, fake gasp. “Are you afraid of a little contact, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone dripping with mock innocence.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he ignored your jab, shifting his weight to better support you as he guided you toward the bathroom. “Gosh, why can’t you just call the nurse like a normal person?” he groaned, sounding far more exasperated now that he was actually having to deal with you.

“Because,” you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “this is your fault. You got me into this mess, and now you get to deal with it.”

He sighed again, clearly trying his hardest not to snap back at you. You could practically hear the patience draining out of him as he helped you into the bathroom, your body leaning heavily on his arm as you hobbled on one leg. His other hand hovered near your cast, careful not to jostle it.

Once you were inside the small bathroom, he slowly backed out, giving you space but not before shooting you a deadpan look. “You good?”

You smirked, biting back a laugh. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Sunghoon closed the door behind him with a soft click, but not before calling through the wood, “Just yell when you’re finished, Your Highness.”

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction. Revenge tasted sweet, even if it was petty. You knew Sunghoon didn’t want to be here, playing nurse, but it felt good to trouble him—just a little.

You took your time, prolonging your stay in the bathroom for as long as possible, savoring the knowledge that Sunghoon was waiting outside. Maybe it was childish, but it made you feel a bit better, if only for a moment.

As you lingered in the bathroom, relishing in your small, mischievous victory, Sunghoon's voice rang out from the other side of the door, his tone laced with irritation.

“You done?” he called out, his voice slightly muffled through the door.

You smirked, leaning your head back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, debating whether to prolong this little game. But fate, it seemed, had other plans for you. In your attempt to stand up properly, your balance wavered. Your injured leg buckled slightly, causing you to slip, creating a loud thud that echoed off the walls.

“Oh God?! Did you break your leg again?” Sunghoon’s voice immediately shifted from annoyance to a surprising edge of concern. You could hear the door handle jiggle as he attempted to open it.

In a panic, you yelled back before he could barge in. “Don’t even try! I haven’t pulled my pants up!” Your voice wobbled between panic and embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks despite yourself.

There was a brief pause, followed by a mixture of relief and exasperation in his tone. “Seriously?”

You could practically feel his embarrassment from behind the door as he rubbed the back of his neck, caught between wanting to help and this awkward situation. “Then pull them up!” he said, as though that solved everything. The sheer audacity of his tone made your eye twitch.

“Listen, boy,” you snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and frustration. “If I could pull them up, don’t you think I’d be able to walk out? I’m literally stuck on the floor. And it’s disgusting down here!”

His groan was audible through the door, no doubt paired with him running a hand over his face in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

The back-and-forth bickering continued for what felt like forever, with you calling out orders and him grumbling on the other side of the door. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally gave up trying to maintain any shred of dignity in this situation.

“Okay, I pulled them up! Now, help me get out of here,” you finally yelled, exhausted from the struggle.

Sunghoon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh of relief, one that almost made you want to smack him if it weren’t for your current predicament. “Phew, finally.” You could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

The door opened, and Sunghoon stepped inside with a mix of irritation and amusement. He bent down to help you, slipping his arm around your waist once more, lifting you up with practiced ease. You let out a small huff as he guided your weight against him, his warm hand steadying you as your body adjusted to standing again.

Without another word, you wobbled toward the sink, more than ready to return to the bed, but you couldn’t just ignore the fact that your hands were still dirty. Sunghoon kept his arm around you as you leaned over the sink to wash your hands, his eyes narrowing as he observed what you were doing.

"You..." he started, trailing off, his eyes slowly widening in horror. “You haven’t washed your hands yet, have you?”

You glanced up at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously not. I fell, genius,” you muttered, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon’s face instantly paled, his eyes darting from his hands to yours, his expression shifting from shock to absolute disgust. He immediately let go of you, stepping back like you’d just told him you had the plague.

“You did NOT just touch me with unwashed hands,” he said, his voice a mix of horror and disgust as he dramatically recoiled. His hand hovered in the air, shaking slightly, before he rushed to the other side of the sink, furiously scrubbing his hands with soap, as though he were trying to rid himself of every possible germ.

Watching him panic was somehow immensely satisfying, a smug grin curling your lips as you watched him suffer in disgust. “Eww, eww, eww!” he muttered to himself as he scrubbed, his face twisted in revulsion.

“Serves you right,” you quipped, leaning back against the wall, watching him frantically rinse his hands as though his life depended on it.

“You’re disgusting,” he shot back, glaring at you through the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched as though he were trying hard not to smile.

"Don’t act like I planned to fall, Sunghoon,” you retorted, crossing your arms as you continued to lean on him for support, your smirk never faltering. “But seeing you in pain—this... disgust—I gotta admit, it feels kinda good.”

He shot you a look, half exasperated and half amused, running a hand through his hair. “You’re something else,” he muttered, shaking his head as he helped you back toward the bed.

As much as you wanted to hate him, there was something oddly... endearing about his reaction. The tension between the two of you simmered beneath the surface, a strange mix of frustration, amusement, and something else you refused to acknowledge.

“I know,” you said, smirking as you let him help you lie down on the bed again. “I’m the best kind of trouble.”

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—something that made the air between you shift. For a moment, the banter fell silent, replaced by an unspoken tension. You both looked away at the same time, the quiet hum of the hospital room filling the space where your words had been.

It wasn’t hatred, not anymore—not exactly. It was something far more complicated than that.

AGAIN,

The next week went by in a haze of frustration, playful revenge, and shared irritations. What had started as your deep-seated hatred for Sunghoon for causing your fractured leg evolved into something less easy to define. It became a bizarre game of you tormenting him with every small inconvenience, while he reluctantly dealt with the trouble, almost as if he believed he deserved it. You had no idea why he kept coming back, why he hadn't just left you to the hospital staff—yet here he was. Every day. Helping you.

And today? Today, you were bored out of your mind, sick of the sterile walls of your hospital room and the bland hospital gown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The thought of sitting in that stiff bed for another minute was unbearable. Naturally, you decided Sunghoon should suffer the consequences of your boredom too. After all, he was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Take me out for a walk,” you’d said earlier, putting on your best guilt-trip face. “It’s the weekend, you have time. I’ve been stuck here for days.”

Sunghoon, standing at the foot of your bed with an exasperated sigh, had rubbed his temples as if debating whether to throw you into the wheelchair himself or just walk out. But he didn't. With a reluctant grunt and a muttered “Fine, whatever,” he agreed, grabbing the wheelchair from the corner and helping you into it.

Now, as he pushed you down the hospital hallway, your eyes gleamed with mischief. Your fractured leg was propped up awkwardly, wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and your body was still healing, but you were reveling in making him work for it.

"The garden!" you demanded, pointing outside through the glass doors like a queen giving orders to her servant.

Sunghoon, visibly tired from both the physical effort and the mental strain of dealing with you, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You enjoy this,” he muttered, his voice barely hiding the annoyance beneath. It wasn’t a question. He knew you were having way too much fun making his life difficult.

You didn’t answer him. Instead, you leaned back in the wheelchair with a smug grin, watching the trees and flowers of the hospital garden come into view. The warm sunlight kissed your skin, a far cry from the cold hospital walls. This, oddly enough, felt freeing. And it was even better knowing Sunghoon was stuck with you through it. He owed you, after all.

As you rolled along the garden’s paths, you caught sight of something from the corner of your eye—flashes. The unmistakable click of cameras. Paparazzi.

Your smile widened. You remembered the lies Sunghoon had told the nurse—how he had casually, with that infuriating confidence, claimed you were his girlfriend to save face. He was wealthy, privileged, and undoubtedly terrified of the media catching wind of the real story—that he was the one who crashed into you and got you in this mess.

A WICKED IDEA BLOOMED IN YOUR MIND.

Without warning, you let out a loud, exaggerated sob, your shoulders shaking dramatically as you hid your face in your hands. The sound echoed across the garden, loud enough that even the photographers several feet away perked up, their lenses immediately focusing on you.

Sunghoon immediately froze, halting the wheelchair in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he moved to your side, kneeling down beside you. His eyes darted around, realizing the attention you were drawing.

But you didn’t stop. You cried even louder, your voice cracking as you spoke, “It’s because of you! You ruined me! You ruined my life!” Your words were over the top, a dramatic sob story for the cameras.

Sunghoon’s eyes went wide with panic, his expression a mix of horror and disbelief as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He glanced over at the paparazzi, whose cameras were now flashing like crazy, capturing every tear, every quiver of your voice. “You’re kidding, right?” His voice was low, trying to keep his cool but clearly rattled.

You shot him a look through tear-filled eyes that could have won you an Oscar for Best Actress. “I can’t believe you did this to me,” you sobbed again, clutching your leg for dramatic effect. “All because you weren’t paying attention!”

He leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he desperately tried to contain the situation. “Please, don’t do this,” he pleaded, his eyes darting nervously between you and the flashing cameras.

But you weren’t done. Oh no. You were just getting started. “I should’ve never trusted you!” you wailed, loud enough for the photographers to pick up every word.

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, panic flooding his features as the paparazzi moved closer, their cameras capturing every second of your breakdown. He looked desperate, and it was almost... satisfying. Watching him squirm under the weight of his own lies felt like sweet revenge.

You were just about to spill the whole truth—about how he’d been the one to hit you with his motorbike, how he’d been pretending you were his girlfriend to save his reputation—when Sunghoon, clearly sensing what you were about to do, suddenly placed his hand firmly over your mouth, silencing you in an instant.

Your eyes widened in shock as his palm pressed against your lips. Without saying a word, he grabbed the wheelchair handles with his other hand and started pushing you back toward the hospital entrance, ignoring the flurry of camera flashes now going wild as the paparazzi captured the scene.

You muffled against his hand, glaring at him furiously as he practically ran down the hospital pathway, steering you out of sight from the media frenzy.

He didn’t stop until you were back inside the hospital, away from prying eyes. When he finally removed his hand from your mouth, you gasped, shooting him a withering glare.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?!” you yelled, still breathless from the intensity of it all.

He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place. “What the hell? Are you insane?! You were going to ruin me out there!”

“I should ruin you!” you shot back, crossing your arms as best as you could in the wheelchair. “You deserve it!”

His face softened for just a split second, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you drag me down that easily.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden tension between you—something beyond the irritation, beyond the bickering. Something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

He turned away, gripping the wheelchair handles once more as he moved you back toward your room in silence. And as much as you hated him, you couldn’t help but feel something else too.

As Sunghoon pushed your wheelchair back into the hospital, you couldn’t help but notice the other patients scattered throughout the halls. Most were older, their faces worn with the kind of wisdom you only get from enduring the passage of time. You saw them glance your way, eyes lighting up with admiration, clearly assuming that you and Sunghoon were some kind of tragic but loving couple, destined to overcome hardship together.

Ha. As if.

There wasn’t a drop of love here. The very thought made you internally cringe. If only they knew the truth—that Sunghoon was the reason you were in this wheelchair in the first place. That this whole ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ facade was just a cover-up for his recklessness. But, no. To them, he was probably some knight in shining armor, dutifully pushing his beloved around the hospital.

You caught a glimpse of an elderly woman giving you a soft smile, and you had to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. This wasn’t a fairytale romance—it was a mess. A tangled, ridiculous mess.

Sunghoon finally maneuvered you back into your hospital room, the wheels of the chair squeaking as he parked it beside your bed. He bent down, his fingers curling around the handles of the wheelchair as if ready to help you out. For a brief second, you could see the faint lines of stress etched into his face, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.

Before he could do anything, though, his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to answer, but eventually muttered, “I’ll just take this real quick.”

He stepped away, answering the call with a curt, “Yeah?” His voice was low, tense. As the conversation unfolded, you heard snippets of his replies: “I know better,” and “I’m an adult,” followed by a string of sighs. You couldn’t hear the other person on the line, but you could guess. It was probably one of his parents, likely lecturing him for spending so much time around you. After all, why would the rich, polished Sunghoon waste his precious time with some girl he’d accidentally injured?

But the truth was, Sunghoon couldn’t just up and leave you. Oh no. The media was already onto you both, snapping pictures every time you were in public together. If he suddenly disappeared now, they’d think he was the kind of guy who bailed on his girlfriend just because she got injured. His reputation would plummet faster than you’d hit the ground earlier.

Still, was it the truth? That Sunghoon didn’t want to be around you?

The reality was more complicated. You couldn’t even imagine calling him a friend, let alone anything more. This was a weird, temporary arrangement—nothing else.

“I’ll be back,” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, still distracted by his phone. Without a second glance in your direction, he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he disappeared.

Wait. What?

You blinked, staring at the empty space where he had been just moments ago. Did he seriously just walk out without helping you get back into bed? Your mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered to the empty room.

You waited, expecting him to come back any minute now, to walk in with that same frustrated expression and a sarcastic apology on his lips. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Fifteen. Nothing.

An entire hour dragged by, and still—no Sunghoon. The nurse was nowhere to be found either, probably off on her rounds, leaving you completely and utterly alone.

The frustration boiled inside you. There was no way you were going to stay trapped in this wheelchair any longer. It wasn’t comfortable, and the bed—despite being stiff and unwelcoming—looked like heaven compared to the cold seat you were stuck in.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to do it yourself.

Carefully, you placed your hands on the armrests, trying to hoist yourself up. Your fractured leg protested immediately, the dull ache turning into a sharp pain, but you ignored it. You couldn’t afford to fall, not now. You just had to get onto the bed.

One step. Then another.

You winced as your good leg took the brunt of your weight, wobbling unsteadily. It was like trying to walk a tightrope while holding a stack of plates. Your body swayed, arms trembling as you gripped the bed frame for support. Almost there. You could feel the edge of the mattress pressing against your fingertips.

And then—your foot slipped.

With a sickening thud, you fell face-first into the mattress, your body collapsing awkwardly against the bed frame. Pain shot through your leg as you let out a sharp gasp.

“Damn it!” you cursed under your breath, your voice muffled by the bedspread. “Sunghoon, this is all your fault!”

You lay there for a moment, too stunned and too furious to move. How could he just leave you like that? The idiot was probably off taking some important call while you were stuck in this miserable situation. Your hatred for him simmered again, bubbling to the surface like boiling water ready to spill over.

With a groan, you tried to push yourself up, your muscles straining as you fought to get into a proper position on the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. All you could think about was how Sunghoon was going to get an earful when—if—he ever came back.

But, despite the frustration, there was something else gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge. Something about the way his expression had softened just before he left, like he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you. Like there was something there, beneath all the sarcastic quips and exasperated sighs.

No. You shook your head, refusing to entertain the idea. This wasn’t some cliché hospital romance where the guy who ruined your life suddenly became your savior. Sunghoon wasn’t some misunderstood prince charming. He was just... Sunghoon. Annoying, frustrating, and absolutely the last person you wanted to deal with.

Still, as you lay there, face buried in the hospital bed, you couldn’t help but feel that gnawing frustration twisting into something else. Something far more complicated.

THE NEXT DAY PASSED IN A HAZE.

And the day after that.

And another day.

Each one crawled by, dragging itself through hours that felt like days. But Sunghoon didn’t return. Not a text, not a call, not even a shadow of his presence outside your hospital room. You didn’t want to admit it, but his absence gnawed at you. Was he sick? Had something happened? Why the hell were you even wondering about it?

You shouldn’t care.

You didn’t care.

In fact, you should be overjoyed if he had caught some miserable flu. Or—better yet—if he had gotten into trouble of his own for once. You’d be happy. Relieved, even.

Right?

Except, you weren’t. Something unsettling tugged at the back of your mind. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t said a word before disappearing. But the more you tried to push the thought away, the more it latched onto you.

And then the door to your hospital room creaked open, a slow twist of the knob announcing a presence you hadn’t expected.

In walked a woman.

Her aura screamed wealth, a kind of quiet, effortless opulence that you recognized instantly—the tailored coat, the way her silk scarf draped perfectly over her shoulders, and most notably, her glasses. You had never seen anyone wear glasses that looked like they cost more than your entire hospital stay.

She didn’t spare you much of a glance at first, too busy taking off her glasses with a dismissive flick of her wrist. But as soon as her eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, and instantly made you sit up straighter in bed, pressing your back against the headboard.

Was this Sunghoon’s mother?

The question popped into your mind, but the answer came without you having to ask. Her next words confirmed everything.

“So, you’re that girl,” she said, her voice clipped as her eyes flickered over you. It wasn’t even a question, more of a statement. You were that girl—the one her son had dragged into this mess. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but somehow managed to muster some sarcasm.

“Yeah, the girl your son fractured the leg of,” you shot back, the words leaving your mouth with a little too much venom. But, realizing this was probably not the time for jokes, you cleared your throat.

The woman didn’t look amused. Instead, she merely hummed, clearly not interested in exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m here to talk,” she said flatly, ignoring your tone entirely. Her eyes, sharp as ever, stayed fixed on you, not even bothering with an introduction. You could hear some faint commotion outside the room, likely the nurses eavesdropping, curious about the sudden appearance of such an elegant woman.

“Okay…” you replied, scratching the back of your neck nervously, your mind already racing. What could she possibly want?

Without a hint of hesitation, Sunghoon’s mother stepped closer to your bed, pulling something out of her bag—a cheque. She laid it on your blanket-covered lap with a kind of quiet authority that made it clear this wasn’t a negotiation.

“Take this,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “And leave my son.”

You blinked, staring at the cheque in disbelief. Was this really happening? It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a cheesy drama. Your mouth opened to respond, but before you could, she continued, her tone icy and business-like.

“If the media says anything, tell them the two of you broke up because of something you did.”

The words hit you like a slap. So this was it, huh? A payoff. A quick exit plan for the inconvenience you had become. Without thinking, you picked up the cheque. Shamelessly, even. You weren’t going to pretend like you weren’t curious. Your eyes widened slightly as you glanced at the amount.

It was a lot.

Enough to cover an expensive surgery. Heck, enough to completely change your life—your face, your identity. Maybe even start fresh. Your heart raced for a moment, but then a sneaky idea popped into your head. Maybe you could push this a little further.

“I can’t take this,” you muttered, putting on your best ‘reluctant’ act. You hoped it came off as genuine, like you were too noble to accept a bribe. You glanced up at her from under your lashes, waiting to see her reaction.

For a split second, her eyes narrowed, and then—without a word—she reached into her bag again, pulling out another cheque. This one was double the amount of the first.

Your internal grin nearly split your face in two.

“I’ll take it,” you replied immediately, the words leaving your mouth faster than you could process them. You grabbed the second cheque, abandoning any pretense of hesitation. This was too good to pass up. Who cared about Sunghoon? You weren’t even his girlfriend. You didn’t owe him anything, and this was way too much money to let go.

Sunghoon’s mother arched a brow, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. “You’re smart,” she said, her voice dripping with a patronizing kind of approval. Before you could even react, she patted your head like you were some kind of obedient puppy. The gesture made your skin crawl, but you forced yourself to stay still, biting back the urge to snap at her.

With that, she turned and strode out of the room, her heels clicking against the tiled floor in a rhythm that oozed confidence and control. You watched her leave, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the distant chatter outside the door. You glanced down at the cheques in your hands, the weight of them sinking in.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. This was it. After years of living in that godforsaken orphanage, of scraping by, of enduring the endless bullying—you were finally getting a break.

Who knew a fractured leg could be this profitable? If this was what came from one little accident, maybe getting hit again wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

At least you knew one thing for sure: money beats boys. Every time.

YOU EXPECTED TO NEVER SEE SUNGHOON EVER AGAIN. In fact, you had made peace with it—or, at least, you thought you had. But that didn’t stop the daily ritual that had developed between you, Wonyoung, and Hanni.

They sat on either side of your hospital bed, a swirl of indignation and venom, bitching relentlessly about the guy who had caused all of this—Sunghoon.

At least you had your friends. They were here, taking time out of their lives to be by your side, and if that wasn’t love, you didn’t know what was. Wonyoung sat perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her legs crossed with effortless grace, while Hanni lounged at the foot of your bed, absently stroking your hair like you were a cat. They had barely paused for breath since they’d walked into the room, diving headfirst into their favorite topic: how much they despised Sunghoon.

"I mean, the guy just fractures your leg and disappears without so much as a note?" Wonyoung scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief as she flung her arms in the air like she wanted to strangle him. She shot you a look that said how could you have possibly put up with this idiot?

“And let’s not forget,” Hanni added, leaning forward conspiratorially as if Sunghoon might somehow hear them through the walls, “he’s probably just out there living his little rich boy life while you’re stuck in here, waiting for your leg to heal.”

She shook her head in disgust, fingers still lightly grazing your scalp. “Rich bastards are always like this,” she muttered under her breath, giving you a soft pat like she was reassuring you that you weren’t alone in your suffering.

You could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, watching the two of them fuel each other’s fire. Neither of them had actually met Sunghoon, but they hated him with the burning passion of a thousand suns, and honestly, it was kind of hilarious to watch.

“I know, right? Like, how dare he?” Wonyoung continued, practically vibrating with indignation. “Does he think just because he’s rich and pretty, he can just act like that and not have any consequences?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a thin line, as she mimicked slapping someone in the air. “If I ever see him, I swear to god I’m going to knock some sense into that stupid, spoiled—”

“Oh, please,” Hanni interrupted with a snort. “If you ever saw him, you'd probably get distracted by how disgustingly handsome he is and forget all about punching him.”

Wonyoung blinked at her, feigning innocence. “Me? Never. I’m immune to pretty boys.”

“Sure.” Hanni teased, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to your last crush.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at their bickering, the sound surprising you. It was strange how comforting their presence was, even though all they seemed to do was rip into Sunghoon. Not that you minded, of course. They were right—he deserved it. Completely.

…Right?

You listened as they went back and forth, each taking turns trashing him for his ghosting act. The more they bitched, the more venomous their words became, but somewhere deep down, you couldn’t help but feel a small, annoying tug of… something else.

Sure, you hated Sunghoon. You absolutely detested him. He had caused this whole mess, fractured your leg, and then vanished into thin air without so much as a “Sorry, hope you’re doing okay.” The guy didn’t even have the decency to send flowers. Who does that?

But… still. A part of you—a very, very tiny part—missed him. Even though he was infuriating. Even though he’d probably caused you more stress than anyone else in your life. You couldn’t shake the strange pang of absence, the way the hospital room felt oddly emptier without him awkwardly hovering around like your personal nurse. Maybe it was the fact that, for a few fleeting moments, you’d been able to annoy the hell out of him and enjoy watching him fumble over basic hospital tasks. There was a twisted kind of satisfaction in making a guy like him—a spoiled, oblivious rich boy—take care of you.

But more than that, you missed having someone to direct your frustration at. As much as you enjoyed watching Wonyoung and Hanni tear him to shreds on your behalf, it wasn’t quite the same.

“Seriously, though,” Hanni said, dragging you out of your thoughts, “I bet he’s out at some fancy restaurant right now, eating caviar or whatever rich people eat, without a single thought about you.”

Wonyoung huffed, leaning back on her elbows. “Probably. You know, I bet he’s never even eaten instant ramen. Can you imagine?”

You snorted. “Yeah, because the moment he tastes anything less than five-star cuisine, his delicate palate might collapse.”

Wonyoung laughed, but then her expression grew more serious. “It’s just messed up, though. He leaves you here to rot, and for what? Did he even like you?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “Who knows? I think I was just a… distraction for him.”

“That’s even worse,” Hanni said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, you should’ve asked for more when his mom came by with that cheque. They owe you a hell of a lot more than just money after all this.”

Wonyoung’s eyes widened. “Wait, his mom came here? And gave you money?”

“Oh, right. I forgot to mention that part,” you said, suppressing a grin as you leaned back against your pillow. “Yeah, his mom basically bribed me to stay away from him. Two cheques, actually.”

Hanni’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was,” you replied, the grin breaking free. “Apparently, I was such a nuisance that she wanted to pay me off to disappear from Sunghoon’s life for good.”

Wonyoung let out a low whistle. “Damn. You should’ve held out for a third cheque.”

“Honestly,” Hanni added, shaking her head in disbelief. “Rich people are something else.”

You laughed, a bit more genuinely this time, as they continued to bitch about Sunghoon and his high-society family. But despite the humor and the camaraderie, there was still that nagging feeling. That tiny, irritating itch in the back of your mind.

You didn’t miss him—not exactly. But maybe, just maybe, you missed the chaos that came with him. And, unfortunately, chaos had a way of finding its way back.

You just didn’t know it yet.

“Woah, I didn’t expect you to bad bitch about me the second I disappear,” came a familiar voice from the doorway, smooth and dripping with sarcasm. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who it was. The all-too-familiar dramatic hurt expression was already imprinted in your mind—the same one Sunghoon wore whenever he wanted to be the center of attention, which was, frankly, all the time.

You snapped your head in his direction, and there he was—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as if he hadn't just walked in unannounced, with that smug smirk plastered on his ridiculously perfect face. His brows were raised in mock disbelief, his lips twisted into an amused pout, as if he'd caught you red-handed in the act of a crime. How dare you talk about me when I’m not here? his expression screamed. But it wasn’t just that. No. Sunghoon looked… annoyingly good.

The worst part? He knew it.

Hanni and Wonyoung, who had been enthusiastically leading the charge in your anti-Sunghoon crusade just moments ago, froze mid-rant, their jaws practically hitting the floor. The air thickened with awkward tension, the kind that made your stomach do a weird flip. You glanced at your friends, fully expecting them to keep up the bitching. Surely, they wouldn’t back down now—not after all the trash-talking they’d just unleashed on his name, right? But when you turned to look at them, all you saw were wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

Wait a minute. Were they… shy?

Hanni was the first to break. Her voice, usually sharp and unfiltered, faltered as she stared at Sunghoon like he had descended from the heavens. “Were we talking about him?” she whispered under her breath, as if you hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes cursing his existence. She blinked, clearly taken aback by his presence. So handsome, so— you could practically hear her thoughts scrambling for coherence.

Wonyoung, on the other hand, was shamelessly gawking. Gone was the fire-breathing dragon ready to rip Sunghoon to shreds. Instead, she was wide-eyed, as if she’d never seen a human so beautiful in her life. “Uh…” She trailed off, her brain short-circuiting under his gaze. So much for being immune to pretty boys.

You huffed, rolling your eyes at their sudden change of demeanor. Traitors.

Before you could say anything, Sunghoon took a leisurely step into the room, his presence practically swallowing the space whole. “Your mom told me to stay away from you,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him in the hopes that it would somehow send him running for the hills. As if mentioning his mother would magically undo his annoying existence. “And by the way,” you added, “I’m not giving that money back. No way.”

Sunghoon’s smirk only widened, the infuriating bastard. “Well, yeah,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather, “she told you to stay away from me, but I’m still allowed to stay close to you. You’re not the one initiating this.” He shrugged, as if his logic was sound and you were the one being difficult.

You stared at him, dumbfounded. What? You actually had to tilt your head back to process that nonsense. Was he serious? You blinked, glanced up at the ceiling as if the answer to his ridiculous statement might be written up there, and then back at him.

He wasn’t joking.

You were about to retort—about to remind him just how absurd that sounded—when you glanced at your two supposed best friends, expecting them to jump in and tear him a new one. But instead, they were still sitting there, suddenly very preoccupied with… being shy? Their gazes darted anywhere but at Sunghoon, as if he was some untouchable, otherworldly figure they couldn’t dare criticize anymore.

You scoffed under your breath. Unbelievable.

“Well…” You tried to gather your thoughts, but before you could finish, Hanni shifted beside you—by accident, of course—and her elbow brushed against your injured leg. Pain shot through your body, and you winced, sucking in a sharp breath. “Ow!”

Immediately, Sunghoon was at your side, crossing the room in a flash, his expression now serious as he kneeled beside you, his hands hovering over your injured leg. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

Your instinct was to push him away—to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The last thing you needed was him fussing over you like he actually cared. But you were injured, and Sunghoon had the upper hand—literally. His fingers gently pressed against your leg, checking to see if you were in pain, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop him. You tried to shove him off, but he was stronger, and your body wasn’t exactly in fighting shape.

“Stop—” you muttered, but your voice was weak. And, truthfully, despite how much you hated him, you let him check because… well, he was good at it. Annoyingly good.

Hanni, meanwhile, had the audacity to mutter under her breath, “Should’ve brought popcorn. This is hella interesting.” She shot you a guilty look, clearly aware that she’d caused the whole thing by bumping into your leg, but that didn’t stop her from thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding right before her eyes.

Wonyoung, who had somehow recovered from her stunned silence, leaned back and muttered, “Right.” She was watching the whole scene play out like she was stuck in the middle of some romantic comedy, her eyes darting between you and Sunghoon like she was waiting for the inevitable kiss scene.

“Weren’t you two on the #hatehim team?” you hissed, glaring at both of them as Sunghoon finally pulled back, satisfied that your leg wasn’t worse off than before.

Wonyoung blinked innocently, already gathering her things. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah,” Hanni added with a shrug, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “We’re just, uh… neutral parties.”

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, they both stood, gathered their bags, and exchanged quick looks like they had just silently agreed on something. In unison, they made their way to the door, Wonyoung gesturing for Hanni to follow her like they were in some secret mission.

“Wait—are you leaving?!” you called after them, your voice laced with disbelief.

Hanni flashed you an apologetic smile, but her feet didn’t stop moving. “We’ll see you later! Good luck!”

With that, the two of them excused themselves, slipping out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you alone with Sunghoon. You blinked after them, incredulous. They had changed their minds way too fast. How the hell did that even happen? Just ten minutes ago, they had been ripping Sunghoon apart, and now? Now they were acting like he was some kind of romantic hero who had fallen from the stars to sweep you off your feet.

You sighed, sinking back against your pillow.

But even as you stared at the door, trying to figure out how your two best friends had suddenly betrayed you, the nagging worry crept back into your mind. The cheques. You couldn’t help but glance at Sunghoon out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he would tell his mom about this little reunion. You would kill him if the money got taken back.

And just like that, Sunghoon was once again at the center of your frustrations—always, always causing trouble.

THE FACT THAT THE SUNGHOON — the only son of Park Corporation—had re-entered your life wasn’t exactly a secret, nor did it stay hidden from the one person who mattered most: his mother. There was no way she’d let this slide. And just as you predicted, not long after Sunghoon's unexpected return, his mother showed up at your hospital room door once again, this time with backup.

And by backup, you meant Sunghoon's older cousin brother, Jay. A man whose only crime, as far as you could tell, was being related to the Park family. If Sunghoon was infuriating, Jay seemed like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. His discomfort radiated off him like a bad cologne—too strong, and kind of pitiful. His eyes darted nervously around the room, like he was scared to make eye contact with you. Honestly, you weren’t even sure if he knew why he was there.

Mrs. Park nudged him sharply, her manicured nails digging into his arm. “Tell her,” she hissed, clearly fed up with his lack of initiative.

Jay, however, looked more like he was preparing for a high school speech than an intimidating favor-demanding confrontation. He rubbed the back of his neck, looked down at his palm, probably reciting some mental script he had prepared on the way here, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh… so…”

You raised an eyebrow. Was this really happening? The Park Corporation sent this guy? This was their best shot at trying to intimidate you? First, Sunghoon barges into your life like a hurricane, and now his cousin shows up, looking like he’s one deep breath away from fainting. Honestly, you felt bad for Mrs. Park. How did she expect these two to run a massive conglomerate? You stifled a laugh, pity almost bubbling up in your chest.

Before Jay could stumble through another word, though, the door burst open, and in walked the person you least wanted to see. Of course. Of course Sunghoon had perfect timing. He always seemed to show up when things were about to get interesting, like some messed-up alarm system that detected whenever you were about to make some extra cash off his family’s dramatics. You barely blinked before he was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as if he hadn’t just barged in.

“Jay,” Sunghoon muttered, his tone heavy with disappointment, “You too?”

Jay immediately straightened up, as if trying to salvage what little pride he had left. “Your mom asked me to. Trust me, I didn’t want to do this.” He stepped back, throwing his hands up as though he were surrendering to the inevitable.

Sunghoon’s mother, however, had zero patience for this nonsense. She let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to her temple as if dealing with two grown men acting like toddlers was giving her a migraine. “What else could I do when my son is wasting his time on this?” She waved a hand in your direction, as though you were an unpleasant distraction from Sunghoon’s otherwise charmed life. Her voice dripped with irritation, as though you were personally responsible for ruining her perfectly laid plans.

You paused mid-bite, glancing at her with an amused smirk. She had brought her son’s cousin to what? Scare you? Threaten you into backing off? You leaned back against the pillows on your hospital bed, casually spearing another piece of the expensive meal Sunghoon had brought you earlier. A luxurious spread, by the way. How thoughtful. You chewed slowly, savoring both the food and the unfolding chaos in front of you. It was like watching a soap opera, but better, because it was real. And because you were the center of it.

Sunghoon ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed by his mother’s theatrics. “This again? Seriously, Mom?” His gaze flickered toward Jay, who was doing his best to blend into the wallpaper. “You got Jay involved in this?”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Mrs. Park snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood in the middle of the room, clearly expecting to command the entire situation with her presence alone. “I can’t just stand by while you throw away your future on—” She glanced at you with disdain, the kind only a Park could muster. “This girl.”

You snorted, taking another bite of food. “This girl is sitting right here, you know.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked to you, briefly softening in what might have been sympathy—or maybe annoyance. Hard to tell. Either way, he turned back to his mother, exasperation bleeding into his voice. “I’m not ‘throwing away’ anything. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

His mother wasn’t having it. “You’ve been running around for days, ignoring your responsibilities for this… this situation!” She gestured dramatically toward you as if you were some scandalous tabloid headline.

You set down your fork and raised an eyebrow. “It’s cute that you think you can still control him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that screamed you’re not helping.

Mrs. Park glared at her son, then at you, her lips pressing into a thin line. “This isn’t about control,” she said icily, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “It’s about ensuring you don’t ruin your life over some impulsive decision.”

Jay, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. He kept glancing between the three of you, clearly regretting every single decision that led him here. He took a step back, slowly edging toward the door, clearly hoping no one would notice him escaping.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, your voice teasing but firm, “You’re part of this mess now, Jay.”

His eyes widened in mild panic. “I—I don’t—”

But before he could defend himself, Sunghoon’s mother cut in, “Jay, tell her.” She prodded him again, practically pushing him into the spotlight.

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an exit. “Uh, look, I… I don’t really want to do this, but…” He paused, throwing an apologetic look your way, “Can you just… maybe think about backing off? Just… consider it? For me?” His voice was pleading, clearly not cut out for this whole intimidation thing.

Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this entire situation was giving him a migraine. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His mother snapped. “You’re wasting your time. There are other priorities for someone in your position.”

Sunghoon’s patience was clearly wearing thin, his jaw tightening as he responded. “You keep saying that. But you’re not listening to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, low and quiet, as you continued to enjoy the spectacle. The three of them—Sunghoon, his mom, and Jay—bickering like some dysfunctional family sitcom, while you sat back, fully immersed in your gourmet meal.

“This is better than TV,” you muttered to yourself, watching as they tried to one-up each other.

Mrs. Park shot you a death glare, but you just smiled back innocently, because really, what was she going to do? Take your meal away?

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked toward you again, and for a moment, there was a hint of something softer in his expression. Frustration, maybe. Or something that bordered on concern. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jay, finally finding his courage, jumped in again.

“You know,” Jay said, sounding more desperate than threatening, “this would all be easier if we just… moved on. You know?”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed. “Easier for who?”

Jay hesitated, clearly realizing he was in over his head. His shoulders slumped, clearly realizing that he wasn’t getting out of this alive—figuratively, at least. His eyes darted back and forth between you and Sunghoon, probably weighing whether it was safer to keep talking or to just bolt. He ended up choosing the safer route: silence.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was far from done. His gaze sharpened as he turned toward his mother, who was glaring at him with the ferocity only a woman scorned by her own son could muster.

“I’m serious, Mom,” Sunghoon said, voice tense but controlled. “You can’t keep barging into my life like this. It’s not going to work.”

Mrs. Park scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “I barged into your life? Are you kidding me, Sunghoon? You’re the one who keeps throwing everything away for… for her,” she spat, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.

You almost choked on your food but managed to swallow it down, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hey. Don’t drag me into this. I’m just eating.”

Sunghoon’s gaze flicked back to you for a moment, his expression softening. It was brief, but there was something almost apologetic in his eyes before he looked back at his mother.

“Whatever you think is going on here, it’s not what you think,” Sunghoon said, his voice taut with frustration. “I’m not ‘throwing anything away.’”

Mrs. Park’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re wasting your time, Sunghoon. You should be focusing on the company, your future, not this… whatever this is.”

She waved a dismissive hand in your direction, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You weren’t exactly a fan of being treated like some pesky side project Sunghoon needed to get rid of, but the whole situation was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“So, what,” you said, leaning back in your bed, eyes flicking between the three of them, “You’re all here to—what? Threaten me? Make me back off? Because I gotta be honest, this isn’t working.” You gestured toward Jay, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole, and Mrs. Park, who was glaring daggers at you.

Sunghoon’s mother took a step forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I’m not here to play games with you, girl. I’m here to ensure my son’s future. You’re nothing but a distraction.”

“Ouch,” you muttered, feigning hurt. “You really know how to make someone feel special.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated with the whole ordeal. “Mom, you’re not helping. Just… stop, okay?”

“Helping?” Mrs. Park echoed incredulously, as though the very idea was laughable. “You think I’m not helping by trying to save your future from her?”

You were starting to get a little irritated, even if the whole situation was more laughable than threatening. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy land you’re living in, but Sunghoon is the one who came to me. Not the other way around. If you’re so worried about his future, maybe start with him.”

Sunghoon gave you a look that said please stop fanning the flames, but you were past caring at this point. You’d had enough of this woman coming into your life and treating you like you were some common gold-digger. She didn’t know the half of it.

His mother, however, seemed immune to reason. She shot her son a glare. “You’re throwing your life away, Sunghoon. I raised you better than this.”

And finally, something in Sunghoon snapped. His usually calm demeanor cracked as he stepped forward, his voice low and sharp. “No, what you did was control my entire life. And guess what? I’m done. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you micromanaging every decision I make.”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting this outburst. Even Jay looked taken aback, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. This was getting good.

“Sunghoon—”

“No, Mom. Stop,” Sunghoon cut her off, his voice unwavering. “You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing this because you care about your image. About the company’s image.”

His mother recoiled as though she’d been slapped, her perfectly manicured nails curling into fists at her sides. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” Sunghoon laughed bitterly. “You’ve been treating me like a business deal my whole life, Mom. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

The room fell silent, the tension so thick you could practically feel it pressing down on your chest. Sunghoon’s mother stood frozen in place, her face a mixture of fury and shock.

Jay, sensing the growing hostility, started inching toward the door again, but before he could make his grand escape, Mrs. Park turned to him, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Jay, we’re leaving.”

Jay practically tripped over his own feet in his eagerness to comply. He glanced at you briefly—an apologetic look that almost said sorry for the drama—before scurrying out of the room behind his aunt.

Mrs. Park paused in the doorway, turning to throw one last glare in your direction. “This isn’t over.”

You raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly taking another bite of your meal. “Looking forward to round two.”

She glared, and with a sharp turn, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoed through the room, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the bickering that had just taken place.

For a moment, neither you nor Sunghoon spoke. He stood there, still reeling from the argument, his jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You swallowed the last bite of your meal, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you glanced up at him.

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, “that was fun.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond at first, his eyes focused on the floor, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “For what?”

“For all of… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the door where his mother and cousin had exited. “I didn’t think it would get this bad.”

You shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m used to it. Your mom’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sunghoon muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, humorless smile.

A beat of silence passed between you, the tension slowly dissolving now that the storm had passed. But there was still something unspoken lingering in the air, something that felt heavier than the drama with his mother.

You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. “So… what now?”

Sunghoon hesitated, his gaze softening as he looked at you. For the first time, there was no sarcasm, no playful banter. Just the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “But I do know one thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his tone firm, his eyes locked on yours. “No matter what she says. No matter what anyone says.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the intensity in his voice, but you kept your expression neutral, not wanting to give anything away. “That sounds like a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Sunghoon stood by the edge of your hospital bed, arms crossed over his chest, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the room as the dim light from the ceiling flickered slightly. His gaze was a mix of disbelief and frustration, but there was an edge of something softer, something unreadable, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or get defensive at your latest jab.

"Anyways, aren't you the heir?" You muttered, the words slipping out casually as you fiddled with the blanket, your tone attempting to sound neutral. But deep down, you knew exactly what you were doing. Trying to reason with Mrs. Park—despite her endless insults—wasn’t out of some newfound respect for her. No, this was a survival tactic. Sunghoon might equal trouble, but his mother? She was the gateway to all those fat cheques. You knew better than to entirely burn that bridge, even if it was hanging by a thread.

Sunghoon raised a brow at you, clearly not expecting the sudden change in direction. "You think she's worried about me?" he scoffed, almost incredulous.

You shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his gaze for too long. "I just think… maybe she's concerned about your future," you muttered, your words laced with an attempt to seem logical, though your true motive lay elsewhere. You tugged the hospital blanket tighter around your legs, which still ached from the accident. A small price to pay for someone like him smashing into you.

He leaned against the wall, his stance casual but his expression anything but. "Future?" Sunghoon repeated, almost bitterly. He huffed before muttering under his breath, "I'm a racer."

You nearly choked on your own breath at that. A racer. The very notion of it was absurd, especially given how he ended up here with you in the hospital in the first place.

"No wonder she's worried." The words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice barely audible, but loud enough for him to catch. You glanced at him through the corner of your eye, noticing how his expression morphed from mild irritation to downright disbelief.

“What do you mean, ‘no wonder she’s worried’?” He demanded, straightening up, arms uncrossing as he took a step closer to you, like you’d just accused him of being some criminal mastermind.

You didn’t even try to stifle the small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. "Come on, Sunghoon. Let’s be real for a second. You're not exactly... the best driver." You gestured lazily towards your leg, which was propped up in a cast. “Even on a motorbike, you managed to get my leg broken.”

He let out a deep sigh, frustration evident in the way he rolled his eyes, muttering, “Shut up,” under his breath, though the edges of his lips twitched upwards for a second. He hated that you had a point. But there was no real venom in his words, just mild annoyance, the kind that came from knowing someone had you cornered.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze drifting from you to the small bouquet of flowers on the side table, then back to you. His posture screamed discomfort, as if he wasn’t used to being in such close proximity to his own vulnerability. After a long pause, he finally asked the question you’d been dodging for a while now, his voice dipping into something almost concerned. “But why were you drunk, though? I mean, they found alcohol in your tests that day."

Your breath hitched for a moment, but you quickly waved it off, eyes flicking away to avoid his gaze. "I just had a bad day, okay?" The words came out a little too quickly, a little too defensive, and you knew it wasn’t the full story. But the last thing you wanted was to dive into your own mess, especially not with him.

Sunghoon didn’t push further, his gaze softening slightly, but he wasn't one to leave a conversation dangling for too long. “Why were you speeding, though?” You shot back, raising an eyebrow in return. If he was going to dig into your mess, you had every right to poke at his.

The corner of his mouth twitched nervously as he chuckled, his usual bravado faltering for a split second. You knew something was up. Sunghoon never got nervous. Not like this.

"Well..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes darting away from you, unable to maintain eye contact for too long.

“Well?" You pressed, folding your arms across your chest as you waited for whatever ridiculous excuse he had to offer.

Sunghoon let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "My dad saw me riding," he muttered. "So I was kinda in a hurry."

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "That’s it?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief. "Your dad saw you riding, and that made you speed? You didn't even bother to stop when you crashed into me?”

He fidgeted slightly, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze, but he shrugged helplessly. "I didn’t see you, okay? I was too busy trying to avoid him."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, sinking back into your pillows with a sigh. “That's it? And here I thought you were doing drug deals or something.”

The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable, though you couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation had turned out to be. For someone who was supposedly the heir to a powerful corporation, Sunghoon had a way of complicating the most straightforward situations.

He blinked at you in disbelief, the tips of his ears turning red. "What? Drug dealing? Really?" he muttered, crossing his arms again as he leaned against the bed frame, clearly not impressed by your comment. But his reaction only made you grin wider.

You shrugged, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean, with how secretive you’ve been acting, who could blame me for assuming the worst?”

Sunghoon huffed, shaking his head in mild exasperation, though the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. "Trust me, my life is complicated enough without any of that.”

“Complicated, huh?” you echoed, your gaze drifting toward him. His posture had relaxed slightly, but there was still an air of frustration hanging between the two of you. You could tell there was more to the story, more that he wasn’t saying.

But you weren’t one to push, not when you had your own secrets buried deep.

You let the conversation die down after that, the room filled with a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Sunghoon stayed by your side, despite everything, leaning against the frame of your bed as his eyes softened, watching you finish your meal with quiet focus. And for a moment, the tension between you eased, like the storm had passed, leaving behind a fragile calm.

But even in the silence, you couldn’t help but notice the small gestures—the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the bedpost, the way his gaze lingered a little too long on you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. There was something between you two, a line that neither of you wanted to cross, yet both kept flirting with.

And for the first time, the thought of it didn't scare you.

THE NEXT MORNING,

Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the sterile white walls of the hospital room. The monotonous hum of the machines, the occasional beep from the heart monitor, and the muted footsteps of nurses outside became the background symphony of your stay. You blinked your eyes open slowly, your body stiff from yet another restless night, and as your vision adjusted, the familiar dull ache in your leg grounded you back into the reality you’d been living for the past few days.

BUT TODAY, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.

As you shifted slightly, careful not to agitate the cast on your leg, your gaze fell to the chair beside your bed. There he was—Park Sunghoon, slouched in the chair with his head resting against the armrest, his mouth slightly parted as soft, steady breaths escaped his lips. His long legs were sprawled out in front of him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach while the other rested close to yours, mere inches from the side of your bed. The sight was enough to make your breath hitch.

He’d stayed. Again.

For days, he had made this hospital room his second home, despite the biting remarks and the cold distance that had defined your relationship thus far. As if it was some kind of duty he couldn’t escape, some obligation he had to fulfill for the sake of his reputation or his family. At least, that’s what you convinced yourself. There’s no way he actually cares.

Still, you couldn’t help but wonder, especially in moments like this, when his face was stripped of its usual bravado, his guard completely down. He looked… peaceful. Innocent, even.

“If I didn’t know you were doing this for your reputation,” you murmured softly, barely above a whisper, “I would’ve thought you loved me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and laced with something unspoken, something you weren’t quite ready to confront. You didn’t mean for him to hear it—he was asleep, after all—but there was a strange comfort in voicing the thought aloud, even if only to yourself.

You found yourself leaning a little closer, the distance between your bed and the chair barely enough to separate you two. Your fingers moved almost of their own accord, hesitating at first, before gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm under your touch, soft despite the cold exterior he often portrayed. Your heart gave a nervous flutter as your finger ghosted over the delicate curve of his cheek, down to the bridge of his nose, and finally stopping at his lips.

Your breath caught as you stared at them—soft, slightly parted, and so close. There was something about this moment that felt dangerously intimate, a line you weren’t sure you should be crossing. But before you could pull away, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm, halting your retreat.

Your heart stilled, the world suddenly reduced to the quiet space between the two of you. Sunghoon's eyes fluttered open slowly, his lashes casting faint shadows across his cheeks. He blinked once, twice, before his sleepy gaze focused on you, still hazy with the remnants of sleep. His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, but not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you from escaping.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and raspy from sleep, the kind of voice that sent shivers down your spine. His words hung in the air, thick with confusion but also curiosity, as if he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be offended or amused.

Your mind scrambled for an explanation, anything to diffuse the tension suddenly filling the room. "There was a mosquito," you blurted out, your voice barely steady, attempting to sound casual as you tugged on your wrist, but he didn’t let go.

His brow arched in suspicion, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "A mosquito… on my lips?” he questioned, the incredulity in his tone barely masked by amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair, his hand still holding yours, and in a fluid motion, he was leaning over the side of the bed, closer—much closer—than he had any right to be.

The proximity was suffocating. You could feel his breath fan across your face, warm and steady, each exhale sending a fresh wave of heat across your skin. His dark eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were locked onto yours, and for a split second, you forgot how to breathe. The space between you was so small, so intimate, you could practically hear the rapid beat of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your face flushed crimson, the heat crawling up your neck as if you’d been caught doing something far worse than tracing his face. You swallowed hard, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert, every muscle tensing under his intense gaze. "There… was something in my eye," you stammered, quickly averting your gaze as you finally pulled your hand away from his grip, your fingers trembling slightly as they found refuge behind your palms. You could feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up, your hands covering your face as if that could somehow hide the fact that you were blushing furiously.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, seemed entirely unfazed by your flustered state. He stood there for a moment longer, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unreadable. He straightened up, stretching his arms above his head lazily, as if the moment that just passed was nothing more than a casual conversation.

But you knew better. There was something unspoken between you two, something that neither of you were ready to admit, but it lingered in the air, thick and undeniable.

"Something in your eye, huh?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice as he glanced down at you, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with a casual familiarity that sent another wave of heat rushing to your cheeks.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding most of your face as you mumbled, "Shut up."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, and for a moment, the tension in the air eased, replaced by something lighter, something teasing but… comfortable.

But even as he turned away, walking towards the window to stretch his legs, the ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to Sunghoon’s presence by your side than just reputation.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily as the midday sun spilled golden light into the hospital room, brightening the sterile white space that had become your temporary home. You sat on the edge of the bed, the nurse’s soft, encouraging voice still echoing in your ears after she had just removed your cast. The air felt electric with anticipation; you could finally walk again!

Sunghoon hovered by your side, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied you. “Are you ready for this?” he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, but the seriousness behind it was unmistakable. You nodded enthusiastically, your heart racing with excitement. It felt like a monumental moment—like the first step of many to reclaiming your independence.

With the adrenaline coursing through you, you stood up, a determined grin stretching across your face. But as you took your first step, everything shifted dramatically. Your foot wobbled, and before you knew it, you were tumbling forward, hitting the floor with a thud that echoed around the room.

“Ugh!” you groaned, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you lay there, staring up at the fluorescent lights.

Sunghoon rushed forward, worry etched across his features, but before he could say anything, Wonyoung and Hanni burst into laughter, their giggles ringing like chimes through the room.

“Oh my god! Did you really just fall?” Hanni wheezed, nearly doubling over as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Looks like someone needs a little more practice!” Wonyoung added, her laughter infectious as she bent down to help you up, her hands extending towards you.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at yourself as they pulled you back to your feet. “Thanks, guys,” you mumbled, trying to hide your flushed cheeks.

As they waved goodbye, still chuckling, Sunghoon remained behind, a bemused expression on his face. “That was quite the entrance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a playful glint in his eye.

“Shut up,” you retorted, trying to brush off your embarrassment as you plopped back onto the bed, sulking a little. “I’m still getting used to this.”

“Come on, you can’t let a little tumble discourage you!” Sunghoon grinned, stepping closer with a theatrical flourish. “I, Park Sunghoon, will be your walking coach! Let’s do this!” He mimicked a sports announcer, waving his arms as if hyping up a crowd. “And by the end of this session, you will be the champion of walking!”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. “I don’t need a coach. I just need to not fall again.”

“Too late for that! You’ve already set the bar pretty low,” he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. He leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But don’t worry; I’ll help you reach new heights, or at least keep you from faceplanting again.”

With that, he extended his hand towards you, a gesture of encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, your heart fluttering as you met his gaze, but the absurdity of the situation was too much to resist. Taking a deep breath, you grasped his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

“Okay, Mr. Walking Coach. Show me the way,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

He positioned himself next to you, his grip firm yet gentle. “First lesson: Keep your center of gravity low. Think like a ninja! Light on your feet!”

You couldn’t help but snort at his ridiculousness, the tension of your earlier fall dissipating as you stood next to him. “Ninja? Really? You think I’m going to be stealthy when I can barely stand?”

“Exactly! You’re going to be a stealthy ninja who, like a graceful gazelle, glides across the floor!” he exclaimed, his arms gesturing dramatically as he took a step back to give you space.

With his comedic antics distracting you from your nerves, you took a tentative step forward, wobbling a bit but managing to keep your balance. “See? Look at me! I’m practically a gazelle!” you proclaimed with mock bravado, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

“Gorgeous! Absolutely majestic!” Sunghoon exclaimed, feigning applause as you took another step. “But you know, a gazelle might want to avoid falling on its face. You should really work on that.”

You shot him a glare, but a smile broke through your facade. “You’re such an idiot.”

“That’s why I’m here!” he laughed, inching closer again, still holding your hand to steady you. “Now, let’s go for round two. This time, no falling!”

With a deep breath, you focused on your balance, your heart racing not just from the thrill of standing but from the way his warm hand felt enveloping yours. You took another step, then another, Sunghoon’s encouraging words ringing in your ears, his steady presence anchoring you.

But with every shaky movement, reality set in. You were acutely aware of the gulf between the two of you—the wealth and expectations that surrounded his life, the disparity that loomed like a shadow over this moment of laughter and lightness. He was an heir, bound for greatness, while you felt like a mere accident in his world.

“Just a few more steps,” he encouraged, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he sensed your hesitation. “You’re doing great!”

With his support, you managed to make a few shaky strides, laughter bubbling up with each unsteady movement. “Maybe I’ll actually be able to walk out of here after all,” you joked, feeling lighter with each step.

“See? I told you! You’re going to be my ninja walking prodigy!” he laughed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But as the moment drew on, a bittersweet realization sank in. Once you were well enough to leave, his part in your story would fade into the background like a forgotten dream. You could already picture it—a world where he resumed his life, his responsibilities, leaving you behind like a chapter closed.

Yet here you were, the two of you intertwined in this moment, laughing and learning how to walk again, and for a fleeting second, you wished it could last just a little bit longer.

THE DAY HAD FINALLY COME,

THE ONE YOU DREADED MORE THAN ANYTHING.

Weeks had passed, and despite all the mental notes you made to remind yourself that this was temporary, you couldn’t shake the attachment you’d developed to Sunghoon. Maybe it was the routine, maybe it was the fact that he had been there every step of the way while you healed, or maybe, it was something else entirely—something more dangerous.

You watched from a distance as Sunghoon handled your final hospital bill. The cold sterility of the hospital didn’t bother you as much as the thought of walking out of it without him by your side. He paid the fees like he had promised from the start, his sleek credit card effortlessly handling the expenses that you knew would have financially crippled you otherwise.

You tried to convince yourself that this attachment, this gnawing feeling of loss before he even left, was simply because you had spent too much time with him. After all, you practically lived together for months. But even telling yourself that over and over again didn’t stop the sting behind your eyes, the prickling of tears that threatened to spill.

You took a deep breath and wiped them away quickly, just as you saw him walking towards you, his tall figure cutting through the hospital corridor with ease. His face was calm as usual, though his eyes held a quietness that made your chest tighten. You forced a smile, the same one you always gave him, but this time, it carried a weight of sadness you couldn’t shake.

At least Mrs. Park wasn’t here. You couldn’t imagine how much worse you’d feel with her scrutinizing every little move, every interaction, like she was tallying it up in some invisible ledger. But in this quiet space, where it was just you and Sunghoon, you started to believe that maybe… just maybe, he was worth more than the money she flaunted, more than the reputation you helped him protect.

He smiled back at you, but even that felt distant, as if the finality of this moment weighed on him too. His hand rested casually on your shoulder, the same way it had for the past few weeks, a gesture of familiarity that was once just for show in front of others, but now… now it felt different.

As you walked out of the hospital together, the flashing of cameras and the swarm of paparazzi waiting outside hit you like a tidal wave. They were here, of course they were. The media had been all over this—your fake relationship, the story of his girlfriend who nursed him back to health after an accident. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that the only reason you were here was because of a fractured leg caused by that same accident. It had all been to protect him from public backlash, to clean up his image, to shield him from the criticism that would have followed.

But now, as his hand lingered on your shoulder longer than necessary, as he guided you through the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t fake at all. Not anymore.

The car ride back was filled with a silence that felt almost suffocating. You stared out of the window, watching the city blur by, your heart heavy with the realization that this was it. Your leg had healed, the bills were paid, and now Sunghoon was going to disappear from your life just as quickly as he had entered it.

You sighed, the sadness in your chest growing. This was it. The end of whatever this was, of whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.

The car came to a stop at a quiet street, far from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. It wasn’t your home, not really—just the rented apartment you could barely afford. But it was where you were headed, and it was the place where Sunghoon would say goodbye.

You couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped your lips, filled with an aching sadness that even you couldn’t fully comprehend. It felt almost comedic, like the setup for some bad joke. The rich boy, the poor girl, the fake relationship—they always ended like this, right?

“You seem to not enjoy getting better,” Sunghoon’s voice broke the silence, his words light, almost teasing, but you could hear the undercurrent of something more.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, not even bothering to hide your emotions anymore. What was the point? “How could I enjoy it when it meant you would go away?” The words slipped out, raw and unfiltered, before you had a chance to stop them.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, his hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening as he pulled the car over to the side of the road. The soft hum of the engine faded into the background as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to understand the weight of your words.

And then, in one swift movement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll always be there,” he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Wherever you are, in bad shape or sick, I’ll be there.”

“Why?” You barely recognized your own voice, so soft, so vulnerable, as if you were afraid of the answer.

His lips were so close now, his breath fanning across your skin, the space between you shrinking to almost nothing. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, but when you didn’t, when you stayed frozen in place, his lips brushed against yours. It was barely a kiss, just the softest touch, like a promise not yet fully spoken.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, “Even when you get sick, I’ll be there. Waiting for you… to get well soon.”

His words were like a balm to your aching heart, but also a dagger to the fear you’d been holding inside. You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—relief, confusion, frustration, but above all, hope.

And just like that, everything between you shifted.

© senascoop | tumblr

Please Stay - OP81

Summary: Oscar knew she was struggling but he never imagined she'd try to leave him like this. She might be saved for now, but he's not willing to risk it again.

Warnings/themes: Suicide attempt, depression, guilt, medication (sedatives, anti-depressants etc)

Word count: 3.8k

No part 2 requests please

Something had felt off before the race, y/n didn't send her usual message wishing him good luck. She never misses a race and she definitely never misses sending him a text.

She's been pretty quiet all weekend, but he knows she's just not been talkative and while he wants to force her to be there so he can see her and check in on her. He doesn't want to make her more upset, and he knows when her moods are low she doesn't like being fusses over.

It wasn't an amazing race but he made top 5 which is good points. He's getting out the car moving through to get weighed then preparing to get himself straight to the media pen but Kim is there looking almost grey.

"That bad to not get a podium." Oscar jokes as he's handed his water bottle.

"We need to talk somewhere private." Kim states making Oscar frown but move with him since Kim doesn't play games or jokes like this so he knows it's something serious.

Oscar must be excused from media for now and that means it's something serious.

"Y/n's mum called. Y/n...is in hospital, she tried to..." The words tail off and Oscar knows what the sentence ends with.

He's already sweaty but a new cold sweat hits as he's winded by the information.

"She's alive. She's ok and she's getting the help she needs. Her mum just needed you to know from someone you trust." Kim rambles but his words meet dear ears as Oscar checks his phone texting y/n's mum that he'll be on a plane as soon as he's out of there and then he moves to shower knowing he really can't travel in this state but.

"I need a ticket on the next flight."

-

It had all taken too long. Too long to contact her mum back. Too long to get to the airport. Too long for the flight to get him there. Too long for the car to get to the hospital.

Even walking around the hospital it's like he's moving in slow motion and can't speed up.

Hospitals are the worst place if you're trying to improve someone's mood. At least that's what Oscar thinks as he walks through the hallways following y/n's mum's instructions to get to the right ward.

He doesn't even think twice as he locates y/n's room and finds y/n sleeping with her mum there, eyes looking pretty raw as she holds y/n's hands.

There's almost a moment of comfort. But sight of her wrists in slightly loose bindings to the bed tells him that she's not asleep willingly.

"Oscar." Y/m/n chokes out spotting the driver shifting away. "I'm sorry, I didn't know if calling you was right I just...I know you care about her and when I got the call-god, I just went into autopilot."

"I'm glad you did...is she ok?"

The older woman looks over at her daughter and sighs.

"She wasn't happy to see she made it. They sedated her for her own safety and the wrist restrains were so she wouldn't cause more harm to herself. I'm just...I'm so glad someone found her."

"Did they say what's going to happen?"

"Once she's stable enough, they want to send her to a place that can help."

"She won't like that."

"I know."

"I can stay here. You probably need some rest and just...time out of here." Oscar states already feeling the drag of the hospital taking his energy a little.

Her mum is definitely hesitant and he promises that he'll call or text as soon as there is anything that changes.

Then he sits and waits.

It was a few hours and y/n stirred in and out of her sleep but not enough to properly sleep. Oscar just waits in the silence, nurses coming to check on y/n and seeming to look at him in concern but he doesn't say anything.

Eventually she wakes up and she is still out of it a little as the sedatives wear off.

"Hey, baby." Oscar smiles lightly but she's already blinking away tears trying to move her hand only for it to be stopped my the restraints making her choke a sob. "Hey, it's ok. I can get them off you're ok."

"I'm sorry." Y/n cries shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

"No. You don't need to be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about." Oscar assures her while y/n hiccups feeling the weight of her actions hit her but he's not going to let her do that to herself. "Are you feeling ok? Does anything hurt?"

"I'm fine." Y/n mutters shaking her head as Oscar finally gets the restraints from her wrists and she sits up, the speed of her actions making her head spin but she latches onto Oscar in a tight hug. "I just didn't want to do it anymore."

"I know. But we're all going to help you, baby. We're going to make it so much better." Oscar promises making her swallow but nod. "I'm not going anywhere and I don't want to lose you like that. We're all going to make sure you know how much you mean to people, ok?"

Y/n does get a chance to respond as the doctors enter with a nurse and suddenly everything is kicked into gear. Apparently Oscar's presence is calming her but the plan of action is unchanged. Y/n needs full time help and monitoring that the people in her life just can't provide for her right now.

Of course, y/n tries to fight it but a couple looks exchanged with Oscar and she silences herself again then eventually she sighs all the paperwork and agrees to be moved.

"It's 30 days. I'll come pick you up and I'll visit." Oscar promises cupping her face as more tears roll down her cheeks.

Really he wants to fight them, he wants to argue it's unnecessary and that she won't do it again because he will make sure of it. But he can't make those promises, he can't help her on his own and he's not equip to do so.

Love can't fix everything. It's not always enough.

-

Triple headers are rough on a good run. But Oscar flying back home every Monday to visit y/n and see how she's doing, his only comfort is that each visit, she seems to getting better.

She's not happy there but he can see it is doing her some good.

The world knows. Of course there's no secrets in the public eyes.

The media have danced around the topic but he knows they've spoken about worries that maybe distracting him off track. Not that it's done anything to effect his performance or results, in fact if anything he's been more determined to give a good result for y/n since he knows she's watching every session.

Lando, Zak and Andrea have known to keep away from the topic. Only Zak briefly checking in with the Aussie and just making sure y/n is ok since the team know her and they do care.

It's not nice to ever know that someone would attempt to take their own life but it's also much harder a hit when it's someone you know.

Oscar arrives straight from the airport looking around the communal area before he spots y/n. Reading one of the books he brought the last time he came last week.

He doesn't even hesitate moving to sit down next to her and capture her in a kiss without a second of exchange between hand as he pulls her into his lap. She melts into the action, completely softening at the feel of him.

"Enjoying your book?" Oscar asks finally breaking away from her lips.

He's missed y/n before but never like this. Every time he leaves, he's leaving part of his heart with her and he's taking part of hers with him.

"Yes. It's killing time. But I've read it like 4 times now." Y/n smiles while Oscar's smile turns slightly sympathetic. "I actually have good news though."

"What's that?" Oscar smiles taking the prospect of good news as something very very very good to hear.

"They said I'm ready to go if I want. It's just...a case of agreeing to the terms."

"What are the terms?"

"I stay on my meds, every other day appointments with my psychiatrist, they'll slowly get further apart so long as I need getting better...and if anything starts to feel bad again, then I tell them immediately." Y/n explains clearly uneasy at her conditions.

It's hard admitting that she needs medication to feel ok and it's even more hard knowing that Oscar has to deal with this because of her. But she doesn't want to lose him and she knows even if she did try to protect him by forcing him to leave her, by ending the relationship. He'd insist on being there as a friend and he wouldn't allow her to permanently push him away.

He may not seem it but the man is stubborn when he wants to be.

"That's amazing baby. Would you...be able to travel with all of that?" Oscar asks giving away that while she has options of her parents or friends who would step in to take care of her. He wants her with him.

"I can ask." Y/n nods lightly before feeling an ache at the idea of being with Oscar again, which in turn makes tears pool behind her eyes as her lip quivers. "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too, baby. But I'd rather miss you for a little while than miss you for the rest of my life. Ok? And I'm gonna make sure we both live very long and very very happy lives. Together."

Y/n presses her forehead to Oscar's for a few moments as he mirrors her action. Having her close is a comfort to him the same way having him there is a comfort to her.

"Can I take you today?" Oscar asks making her shift back slightly since that wasn't something she'd asked or thought about. As much as she's happy to go along with it.

"I'd have to ask. I don't know if that was the plan." Y/n laughs lightly but really she wants out of there.

"Yeah, who can we ask? Is there someone around we can talk to?" Oscar asks looking around just wanting to get y/n out of there. To have y/n with him whenever he goes.

10 minutes later they're in the doctor's office and Oscar is making his case that he will guarantee that y/n is sticking to her conditions and taking her medication and he'll take care of her.

It's both a comfort and a horrible feeling that her boyfriend has to make those sorts of promises. Her mental struggle shouldn't affect him like that.

They both have to sign all sorts of papers and she can tell the doctor is hesitant to give her such a rushed release but after trusting the medication in Oscar's hands and every reassurance that she will be cared for. She's released a while 7 days earlier than initially planned when she was taken there.

-

Oscar had practically treated y/n's conditions as a military regime, same times every day for her medication, following instructions on if they need food and what she should swallow them with (it's always water). What to do if she has the side effects that can also be treated. Making sure she has the time and space needed to speak to her psychiatrist.

He's strict with her but she knows it's because he doesn't want her to do that again. He doesn't want to risk the threat of him losing her. All he wants is y/n for as long as he can have her and he'll do anything to keep her.

So far the world doesn't know y/n is there. But that's not going to last long and they both know it.

"Will you be ok?" Oscar asks while they lie in bed, putting off getting ready to just enjoy the bliss.

"I'm more concerned for you. Will you be ok leaving me when you actually have to work with me here?" Y/n asks with a smile before sighing when the alarms go off, ruining the moment as Oscar shoots to turn them off and sighs kissing her quickly before he gets out of the warmth of the bed. "You know if I'm a couple minutes late to have them. It doesn't do any harm."

"Doesn't do any harm to have them the same time every day either." Oscar smiles while handing her the pills and holding the glass of water as she throws them into her mouth then takes the glass swallowing them with a mouthful of water. "I love you, baby."

He always makes a point to remind her after she takes her medication.

"I love you too." Y/n smiles before accepting another kiss from the Aussie.

After finally getting up, y/n and Oscar shower, then get dressed and she does make a bit more effort than she has in the past wanting to at least look put together since she knows the world is aware of what she did. What she tried and failed at.

Anxiety squeezes her chest for a moment as she feels a wave of worry hit her but two hands come down giving a gentle squeeze to her shoulders and immediately the nerves disappear. Melting away under his touch as she feels the usual comfort of his touch.

"I'm ok." She states looking at him in the relationship while Oscar looks at her with concerned eyes.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

-

Oscar and y/n are both holding each other's hands in a crippling grip, though admittedly Oscar's hold is a little more crippling than y/n's since he generally has the better arm strength.

There had been an offer for a big welcome back from the team but Oscar didn't think making a bigger deal of her being there was going to help with anything or make her feel any better. Perhaps if she was coming back from something else, but her reason for not being there with Oscar isn't something she really wants to make a deal of.

McLaren has been the team who talks about mental health the most being involved with the Mind charity and Lando being quite the advocate due to his own struggles.

But Oscar knows few of them have been in his or y/n's position and he just doesn't want her to feel anything but normal being here, or as normal as he can help her to feel.

"Hey, Kim." Y/n smiles greeting the man with a one armed hug since Oscar has yet to release her hand.

Then Zak appears and he also gets the awkward one armed hug.

"It's good to have you back." Zak comments making her smile a little feeling a slight shine in her eyes as she nods. "We're all very happy to have you here again."

"It's nice to be back."

Oscar steps closer squeezing her hand before she clears her throat and sighing.

"Going to be a good weekend. Right? Oscar was telling me it looks like a good track for you guys."

"We're hoping so and Oscar has been on a very good run. Maybe we're get to see a win this weekend and I'm sure he's looking to keep you impressed." Zak chuckles before seeming to read Oscar's expression. "Let me know if you need anything. You're one of the family here."

"Thank you." Y/n nods then letting Oscar guide her to his room where he sighs and smiles at her. "Don't look so on edge. I'm ok. Really...their tears of surprise over how endearing and caring everyone is being."

"I don't want anyone to upset you. Tell me if someone does. Please."

"I will."

Oscar catches her in a kiss smiling as he presses his lips against her own.

"We'll grab something to eat yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty hungry." Y/n nods with a grin.

-

The media may have tip-toed around the topic of y/n while she was gone and are going to continue to not address it on McLaren's instructions so they know it's completely off the cards to even ask about.

But that doesn't mean they aren't writing articles and making posts with photos of her by Oscar's side as she returns.

Even the broadcast makes sure to feature her at least once in every session from her spot at the back of the McLaren garage with Kim.

Sadly Oscar doesn't get much control over that.

But the weekend goes on, Oscar making sure if he's not there to have y/n take her meds then Kim does though he's slightly less forceful about it and y/n appreciates that. Obviously he's working on Oscar's request but also out of care for y/n because he knows her, he never wants to think about what she tried to do.

Going into the race y/n has to admit the team looks strong. Lando got pole but it's a coin toss as to who will win.

As usual they're told they're free to race so long as they keep it clean.

Y/n actually forgot about the type of anxiety that comes with watching Oscar race. But she doesn't feel quite so bad when she watches Oscar take the lead off the line and keep it going into the end of the first lap.

Lando stay in DRS for a few laps but he doesn't manage to pass and then Oscar gets out of DRS and he takes off leaving the Brit behind but they'd already both got a gap on the rest of the field so their small battle was completely fine.

Watching Oscar race clears everything from y/n's mind. Almost making her forget about the entire last month.

When he crosses the line at the end taking the win y/n feels the flurry of emotion that just makes her buzz with excitement. She's out at the barriers with the team waiting for Oscar to pull up and there's no doubt when he's out the car he's looking for y/n.

"You were amazing." Y/n smiles before he kisses her, it being the first time he's given more than a hug post race but this time. He needs a kiss. Hell if he could take her up as his team member from the team to stand on the podium then he'd take her.

"For some reason I only win when you're here. So remember I need you here." Oscar states earning a small nod.

He does move to celebrate with the rest of the team before he's interviewed admitting this was a very special win and a very important weekend for him. He doesn't say why exactly but everyone knows why so it doesn't really need to be said out loud.

Oscar smiles looking at y/n from the moment he steps out on the podium, a McLaren 1-2 with him taking the win. Y/n is there, he listen to the anthems before spraying the champagne and in silent promise to y/n, he'd decided he wouldn't be drinking while she couldn't and her medication says no alcohol so while he is soaked in it, he doesn't take the traditional drink after the spray and instead just passes it down to the team for them to get a drink.

There's something that feels healed when he sees y/n standing with his PR assistant and Kim, the trophy taken and he loops the medal over her before cupping her face actually pushing her backwards gently as he kisses her. He'd had flash backs to the moment of Kim telling him they needed to talk alone when y/n had tried to kill herself, every time he'd walked out after a race. But this time she's there. She's there and she's alive and she's ok.

She's going to be just fine and he's going to make sure of it.

Y/n has a long journey and he's not going to let her ever fall that low again, he'll catch her before rock bottom ever touches her again. He wants to make sure she always has a reason to live. Whether it's him or something else, but he never wants her to feel like she's got nothing keeping her here.

There's probably a dozen cameras on them, because Oscar isn't making a short matter of the kiss. Hell he'd love it to last for hours, maybes days or weeks. He could live in this moment on replay for the rest of his life and be very happy.

"Oscar, you have to go do your media and the press conference." Y/n laughs finally breaking away from him and he definitely feels a little butt hurt about it. "You were amazing, and we can celebrate later, however you like."

"Fine. But I'm making this all quick." Oscar declares earning a nod from the young woman. "Kim can you go make sure..."

"Yep."

Y/n should've guess Oscar would know she needs to take her meds and hadn't yet.

So they part with a final peck before y/n takes her meds and just waits for Oscar to finish up for the day. Even just lying down on his physio bed as she feels her meds doing their job, altering the chemistry of her brain and hazing out the parts that nobody wants to to be active and working.

"Baby?" Oscar chuckles seeing y/n just lying with her eyes closed and mind definitely somewhere else as he gently rubs her stomach. "You ok?"

"Just thinking...you just changing?"

"Yeah, need to get something clean for the debrief and the social media stuff they want from us." Oscar nods then smiling. "It won't be much longer. I promise."

"No. Take your time. It's fine." Y/n shrugs before settling back down and closing her eyes. "I'm pretty comfortable any way."

"I can see that." Oscar hums then placing a packet of sweets on her stomach and a bottle of water that somehow balances without falling off. "Eat and drink please."

"You know you got bossier."

"That's ok, I'll live." Oscar smiles before he leans down kissing her. "Eat, drink then you can sleep more before we go."

blank canvas — park sunghoon.

↪ one - run your hands over me.

↪ mlist.

— when black and white sorrows loom on your life park sunghoon - a man with a cruel heart and destructive hands manages to color your days with splashes of rainbow. at least at first.

wc: 17k

'They say there are two types of people in this world. The type to have big dreams, ambition. Ego so high up enough to touch the clouds but they lack potential. They think of themselves higher than they actually are. Then there's the second type of people. The ones with potential to rule the world. Get anything they can but they lack the desire, the drive–'

You feel a tap on your shoulder purloining your attention away from the broadcast reverberating through your ears, you take one of your earbuds out. Facing the person who just touched you. It’s an old lady, with thinning gray and a freight of years upon years accumulating in the wrinkles gracing her face.

“Oh my!” she speaks with as much enthusiasm as age in her face “you’re absolutely beautiful sweetheart!” adulation flow from between her lips as easy as the droplets of rain falling from the sky, it has your cheeks marring in red with embarrassment.

“Thank you.” you reply, tone laced with transparent diffidence, enough for her palm to cup your cheek in mystifying warmth. It’s in the heat radiating off her hand, in contrast with the freezing weather.

Adoration colors her gaze as if you were truly the most appealing looking person she had to pleasure to witness in a while, and you could only duck your head in bashfulness. Burying it in the heat of your scarf as she coos over you.

"Ah!" The old lady speaks up, eyes widening as she brings her palm to her lips as if she just remembered what she came here to say in the first place "I think you missed the last bus already." A frown climbs its way up over features, taking over the redness adorning your cheeks and the tip of your nose as you check your phone for the time.

4:35 pm

31st December

"It's not even 6 yet." You mutter. More to yourself but she catches it "I guess they're cutting them short because of the rain." You make a sound of comprehension. Eyes fliting to the graying skies, it has been raining heavily for the last two hours and you have been so immersed in your broadcast, you only realize now that you’ve been waiting at the bus ride for close to thirty minutes. The old lady leaves you with a smile sent your way, doused in affability akin to the truant sun. As you put your earbuds back on, you suck in a deep breath.

Inculcating yourself for what’s about to come, using your bag as leverage to shield yourself from the rain, you hold it above your head as you start running out of the bus stop.

'– But you know? There is a third type of people. That is hidden. Vaguely, we know of them. We know they exist but we're hardly aware of them. Even though they're the most destructive. Those type of people that take everything they want in sight, it doesn’t matter if they worked hard for it. If they had potential, if they thought lowly or highly of themselves. They consume everything they get their hands on. Even humans–'

You huff with overflowing exasperation, turning off the dumb podcast and shoving your phone in your pocket. Your attempts at being productive and listening to something that could feed your soul have failed miserably by now. More so it doesn't seem like you'll be able to get to work in this kind of weather. You blame it on the fact that you don’t own a tv - Or truthfully you own one. It's an old rusty thing that you stole from your grandma's house before moving. It barely works so how were you supposed to know such cruel weather was waiting to unfold?

Or at least those are the excuses you feed your brain as you stumble in the closest building that comes to view, droplets of water trickle down the side of your face as you look around. Turns out bags does little to zero coverage from rain.

With another look around, you realize you had walked into an old museum, with the rain remaining unforgiving with the way it pours you decide to take a stroll around the neglected building. Barely hanging on by the few devoted people who probably deemed this place cozy enough to call it comfort. pausing for no longer than a minute on some of the gold and silver artifacts probably turned in by struggling artists. There’s a layer of dust collecting on some of the pieces, albeit your lack of understanding for art - the closest you’ve been to art was when in elementary school, drawing with crayons and showing it to your parents. Seeking praises, you never actually got- the sight of abandonment sheathing this place throws you into commiseration for it.

You would have believed this museum was forsaken if not for the employee chewing his gum in the corner and scrolling through his phone mindlessly.

You amble your way through a couple of paintings, pausing by a few to scour through your brain for your own elucidation that is probably nowhere near what it means. You linger by one that seems to seize your fascination for longer than the preceding ones.

Your eyes flicked across it, it was a painting of a woman’s naked body that’s facing away, with deeper and lighter hues of flesh, her face was ablaze with shades of flames. For a quaint reason it stirs a sense of disturbance within you. holding your gaze captive in an unsettling matter yet you can’t pinpoint why.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" An audible gasp slips past your lips, snapping you out of a daze and has you jolting in surprise.

Your eyes shift, flitting to whoever spoke to you and in mere moments you’re rendered mute. Every single word flees your mind leaving it blank. As you behold the embodiment of the snow on a human’s skin, the darkness of the night in his hair every single piece of art in this building dims in comparison.

You marvel at a beauty that feels so implausible to belong to a mortal.

“I wouldn’t know.” You clear your throat.

The stranger – clad in everything black from head to toe with faultlessly styled hair only tilts his head at you, something parallel to curiosity flourishes in his eyes, taking a few steps to close the distance between you two.

“How come?” His voice is low, like the feeling of a cool breeze dawdling past you amidst summer. His words dripping with softness, akin to the scent invading your space. Something heady and sweet yet you can’t seem to put your finger on what does he exactly smell like.

“I don’t understand art enough to appraisal it.” You reply, your eyes shifting back to the painting.

“Who says you need to understand art to form an opinion on it?” He asks and you swallow around nothing, eyes fleeting to his- they’re almost as dark as his hair- for a second only to find him already staring at you. The right side of your face burns with his intensity.

“I just think it’s a little ridiculous for someone ignorant like me to say anything about someone’s hard work.”

“But we all view things differently, no? We all have our different version of the world. It doesn’t take away from anyone’s hard work.” He responds and surely it is more than enough for you to consider his words, finding candour in them. You eye the painting meticulously.

“I think it’s sad.” You say after a while, slicing into the thick silence and from the corner of your eye, you see him turning to face the piece of art as well.

“Why do you think so?”

“It almost as if your thoughts are too overbearing to the point where they take over you. and then before you realize it you lost sight of yourself.”

An eerie silence fills the space between you, it stretches long enough to have you growing unnerved. You wonder if your thoughts are comical to voice. Maybe you just embarrassed yourself in front of the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Stealing a glance at him only to find his gaze already set on you yet again, the same sense of disturbance crawls over you once again, your heart starts beating rapidly.

“That’s interesting.”

“You don’t think it’s stupid?” You breathe out and his brows raise slightly upwards in what seems to be astonishment, it is the first display of emotions he unveils.

“Your words? Not at all.”

“Even though you found it beautiful and yet I can’t seem to find the same beauty in it?”

There’s a pause in the space between you two, his eyes prance over your features, and you fall into the same confusing haze as to why your heart starts picking up speed, as if tranced you cannot seem to look away from him. Your cheeks glow pink under the deliberation of his stare.

“We all have different versions of the world. It’s only fair we find beauty in contradictory aspects.”

You fail to find words to push out, stumbling into another silence. You find enough blame to place on the way he makes you feel, somehow you don’t feel the apprehensiveness that usually comes upon meeting strangers for the first time, instead it feels like finally stumbling upon a piece of paper you have lost track of a long time ago.

It’s uncanny, you and his harrowing glances that cut through you as if he knows the contents of your mind, as if he sees you.

“Do you think you’re beautiful?” he asks and you almost scoff at how ludicrous his question is, looking at him only to realize the seriousness clinging to his features. Pushing you further into confusion.

“I’m not sure what I think.” You say, softly. and his lips tilt upwards with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How peculiar.” You don’t get to ask him what he means before he’s speaking again “You’re prettier than any of the paintings hanged on these walls.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart beats as if a hundred birds are trapped inside and they’re dying to be set free. Woven with unfathomable desolation.

You have always lacked resilience, a few words of adulation are more than enough to have you melting, there’s ample room in your heart to take claim over the sweet words, for your eyes to soften.

Yet you deem yourself demented with groundless thoughts provoked by him.

Your encounter with the man lingers in your head yet more than anything his eyes stay with you the longest.

They looked so empty.

"Good evening sweetheart." the sweet tone of none other than Yang Taeyeon rings in your ears and through the small store with familiarity, forcing a smile upon your face that was inundated with fatigue mere moments ago.

 A mother with two children who has been coming to this small store ever since you could remember. A week doesn't pass without her stopping by. Sometimes to buy bandages for her acholic husband who loves getting into fights. Other times she's buying necessities with the little money she could keep from her three jobs. Her life is another sorrowful story that’s twined into the streets of this neighborhood.

"Hello, how are you doing today?" you ask, tone gentle and polite as you help her empty her basket.

"I'm good darling. How have you been? You're looking a little pale." She responds, eyes etched with worry as they rack over your face.

Worry. It’s an emotion you’re so accustomed to getting by now. However, with her It's more than just petty wrapped with worry. She’s the third person to have told you today and your smile only ceases to flatter for a moment.

Truth is sleep hasn’t found home in you for a couple of days now. It’s a proclaimed miracle If you manage to get three hours of sleep that isn’t disturbed by unsettling nightmares. You’d like to blame that damned painting. It only started after your visit to that shitty museum.

You start scanning her things from canned beans to random bags of chips that are probably for her kids, you try to make it quick guessing she's probably rushing somewhere after this. It's how she always is.

"Yes, I've been very we–" you’re cut off by her worn out hand circling your wrist stopping your movement and when you look at her, questioning. She wears a deeper distressed expression.

"Oh my. You have grown so weak. Have you been eating, at all?" This time your smile crumbles, and you don’t react fast enough to keep it.

"I am very healthy don't worry. Exams season just ended so perhaps that's why." You reply with practiced excuses flying your mouth, you hope it’s big enough of a barrier for her not to notice the trembling of your lips.

Freeing your hand gently from her grip and resuming your work, you hope she doesn’t notice the pitiable fragility of a human that still coats you, your words are always colored in loneliness and an imbecilic need for someone to ask, to care. You miss the way her eyes linger on you in exactly that.

"You can have this." She tells you after you helped her put all her groceries into bags. Extending her hand out to you with a homemade sandwich in it. A warm smile sent your way is enough to have you vacillating.

Wondering how she manages to stay as warm as summer despite the number of betrayals she has been through, pain cladding every atom of her being and yet she manages to still be so kind. Alongside your perplexity, an odious feeling of envy blooms within you.

How lucky her children are. To have such a warm-hearted mother.

"I'm fine," you wave your hand dismissively "Please do not worry yourself-" you don’t even get to finish before Taeyeon is shoving the sandwich into your palms. Refusing to take no as answer.

"Thank you for everything, sweetheart." With another warm smile, she packs her four bags of groceries and leaves.

Perhaps you’ve had a rough week, the walls of your apartment have added a magnitude weight to your already dreadful despondency, as you stare down at the sandwich in your hands an uncanny urge clamber over you. To get out of here. To quit this stupid job, quit school. You were never lucky, but if you could get away, somewhere far away or maybe not even that far.

Maybe you could stop by the sea and cry your eyes out for a while. Spill your agony to the waves and abandon all your burdens into the unknown.

And maybe then just then you could be reborn as a different person. Was it a foolish yearning to have? To be someone else, someone who’s not this being seared with indelible scars?

Your questions, as always, stay unanswered as you pack the sandwich away and continue going through the dreadful hours of your shift.

It's when the clocks hit 10:30 pm that your stomach starts rumbling in hunger. A light humming noise fills the store as you plopped your sandwich into the microwave. Your fingers drumming against the counter as you look out the glass. Your eyes dance across the empty streets. It’s usually super slow at this time of the night, the store empty of customers and darkness fills the neighborhood. Streetlights flickering on and off, remaining brushed aside, not worthy enough to be fixed.

On

Off

On

Off

On.

A figure materializes on the sidewalk, as if they emerged from utter nothingness or magically brought forth from darkness, blending in with the night clad in black from head to toe. The drumming of your hand pauses, you can barely see anything from the distance, yet a daunting emotion slithers down your spine, evoking a shiver from you as if the person is looking straight at you.

You wait, brows furrowing together as unspecified anxiety manifests within you, working at a small convince store in one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city have made you tolerant of such disquiet. So, waiting for danger to unravel is more of a habit now. It’s only natural that you linger with unwavering gaze on the figure, with hope for them to do anything and help deny the looming thoughts that they're looking at you.

Beep Beep Beep!

Your body jolts in surprise, hand shooting to your heart in panic to calm the increasing speed, you turn to face the microwave.

 'I'm imagining things' you keep repeating to yourself.

The sandwich is still semi cold, so you start the microwave again giving it another ten more seconds.

The figure across the street has not moved an inch when you turn to face them once again. Telling yourself you’re being paranoid. That the enervation of the week is probably catching up to you, alongside your cruel nightmares, it’s added fuel to your anxiety. So, you try to ignore it, trying your best to act normally. Chewing on your sandwich once it’s done, forcing your eyes to focus on the screen small tv hung up in the corner, trying to find your interest in the news despite your mind protesting.

in a somber irony the news are talking about two gruesome crimes that the police believe are linked together, with anarchic deliberation you manage to catch a couple of things that are being said, something about dismembering body parts. With a swallow you turn the tv off with too much of a force.

Instinctively your eyes travel back to the sidewalk, the light flickers on to life and the figure is still there. A chill has the hairs on your arms arising, somehow the panic in you is amplified sending your fingers into a tremble. Your eyes flit to the clock hang on the wall for a second, it’s five more minutes until your shift ends and this person won’t move.

You grow agitated, chewing on your nails as you look back at the figure. And you watch, from a distance as they slowly raise their hand, your heart hammers against your chest, crippling anxiety taking over you when the person holds their palm up and then, they wave. Tilting their head to the side.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, legs shaking with actual fear at the realization that you were not imagining things. They were looking at you all along and now they’re fucking waving at you.

Oh my god they’re waving at you.

Amidst your raising perturbation, you grasp that you need to do something. You don’t feel safe and calling the police is the first option that comes to mind but what would you even say? There’s a weird person waving at me from across the street? And knowing the time that they would take to come to such a disreputable neighborhood? You’d be dead by then.

Maybe you should call someone. One of your friends? Someone can come and pick you up. But what if they take too long? The what ifs are almost endless as they come to your mind like crashing waves. You’re fully panicked now, chewing on your nails ferociously.

You look back at the figure, gaze hardened into a glare despite your petrified state. In your mind it might be enough to scare them away. A big truck passes by, beeping its horn and blocking your vision from the sidewalk. You wait for it to pass, as soon as the street comes back in view it's empty. The figure is nowhere to be seen. It's like they disappeared with the truck or with the wind. You blink multiple times, as if your mind had started playing tricks on you and yet the streets remains empty.

What the fuck

With shaky legs you grab the bat the store owner had placed for you -just in case things got rough one day- he had told you.

You walk out of the store, crossing the street with a jog, right to where the person was standing. The streetlight flickers for a split second on and off. Only enough for you to notice the small pool of liquid on the ground but it's too dark to tell exactly what it is. You squat down, placing the bat next to your feet. With furrowed brows your curiosity drives you to touch it with your finger. Bringing it to your nose, you grimace at the strong smell of metal.

A whirlwind of images flashes in your mind at an agonizingly familiar scent.

The light flickers back on and your eyes widen. Your stomach starts turning and turning in nausea, you feel the sandwich you just had come up. Bringing your palm right upon your mouth with a wrinkled nose, you attempt to push the feeling away. But your body shakes violently and you’re about to throw up.

It was blood.

You are panting, tears cling to your eyelashes in plaintive attempts to keep pieces of you together. As if you’re gonna end up falling apart if just one slips. You’re leaning your head against the wall, the cold bathroom floor makes your body shake, or perhaps it's because you just threw up violently not even two minutes ago. Your stomach aches in horrible pain, throat dry.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to simmer down your shaking. before reaching in your pocket for your phone. Scrolling through your contacts you stop at the name you were looking for. Immediately pressing the call button, you wait.

"yn?" His voice comes like waves of comfort washing over your body. For a mere moment, you’re okay. Breath’s steadier, they flow through your body easier now.

 "Jaeyun," your voice is groggy, a giveaway of your distress that you cannot be witnessed with. Clearing your throat, you attempt to speak again "Can you p-please pick me up? I just finished work-"

you hear shuffling on other line, the sound of sheets being tossed like he's getting out of bed and culpability stirs within you. Knowing he was probably sleeping, and your call had woken him up.

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice heavy with sleep and you suck a deep breath in. contemplating on how to exactly answer him. Jaeyun was one of the few people you never seem to hide from. The truth spills from your mouth involuntarily.

"I'm okay," you attempt to reassure him "B-but please can you pick me up?" you ask, tone low with heedless reluctance.

You hear more shuffling on the other line, the sound of Jaeyun getting dressed and your heart is cradled with warmth at his unyielding care. With no questions directed at the obvious shakiness in your voice.

“I’m on the way yn, alright?” your tears come back faster than you anticipated, it has you biting on your quivering lower lip “alright? Need to hear you say it yn.” he asks again, and you nod your head ceaselessly.

“Okay.”

As soon as Jaeyun hangs up, you pull your knees to your chest and bury your head in them. Your shoulders hang heavy, as if the freight of the world’s anguishes deliquesces upon your flesh, encumbers them. Your stomach is constricting with pain and the same sickening nausea is building again. You can still smell the blood in your nose, as if you’re drenched in maroon.

The scent always sends you back to the same place, a reoccurring purgatory, where you’re sitting with your head in your knees just like right now. You’re covered in bruises and blood and the very same irritable nausea is evident there too. You’re too feeble, covered in mistakes and the indignation of your parents. Their arguing is a dull noise in the background, tear streaks are an eternal trace upon your cheeks.

You’re reprimanding yourself because you need to patch yourself up, you need to grow up. stop being such a spoiled kid. Just like how your mother always told you. And you try to listen. To obey, you try so hard to be good, you want to be good.

But the smell of metal is unbearable. As if it’s seared on your being, as if it’s a layer of your skin and no matter how many times you wash up, it’s burned into you.

You feel the cut on your knee bleeding, the liquid trickling down your leg.

Blue

Violet

Red

It’s all an interchangeable loop that you cannot seem to break free from, a curse that has been set on you the day you took your first breath in. torment runs through your veins and you’re nothing but a slave with an open chest. Accepting your fate is the only way. It’s in the way it all makes itself known to you, the option of running away, breaking free slips further away with your multiplying tears. It’s in the violent shudders wracking your body as you empty your stomach for the second time.

You sit on the floor of your parents’ dirty old bathroom floor, crying with crippling affliction and bleeding out with declaration of their callousness.

Nothing has seemed to change. Life always finds a way to cackle sardonically at you. You’re an adult now. Nowhere near your parents so how come you keep feeling like you never stepped foot outside that bathroom? How come every waking moment is haunted by the ghosts of your past. They’re vicious, with claws around your throat. The poison had long seeped in.

You cannot escape.

"Yn!" With that familiar voice you’re snapped back to your reality.

You look at the floor beneath you. And it’s dirty- disgusting really but it’s not your parents’ bathroom floor. There are no loud voices or shouting and yelling. There's just the sound of the sink running and It's just you.

You’re not hurt. You’re not a kid.

You make an attempt to stand up. Your body is still feeling a little weak and sluggish. Using the wall to support your weight, you take small steps towards the sink and close the running water. You hear footsteps growing closer and closer. But at this moment in time, you are not panicked. Instead, relief washes over you when the door opens and it's Jaeyun.

With eyes colored in concern he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“yn,” he breathes out and you hug him back.

"I'm okay, Jae." You assure despite how your words flow out weak and choppy. Jaeyun squeezes you in his arms tighter.

Almost like you’ve been lost for years, and you’re finally found. You feel the same in a way.

When he pulls back his palms cradle your face gently, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds and when he doesn’t find any, his brows furrow in confusion. You wonder what kind of panic you caused him.

"What happened?” he asks.

"Nothing." You answer, averting your eyes. afraid they will betray your wounds, display that your scars remain on your soul rather than your body.

Jaeyun doesn’t pressure you or ask you for anything further. With a tender smile he nods, because he always knows.

He helps you out the bathroom, hand on your waist in all too similar sentiment. And as he helps you collect your stuff, even closes the store for you, you find yourself being lulled into a comfort that only radiates from him. A too striking familiar of a scene as he helps you into his car, helping you put your seatbelt on with gentle touches, tender glances at your face.

It's all too sweet, a too striking familiar scene of what you guys once had. When you were his and he belonged to you. The world had stilled for a short while. The loop of agony paused, tricking you into a joy that was never meant to last. Because everything that ever belonged to you was only meant to fall apart, you were never foreordained to be a survivor.

You collapse each time, left behind to pick up the fragments of you. Always abandoned.

The drive to your apartment is silent, albeit Jaeyun glances being thrown at you occasionally, you keep yours stuck on the window. Watching as the world passes you by.

"We're here." he declares, coming to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You let out a breath.

"Thank you." you reply, looking at him with a forced practiced smile.

His eyebrows furrow and your smile only stretches wider, futile tries to hide.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" He asks with concern laced in his voice that you turn a blind eye to. You’re starting to feel choked up with the storm of emotions you went through tonight and right now you want nothing but to go inside your apartment, maybe have a good cry then sleep it all away.

"Yes."

You watch with confusion as he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, inching closer to you. Inadvertently you lean back, your back hits the door and when his hand finds your thigh, he squeezes, your body trembles with a slight jump.

“Sorry.” He mummers awkwardly, taking his hand off.

"It's okay. I'm just shaking because it's probably cold outside." You say softly. And his eyes find yours with evident brittle emotions swimming in them.

"yn." He calls for you like he used to. With a voice as sweet as honey and deeper than oceans. You’re taken aback to when there was a sparkle between you, before he burned you with it.

Your eyes fall shut and this time his hand finds your cheek with a caress, you let him. Your heart doesn’t skip beats the same way it used to, in an ironic way it’s only a reminder of the ashes left between you two. You feel his breath hit your face, and when you open your eyes, he’s so close, your melancholy is tempting you to give in.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, shaking your head. He ignores you, his other hand sneaking to your waist and you attempt to back away even more in the cramped space.

"We can't do this Jaeyun." You stop him with a hand to his chest, his heartbeat reverberates against your palm.

"Why not? I still want you." His confidence makes you waver. The ache in your chest tells you it will only ever be soothed by the touch of his lips, yet you find yourself unable to give in, avoiding his gaze as your eyes fall upon your lap. An unwieldy silence swirls in the air yet again. He takes it as sign to back off, his hands leaving your body alongside his warmth.

"Why did you call me?" He asks after a while "Why did you call me out of all the people you know?" You know exactly which answer he's looking for and if you were somewhere else. Somewhere where you felt like you could belong to him. Like he could heal all the wounds you believed he would maybe you would have been able to give it to him.

"Because you're the only one who knows about my panic attacks."

He lets out a sound of disbelief, his face crumbling with disillusionment. And when he falls back in his seat with nothing to say, you unbuckle your seat and get out of the car.

"Thank you and goodnight." you say closing the door hoping he had heard you and the wind did not steal your words.

12:45am                                                                                                               7th of January

your phone stared back at you in full brightness. In contrast with the dim lights flashing across your features. Purple, dark green and blue.

There's a light buzz in your system, evoked by the few glasses of alcohol you had been sipping on throughout the night. A thin layer of sweat covers your forehead despite how cold it is outside. The remaining liquor in your cup is tempting you.

Sunoo’s head is on your shoulder, adding unwanted weight to your body "He’s not eben hat hot, ight?" his words slur together, meshing into somewhat a coherent sentence that he whines out. You follow his gaze that of course lands on none other than Minji, her body swaying to the music with some guy that you recognize from one of your classes. Her arms circle his neck, a huge smile on her face the darker her eyes get with overflowing lust.

Even from this distance you could see it all. Sunoo clings to you further, leg thrown over your lap, almost engulfing your body entirely. His breath reeks of cheap vodka when another whine escapes him.

"yn, 'm hotter yea?"

You hastily drink the very little liquor left in your cup.

"You're so much hotter babe." Sunoo hums happily at your answer, closing his eyes as he nuzzles his face into your neck.

You could only exhale loudly, starting to feel a little choked up with this proximity. You’re not drunk enough to be dealing with this cat and mouse game Sunoo and Minji like to play. you haven’t been present enough mentally this semester to see it all unfold. you just know that somewhere between the first and the second week Heeseung had found you during lunch, mouth agape as he whispered in disbelief;

"Did you know Sunoo and Minji fucked?"

All hell broke loose since that day. Sunoo who's hopelessly in love and Minji who won't commit or be tied down by anyone. It's a classic tale really, a chess game that you had participated in before. It isn't hard to tell who's gonna win, there's no competition here. You just wish Sunoo would realize that too.

"You okay?" Heeseung all but yells at you, loud enough to hear him over the roaring music as he plops down on the couch next to you. His hand brushes your fringe out your face and away from your sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh," Heeseung isn't looking at you though, eyes glued to the awkward girl standing by the stairs. Fidgeting with the red cup between her hands, looking around in what seem to be anxiety. She looks innocent, a lost look in her eyes that gives away the fact that she's a freshman.

She's Heeseung's favorite type of preys.

"Good, good." He says absentmindedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his eyes rake over the girl's body. His hand travels from your hair to the back of your neck, squeezing. 

You roll your eyes, already knowing what’s about to come, witnessed the words tumble out his lips repeatedly.

"I'm gonna go get some ass, yn" He decides loudly. Taking what's left from Sunno’s drink and chugs it down. He then gets up, rolling his shoulders and with confident strides makes his way to the girl. You watch as Heeseung puts on his usual charming smile, all warm and inviting. A blush dark enough to be seen by you on the girl's cheek as they start chatting.

You grow a little miffed. Feeling like you’ve been ditched by all your friends and left to deal with a very drunk Sunoo. This was definitely not what you had in mind when you agreed to come to this party. You untangle yourself from Sunoo with force, the older all but whines refusing to let go.

“I’m just gonna go get a drink,” you tell him and he only whines in response, not a word was probably registered.

You stumble, feet almost interlocking but you manage to stand straight. Your own blushed cheeks are evidence of your tipsiness. Not drunkenness. You’re not there yet. You feel like you’re swimming through a sea of people as you push between them, your knit white sweater gets stuck in someone's bracelet. A string of apologies spills from your mouth. It’s the only few mishaps that manage to unfold before your night passes by with you drowning yourself in liquor.

It's only a few hours later that feels closer to years have passed by. You find yourself in one of the few open rundown 7/11 with Heeseung and a sobered-up Sunoo slurping spicy noodles. Your mind a little less cloudless, limbs aching as you stand up.

“I’m gonna get some air.” You tell your friends, stretching your arms above your head. Sunoo only makes a noise of acknowledgement with his mouth full.

“Don’t walk too far.” Heeseung tells you, eyes lingering on the back of your head as you wave your hand at him.

The frigid air hits you square in the face as you pull your jacket around you tighter, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of warmth. the cheap fabric fails to provide such. 

Keeping Heeseung’s words in mind, you don’t walk too far from the store, finding a bench close by that you settle upon with a sigh. Closing your eyes and breathing in fresh air. Your head grows a tad clearer. A comforting buzz settles in your being instead and despite the dull ache in your body, you feel okay.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?” your eyes fall open, flitting to the source of the voice. It’s a middle-aged man so clearly high off his mind. A familiar sight in these streets.

You ignore him, too used to such situations.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it’s rude to ignore people?” When he speaks this time you glare at him, a scowl taking place upon your face.

“Fuck off old man.” You spit, tone imbued with indignation despite the tremble manifesting in your clenched fingers, nails digging into the insides of your palms.

“Watch your mouth bitch.” The man all but grunts, taking a step towards you, you brace yourself to run, your muscles growing rigid. Your palms are growing sweaty.

Just as the man takes another step towards you, you feel a presence behind you, the man’s eyes darting elsewhere.

“She told you to fuck off. Are you fucking deaf?” the voice is overfamiliar. Velvety smooth as it rings in your ears, evoking beats from your heart this time not out of perturbation. It’s something closer to exhilaration.

The man grumbles, a frown on his aged-up face as he glares at you then turns around and walks the other way. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your shoulders going lax as you turn your head, a familiar face of a stranger comes into view.

White as snow, dark as night and that same dizzying scent. heady and sweet.

It’s the same face that has haunted your mind longer than you’d ever admit, taking space you weren’t aware you’re willing to give. His eyes are hardened into a glare, glued to the back of the man’s head until he’s far enough to not be seen that they flit to you.

Just like the first time you saw him he’s clad in everything black, yet this time instead of formal attire it’s a hoodie and black jeans. Clear glasses on his face yet he remains prettier than any magnificent piece of art you had the pleasure to witness.

The way his gaze palliates instantly has your chest tightening, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as a wind passes you by, somehow drowning you deeper into his intoxicating aroma.

“Are you okay?” His tone is so much softer, tender compared to the way he spoke mere seconds ago.

“Y-Yes. Thank you.” your words come out ignominiously scattered, tinted by your clear nerves that you cover up with a flimsy excuse, alcohol.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late at night. It’s dangerous, pretty girl.” He reprimands genially and your face burns, at the endearment, at his tone and more than anything at the tilt of his lip. A charming smile taking place onto his face, in contrary to how he was willing to shoot the man with his eyes not even minutes ago.

“I’m not alone. I’m waiting for my friends.” You lie, for unidentified incentives that you don’t even want to think about. It’s all deemed worthy when he tilts his head at you with a hum. A glint in his eyes and you’re overtaken by peculiar emotions. Rushing through you all the same as your last meeting.

“Shall I wait with you then?” he says, walking till he’s next to you, and you try hard not to stare at him, but it is reckoned unfeasible when he is so implausibly gorgeous.

You will enough strength to not to think about the way his necklace dangles when he leans down to take a seat next to you. Try hard not to imagine the same way his necklace would dangle over you if he was on top of you.

A space you hate remains between you two and you berate yourself, no amount of tipsiness should allow you to be this way.

“Don’t you remember me?” you ask. His eyes prance over your features in what seems to be attempts to recall where he had seen you before. You wither just a bit in disappointment, a strange hope in you dwindles ever so slightly.

Was it too ambitious of you to hope to take space in his mind as well?

“Ah! We met at the museum. Didn’t we?” his brows rise in recognition.

“We did.” You nod, chuckling nervously as you push strands of your hair behind your ears. You miss the way his eyes darken at your apparent shyness.

Above you the sky darkens just the same, collecting gray clouds as if to match his soul.

“It would be absolutely mad of me not to remember such a pretty face.” The words tumble out his lips so deftly, yet they remain brimming with intensity, and they manage to tinge your cheeks a darker shade of pink, a deplorable exhibit of your heartstrings being played with so effortlessly.

"Do you always flirt with people like this?" you ask, a playful smile tilting your lips upwards.

"I'm glad my attempts at flirting are being acknowledged," he replies, the same playfulness dances around his face and when his eyes dip to your lips for a moment before they’re flitting back to your eyes, it is enough to have your breath hitching.

There's a moment of silence that falls over you, it isn't necessarily awkward, yet the tension encloses itself around your neck, embraces you with a threat of bad decisions. At this moment, they don’t look bad enough.

The short silence is interrupted when you shiver, the cold remains cruel against your cheap clothing.

“Are you cold?” he asks, seeming to notice it all.

“A bit.” You admit, burying your hands in- between your thighs in search of warmth. He eyes your action carefully, and then he moves to take off his hoodie, left only in his turtleneck.

Extending it to you.

“Oh you don’t have to-“you attempt to refuse, shaking your head but he doesn’t let you finish, throwing the fabric onto your lap.

“Wear it.” Perhaps it’s the way his tone is so authoritative it has you crumbling quickly, not fighting back as you put it on, his scent engulfs you and your body rises in temperature instantaneously

“Are you perhaps afraid to look at me?" he asks when you keep your eyes on your tangled fingers, his tone is taunting, an underline of mockery prevails there.

A challenge presents itself to you and you swallow it up, head snapping to look at him with faux confidence clambering over your being. He smirks, somehow managing to remain doused in otherworldly beauty and something akin to victory ceases his eyes.

You wonder how it is possible to have such absurd desires like wishing you’re a mere emotion fortunate enough to flow within him. You must be going insane with loneliness.

"Why would I be?" your eyebrow raises, a plaintive venture to take the lead in whatever dance you’re having.

Something manages to coexist in the middle of all the loneliness meshing with your bones. A feeling akin to curiosity, excitement. A feeling that seems dangerous, a fire that will surely inundate you the longer you stay here.

Eyes midnight black, half lidded, stare back at you. Refusing to back down.

“Your eyes are prettier when they’re looking at me.” your confidence leaves, shattered as soon as it comes, the tips of your ears turning red and the flattery waters your heart so facilely. Your heart hammers against your chest, as if begging to be let out and you almost want to do just that.

At the realization that you lost so quickly you wish to throw up your heart, welcoming your defeat with open arms.

“If you’re gonna keep flirting with me, at least tell me your name.” You mumble, loud enough for your words not to be stolen by the wind and he chuckles.

“Are you interested in me?”

“Stop please.” You whine, bringing your palms to your cheeks. You’re so hot you could melt right on this seat.

“I’m only teasing, darling.”

“Well stop teasing me.” his eyes grow fond at the pout taking place on your face, you seem to be unaware of how utterly adorable you are.

“How about this,” he turns his body towards you, arms crossed on his chest, and you try your hardest not to stare” I have a little game for you if you manage to solve it then I’ll tell you, my name.” he suggests and you contemplate on what to say, yet you find yourself nodding.

“Give me your arm.” He whispers, inching closer to you and you do as he says, embarrassingly fast as if you were desperate to please, desperate for a glimpse of a smile from a stranger as you extend your arm towards him.

His touch is delicate as his fingers inch the sleeves of your (his) hoodie upwards, it has goosebumps erupting on your skin, setting your body ablaze and your breaths grow labored when his eyes catch yours, pulling you into him with a vigorous force

“I’m gonna write something on your arm and you have to guess it, simple yeah?” his voice is low as if he’s afraid to break whatever hue the both of you have fallen into and your lips separate with a familiar softness “okay.” You whisper back, the quirk of his lips, ever so slightly has a whimper bubbling at the back of your throat.

His nimble fingers feel cold against your skin, keeping his eyes fixated on your face as his fingers irritatingly, deliberately trace syllables upon your arm.

“Can you tell me what I just wrote?” You blink at him, realizing you have paid no attention whatsoever, instead all you did was stare at him, wandering in your own thoughts that are evoked by him.

“Sorry,” you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together “do it again.” You tell him and his lips twitch upwards in a way that slightly piques you. his fingers start tracing letters upon the skin of your arms again and this time, you pay your utmost attention to every move, every brush of his fingers.

“I can?” you answer when he pauses with a question in his gaze.

“Yes, good.” He resumes moving his fingers.

“I can, see?”

“Mhm.” You furrow your brows, seeming to have lost track and he’s lenient enough to do it again.

Your mouth shaping around the words fleeing to your mind, his stare stays affixed on your lips. A foreboding glint manifests in his stare, till yours widen, overtaken by brief triumph.

“I can see you! That’s what you wrote. I can see you.” you exclaim, excitedly. A gleam enough to blind anyone with your smile that has him chuckling and shaking his head.

“Hold on, I’m not done yet.”

“Oh,” you settle down with pink cheeks, embarrassed.

As his fingers move against your skin anew, akin to strokes of a paintbrush inundated with iciness, a benevolence lingers at the tips of his fingers. It’s competent at eliciting a shiver to run down your spine, your heart pulsating.

I

Can

See

Your

Just as he’s tracing what you assume to be the last word on your arm, the sky blights your little bubble, breaking through it with force as droplets of water hit your face. You look up at the sky as it starts to rain and his stays on your face.

As if feeling his stare slowly you find him, and then just like the first time you saw him he captures you in place. A hue of vulnerability and a sense of endearment colors his gaze. Just like the dewdrops of rain it grazes the surface of your heart prominently.

Inchmeal, he pulls the hood of the garment over your head, sheltering you from the rain and you hold your breath, waiting, anticipating for something as ardent as the feelings splashing across his face.

“Yn!” you hear Heeseung’s voice call for you from behind “Come on! Let’s go home.”

In a mere second, his eyes dart behind you before they’re back on you, he smiles, irreconcilable with how grim the sky looks above you.

Heady and sweet.

“Go.” He tells you, voice low and perhaps it was the tilt of his lips that has you obligating with a silent nod.

Your friends are not sober enough to ask you who you were with, and you colored with shades of red, attraction.

It is a veil against the questions that should be alarming like why a man with a such an expensive watch around his wrist lurking around this side of the city.

With a hand on your hip, eyes filled with flames of irritation you glare at an unconscious Heeseung sprawled on your couch. With a snore loud enough for you to grow deaf. Evidence of last night’s chaos lies on the ground. Empty bags of chips and empty beer cans.

You had awakened with a slight ache forming in the temples of your head, a myriad of visions conquering your mind, mainly of your mystifying encounter with the handsome stranger.

With a shake of your head, you take a seat on the small coffee table that's facing your worn-out couch. Your eyes stilling on your friend's peaceful sleeping face, too peaceful. delivering a hard jab to his side, the latter barely feels it, only groaning in response. You huff, reaching for his cheek and pinching, hard. And that seems to do the job because Heeseung’s eyes shoot open, slapping your hand away with enormous potency.

"Ow! what the hell?" He whines, rubbing his now reddening cheek.

"Had to wake you up somehow." You say with a shrug, getting up and walking to your kitchen, another overly dramatic whine of his has you rolling your eyes.

"You're fucked in the head, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah" you sip on your water, Heeseung shuffles from behind you, yawning as he leans his head on your shoulder, his body almost engulfing yours with his weight, arms wrapping around your waist in search for warmth, the morning weather remains frigid, sweeping in through the thin walls of your apartment.

“You’re heavy Hee and your breath stinks.” You sigh and he hums, making no effort to move away.

“Last night was interesting.” He says into your neck.

“Was it?”

“Who was that guy you were with?” your hand stills around the glass, had not expected such question.

“You saw us?” you retort, tilting your head to look at him.

“I did.” His arm loosens from around your waist to dawdle past you to brew some coffee, in search for some needed energy “so who was he? Mr. glasses?” he leans his elbow on the counter, facing you with a scrutinizing gaze.

You busy your fingers with toying with the plate of grapes in front of you, an awkward avoidance drapes over you.

“Just some guy.” You shrug.

“Didn’t take you as the type to chill in the middle of the night with just some guy.”

“I don’t know him Heeseung. We met once at some museum, and I just randomly saw him again last night.”

He keeps quiet, pursuing his lips. Seemingly not awake enough to register anything that meaningful. At his speech impediment, you take your glass with you, and settle upon your couch with a sigh, relaxing into the cushions. Heeseung follows you shortly after, his own cup of coffee in his hands.

“Jaeyun has been blowing up my phone.” He starts, sitting way too closely next to you.

“So?”

“He said you guys almost kissed in his car the other night.”

"I don't even understand why he's telling you all this shit." You mummer with an exhale, running your hands through your hair warily.

"He's just venting you know he has no one." You know he’s right, but it doesn’t lessen how hard the strings of irritation are pulling at you.

"Stop telling me about it then."

"Okay someone's in a bitch mood." Heeseung grumbles, hands up in surrender.

His eyes shift to your face, seeming to notice the bags under your eyes, the fatigue pasting itself to you almost invariably these days, wordlessly he pulls you into him, arms around your shoulders and you go easily, his touches, as gentle and warm as ever.

“I hope you’re being careful, angel.”

You keep quiet, eyes zeroed in on his cup of coffee.

You are walking home from work.

The sun has set too early, and the streets are sinisterly empty. The lights flicker;

 on

off

on

off

you’re feeling cold, you can barely feel the tips of your fingers and It's oddly windy, you’re clad in nothing, but a tank top and your mind is hazy. You can’t seem to recall where your jacket is. Did you leave it at home, or did you end up leaving it at the store? You wield yourself to remember yet nothing.

You pass by a clock that's arbitrarily tossed upon the cracked ground of the street, for an unspecified reason you go and pick it up. It’s pointing at 11, slowly turning to 12 and before you could blink the clock wire starts moving inhumanly fast, turning and you grow dizzy. Throwing it back on the ground as you bring your palm to your temples with a groan.

The clock disappears as soon as it touches the pavement.

I need to go home.

Your head is now pounding, legs wobbly as you stumble on the sidewalk. Your vison blurry and your chest tightens with insignificant trepidation.

I need to go home

I need to go home

I need to go home

You hear footsteps behind you and your chest tightens even more, breathing grows to be a harder task and you’re panting, terror nestles its way into you uninvited and hastily. You don’t need to look behind you to feel alarmed, instead your weak legs attempt to pick up speed, a futile way to flee from whatever danger lingering behind. abruptly pain spreads across the bottom of your feet as if you’re running on endless needles, it’s unbearable and you’re struggling to breathe, panting loudly yet no air seems to make its way into your throat. As if steel is lodged in the middle.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to you, agonizingly taunting, you can’t move when you feel a presence behind you, feel their breath hit the back of your neck and with one swift move, you feel a hand circle your wrist, its grip unrelenting and your body grows frail, unable to fight back.

You look down at the hand holding onto you and all you see is red blood. Dripping everywhere, down your wrist staining you. Your mouth opens with a scream but it’s silent, no sound can be heard.

With a frightened expression and widened gaze, you look up at the guy, with an unrecognizable face, he’s doused in blackness. It flings your soul into a substantial pool of horrific panic. You try to break free, your fingers twisting but to no avail. His grip is too strong, your own body too weak to fight back. You try to scream again, yelling to be let go and yet just the same it’s silent.

Your free hand touches your face only to realize your mouth has been sewn shut.

Suddenly the sky above you color with grey clouds and it starts to rain drops of crimson.

The scent of metallic invades your nostrils, you taste it on your tongue and your known nausea builds alarmingly swiftly. You only register your tears spilling out your eyes when the guy tackles you to the ground. His body is akin to a block of metal on top of you.

He starts to cackle at you, you can feel your heart beating its way out of your chest, loud and painful. You’re terrified, covered in blood and incapable of catching your breath.

There’s a knife in his hand, as his laughter gets louder and louder ringing in your ears, the blade cuts through your chest. He craves out your heart and you lie there, watching as he brings it to his mouth with a smile so wide and chews on it.

You can’t move, you can’t speak, you have no one to help you.

You wake up with a gasp, eyes lined with tears and shaking with tremors of terror running through your limbs. You look around and your panic subsides with an exhale, realizing you’re on your bed, in your room.

A wave of relief washes over you, like splashed cold water. It was just a bad dream. A really bad dream. Unwittingly your palm sprawls over your chest, right where your heart is and another exhale escapes you, it’s beating and it’s still here.

You’re okay, everything is okay.

Checking your phone, you scroll the seemingly monotonous messages from your friends. You had finished classes early and decided to go back home and nap before your planned study session with them. Your body has been feeling weak these few past days. Ever since your encounter with the pretty stranger, surely staying under the rain that late at night wasn’t the smartest decision. Despite it being short-lived it was more than enough for your frail body to fall apart with a sore throat and a runny nose. A flu lurks around the corner, and you know it’s coming.

Your eyes flit to the now washed hoodie you hung on the door of your closet, a constant reminder that whatever you felt was real. A hope etched onto the fabric for another chance, to see him.

You get ready in a haze, mind a little numb and limbs dragging with a dire ache. Heeseung ends up picking you up and he keeps rambling the whole ride about a new video game he needs to buy. You keep quiet, looking out the window, although your nap you still feel weary, head buzzing with recollection of the nightmare you had. You had an inkling that it was about the figure you saw outside your work a couple of weeks ago.

Although you’re accustomed to being surrounded by fret you never knew yourself to be this paranoid. You can't decide if you’re being way too anxious about such a minuscule matter, or you aren’t giving it enough magnitude.

You meet Sunoo and Minji outside the library, a small and cute one just around the corner from a cafe that you used to work at. Although it’s closed now.

The owner – who was a kind old man – had decided to close it after three years because he couldn't handle the terrible loss of his son and moved back to his hometown. You never knew the exact details of the incident.

The tension swirling in the air is hefty enough for you to feel it, somehow adding heaviness to your shoulders as your eyes dart between the two. Unresolved conversation hangs between them and it’s evident enough in the way there’s a frown plastered on Minji’s face. An avoidance in Sunoo’s gaze.

"Should we go for karaoke after?" Heeseung suggests as soon as you step foot inside, with an arm around your shoulder he brings you closer to him. It’s a salient striving to lighten the mood.

It earns him a glare from Minji who seems to have little to zero tolerance loitering in her.

“We have no time for bullshit. We came here to finish this stupid project.” She huffs and Heeseung holds his hands up in surrender.

“Damn okay. Chill.” He mummers and you chuckle, adjusting the falling strap of your tote bag.

On the contrary, Sunoo’s expression turns sour, his brows knitting together and his words fall like bombs that have been on edge, waiting to find a chance to be let loose “He obviously meant when we’re finished with our work.” He grumbles, voice laced with evident venom, Heeseung agrees with a nod.

"And you seriously think we're gonna have time to do anything? The due date is literally tomorrow." Minji retorts with an equal amount of venom tinting her tone.

You sigh at the glare the librarian throws your group, noticing the disturbance your discussion has caused across the stillness of the place “Can you guys cut it out and start actually doing your work?” the three of them look at you in union, nothing is said back at you and with a pleased nod you take a seat at one of the nearest tables. Your friends follow silently, unpacking their stuff, immersed in their work.

"yn," Heeseung calls. Brushing his shoulder against yours. His eyes are wide in a plea and a pout on his lips.

"What?" you ask with imitated disgust.

"Can you help me with this?" his pout intensifies as he points at the part he's confused about, batting his lashes at you and you bite back a smile as you lean over, bangs falling over your eyes and inattentive to the way Heeseung’s expression melts into an unfamiliar tenderness, gaze serious.

The question was related to personality psychology. You and he had decided to enroll in the course together. Thinking it would be easier if you had someone with you. It slipped your mind that one; Heeseung is an idiot at everything except for math and two; your attention span has been all over the place lately. Dozing off in almost every class.

"Sorry you're gonna need to help yourself because I don't understand it either." You say, patting his shoulder.

Heeseung looks away promptly leaving you with no answer and despite your perplexity at his behavior you don’t dwell on it. Putting your earbuds in and taking out your own notes to start studying.

A couple of hours have passed, Minji and Sunoo are much more mitigated, the air flows lighter and you can’t help the smile that disperses across your face at the sight of them working closely together. You stretch your arm above your head with an exhale, feeling your back muscles relax.

Leaning your chin on the palm of your hand, you look out the window. catching sight of the rain outside. Taking out your earbuds, the sound of raindrops hitting the window reverberates throughout the tranquil silence disseminating the place. It stirs a welcomed alleviation within you. Days of overworking yourself alongside the lack of sleep catches up to you, fatigue sears itself onto your being and you lie your head on the table. Eyes pasted on the dewdrops trailing down the window leisurely.

Minji's and Sunoo hushed conversation starts to feel like white noise. You fall into a distance lullaby and right at this mere moment you feel like you could relax for the first time in a while. A feeling so foreign you’re almost too afraid to settle in.

As your eyes grow heavier with sleep, you notice a familiar figure pass by in front of the window. Impossible to forfeit, amongst the crowd and the countless umbrellas there’s just no way for you to miss him. Not when he’s been haunting your mind for stretching hours. Not when your head hits the pillow and the only plaguing your thoughts are the words he traced upon your skin, as if tattooed by flames you cannot seem to relinquish.

You shoot up from your chair, your tiredness long obliterated as your eyes frantically follow him. The conversation of your friends dies down, their focus shifting on you with concern etched onto their features

"Are you okay?" Sunoo asks, his eyes shifting to where you’re looking.

"Yn?" Heeseung calls out to you.

But you’re impotent. Your attention stolen and you’re incapable of registering a word that’s being said to you.

"Sorry guys, I’ll be right back." You speak in a hurry, shoving your phone deep into your pocket and quickly storming out of the library. The rain is unforgiving as it dawns on your being, drenching you and earning you a few disdainful looks from the people passing by.

You don’t recognize yourself, you’re not usually like this. And you try to grasp meaning of your behavior, yet you’re empty handed, filled with a baffling urge for a glimpse of this man who’s nothing but a stranger to you. Perhaps it was the wind of grotesque emotions flinging through the air every time you two spoke, his few words have stuck in your mind like a record that won’t stop playing and no matter how many times you listen, you’re still scuffling to find elucidation.

Perhaps you were just edging yourself into deliration.

"What am I doing." You mumble to yourself as you’re about to go inside, you notice him at the end of the crossroad.

You stand still for three full seconds.

On the first one your brain chastises you, stridently yelling at you why do you care over and over again.

On the second one you shift onto rationality telling yourself to go back inside the library and continue the life you’re so used to. Where no weird guys you’re fascinated with exist and you act like a different version of yourself.

On the third one you start sprinting because the man takes a right turn, and you need to catch up. Water splashes under your feet as you gather whatever robustness is left in your body.

You don’t give room for yourself to abide on any raising questions in your head, like what would you possibly say to him if you caught up to him? You have no idea how you could explain this peculiar urge to see him again? Was this behavior odd enough for you to be deemed a stalker?

The space between you two grows smaller, your shorter legs remain lacking for you to fully catch up when he takes a turn to his right, you follow right after with a panting chest. Your feet come to a stop as the sight of an empty alleyway comes into view. Your brain racing with confusion that clampers over your face just the same. You attempt to look further yet only bags of trash greet you. The wetness of the rain mixing in with it makes the scent horrendous.

"Are you following me?" You jolt in surprise; a discernible gasp tumbles out your lips.

You swivel around, coming face to face with your desired target who stays as breathtaking as ever. Shrouded in black formalwear and hair styled to perfection, his glasses hang at the tip of his nose, His hand holding onto an umbrella while the other is buried in his pocket.

He’s a striking image of an ardent artist’s majestic creation, diabolically ethereal, nothing less. You in contrast, a ball of predicament, hair wet and a heaving chest.

"I wasn't." You answer shortly, an idiotic attempt to grasp control over the situation.

If the raise of his brow is anything to go by, he doesn’t buy it and you cannot blame him.

"Oh really?" he muses, taking a few steps towards you, a smirk curling at the end of his lips and you hold your breath in guilt.

He tilts his umbrella to you, harboring you from the rain.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and it is enough to set your cheeks ablaze, a blush mortifyingly potent enough to travel all the way to your ears. Your heart skips beat almost appallingly, loud enough you grow fearful he might be able to hear it. It sends you into enough panic to forget about how uncomfortable your clothes feel, sticking to your body.

“You shouldn’t be out without an umbrella when it’s raining this hard.” He reprimands, tone gentle.

“I know.” Sweat beads start cumulating at your forehead, albeit the frigid weather, your body growing hot.

“Where are you heading? I’ll take you.” he asks, tilting his head at you, a smile just as tender as the one that colors his voice, and you shake your head at him in disregard.

“Or would you like to admit now that you were following me?”

“I-I wasn’t following you!” you sputter, nowhere near convincing.

“I’m only teasing, darling.” He chuckles, a sound so strangely compelling, an urge crawls over you, so foolish like saving the sound between the palms of your hands alongside his sweet endearment.

“Aren’t you scared, to be here with me alone?” he deliberately asks, voice lowered.

“y-you don’t seem dangerous. Besides you saved me from that old man last time so.” You trail off, bunglingly and he hums, gauging the way you almost curl into yourself with precious diffidence.

Your eyes darts to his momentarily, holding you captive with manacles coaxed with deviant cravings, it tastes like candied impulses you wish to give into, it feels like addictive fire upon your skin ignited by his gaze.

Your body is overwhelmingly hot so that exhaling grows to be a harder task.

"We seem to always meet when it's raining." You whisper, traversing through the silence.

"I guess so." He hums, keeping his eyes on you “were you keeping track of our meetings?” He follows with a question, you dare with collected vigor not to look away despite the way your cheek burns so profoundly it feels excruciating.

“It’s hard not to.” You admit.

“How come?”

You chew on your lower lip, brain turning to putty, just like melting ice cubes under the vehemence of his stare. You aren’t feeling well, gravely trying to come up with a tolerable fib to spill. Yet the wheels in your head feel like they have turned rusty, unable to turn quick enough. The blink of your eye takes longer to unfold.

“they’re fascinating to say the least.”  You settle with the truth.

“Mm. are they or do you find me fascinating?”

“Do you always ask random strangers this many questions?” you huff out, you’re growing dizzy, your knees unsteady.

“Do you always follow strangers into alleyways?”

“No.” you answer, airily.

He takes a few steps towards you, closing the already very small distance separating you. Tentatively he brings his hand up to your face, with the back of his fingers he caresses your forehead so delicately, your eyelids fall shut, missing the way his eyebrow shoot up in surprise.

“You’re very warm. Are you alright?” his words fall upon your ears laboriously, like they echo within your being, and it takes longer than necessary for you to find meaning in them.

“’m okay.” You murmur, absentmindedly stumbling forward and resting your forehead against his shoulder, his body aids in providing comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“I don’t think so darling. Are you friends near?” he asks, and you shake your head, his arm wrapping around your shoulders vigilantly. It spreads a pleasant buzz throughout your body,

You’re so tired you want to go to sleep.

“I’m gonna take you to my house. Okay? We need to take care of you, it seems you’re running a fever.” you think you answer, or maybe you nod your head. You aren’t very sure.

All you know is that you felt indisputable comfort in a sustained amount of time.

When you awake, you’re met with a foreign ceiling. It’s painted with spatters of colors atop one another. Dominated by three shades black, white and red. They expand into bigger arbitrarily sketches you’re not sentient enough to understand just yet. It’s very well done, inherently distinctive that you can tell it’s painted by the hands of whoever is residing here.

You sit up with a groan, twined with the throb of your forming headache. Pressing your thumbs into your temples, it is not even close pressure for the pain to subside. Blinking, your eyes take a swift look around the room you’re in. The space larger than your entire apartment.

You don’t get to linger in how much money this man has before you hear the door clicking open.

"Oh, you're awake?" He asks, Looking fresh out of the shower, with slightly damp hair and barefaced.

His black clothes are now replaced with a white button-up dress shirt and black formal pants. You slightly raise your eyebrows at the choice of clothes. His hair leaves droplets of water on his shirt leaving some spots transparent.

"Did I pass out?" you ask, voice just a tad groggy, your eyes following him as he turns his back to you, fetching something from the coffee table that you didn’t even notice.

Just how big is this room?

“No. you just fell asleep.” He answers, turning to face you with a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit while a lighter curls between the fingers of his other hand. The twitch of his lips is enough evidence of how comical he finds this to be.

“Oh.” You trail off, face burning.

As he walks to you, the intensity in his gaze remains as suffocating as flower petals blooming in the middle of your throat, you don’t allow yourself to breath as his slender fingers graze your forehead, your fists curling onto the sheets.

“Your fever has gone down. Thankfully.” He says, voice muffled by the stick between his lips.

His black hair drips water on your bare thighs causing you to shiver. It's cold. At the realization you look down at your lap, noting you’re not wearing any pants, clad in an unfamiliar sweatshirt.

“D-did you change my clothes?” you stammer, your cheeks falling into a darker shade.

“I couldn’t put you to bed with soaked clothes. Could I?”

“Well y-yeah.”

“I’m just teasing, darling.” He starts, his eyes skimming across your blushing face with relish “My maid changed your clothes for you. I’m a gentleman after all I wouldn’t undress you without your consent.”

“Gosh this is so fucking embarrassing. I’m sorry.” You whine, covering your face with your palms in hopes to somehow dissipate into air, or let this be another stupid nightmare of yours.

“Which is, the fact that you fell asleep on me or that you talked in your sleep about how handsome you think my face is?”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim, horrified at the information, you curl into yourself further. The way he chuckles so lightheartedly doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

"Would you like some food?" he asks, his finger brushing across your arm causing goosebumps to arise.

“No.” you groan “I wanna go home or maybe throw myself out the window.”

“Now you’re hurting me.” you peak at him through your fingers, expecting a teasing smirk to be displaying yet you’re met with an odd solemnity.

"I made some soup for you-" He pauses to light his cigarette, taking a deep inhale and puffing out the smoke. You watch with unalloyed attention as he throws the lighter on the table next to the bed mindlessly.

There’s an anomalous elegancy that coats his every move, enough to have you enchanted.

"So, you should really have some." He finishes, dark eyes finding yours with unfaltering assertiveness that has you silently nodding.

You cannot give voice to your emotions, not when he’s an embodiment of everything beauty gets the pleasure to breathe into. It’s an unyielding attraction, one that you cannot seem to scrimmage against, ideally you bare your neck, waiting to feel his teeth on your throat.

At your approval, he sends you a gentle smile, like a soothing wave of comfort descending upon your body that has been drowning in exhaustion. It’s ill-fitted, compared to his dusky room, or the cigarette slotted between his lips.

“I’ll go get it for you.” he tells you and you give him another nod,

With his absence, you fetch the opportunity with vigor, taking it upon yourself to snoop around. You start by examining the lighter he threw on the bedside table, the shiny exterior had managed to capture your attention. Brushing your fingers over the leather case, it’s not hard to tell even such a small item is expensive.

You notice an initial is engraved at the bottom, trailing the two letters with the tip of your index finger 'PSH'.

Putting the lighter back on the dresser, you stand up feeling slightly better, your legs gathering more strength compared to earlier. You turn your attention to the countless papers sprawled on the floor, collected in a pile as if they hold no importance anymore. Picking a few up, you go through them with inquisitive eyes. They all seem like first drafts of sketches, clearly unfinished. Few with a face etched onto them, void of any clear features, another is just a pair of eyes. While a different one is just an outline of a body, for some odd reason they all feel familiar. Like you have seen them somewhere or like you should know who they belong to.

It has an unsettling feeling nestling its way into you, the same one you felt back at the museum. Drifting your eyes to the corner of the page, the autograph there catches your eyes.

"Park Sunghoon." you read out loud. You check the other papers and surely every single one of them is signed with the same name. you don’t get to dwell on the discovery before you hear the door clicking open once again.

Placing the papers back in their original place, you face the door. He steals a glance at you, your gaze locking for a mere second before he’s walking over to the small coffee table, sitting in the middle of his room paired with a sofa that looks more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

"Come here." He tells you, setting the tray he was holding down, and you follow quietly. Sitting down next to him with a good, measured gap between you.

He eyes you but doesn’t comment on it.

"Help yourself." He says pointing to the bowl of soup with a tilt of his head, his fingers curling around one of the cups that seem to be holding coffee.

You only nod, scooting closer to the table as the delicious smell invades your nostrils, evoking your hunger to raise and the realization that you haven’t eaten anything all day.

“Good?” he asks after you take a sip, eyes fond.

“Really good. Thank you.” you answer with a smile, diving in for some more.

"Have some green tea." Sunghoon suggests and you nod. Setting the bowl down on the tray. You reach for the cup. Your eyes immediately dart to the label of the tea, and you recognize it as one of the more expensive brands. They don't even sell it where you work.

Amidst your sip, you look at him only to find him already watching you. Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes follow your every move with a slackened expression. With tinted cheeks you avert your attention to the huge window next to you, taking note that the rain has stopped completely. Although it's still cloudy outside.

You should head home soon before it starts raining again.

"So why were you following me?" Sunghoon asks, slicing into the congested tension. You don’t expect it, resulting in you choking on a sip, your face turning red in color as you fall into a fit of coughs.

Sunghoon’s emotions grow into amusement as if you weren’t on the verge of death.

"I wasn't following you." you state, clearing your throat.

“What were you doing then?"

“I was at the library with my friends,” you start, eyes lolling everywhere and he only hums, patience seeming unlimited “I saw you passing by, and I wanted to tell you that I figured out what you wrote on my arm that night.”

"So, you went out into the rain without an umbrella?” he puffs out a chuckle and you’re starting to feel a tad bit annoyed. Like you’re a source of entertainment to him.

“It was stupid. I’m so dumb for doing that I get it.” You huff, overwhelmed with discomfiture.

“It made me happy.”

“What?”

“Knowing I wasn’t the only one still thinking about you.”

“You think about me?” you ask, eyes flitting to his, they stay unwavering.

“I do.” There’s no way for you to prove it, but you know it’s the truth he speaks, woven with that same unfeigned smile.

Your silence stretches, as you ponder upon all the contingencies staring back at you. You can’t find anything worrisome and perhaps that’s why it worries you, you cannot be worthy of anything this gentle.

“You told me you figured out what I wrote on your arm?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and you brighten with excitement, inching closer to him unwittingly, he leans into it. His arms stretching behind you.

“I did!”

“Mhm, go on. Tell me.”

“I can see your fears.” You answer, eyes dancing between his with overflowing delirium. Evoking a smile from him.

Your chest warms at the sight.

“Close enough.” He tells you and it’s enough for your excitement to melt right off you, replaced with a pout and a knot between your brows.

“I got it wrong?”

“It’s a T, not an F.”

“I can see your tears?” you ask, tilting your head in a too endearing of a manner.

“Yeah.” he answers softly.

“Does it have any special meaning behind it?” He shrugs at your question, leaving it unanswered as he stands up wordlessly, walking to his bedside table, he leans down to open a drawer and fetch something you can’t see.

You let your eyes wander, trailing over his slim figure, keeping yourself in check is almost deemed unobtainable. Not when you fall breathless as you’re pushed into the same space as him. He’s stunningly virtuoso as he’s surrounded by pieces of his own art, scattered around the floor, hung around the walls of his bedroom. Like it took decades to sculpt this man. Not a single flaw to be seen.

"Are you gonna tell me your name?" you ask when he turns to face you, a sketchbook between his hands and you’ve managed to stitch yourself woefully just in time.

“Although you got it wrong,” he sits himself back on the sofa right next to you, charm imbued into his grin “it’s Sunghoon. Park Sunghoon.” The name rolls off his tongue so fluidly, far from how it sounded in your head when you read it. The fact that you already knew is a hushed secret within the walls of your brain.

“What’s yours?” He opens his sketchbook, skimming through ones you don’t get enough time to steal glances at.

“yn,” you answer.

“Pretty name.” He doesn’t give enough time for his words to penetrate your mind, instead they hang over you like their own cloud replenishing with their own shades of emotions.

He inches closer to you, tilting your chin towards him with his thumb and index finger. You’re so taken back you don’t even get to inhale, cheeks glowing pink and body going rigid. His eyes skimming over your features, scrutinizing you as if you’re one of his paintings.

"W-what?" You stutter out.

His fingers loosen, abandoning the warmth of your skin, your fingers itch with a foolish urge, one like stopping him. An imprudent entreaty climbs up your throat, one like telling him you miss his touch the moment it’s gone.

“You have freckles.” he says, settling into an empty page and picking up a pencil that had been lying randomly on the table.

“They’re very faint. Nobody ever notices them.” You reply, dumbfounded.

“I can see them very clearly.” There’s a deeper meaning underlying his words, one that you cannot seem to comprehend "you’re bewitching. It has me questioning if you’re real." He continues, unceremoniously.

You find fiendish in his kind words, it’s as if your heart isn't swelling up in your chest. Inflating so beyond your control it feels like it might explode any minute. You exhort yourself not to be swooned so effortlessly. You shouldn't be taken away by so little yet flattering words like a weak branch swayed away by a fleeting wind.

You tell yourself you have been here before, you cannot stumble into the same mistakes over and over again, even if it grows harder by the minutes. The cravings of your heart screams grow louder when he looks at you, his hand pausing for a mere minute as if he’s taken back just the same. The softening of your gaze, an exposure of all your hidden fragility.

"I feel the same way about you," your words escape you without much thought, unconcealed.

You stare at each other for what almost feels like a decennary. Years of people dying, souls being reborn. And you’re still here, as if frozen in time and whatever colors the air between you two is enough to pump life into you for that long. It’s counted minutes, fewer seconds for you hold your breath and longer for you to blink.

Sunghoon doesn't reply, only hums as he goes back to drawing. Skilled fingers moving across the paper.

But you feel it, in the darkening of his eyes. The sharpening of his gaze. The tightening of his hold on the pencil. It's all so subdued but evident. A shift in the space between you, the tension amplifying, tethered with feverish intensity. You catch yourself breathing in deeper gulps of air. Wrapping an arm around your body, you look around. A failed attempt to calm your nerves.

"Are you uncomfortable?" Sunghoon asks, scrutinizing your movement.

"A little." You admit and he tsks, in what seems to be disapprobation, it has your arms tightening around yourself. An urge to please arises.

"You can ask me anything you want, if that will help." He suggests.

"Do you always draw strangers out of the blue?" you tease, striving for the air between you to be lighter.

It earns you a chuckle from him, a shake of his head that has you entranced. You never knew there were this many shapes of beauty and you did not know they could all exist in one person, in the tone of his voice, in the fluttering of his lashes, the sharpness of his jaw and even in between the strands of his hair.

"Only the pretty ones." He jokes back and you blush with a scuttling gaze, denying your heart.

"How old are you?" you inquire, attempting to start normal conversation.

"How old do you think I am?" He asks. Looking at you sideways with a tilt of his eyebrow that has you melting like butter. Squirming in your seat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be answering my questions?”

"I'm 28." He answers and you cannot hide the surprise taking place upon your face, not when he didn’t look a day over the age of 23.

“You’re young, aren’t you?” He asks, at your silence.

“I’m not that young.” Your tone comes out defensive, it has his lip twitching upwards in merriment “I turned 21 last month.” You continue and he only hums back.

You feel it again, the abrupt stopping of time for you, yet the ticking of the clock on the wall echoes resoundingly throughout the room. It is not enough to drown your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Not enough to conceal the allure swimming in his eyes when they dance between your eyes and then down at your lips.

You find yourself inching closer, you’re indistinguishable being pulled in by your heartstrings, with flames surging between you two, intertwined with lethal attraction and obscure intensity. The idea of burning alive does not sound all that bad right now. The space in the middle of you closes by inches, his breath reeking of cigarettes and coffee, the smell of his shampoo are all distinguishable.

He doesn’t move, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move, and you’re kneeling into it, with eyes turning hazy and labored breaths.

As your lips are about to touch, a striking sound cuts through, the ringing of a phone catches you both off guard. You wait for Sunghoon to get up, but he remains still, not moving a muscle, the twitch of his brows are the only giveaway of his annoyance.

"It's yours." He whispers, you’re confused for a minute but as the haze of enticement evaporates, you recognize the ringtone of your phone, spot it buzzing on the bed.

“Oh.” You stand up awkwardly, with stiffness in your bones you dawdle past him to grab your phone.

There are endless notifications of messages from Minji and Sunoo, a couple of missed calls from Heeseung. You cuss at yourself, had totally forgotten there are people waiting for you outside of whatever bubble you have stumbled into with Sunghoon. Who stays on the sofa with his back to you, seeming too busy admiring his own sketch of you.

You sway on your feet, with swaying thoughts, questions as foolish as the tint of red upon your cheeks. Is he admiring it because it’s you or is it an egotistical cherish?

Disappointment builds inside you at the thought.

"I should head home." You say, pocketing your phone.

"My driver will take you back." he replies, turning to look at you from the couch and you avert your eyes. Focusing on ripped up sketch on the ground.

It's disheartening to think about how something he probably cherishes so deeply is torn to shreds.

"There's no need. You have done more than enough."

"You're still tired. He'll take you." There’s an edge to his tone that kills the possibility of a clinch. It is not unkind in any way, in fact it’s implicitly sweet.

“I’m sorry and thank you for everything.”

“No need for apologizes, darling.”

You linger by the door, an evident nervousness coating the way your fingers are entangling and with the same meaninglessly endless tolerance inked into him, he waits for you just as well.

“I’m sorry for stealing your clothes again.” You say, an impish smile tilting your lips upwards as you point at the pair of sweats covering your legs.

The same one disperses across his lips, as he tips his head back at you, his arms crossing upon his chest and almost shamelessly his eyes trail over your body, loitering by your chest, it ignites a blazing fire right down to your core. Ardour -as cunning as you know it to be- coaxes it all. A master of temptation and the both of you toy with it religiously.

“They look better on you anyways.”

You are disentitled to silence, his words messing up the atoms of your being there’s no way for you to think straight. So you don’t ask how can you give them back, and instead you’re out of his space with a racing heart, wrapped in a deluge of his scent and an unendurable moisture between your legs. Your cheeks marring red with disgrace.

colored with shades of a duskier red, your attraction deepens, coexists with drops of lust.

The different atmosphere between your apartment and the place you were in kills your spirit. You were never really a thriver for luxury. You didn't grow up rich or poor. You had very basic living circumstances. In every aspect.

Although your living conditions were much better than now.

Is what you think as you greet the old lady that's dragging her drunken son into her apartment. Her face flushes with embarrassment every time. Even though you never comment on it nor mention it the next day. This happens every Sunday. Sometimes the timing is different, either it's too early in the night or far too late. But it's always Sunday and you always manage to witness it every time.

You unlocked the door to your small place and darkness welcomes you, killing your spirit a little more. Twist the knife in.

"Look who decided to finally show up." You almost jump ten feet into the air, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Heeseung sitting, crossed arms on your couch.

Like a fucking creep.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you genuinely wonder, settling down upon the steps to take off your shoes. They have been feeling uncomfortable the whole ride, an itch you wish to scratch away. You hear Heeseung’s footsteps behind you.

"Where the hell were you? I was so worried you just disappeared."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, untying your shoelaces.

"I'm serious yn, that was fucked up. You just walked out without telling us anything."

He's right. And you know he’s right, an apology hangs at the tip of your tongue but in the same moment you reach into your shoe to feel a rough crumpled up piece of paper. With furrowed brows, you pull it out. Heeseung’s scolding continues yet your focus is displaced, you peel it open and everything around you feels like it stops moving for a second. The wheels in your brain coming to a halt at the digits staring back at you. 10 to be exact with PSH signed at the corner.

He gave you, his number.

Something in you blooms, like splashes of color on a blank canvas, manifesting to life with a smile against your will.

"Yn." Heeseung calls, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, shoving the piece of paper into the pockets of your sweatpants.

"Yeah?"

"You okay? You have been off lately." His hands are on your shoulder, squeezing.

“I’m okay.” You assure, standing up to face him with a smile. This time it’s not enough to subdue the concern lingering in his eyes.

“What happened today?”

You knew the question was coming, and you knew hiding the truth from Heeseung is something you never succeed in, but you still feel yourself growing slightly nervous perhaps due to the irrational actions that you, yourself are embarrassed of.

Taking out the piece of paper from the confines of your pocket, you hand it to him. He raises his eyebrow in confusion but takes it from you, nonetheless. His eyes dart rapidly between the paper and you

"I'm confused?"

"Mr. glasses." recognition fills his expression as he looks at the paper once more.

"PSH? That's him?" You nod "His number?" you nod once again.

"I was at his apartment earlier- well more like penthouse but yeah." you explain, playing with your fingers.

"Right." He says slowly, evidently still befuddled with the amount of information you’re daunting on him out of nowhere, you cannot find blame to fling at him not when you also cannot fathom what's going on with you recently.

"It's why I disappeared earlier - which I'm so sorry about. that was shitty of me. I just saw him and I-i-" you trail off, failing to find proper delineation to your actions.

"Hey." He ceases your rambling, “It’s okay. I'm not upset with you." He assures and you nod silently, yet with a glance at him it was apparent that he still has words in his mouth, if his pursed lips and twitch of brows anything to go by.

“Just say it.”

"You want fun Hee or logical Hee?"

“Oh god there's two." You wince and his pursed lips turn into a forced smile, one that he wears whenever he finds nothing to say at your usual discomfiture.

"Logic. Go on." You signal with your hand for him to speak, with defeat dousing your face.

"Okay." his eyes lock with yours seeming to be collecting his words "I can see you're enamored with this guy-"

"I'm not."

"You're into him-"

"No." you interrupt him once again and he tilts his head at you with that same look.

"you're not into him?” he asks, with a deadpan expression.

"I'm not that either." You mumble with a pout.

"Okay. whatever." he pulls you closer to him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears with benign touches, you grow weak at the nice gesture.

"I just don't think it's a good time for you to be involved with anyone romantically." You keep quiet "You and Jae ended a couple months ago. Your dad passed away recently. You're grieving-"

"I'm not sad about Jaeyun." You tsk, his gaze softens, clouded with disquiet.

"You're grieving your dad, yn."

You always envied Heeseung. You never told him that. But you did ever since you were kids running around his backyard and he’d cry if he fell, complain if he’s hurt. You envied how he knew exactly how he felt. How he was never confused. He knew how to figure out his emotions, knew how to wear them proudly and what labels to stamp on them. Scratch that, he knew what to call yours.

Grief? you? you never know what you’re feeling. All you know is either black or white. Sometimes it's too dark. Your vision cannot see past your feet and other times it's the lightest white a human could ever experience, it’s blinding. Yet your black lasts months upon months. While your white usually feels like evanescent heaven, floating by with a blink, not enough for you to settle in, for your hands to clutch into anything.

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

You chew on the inside of your cheek; your chest grows overwhelmed with the whirlwinds of emotions unraveling inside of you. you tell yourself you don’t want to shed tears – that you have no reason for agony to descend upon your cheeks. Yet pain spills into the cracks of your heart with familiarity, running down the same interchangeable patterns with a searing ache.

Your tears are persistent, filling your eyes with ineluctable force it makes you angry, feeding into your confusion. You can’t tell if you’re angry or sad anymore. You disentangle yourself from Heeseung’s embrace, turning your back to him as you melt upon the stairs of your doorway. Despicable tears fall from your eyes, silently colored with agony.

Heeseung wraps his arms around you once again, stubborn in being your comfort “I’m sorry.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair with tenderness that only flings you further into vexation.

“I can never forgive him.” Your words spill like an explosion of choked sobs, one that’s invoked by his hands traveling to your back with soothing swipes “It’s okay.” He tells and you could only shake your head with a heaving chest “now he's gone, and he never even apologized!" He pulls you further into his chest, a silly wish to take your pain for his "He's gone and it's so unfair because I have to deal with this."

"It's okay."

"I can never forgive him now." Your body is shaking violently with tormented weeping, a kind of heartbreak that cannot be caused by anything other than a parent.

"I wanted to." Your eyes flit to his and he can only nod at you with faith, his own eyes sparkling with unshed water "now I can't."

As you bury your face into his chest, his hold only grows tighter around you, with cravings to pacify your storms. You don’t know how much time passes by with you curled into his arms. It’s only when your sobs have died down, your breathing has settled and your tears have dried that he speaks;

"Angel?" he calls, carefully and you hum back an answer,

"What happened?" He asks, "You never told me what he did." Your mind goes blank, not finding enough words to explain. A strange numbness replaces the ache in your chest.

“Do you wanna make hot chocolate and watch shameless?” you ask, tipping your head back to look at him.

“Of course.” He smiles, standing up and offering his hand to you, a warmth envelope your body as you take it.

As Heeseung makes it to the kitchen before you, you linger by the stairs, eyes glued to the piece of paper that had ended up on the floor, picking it up, you brush your fingers over the initials.

"Come on! I'm not making yours!" Heeseung yells from the kitchen.

"Coming." You reply, tearing the paper into two and throwing it in the trash bin.  

Your blacks remain prevailing with counterfeit whites.

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟏𝟑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧...

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: completely different vibes than last chaps but i kinda needed a filler for the transition into the next chaps and the future of the story line so i hope you guys enjoyed it!! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated, sending everyone kisses!!!!🥺💖🧸)

TAGLIST: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

Spotify Wrapped didn’t have to call me out like this 😭

Strangers chapter two

pairing: husband!suguru x f!reader

synopsis: the love between you two died long ago. no, neither of you acknowledge it, you hardly acknowledge each other. in between the busy schedules and blinding lights of upscale events is an unspoken rule— to pretend.

genre/warnings: dying love, angst, smut, marriage, suguru and reader are in their 30s, emotional distance, mutual hurt, miscarriages/infertility, happy ending, ceo!suguru

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The ride home is even quieter than the one to the event. No jazz this time, just the sound of rain pattering against the car's exterior and occasional honks in the distance, it was the city after all.

You didn’t need to say anything to your driver, Ringo, for him to know you and Suguru had gotten into a fight. And while it’s been a decent amount since you two have fought, he’s not surprised, not anymore at least. He was one of the very few in your life that witnessed the spark between you two fizzle out. 

Suguru’s words weighed heavy in your heart as you pulled up to the estate. 

“Let’s just go home.” 

It wasn’t home, it was a shell. A six bedroom, seven bathroom, cold and empty shell that echoes if you so much as drop a penny in the hallway. 

The house had been custom designed when you were two years into marriage, a home built with the love and dreams you and Suguru shared together as husband and wife. It should’ve been filled by now. Every detail had been chosen with babies in mind— wide hallways a toddler could run through, rounded corners so that they didn't trip when they turned the corner too fast when chasing each other. 

You remember the excitement on Suguru’s face when you showed him the layout of the house after working with the architect for a bit.

“You don’t think six rooms is too much, right?” you asked, second guessing yourself despite all the hours spent with the architect.

“No, never,” he chuckled. “We’ll be lucky if we even stay, I’m thinking it’s not enough.”

“Five kids?” you acted like you were shocked, but you always knew he wanted a big family. So did you.

“Mhm,” he smirked, snaking his arm around your waist. “Don’t make that face honey, it’ll be easy with how much you beg me to fill y—”

“Oh my god— okay, okay I get it!” You laugh in the man's arms as he continues to tease you, reminding you of how bad you wanted it too. 

He ended up kissing you right after, deeply, as if it were the first time all over again— you miss him like that, happy. You were only a few weeks pregnant during that time. The test on the counter was barely positive, yet the daydreams of raising children with the man you love had already started. 

And for Suguru, the man who was always so calm and composed, had tears brimming in his eyes when you surprised him with a sonogram over a home cooked dinner. You made his favorite that night, kake soba. 

“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispered to himself, as if he couldn’t believe it. He carded a hand through his hair, continuing to stare at the photo. He chuckles, “Holy shit. I’m gonna be a dad.” “The most amazing one,” you said in response, reaching out to hold his hand.

You’ll never forget how tightly he held your hand that day. 

Neither of you got sleep that night. He stayed up, adding one too many parenting books to his Barnes and Noble cart— turning to kiss your cheek ever so often, checking up to see if you were feeling okay. Meanwhile you stayed up looking up baby names, the only thing you agreed on that night was that it’d be a girl. You both wanted a baby girl.

The next time he held your hand as tight as that day was 6 weeks later when you both slowly walked out of the hospital, after spending the entire night there.

You were hysterical, crying uncontrollably when you had called him the day before. He didn’t need to understand what you were saying to know what was going on.

It was the first time he couldn’t protect you, the first out of the many times you’d go through the only pain he couldn’t take away from you. All he could do was sit in the cold waiting room, hoping and wishing that you were okay. That the nurses and doctors were treating you right, treating you with compassion. That you might be one of the hundreds of cases they’ve seen, but please remember you're someone’s wife— you’re someone that’s loved. 

It was a selfish thought process, but he didn’t care. Seventeen grueling hours. He was somewhere in between worrying for you and mourning over the future with the child that never came. 

The heavy front door clicks shut behind you, locking you in what you now consider a prison. Alone, again— words that constantly repeat in your head, even when he’s around. You carefully peel off your diamonds, your heels, and lastly, the dress that Suguru never bothered to compliment tonight. 

And on to the bottle of wine that you’ve been saving for the last couple of months. 

Suguru’s body is filled with more alcohol than water when he comes home two hours later. He stumbles through the large empty halls, hitting some of those rounded corners as he makes his way to the kitchen first to grab a bottle of water, then up the stairs to get the goddamn suit off. 

“Where the fuck…” he mumbles to himself, looking at the bed that shouldn’t be empty right now. “Where’d she go?”

He checks the bathroom, the study, then the kitchen again. You were nowhere to be found and he can’t be bothered to hide his panic. He pulls his phone out and calls yours. 

Straight to fucking voicemail.

And then he panics even more. Guess you could say that unexplained feeling he gets from seeing you in that bed was comfort this entire time. An odd sense of it at least. Now he’s stripped of it. Bare. All that’s left is the fear that maybe tonight was the final straw.

That’s when he sees it.

The crack of light under one of the hallway doors, the one that’s been closed for nearly two years.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or if he should just let the ache in his chest continue to grow, allowing himself to feel that pain for once after spending all this time trying to push it down. 

His footsteps are light as he walks towards it and slowly pushes the door open, taking a look at the half-done nursery. You two were so sure this one would make it.

There’s a small layer of dust on the wooden crib. A few stuffed animals sat in the corner of it. A handful of books still sit on the shelf— untouched, never even flipped through once. 

Neither of you brought yourselves to get rid of any of it.

And then there’s you, curled up in the reclining chair meant for feedings and long nights that never came. You’re passed out, the culprit of what brought you here in the first place was the bottle of red wine sitting on the little table next to you. 

It was a reminder that you never stopped grieving. 

He never stopped either, but he grieved over you the most, and the person you used to be before life decided to step in and rip you to shreds. It told you there was something wrong with you and proved it each and every time.

He also grieves over the parts of himself that’ve been chipped away through the years too— the person that he used to be before he learned that there will always be something you’d fail at, no matter how hard you worked for it.

Suguru stands in the doorway for what feels like hours, watching the last eight years go by before his eyes, leading up to this moment and what's become of you two. You used to be obsessed with each other, he couldn’t stay away from you the moment he first set his eyes on you. 

He wonders if being together is what ruined your lives. 

Even if it were true, he doesn’t want to leave. Yes, he’s suffering, but he’d rather suffer with you than be happy with someone else. He owes you that much. 

He walks over to you carefully and crouches down, gently running the backs of his fingers down your cheek. Your eyes are closed but he could still tell they were puffy, he’s knows your eyes well enough to know you cried yourself to sleep.

He wants to apologize. He wants to go back in time and tell you his main goal in life was to be happy with you, not that he wanted to be a father and have a big family with you. Maybe things would’ve been easier right now, maybe you’d be mourning together instead of separately. Maybe you would’ve stopped trying the third time— or fourth, or fifth.

The sixth is what really did you in.

He lifts you up in his arms and carries you back to bed like he used to, back when you still fell asleep on his shoulder on movie nights. Back to when you still wanted to spend time with him. 

He lays you down on your side of the bed and goes back to his side, leaving a reasonable amount of space between you two. A couple inches closer and he would’ve felt uncomfortable, imposing on your space and all. 

Though he stays up for a bit longer, staring at the ceiling. It’s not until the mouldings start to blur when he realizes it’s not just you who will end their night in tears. 

Confused doesn’t even begin to describe how you felt when waking up the next morning. The last thing you remember was sitting on the balcony, drinking wine out of the bottle. The confusion was paired with a pounding headache, safe to say you finished that entire thing. You eventually gave up on recalling your night after realizing it just made the headache worse. All you wanted at this point was a freshly brewed cup of coffee and Advil, then back to bed once Suguru was gone and off to work. 

Lucky for you, the smell of coffee hits you once you open the door and make your way to the kitchen. Maybe not, you can just tell Suguru made it by how the entire house smells like a cafe. He has this whole elaborate routine to making it— down to grinding the beans himself. The man’s consistently made the best coffee you’ve ever had, and as much as you’d like some, the last thing you want is to see him after last night's fiasco. 

But… hangover, so you suck it up and walk into the large, open kitchen.

Just like you guessed, he’s here, back turned towards you and carefully pouring hot water over the coffee grinds. He’s not in his usual suit, opting for a more laid back look in a pair of black slacks and a brown long sleeve, hair thrown up in his usual bun. He’s not even done making it, leaving you to wonder if you should even stay to wait or if you should come back later when he’s gone. 

Yet, before you’re able to make that decision, he turns around and your eyes lock. Suguru was always able to tell when you walked into a room, no matter how quiet you were. His gaze is a softer than usual this morning and yours— well, it grows sharper. You look like you’re going into defense mode without even realizing it. 

“Thought you had meetings,” you mutter, making your way to the fridge to grab a carton of half-and-half. 

“Canceled them,” he mutters back in response, before turning his attention back to the coffee. “Thought it’d be nice to take the day off for once.”

How convenient. 

Any response to that would’ve come out more snarky than he’d like, so you just shut it and sit on the other side of the island, waiting for him to finish. Neither of you try filling that silence while he does so, or even after handing you your cup. It’s not until ⅔ of your cup is empty when one of you finally speaks up. 

“I was thinking,” he starts, while topping your drink off, “it’s been a while since we’ve gone on vacation. I think it'd be nice if you and I went away for a week or two this summer.”

The first thing that comes to mind is no. If anything, you’d rather him go on his own so you could have a vacation away from him. But still, you hesitate to answer. 

“I’m not sure, I have a lot of events to attend this summer, it’ll be busier than last year,” you lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. 

He doesn’t believe it one bit, but tries to stay optimistic. 

“How about take a look at your calendar when you have a chance and send me some dates you’d be free,” he suggests. “I don’t mind moving some meetings around to make it work, it’s still a couple months away.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say in response, voice filled with indifference. You sound like you want him to shut up already and it cuts deeper than most days. 

“Jesus fucking christ,” he lets out a low laugh. “I’m trying here— you don’t want to be around me that bad?”

You set the cup down a little harder than expected, looking him dead in the eye. “Why is that you finally decide to try after I catch you flirting with one of your fucking interns?”

“I wasn’t flirting with her and you’d know that if you actually gave me the chance to explain, instead of leaving me all alone at the event,” he bites back. 

“Oh, okay,” you laugh. “So I’m the bad guy now for leaving, not you, who entertained another woman who was clearly interested in you.”

He sighs, “my fucking god—”

“And I bet you enjoyed it too,” you continue, “you probably missed getting that kind of attention since you don’t get it at home.” 

“And what if I do?!” he snaps, “what if I fucking do? Is it a crime now that I miss receiving that kind of affection from you? You can’t even look at me anymore without looking disgusted!”

“So you did enjoy last night.”

“NO!” his yells echo throughout the kitchen and into the halls, “I didn’t enjoy any fucking part about her, the whole time I kept trying to find a way out of that conversation so I could find you. I miss YOU!”

The silence that followed the outburst and the hollow look you gave him for it was deafening. You didn’t move or flinch, not even once, showing just how little you thought of him. At least that’s what he felt in this moment as he tried to recollect himself, steadying his breathing. 

“I fucking miss you,” his voice slightly cracks as he repeats himself, then quickly clears away the lump that formed in his throat from admitting it. “Just let me spend some time with you, please.”

“I’ll look at my calendar when I get a chance,” you respond, there’s a glimmer of remorse in your voice as you say it. But your expression remains the same as you finish what’s left of your coffee— cold and distant. “I have a pilates class in an hour and lunch right after. Enjoy your day off.”

notes: yes, reader lied in the last sentence lol. ***also, the tag list is limited to 100 tags and is now closed! thanks for understanding ❤️

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

LOVE & WAR

𓈒 ◯ 𓏸 ﹒ 🏹 ﹒ ⌣⌣

────   ꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ mila and her men enter a new era with an old case of jealousy.

2023 ❪ dark blood ❫ ✶ poly!ot7엔하 x fem!member oc ୨୧ jealousy, possessiveness, suggestive themes, nud1ty & implied s3xual content ❪ between red text — skip if uncomfortable ❫ ; not proofread

TO APPRECIATE THE WORDS, “All is fair in love and war,” required an understanding of the simple but harsh truth that neither love nor war were ever fair.

It had been almost a year since Enhypen’s last comeback. It was a considerable break in an industry where artists were expected to release singles upon albums upon repackages every time the seasons changed, lest they lost the eye of the public. But even in that time where things should have come to a standstill, the world still spun, and life for the members continued to move forward: they held their very first world tour, they celebrated two years since the release of ‘Given-Taken,’ and they toasted to their beloved leader Jungwon’s coming-of-age.

They were in their era of milestones.

Then, they were in their era of ‘Dark Blood.’

When the comeback briefing had come and gone, Mila spent her days doing anything she could to think about it as little as possible. It was at that time that she learned what it was like to be consumed from inside-out, the same way rot would corrupt a once sweet fruit.

Everyone had gotten it wrong, Mila thought. Her heart was not gold, but was instead blackened by jealousy and possessiveness. And while it once hid itself behind the cage within her chest, it didn’t take much for it to be exposed for its true colours:

1) Her lovers would be dancing with other women ― hands on their waists, and chests to their partner’s backs.

2) Her lovers would be acting with other women, sharing tender moments and “I love you”s that were only meant to be reserved for each other.

If Mila from two years ago could see herself today, she would tell her: Perfect love does not envy.

But if Mila from today could see herself from two years ago, she would tell her: I’m only human. Nothing I do is perfect.

IT WAS WINTER. As the snow started to fall, Enhypen were on the rise with comeback preparations.

They would do their best to make this their best comeback they ever had, because they, their company, and most internally their fans, wouldn’t except any less. There was no excuse for them that could justify letting down their Engenes. That was what they agreed on.

But Mila was realising that all the talk she had done to prepare for this moment was useless when the time finally came.

“Heeseung-ssi and Yuri-ssi are getting really good now…”

Mila turned to the pair that her partner mentioned, eyes following their every movement as they rehearsed in front of the choreographer. She watched with thinly veiled surprise as Heeseung positioned himself with his partner. He didn’t have any hesitation in his movements or hers as they moved to the beat, executing their moves with a smoothness and synchrony that could only be described through their chemistry.

“Come to me again, tie me…”

His hand effortlessly found her waist, and in one smooth movement, she leant back for the sweep, with Heeseung strength clearly providing the needed support.

“If you are going to save me, just come kiss me and bite me… It’s you and me in this world…”

Mila watched as they then did the second part of the chorus, with Heeseung’s partner comfortably leaning back against his chest. 

“In this darkness light me… if you’ll give me a chance…”

Heeseung’s partner placed her hand under his chin, slowly raising him up, and while maintaining full eye contact with each other the whole time.

“Just come kiss me and bite me…”

Immediately after the music finished, there was a round of applause from the other dancers. Mila, on the other hand, remained frozen, unable to say a word, even as the others gave their own encouragement to the duo. A blank room took over where her mind was supposed to be. What was there to say? They were just… perfect.

So why was she so bitter?

Mila was barely listening as the choreographer began to praise Heeseung and his partner again, watching as the two shared a shy smile with each other. She blinked. But the image didn’t go away. They still had that look on their eyes. They looked satisfied, they looked comfortable ― they looked… close.

So that was chemistry between a dancer and their partner?

At that moment, Heeseung’s eyes broke away from his partner. Mila froze as they landed on her. His smile widened upon seeing her, his eyes glittering with mirth. And at times like this, she should return it with a smile of her own, right?

Mila did just that. But somehow, it didn’t feel as easy as it usually was. Heeseung must have thought the same, because his smile faltered a little bit, a flicker of worry appearing in the depth of his doe eyes. Mila didn’t know whether to be grateful or not that his partner had distracted him just then with a gentle pat on his arm, but she took advantage of it to turn away.

She couldn’t wait to get this over with.

Mila sighed as she leaned against the nearest wall. She slid down, mimicking the motion of a raindrop falling down a glass window, until she was sitting on the floor next to Riki. The room was cool, and the choreography was not exhaustive (it was definitely less of a workout than their previous title track, anyway), but her track pants and cropped hoodie drew the heat from her body, coating her skin in a thin layer of sweat.

She reached out for her bottle. It was too far. 

Mila whined in childish protest. Looking at the back of Jongseong’s head, who was closest to it, Mila called out to him a sweet tone reserved for her men. “Oppa~”

There was nothing unusual about it. The dancers quickly learned the mannerisms of the Enhypen members after spending so much time together in the dance rooms, Mila’s affectionate intonations included. No one would have bat an eye if it weren’t for the fact that, as well as Jongseong ― who was the only one of the hyung line left in the room ― Minjun, her dance partner, had also turned around upon hearing her call. 

“Yeah?” they asked in complete unison.

Jongseong’s head whipped towards Minjun so quickly that he could have almost dislocated it. His silence was louder than the crack of a whip. He squared his shoulder subconsciously, stood straighter, and raised his chin. Minjun exchanged a look with him, but didn’t seem to assess a threat, as he turned back to Mila with curious eyes.

Mila’s eyes darted between the two. Well, this was awkward. “Sorry,” she said, “I meant Jay-oppa…”

“Ah.” Minjun nodded understandingly.

He turned around without a second thought. But Jongseong was the opposite, opting to stare a little longer at his back, as if assessing a threat. Then he finally turned and looked back at Mila, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Mila pointed at her bottle, and Jongseong wordlessly grabbed it for her before passing it to her outstretched hand. She mouthed a small, ‘Sorry.’ A million questions were written all over Jongseong’s face, but he sighed and shook his head, not voicing any of them while there were still people around them. 

Riki, on the other hand, was far less subtle.

“‘Oppa’?” he repeated incredulously, his voice rising in tone. “‘Oppa’?”

Mila glared at him. Fortunately, the chatter of the other dancers covered their conversation from any ears that weren’t meant to hear them.

“Who is? Your partner?” Riki raised a questioning brow when Mila sheepishly avoided his gaze. He tilted his head in disbelief. “Wah. I didn’t know you were all buddy-buddy now…”

Mila opened her bottle cap. “It was supposed to help us build our chemistry,” she explained. “We agreed that it would feel less awkward if we spoke comfortably.”

Riki scoffed. “He must be really comfortable if he thought you were asking for him when you were calling for Jay-hyung.”

Mila swallowed a mouthful of water, elbowing Riki on the arm. “It was an honest mistake. It was my bad for not calling Jay-oppa by name ― I totally forgot we agreed to it.”

Riki shook his head. He took an aggressive shot of his water like it was a bottle of liquor, and he was drinking his sorrows away in a pub. “Do you need to use his name? Anyone would know from your tone. What made him think you would call him that sweetly?”

Mila scrunched her nose. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“That’s what you think,” Riki stressed. “Just wait until the hyungs find out. They’ll have a field day with this.”

Capping her bottle again, Mila stared silently at Riki. Her eyes bore into the side of her face like a drill. But he ignored her gaze, turning his face away from her, even as she poked his side for his attention. Mila only laughed, not feeling offended by his cold shoulder treatment in the slightest. (He really was too cute when he was sulking.)

“Riki~” Mila sang softly as she leaned her chin on his shoulder, smiling when he allowed her to wrap her arms around his. “You’re so cute.” She nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. When she received no response, she reached down to intertwine her hands with his and whispered teasingly, “Are you jealous?”

Riki scoffed. He turned to face her, his face just centimetres away from hers. “No,” he denied strongly, his features set in a stony expression. “Of him? Why would I be?”

Mila hummed. “Really? Okay. I got it.” She let go of Riki’s hand, ignoring his confused expression. “Then in that case, I should go see if Minjun-oppa wants to get extra practice in.”

Before Mila could stand up, Riki’s larger hand found hers and pulled her back down with a determined tug. She fell with an “oof,” her butt hitting the floor first. She gave Riki a questioning look, only to find that he was looking away from her. If she looks closely, however, she could see the reddish tint on his ears and the small pout on his lips.

“What’s the rush?” he asked gruffly. “You only just got on break. Don’t overdo it.”

A wide smile broke out on Mila’s face, and she giggled girlishly as she leaned into Riki’s side. It was hard not to pamper him when he was acting so adorably.

“Do you want bungeoppang on the way home?” Mila asked in a tone that resembled the way one would coo at a cute puppy. “I’ll buy some for you, okay?”  When he didn’t respond, she shook his arm. “Hm?” Again, he didn’t respond. She pouted. “Yahhh, don’t ignore me. I’ll be upset.”

Mila wouldn’t have lasted another second doing aegyo for anyone else without cringing at herself. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And if there was one thing she was good at, it was finding a way to put smiles on people’s faces.

Riki let out a loud laugh, unable to contain his amusement. “What are you doing?” he asked. He used his free hand to pinch her cheek teasingly, stretching it out like a marshmallow. On his face was that boyish smile of his that always made her giddy. “You’re so cheesy.”

Even so, Mila was acutely aware of the way his grip tightened on her hand. Mission: successful.

At that moment, Heeseung and Jaeyun walked into the room after returning from their bathroom break. (Why they felt the need to go to the bathroom together, she had no idea ― but she never asked.)

She made eye contact with Heeseung. She spared a small smile, and he gave on in return. She then lowered her head to play with Riki’s fingers in her lap.

Heeseung had always been good at handling his emotions, and expected the same from others ― especially in a professional setting. His favourite saying was to keep his personal life separate from work. It was better she didn’t get in his way with her unnecessary feelings of jealousy aimed at his partner like one of Cupid’s lead arrows.

It wasn’t that deep, she told herself. She would get over it.

MILA WAS A LOT OF THINGS. But alone wasn’t one of them ― and especially not in her feelings.

When Enhypen arrived back at the dorms from their dance rehearsal, Mila collapsed on the couch. Jungwon took a seat next to her head, giggling as he brushed away the strands of hair that fell across Mila’s face.

“You and your partner seemed to be getting along well,” Kiara said, taking a sip of her water from the kitchen. She and the others had watched from the back wall as Mila and Minjun practised during their breaks, observing the way his hand would wind its way towards her lower back without issue ― casually, even.

Jaeyun laughed dryly. “That’s one way of putting it…” He took a long sip of his water. During the rehearsal, he never once broke his gaze on the hand that was on Mila’s waist. It only darkened as Mila’s partner used his grip to hold her closer towards him, the intimacy of their stance only intensified when Mila’s hands went around his neck. He grumbled, “I’d say they’re really friendly now.”

“Are you guys speaking casually?” Sunghoon asked, his eyes on Mila’s languid figure, which was curled on the couch like a cat.

“They are,” Jongseong said, entering the conversation smoothly. The incident from before still ran through his mind ― the way Minjun had seemingly thought Mila was asking for him when she had called out, “Oppa,” ever so sweetly. He didn’t mention it to the others, but it was still very much playing on repeat in his head like a broken record.

“Mila said it’s to help them be less awkward,” Riki said.

“That’s right,” Mila agreed.

Sunoo hummed. He remembered the way Mila placed her hand under Minjun’s chin, maintaining complete eye contact with their faces not too far apart. “It definitely worked the way you wanted it to. Their chemistry is really good now compared to when we first started out. It’s amazing.”

Sunghoon’s hand clenched into a fist and unclenched again. He had found it difficult to even look in their direction as they rehearsed ― let alone discussing them in the comfort of their own home. Were they really going to talk so casually about their girl’s chemistry with another man? Because that was a conversation he would rather not have.

Jungwon didn’t say a word, opting to simply listen to his other members as he continued to play with Mila’s hair. At times like this, it was better for him to act as Jungwon, rather than the leader of Enhypen ― they didn’t need someone to bring down the hammer on them right now, they just needed an outlet to voice their feelings.

“Well the choreographer wanted that from all of us,” Mila pointed out.

“But it’s amazing how much you improved. Your chemistry is as good as Heeseungie and Yuri-ssi now.” Kiara glanced at the said male out of the corner of her eye. “Right?”

Heeseung’s eyes didn’t leave Mila’s figure on the couch, his arms crossed against his chest as he took a seat on one of the benches at the counter. “Is that right…?”

Mila had barely even looked in his direction for the majority of the day ― much less spoke to him. And while he could have ignored it if she were doing it out of professionalism, Mila had no trouble interacting with the others. He had been waiting to catch her when they were alone, but he had no luck because they were constantly surrounded by others throughout the whole day.

He probably would have been more upset if he didn’t realise why. 

“Does it make you that happy?” Jungwon asked, the kitten’s face scrunching up in displeasure. “It looks like you had a lot of fun with your partner…”

Mila pursed her lips. “It’s not that I think it’s fun… I just rather have fun with it than be stressed.” She smiled at them. “So don’t worry about it, okay? There’s nothing else to it other than work.”

“But what about you?” Jungwon pouted. “Aren’t you upset?”

Mila didn’t dare meet any of the stares directed at her. She didn’t know what to tell them.

Did they want to see her burn up in envy ― to become consumed by the flames of jealousy that wanted nothing more to consume and possess? She would rather not. Those who played with fire would only be burnt, and she would rather burn alone than to drag her loved ones into the fire with her.

“What’s there to be upset about? We’re just doing what we agreed to do ― our best.” Before anyone could say anything, Mila stood from the couch, taking advantage of an escape route before someone else blocked it off. “If no one else is going, I’ll use the shower first. Is that okay?”

There was a chorus of “okay” and “go ahead,” before Mila nodded and skipped away.

“She doesn’t look bothered at all,” Sunghoon said, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a rare sight to see their resident ‘Ice Prince’ sulking ― but Mila always did bring out new sides to them. He didn’t think that they would be the only ones struggling with their feelings this comeback. (And he was completely right, even if he didn’t know it.)

“That’s because you didn’t see her when you weren’t looking,” Sunoo stated with a knowing smile as he looked in the direction that Mila disappeared in. They could hear her faintly humming sound of their new title track as she entered the bathroom. “She would always look at us whenever we were practising alone with our partners and then sulk about it quietly before getting her partner to practise with her as a distraction. She is jealous. She just doesn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

The boys let the words sink in. They could always count on Sunoo to be able to read between the lines. Their girlfriend wasn’t a closed book, but she did have times where it became difficult to see what was going on inside her head. It just went to show that no matter how well they understood each other, there were bound to be some things that only they knew about themselves.

“Sunoo’s right,” Heeseung said, remembering their first real interaction during rehearsals today.

“Okay,” the choreographer said, clapping his hands. “Heeseung and Mila, you’re up.”

Heeseung got to his feet, walking towards the girl without wasting another second. Mila paused as she watched him approach. She had totally forgotten about their duet in the bridge ― it was just her luck that they would be having a duet together in the choreography as well. How awkward was that, considering she barely even looked his way?

“Why?” Heeseung asked with a smirk, seeing her stand like a deer in headlights. He leaned down to her face level as he passed by, eyes holding a teasing glint in them. “You don’t want me?” He leaned in closer. “Then should I call your partner over instead?”

Mila scrunched her nose, looking away with him with a pout. “I should be asking you that.” She crossed her arms. “Why don’t you ask if you can dance with your partner instead?”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, surprised by Mila’s words. The light in his eyes flickered. They scanned her face, as if searching for something. Mila didn’t know what it was that he was looking for, but she did know that it was awfully hard to ignore him when every little part of her reacted to his mere presence. Like a compass searching for North, she always seemed to find herself seeking him out. This time, though, she was determined not to falter.

Heeseung chuckled in realisation, before reaching up and gently stroking her cheek. She always made it so difficult not to spoil her with affection, with how easily she endeared herself to him — even when trying to give him the cold shoulder. “What do I do with you?”

Mila’s eyes widened at the feeling of his palm on her face. She turned to him, shocked. But she didn’t get to utter a word before he casually stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away.

She stared after his retreating figure. It wasn’t like him to show such affection at times like this, when they were required to be completely professional. Least of all in front of other people. So what had gotten into him all of a sudden?

Shaking her head, Mila joined Heeseung by his side as the choreographer explained their part together – but maintaining a small distance, like an invisible wall was standing between them. “Mila, you’re going to put your hand under his chin like you do during the chorus. Then you’ll walk to the centre here, with your hand on his shoulder. And during your line, ‘Please connect me again,’ you’ll run your hands down his chest from behind him. Do you understand?”

Mila blinked as he watched the choreographer’s demonstration. “Ah– Yes, I understand.”

But run her hands down his chest from behind? Mila turned to Heeseung, who was already staring at her, that same lopsided smirk on his face. She quickly looked away, walking over to her position as she avoided his gaze. They really knew what they were doing when they gave her that part with Heeseung of all people ― there was no doubt in Mila’s mind that he would take advantage of the choreography to fluster her as much as possible.

And she was right.

As the choreographer counted out the beats for them to follow, Mila did as she was told, placing her hand under Heeseung’s chin to prepare for their moment together. His eyes were on her from the moment they were across from each other, never once breaking their gaze, as if Mila had him under a spell. Captivated.

She swallowed thickly. As Mila reached around Heeseung from behind, his hands suddenly shot out to seize hers, capturing them in his grasp. Mila looked towards the mirror in surprise at the sudden action — silently questioning the older male. Her breath caught in her chest as she made eye contact with Heeseung through their reflection.

A beat.

After seeing that her eyes were solely focused on him, he threw his head back, eyes closed, while his hands guided hers.

Another beat.

Under the palms of his calloused hands, Mila’s slender fingers glided down the planes of his firm chest, the familiar feeling of his muscles mapped out under the tips of her fingers. She could feel his body heat through the thin fabric of his shirt, and her own skin became warm in return, as if the room was a heated sauna. 

Another beat.

Then all too soon, it was over. With one final, gentle squeeze, Heeseung loosened his grip on her hands, before moving onto the next part of the choreography flawlessly. Mila walked to her next position with her head in the clouds.

Actions often spoke louder than words, and Heeseung’s were clearer than ever: You’re the only one who gets to do this.

Why was Mila upset at him again? She suddenly couldn’t remember.

“Really?” Jaeyun asked, running a hand through his hair after tossing his cap onto the coffee table in front of him. He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling in deep thought ― as if trying to revisit today, and see all the signs he missed. “I didn't notice it…”

“Of course you didn’t,” Kiara interjected with a knowing voice. She sounded like one of those pretentious students in a classroom who knew every answer to the teacher’s question, with the way she admonished Jaeyun for his own lack of awareness. “You were too busy glaring at her partner to see anything else.”

“Didn’t you see how close they were?” Jaeyun argued, as if offended that someone would hold as much accusation in their voice towards him as Kiara did. “This is my girl we’re talking about ― of course I’m going to glare at any guy who gets that close to her.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “We were all close to our partners today. You guys are just overprotective.”

“No we’re not,” they replied in unison. But even they didn’t sound too convinced by their own words. 

Kiara raised an eyebrow. Still, she didn’t say a word. It was better to let them figure these things out themselves ― she couldn’t be the only one among them with a brain. Shaking her head, she excused herself to go to her and Mila’s shared room, leaving the boys to their own thoughts.

“By the way, Heeseung-hyung is really lucky,” Jungwon suddenly said. “He gets to have a duet with Noona ― and a really romantic one, too.”

“Rather than ‘romantic,’ I think ‘sensual’ is a better word for it,” Jongseong replied with an awkward laugh. When they observed the two during practice, the way Heeseung ran Mila’s hands down his chest evoked the image of a passionate tango worthy of a place in a Moulin Rouge production. (Then again, it was probably because Heeseung had a way of making even the most mundane things seem suggestive in nature. His concert clips were proof of that.)

Riki seemed to agree. “That’s because he always goes over the top with fanservice. Unless…” Riki turned to Heeseung. “Hyung, are you just always that horny on stage?”

The older males looked at their youngest with wide eyes. “Yah, who taught you that word?” Jaeyun asked incredulously. “It wasn’t me, was it?”

Riki rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m a minor, not a kid. Of course I know these things.”

Heeseung cleared his throat awkwardly. The tips of his ears reddened like he was some innocent schoolboy exposed to conversations about sexual intimacy for the first time. “That’s still not something you should ask that casually….”

Sunoo and Riki exchanged looks, finding joy at their matthyung’s expense.

“I think it’s because it’s Noona he’s paired with, he wanted to make it as authentic as possible,” Jungwon pointed out, coming to Heeseung’s defence. The young leader sighed. He leaned back on the couch, fiddling with the cushion in his lap like he was with Mila’s hair not long ago. “I wish I had a part with Noona… I want to have my moment with her too.”

Since he just became an adult, he had been eager for chances to prove himself as more than just another dongsaeng to her. Dark Blood seemed like the perfect opportunity, given the concept. It was just too bad he wasn’t able to get a duet.

“There are still the concept photos, though,” Jongseong pointed out, comforting his favourite dongsaeng with a stroke to the top of his fluffy head. “You could be paired up with her for one of the shoots.”

“And the trailer!” Sunoo added. “We still don’t know what exactly to expect for that.”

Riki, Sunghoon, and Jungwon had been training diligently for the past month, and everyone was getting prepared for their first day of filming for the trailer in a week. They were told they would receive more details about the trailer on the day, when the director would run through the scenes with them as they filmed. But Jaeyun rubbed his chin in thought. He could remember the words the director had given them about the trailer’s contents during their briefing.

“But Sunghoon will have a few scenes with the actress right?” Jaeyun pointed out. “And we will probably have some as well… Will Mila be okay with that?”

The boys went silent as they exchanged looks, the sound of Mila’s shower playlist being the only sound in the room.

That was a good question.

“Mimi-yah, are you awake?”

Mila poked her head out from under her blankets, where she was currently curled up into a ball, as if it would hide her from the world and her problems. She hadn’t come out of her room since she finished showering, and the others started to take turns in and out of the bathroom, leaving her to her lonesome under the assumption that she fell asleep. But of course, Sunoo ― who knew her better than perhaps she knew herself ― would be the one to know better.

Mila perked up instantly after hearing the familiar voice. “I’m awake. You can come in!”

The door opened slightly and Sunoo poked his head inside, eyes landing on Mila as she looked up at him from her bed. He giggled, slipping into the room and gently closing the door behind him. With a smile, he approached her bedside with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love. Mila lifted the blanket, wordlessly inviting him to join her.

“Jake-hyung saw your Mini-Yun on the couch,” Sunoo said as she slipped into Mila’s bed, smiling when she snuggled closer to him, nuzzling her nose into his neck.

“He deserves to sleep on the couch tonight.”

Mila would never tell one of the boys to sleep on the couch — and there was no need to, considering they didn’t share a bed with her. But placing their representative plushies was the equivalent of that. So when the puppy plush resembling Jaeyun (the ‘Mini-Yun’) appeared on the couch, the golden retriever-boy naturally sulked about it to the others.

“I kept telling him not to use my lotion,” Mila muttered.

Mila never understood why Jaeyun felt the need to use her skincare items, when he could care less about those things. Sunoo laughed. (Because he knew that the reason Jaeyun kept taking her moisturising products was that he had grown addicted to her scent — and especially when it was combined with his own. But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?)

Sunoo raised a hand, before patting Mila on the back, much like one would do when putting a baby to sleep. Mila leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek, before laying her head back down on her pillow so that they were facing each other. Under the blanket, she rubbed circles into his lower back.

It was always like this when they were alone. As if they were two baby animals curling around each other to give warmth and comfort to ensure the night.

“Why are you upset?” Sunoo asked gently. “Is it because of the comeback?” 

“Not at the comeback itself. Just…” Mila sighed as she leaned her head on her pillow so she and Sunoo were staring into each other’s eyes. His eyes flickered to her pouting lips, his eyes lighting up at her unusual display of sulkiness. “I don’t get it. The group has two girls— why couldn’t one of us act as Sooha in the trailer?”

Sunoo hummed, signalling that he was listening. So she had been thinking about the concept trailer, after all…

“I mean— I’ve been praised for my acting before.”

Sunoo nodded in agreement. “Of course.”

“So, why not me?” Mila asked. “I’m sure I could do well if they gave me a chance! And me, you, Sunghoonie-oppa and the others are already close, so we don’t have to worry about awkwardness or chemistry on screen. Why else would you have girls in the group, if you’re not going to use them to save you the effort of hiring actresses?”

“That’s right,” Sunoo said with a nod, like the good boyfriend he was. “That makes more sense.”

“Exactly! I could have done a great job as Sooha! But instead, I’ll probably have to act like a villain.” Mila huffed, reaching up to play with Sunoo’s cheek, watching the soft skin bounce when she poked it, the image of a mochi ball in her mind overlapping with his face. “No one ever likes a villain.”

“That’s not true,” Sunoo refuted immediately. “Remember Strong Woman Namsoon? Everyone loves the villain in there! Oh— and the Tale of the Nine-tailed! Lee Rang was your favourite character!”

Mila sighed. “That’s different.” She scrunched her nose. “No one likes a female villain who gets in the way of the main character’s love story!” She flopped onto her back. “Just look at my character in Dark Moon! She’s the typical mean girl character. When has that ever worked out in Kdramas? Those second female leads always get dragged by watchers!”

“But our Engenes love you!” Sunoo reassured her. It was a fact that Mila was adored by her fans. They went crazy whenever she breathed — there was no way they wouldn’t love her in the trailer. “They won’t hate you over a role. Knowing them, they would probably go crazy over you acting as a bad girl!”

Mila giggled. “I guess you’re right.” Sunoo hummed, clearly satisfied that he was able to comfort her. She looked up at him with bright eyes, turning to face him again. Her hands cupped his cheeks as if she were holding a national treasure. “You’re so cute.”

“I am, aren’t I?” The two smiled at each other, and Sunoo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. “What about the dance? How do you feel about that?”

Mila hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I think I’m slowly getting used to it... I can get over it — and it’s not like you guys don’t have to deal with watching me be close to other men.”

Mila paused. She then bit her lip, as if pondering whether or not she should say something. But before she could, Sunoo stopped her.

“Don’t.” Sunoo’s face was set in a serious expression, his eyes and voice firm. “Don’t compare us to that— it’s not the same. We chose to love you together, and we’ve learnt to make it work. That doesn’t mean you should feel bad about feeling jealous when we’re with other women.”

Mila frowned. “Still…” She sighed as she pressed her face into Sunoo’s neck. “If I can love more than one person, you should be able to as well. That’s what’s fair.”

Sunoo hummed. “Maybe. But we didn’t choose to make this relationship work because it’s ‘fair.’ We did it because we love you — no one else. We did it because we want you to be happy.”

“I want you to be happy,” Mila replied quietly.

“We already are.” Sunoo smiled. “You’re enough for us. So don’t sell yourself short.”

Mila pursed her lips. She nodded, closing her eyes as she breathed in Sunoo’s delicious scent as he continued to whisper sweet nothings into her ear. And maybe she didn’t believe everything he said, but if there was one thing she agreed with him on, it was that love wasn’t fair at all. Theirs, least of all.

WHEN IT CAME TIME TO SHOOT THE CONCEPT TRAILER, Mila shook like a leaf. Not just because of the nerves, but because of the cold. On days like this, the last thing she wanted to be doing was trekking through snow and ice. It was only by some ironic twist of fate that she found herself approaching a frozen lake overlain with flakes of falling snow.

One take turned into two, and two takes turned into three more. But every time she found herself on the ice, she only travelled one step further than the last attempt, before she was slipping and landing harshly on the solid ice.

By the time Mila successfully shot her scene, she was ready to kiss the next patch of dirt she saw. 

“Thank you for your work.” Mila bowed towards the director and staff. “And your patience.”

The director chuckled, patting Mila on the shoulder. “I should be thanking you. Because of your tenacity, we’ll have really good shots in the trailer. Good work.” He then turned to one of the staff. “Okay, let’s start moving back to the forest clearing. We’ll take the scenes between Sunghoon, Jiwon, and the others while the snow is still here.”

Mila pursed her lips. She turned, facing the girl she had been anxious to meet the past few days, offering a polite nod. “Thank you as well, Jiwon-ssi. I wish you the best of luck for the rest of your scenes.”

The actress bowed her head respectfully at Mila’s well-wishes, offering a gentle “thank you” in return. Mila took the gesture as an invitation to leave — and so she did, all but running from the girl like a criminal making a getaway from a crime scene.

Let there be no mistake. Mila could find no fault in her co-actress. Rather, the girl was like the snow that Mila struggled to make peace with for the entire day: pure, soft, and oh so pretty; yet altogether dangerous. Just staying in her presence was enough to make Mila think just a bit too much — of the role she would be playing, of the things she would be doing, of what that meant for Mila and the boys…

Mila sighed. Leaving was the best choice for everyone. Envy already dug its claws into her chest and seized a part of her heart. She had to guard the rest of it before it was completely lost to the green-eyed mosnter’s clutches.

But even as Mila ran, it seemed to catch up to her.

“How did the filming go for the others?” Mila asked her fellow female member as she entered the trailer. (The two of them shared a similar fate in the trailer as anigbuous side characters, who were neither part of the group, nor apart from them. And so, neither were needed in the group shots with the others.)

Kiara looked at her with a mixture of uncertainty. As if not sure whether to comfort her with lies, or to hurt her with the truth. So, she gave her the choice. “I took a video of the monitor, if you want to watch.”

Mila would later blame curiosity for killing the cat. But really, all she had to blame was herself. She shouldn’t have agreed to watch the video, should have continued to ignore what she knew would only upset her. Yet, she didn’t look away from the screen. Not once.

Not when Jay held another girl to his chest, and not when he was ‘bitten’ by her on the neck. Not when Sunghoon and her had been so close to having their lips meet. Not even when “My love,” was uttered from her lips. 

She sat there and watched it all like a masochist. Only when the video ended did she decide that she had enough.

She regretted it for the rest of the day.

Mila wanted to spend her night peacefully, but of course fate had different plans.

She just pressed play on her shower playlist when Sunghoon wordlessly invited himself inside the bathroom.

Mila blinked. She stepped aside for him to enter, hiding behind the door as Sunghoon walked in, his expression unreadable as worn script carved in eroding rock. She closed the door behind him, still clutching the towel to her body. But as he looked at her over his shoulder, their bodies pressed together in the small space of the bathroom, he could make out the familiar right of her red peony tattoo peeking just above her towel.

Mila turned around slowly after the lock clicked into place. A flush decorated her skin, reddened by the heat of the steam filling the room and the realisation of her exposed state before Sunghoon. (It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in less — but that didn’t make Mila any less shy now.) After a day of little to no interaction, they were now alone like this? What was she supposed to do?

“There’s no point waiting all night for you to finish using the bathroom. Let’s just shower together,” he said nonchalantly as he hung his towel on the rack.

“I wouldn’t have taken that long,” Mila muttered. But she didn’t refuse his request, earning a small smile from Sunghoon as he pulled the hem of his shirt up, revealing his toned abdomen, lined with muscle that bespoke hours of dedication to his discipline and the gym.

Mila turned her back to him, giving him some privacy as he undressed. (What privacy was there between two lovers in a bathroom, dressing down to their bare skin? Mila didn’t know. She didn’t know a lot of things, really, when she was left alone with Sunghoon — including how to think.) 

She opened the shower door, steam hitting her face as she reached a hand out to feel the temperature of the water. “It’s hot.”

Sunghoon hummed. “That’s fine.”

Mila could hear the sound of a zip coming undone just as she reached up to undo her towel. She took in a shaky breath as she pulled it away from her body, leaving her bare to the heat from the shower and the gaze that landed on her back. She stepped under the scalding water, sighing as it ran down her body.

“Is it nice?” Sunghoon’s voice came from the other side of the glass.

Mila hummed pleasantly, the sound reverberating off the walls of the bathroom along with the sound of running water. It was followed by the sound of the shower door opening as Mila reached for the bottle of shower gel to her right.

Sunghoon didn’t say a word as he walked up behind Mila, his chest to her back. The water that ran down from his head to the floor of the shower was hot against his skin, burning the coldness out of him. He sighed as he braced his arms on either side of her, caging her against the shower wall from behind. 

Mila giggled as she lathered shower gel onto her skin with a scrub, an explosion of bubbles bursting across her arms, shoulders and chest. “Aren’t you going to wash up?”

Sunghoon hummed. “Just let me stay like this for a bit… I barely got to see you today.” 

He closed his eyes as he leaned down, his head hovering over her shoulder, where the fragrance of strawberries and vanilla lingered on her skin. He practically inhaled it — getting high off the addicting scent that he had been missing all day long.

“Oppa,” Mila whined, looking over her shoulder, her cheeks bright as the strawberries she smelled like. “You’re supposed to be washing up, not smelling me.”

Sunghoon chuckled. He reached out to smooth a hand down her bare waist, smiling in content when she shuddered under his touch. “You didn’t miss me today?” he said in her ear, his thumb drawing circles on her hip bone.

Mila bit her lip, suppressing a sigh at his gentle, lingering touches. It took everything inside not to melt against his firm chest like ice cream, to stop her legs from turning into jelly. “You seemed fine on your own… I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have company.”

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mila huffed as she turned around to face him, a stern look on her face — and yet Sunghoon couldn’t help but think she looked adorable. A wry smirk tugged at his lips when she roughly poked his chest. It was like watching a bunny try to intimidate a snow leopard. But he indulged in her cute attempt at dominance, if only to admire the puff of her cheeks and her pouty lips for a little longer.

“You guys get along really well, don’t you?” Mila asked. Oh right, Sunghoon thought. They were in the middle of discussing why she was so distant today — but why was that, again? He got distracted. (It was Mila’s fault.) “I heard that the director even said you had the best chemistry together.”

Sunghoon let out a sound that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a laugh. He was both in disbelief and in amusement. So that was what had her so bothered that she didn’t spare her boyfriend so much as a smile for the whole day? Really?

“Is that what people are saying?” Sunghoon asked dryly.

Mila blinked, her gaze darting to somewhere behind Sunghoon. “I mean, you and her were pretty cosy together—”

The hand on Mila’s hip suddenly tightened its grip. Mila gasped as Sunghoon took a step forward, pressing her smaller body against the shower wall. Their bodies were flush together and they could feel every curve of each other — warm and wet from the running water.

Sunghoon leant down to rest his forehead against her, his back shielding her from the water running from the shower head. Without warning, he grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her avoidant eyes to meet his. His dark gaze travelled down her face. Pupils widened as they landed on her parted lips — soft and pink, like cherry blossom petals.

“Me and who, princess?”

Mila took in a deep, gasping breath at the dominance in his tone, her chest pressing against his. “You know who…”

Sunghoon clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t matter who.”

Sunghoon nuzzled his nose against her neck, pressing a kiss against the skin of her sweet spot — just behind her neck. Mila practically melted, her hands reaching out to grip his biceps for the support that her legs lacked. Sunghoon wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pulling her up so closely against him that their skin might as well be welded together. It was then that she felt something hot and hard pressing against her, causing her thighs to tremble. 

“She’s not the one who made me like this, is she?” Sunghoon asked roughly, his mouth gliding up her neck to her jaw. A gasp escaped Mila’s lips as heat began to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. Seeing her lack of response, Sunghoon nipped at her supple skin with his fangs — enough to leave a mark in its wake. His mark. “Answer me, princess.”

Mila whimpered. “N-no.”

“That’s right. Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. Isn’t that right?”

Mila gasped when Sunghoon suckled on her smooth flesh. “Ngh— yes!”

“Yes, what?” Sunghoon pressed.

“Yes, I’m yours—” Mila’s voice got quieter with her next words. “…And you’re mine…”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow at the lack of conviction in her words — as if she didn’t believe they were the truth. “Baby doesn’t sound so sure.”

And that just wouldn’t do.

Sunghoon pulled back, looking into Mila’s eyes. She almost gasped at the sight of his eyes — consumed by his pupils. They were brimming with something dark, something primal.

“I think you need some reminding.”

“What’s taking Mila so long?” Riki asked, flopping around on his bed like a fish out of water. “She said we would cuddle…”

Jaeyun’s eyes flickered at the time displayed at the corner of the screen, where he was playing a game. The sound of Mila’s playlist and running water was the only thing the others could hear. Three songs had already finished, but they let her be, having  gotten used to the girls in their group spending far more time in the shower than they did.

“Has it been that long?” Jaeyun asked.

Riki nodded, though Jaeyun didn’t see it because of his hyperfocus on his game.

“You know her,” Sunoo muttered from his bunk bed, his phone centimetres away from his face. The sounds of his keyboard were loud as he typed furiously — most likely to one of his many friends. “She always becomes a turtle when she’s in the bathroom.”

Jaeyun kept his eyes on the television, a blank expression on his face as he aggressively mashed buttons on the controller. Jungwon looked up from his bed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I thought Sunghoonie-hyung was the one showering? I saw him go in there before…”

Jaeyun froze. “What—?”

[You died]

MILA HAD NEVER BEEN MORE EMBARRASSED. She could barely contain the guilt and shame she felt when she had to look into her clueless manager’s eyes and tell her that the limp that prevented Mila from attending her schedules yesterday was caused by an unfortunate fall. It only made it worse when she could spot Sunghoon in the background doing his best to stifle a laugh — as if amused by the fact that she was too sore to even walk. (‘Mini-Hoon’ slept on the couch that night, as it deserved.)

Because of that incident, Mila had been more determined than ever to put all her blood, sweat, and tears into perfecting everything for their comeback. She fully expected to do it on her own. But she didn’t think that her partner would be tenacious enough to join her.

The two sat side-by-side together against the wall across from the mirror, taking a much needed break. At this time, the others were enjoying lunch, leaving the both of them alone.

Or so they thought.

In the distance, a pair of dark eyes followed the duo’s interactions with close attention. As if he were a cat slinking about in the shadows of the night, Jungwon found himself lingering at the doorway of the practice room.

He didn’t mean to hover. He had only come back to retrieve his phone that he left behind by accident. But he just couldn’t help but be curious, seeing his girlfriend smile so brightly at the older male. Before he knew it, he was following the two around from a distance — an outside observer absorbing every interaction like a sponge.

Jungwon frowned as Minjun nudged Mila, the way close friends would when teasing each other. A palpable tension rolled off him in waves. He crossed his arms over this chest as if to contain it, but the displeasure and discontentment written on his face were plain for everyone to see. He bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance when Minjun’s hand hovered on her lower back, as if debating whether to place it there or not — all while distracting her by showing something on his phone.

Their heads were almost touching as they leant over the screen, and Mila giggled at the sight of whatever it was they were so invested in on the screen. Jungwon simply stared at them. He furrowed his eyebrows, silently willing the pair to move apart.

By some divine intervention, Minjun suddenly stood to his feet, excusing himself to answer a call. Jungwon let out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he was holding in, forcing a smile as the older male noticed him. Minjun nodded his head in acknowledgement before disappearing into the hallway.

Mila still didn’t notice him. She sat unmoving in front of the mirror, oblivious to the cloud of tension that spread from Jungwon all the way throughout the venue like a AOE attack.  

Jungwon pounced. 

“You guys are close.”

Mila almost jumped out of her skin at the sudden sound of Jungwon’s voice at the doorway. She whipped around, mouth parted in a gasp. “Jungwon!” she exclaimed. “You scared me!” 

Jungwon? The said boy frowned at the lack of an affectionate nickname. He understood it was because they were on set, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t sting to hear her call him so distantly. 

Jungwon’s expression didn’t change. Mila had a hand over her heart as she observed him, sensing that something was different in his aura. She looked into his eyes earnestly and stood to her feet to meet his level. “Minjun-oppa and I aren’t really that close. He was just being friendly.”

Jungwon bit the inside of his cheek. “Almost holding your waist is being friendly?”

Mila blinked. “What?”

A sense of exasperation filled Jungwon’s chest. He pursed his lips, a sigh filtering through his nose — one that felt too heavy to belong to someone who was only nineteen years old. “When you weren’t looking, his hand was on your back. It was like this.”

Jungwon suddenly took a step forward, breaching the distance between him and Mila with one stride. Her wide eyes were almost comical, truly resembling her representative Pokémon Jigglypuff as they took up a wide portion of her face in surprise. It was almost enough to make Jungwon smile. But then he remembered the reason he had gotten this close to Mila in the first place, and that warm feeling was immediately snuffed out like a candle. 

Jungwon knew better than to act too boldly in the company building of all places. But in that moment, all he cared about was making his girlfriend aware of what happened when her back was (literally and figuratively) turned.

His hand slid down her spine in one smooth movement, landing on the small of her back. Mila subconsciously arched into the touch, her lips parting in a surprised gasp at Jungwon’s sudden actions. Red rushed to her face like a ripe tomato about to burst.

Later. Jungwon would blame his jealousy for taking control of all his common sense. But rather than stopping there, he took it one step further. With one strong tug, Mila was pulled right into him. They stood chest to chest, their faces just close enough to see every lash framing each other’s eyes.

Mila was stunned. Jungwon was stunned. But he couldn’t deny that the flustered look on her face — how she had gone speechless, unable to utter a single word at his actions — was so satisfying to see, he almost forgot the reason he had pulled such an uncharacteristic stunt in the first place.

“W-what are you…?” Mila tripped on her words. At that moment, Jungwon realised that her hands were clenched tightly against her chest, as if she were a Victorian woman clutching her pearls. “Wonie?”

Her voice came out as a squeak, causing Jungwon to snap out of his daze. He had been so busy taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and dazed expression that he was distracted. He cleared his throat, loosening his grip on the girl’s waist.

“Anyway,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his burning neck, “he was super close…”

Mila made an ‘oh’ shape with her mouth. A short silence fell over them, causing Jungwon to glance curiously at Mila. Her eyes were still on him, but were shining as if reflecting light. She whispered something, but Jungwon wasn’t able to hear what she had said.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What was that?” 

Mila hit her lip. She repeated herself softly, but loud enough for Jungwon to hear her words without mistake. “I said, ‘But he doesn’t make me feel like that.’”

“What do you mean by that?”

Mila laughed. “Like this.”

Jungwon jolted in surprise when Mila suddenly seized his hand, before placing it directly over her chest. It was his turn to sport a raging blush — until he realised why she had done it. Beating against his palm was her heart, which beat with all the strength and speed of a racehorse galloping down a track.

“Don’t be jealous, okay?” Mila said gently, her hand squeezing his. “I’m not won over that easily — not when I have you.”

Jungwon couldn’t remember how long he had stood there looking into her eyes. All he could remember was the look of her flustered expression when Minjun suddenly returned to the room, as if she was just caught doing something she shouldn’t have.

Jungwon smiled to himself. 

So that was the effect he had on her?

Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad anymore.

“Are they still practising?”

Jaeyun looked over his shoulder to see Jongseong staring past him, into the practise room where Mila and her partner were dancing to the chorus of Bite Me with incredible execution. They were the only ones left at the company of the Enhypen, meaning that they were also the only audience to this private performance.

“They’re good,” the older muttered absently.

If they were an ignited match before, then now they were a forest flame. Even a day without practice wasn’t enough to quell the fire they brought with their performance. And this was only during practice. How much more would they give during an actual performance?

Jaeyun felt an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, as if an anchor had been dropped inside it. His mind became a jumble of words — all different meanings but following the same stream of logic: Unfair. 

Everything about this whole idea was unfair.

The outro of Bite Me began to play, signalling the end of the song was here. All Jaeyun could think of at that moment was, Finally. He really didn’t know what he would end up doing if he had to watch them dance together so sensually for any longer than he already did. If it wasn’t torture, he didn’t know what was. And the worst part was, he couldn’t do a thing about it.

“Oh, you guys were here?” 

Jongseong frowned as he took in Mila’s appearance. He could help but notice that she looked particularly worn out — as expected, considering she barely gave herself any breaks. The way she stood, with her hands on her hips and her shoulders dropping forward, showed everything Jongseong needed to know about her condition.

“You’ve practised enough for today,” Jongseong said. “You should get some rest.”

Mila nodded.

“I was planning to…”  A sense of relief filled Jongseong’s chest at the girl’s assurance, only to fade with her next question. “But what did you think? Did we do good? We were planning on staying behind longer—“

“You guys were good!” Jaeyun’s voice cut Mila’s sentence off like a blade, a sharp tension to it that only Jongseong and Mila could sense. Despite his smile, there was no humour in his eyes. “You guys were great. I don’t think you even need to practise anymore.”

Minjun blinked in astonishment. “Really? Wah… Thank you.”

Mila glanced at her partner out of the corner of her eye, as if trying to measure his reaction to the words. She was glad that he didn’t seem to pick up on the urgency on Jaeyun’s voice — or if he did, that he didn’t mention anything about it.

Jongseong nudged the blonde male with an elbow to the side. Jaeyun flinched, looking at the elder with an offended look, as if wondering why he didn’t feel the same.

But of course Jongseong wasn’t immune to the poison known as envy. What man would be fine, after seeing their girlfriend be held by the waist and touched intimately by someone other than him? There was such a strain in the muscles of his jaw that it ached when he chewed on his lunch today — all because of the number of times he had clenched it in response to the things he had observed between Mila and her partner.

He had to remind himself that it was purely physical. That there was nothing else beyond the touches that were worth the seeds of jealousy being planted in his heart. But even he had to admit that what his brain told him, his heart refused to listen to. (And what his heart screamed at him, his mind would always echo.)

“You guys are good,” he assured, looking at the two earnestly. “You got the point choreography down and… your chemistry has improved a lot, too.”

He didn’t know why it was so difficult to admit.

“Really? I’m so glad…” Mila sighed in relief, seeing the sincerity in his words. Her fatigue was washed from her features by the glow of her smile.

At the very least, Jongseong could be proud that he was the one that put that smile on her face — even if it wasn’t much, even if half of it was because of the man standing next to her…

“Thank you for working so hard today,” Mila said to her partner. “I’m grateful.”

Minjun shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It ended up pushing me to give more to my performance. I’m glad we ended up getting what we needed.”

“And in timing, too,” Jaeyun added. He turned to Mila. “Your manager asked us to come and tell you we’re leaving. If you’re not staying behind for extra practice, make sure to tell her.”

Mila nodded. “Okay. I’ll head down with you.”

Jaeyun nodded. He and Jongseong stood patiently as Mila gathered her items. By the time Mila had thrown her bag over her shoulder and said her goodbyes to her partner, her smile had only grown wider. Even before she said it, it was clear that she was the most excited of the three to leave.

“Let’s go!” Mila sang. She jumped between them, linking her arms in theirs. A wistful sigh fell from her lips.“I just want to go home~”

Jaeyun and Jongseong shared a look over her head. They walked out of the room with Mila, and their wide smiles on their faces.

“By the way… were you jealous earlier?” Mila asked as they arrived at the dorms. “You sounded really annoyed. But I didn’t know if it was just you being moody.”

Jaeyun rolled his eyes as Mila giggled at her own jab. “Is this funny?” Jaeyun threw an arm around her shoulder. “I bet you wouldn’t be laughing if it was the other way around. Weren’t you the one who ignored Hoon and Heeseung because you got jealous?”

Mila blushed furiously at the reminder. “You guys already teased me about it enough! Let me have a chance for once.”

It didn’t take long for the other members to find out the truth behind Mila’s avoidant behaviours the past few days. Sunghoon had always been the type to love putting her business on blast, like a neighbourhood gossip who couldn’t keep any news about her to himself. Heeseung — who liked to indulge in a bit of mean-spirited fun — followed his example. And before Mila knew it, she had seven boys teasing her for her jealous antics.

Jongseong laughed. Wrapping one of his arms around Mila’s shoulders, he pressed his lips to her temple in a consoling kiss. “How about we lay off the teasing for now, hm?” he asked. “We were jealous, but we’re working on it. There’s no shame in that.”

Mila hummed as she crossed her arms over chest. “I’ll think about it.”

She then marched into the elevator, which opened just in time to receive them.

The two males exchanged looks over her head before laughing. They knew there was no way — Mila was simply too petty to give up on the chance. They might as well get some more playful teasing in while they could.

“Oh, and next time you shower, don’t let Sunghoon inside with you.”

Mila went cherry-red at Jaeyun’s comment, a gasp parting her lips in shock. The mortification was clear on her face as she rounded on the blond male. Jawyun simply chuckled at her reaction. He leaned towards her so that his lips brushed agaistn her cheek, an arm reaching up to pin her against the elevator wall. 

“Or next time,” he whispered into her ear, “invite me inside with you.”

Mila almost exploded right then and there at the suggestion, her mind filled with images that it shouldn’t be having. Jay clicked his tongue and pushed Jake’s shoulder, though not with any significant force. It was clear that he was simply playing good cop for the sake of having one — but that he was just as bad as Jaeyun.

“Stop teasing her,” he said, though his eyes betrayed his words.

“Hmmm. Why not? She can handle it.” Jaeyun’s lips brushed the corner of her mouth in a teasing kiss. “Can’t you, baby?”

Mila turned to Jay with pleading eyes. “Oppa,” she whined.

The eldest chuckled, with his nose buried into her head. Hearing the tone of her voice, he couldn’t help but wanted to tease her just a little. He brought his lips to her cheek. Brushing her hair to the side, he placed a trail of kisses down her jaw to her neck. “What’s wrong, angel?”

Mila froze.

The elevator door opened, saving her just in time before she exploded. She stormed out of the elevator as soon as it went to their floor, followed by her men and their string of melodic laughter.

She accepted a long time ago that she was fighting a losing battle when it came to love. After all, who could ever win a battle against their own heart?

“I’m home!”

When Mila walked through the doors to her home, the others who had arrived in separate cars were already there, filling it with the usual sound of laughter and playful banter. She smiled. It was a fond smile, following the realisation that no matter who they were with or what they did, in the end, they would always come home to each other.

“Welcome home, cheater.”

Mila rounded on Riki, who was sitting on the couch with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. “What did you say?”

꒰୨୧◞ 。NOTES⠀.ᐟ this chapter felt different from usual for some reason but i can’t place why that is. but anyway, this was more of a episodic fic than one with a particular plot — it was more so to explore the sides of jealousy as a theme. I don’t know how I feel about the end, but I just rlly wanted o get this done so I could focus on uni, so hopefully you guys enjoyed it 🩷🩷

---

WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS - P.SH

a part of the ETERNAL SUNSHINE series.

IN WHICH..

With the advancement of technology and the presence of numerous machines, a new one caught your attention. Unfortunately, you experienced a messy breakup with Sunghoon, leading to both of you erasing memories of each other in anger. Little did you know, this decision would later bring regret. The future seemed promising with endless possibilities, but the pain of losing someone you once cared for lingered. As time passed, you realized the mistake of erasing those memories, as they held significance and meaning that you couldn't fully comprehend in the heat of the moment.

PAIRING & CATEGORIES

ex husband! sunghoon x gn reader, second chance, divorced to lovers

CAUTION

divorce, toxic relationship, crying, erasing memories, force, not proofread

THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT SUNGHOON IN REAL LIFE. THIS IS PURE FICTION

STAR’S DIARY

second part is out (im spoiling yall)

TAGLIST

@cholexc @yyawnjun @rosas-in-the-garden @allforhee @ilovejungwonandhaechan @ifuckedheeseung @jooniesbears-blog @niki-the-genius

HEADPHONES PLAYING..

we can’t be friends by ariana grande

- Will you agree to erase this person from your memory? ⃣ yes ⃣no

With hesitation, you complete the square marked "Yes" on the form. Taking a deep breath, you place the document on your lap, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation. The weight of your decision hangs in the air as you contemplate what lies ahead. Every stroke of the pen feels like a step closer to a new chapter in your life.

You can't help but wonder if you've made the right choice, but there's no turning back now. The form sits in front of you, a tangible representation of the uncertainty and possibility that lies ahead.

The divorce between you and Sunghoon was tumultuous and messy. Both of you were consumed by anger and resentment, resulting in heated arguments filled with yelling and cursing. Harsh words were exchanged, leaving wounds that may never fully heal.

Discovering that Sunghoon had intentionally erased his memories of you only fueled your resentment towards him. Learning this from his friends made you even more infuriated, as it seemed like a deliberate attempt to hurt you. The thought of him choosing to forget about our shared moments together left you feeling betrayed and angry.

Finally signing your signature, you wait until the nurses have called your name.

“miss y/n!”

As the nurses called out your name, you felt a rush of excitement and anticipation. Quickly grabbing your box of memories, you made your way towards the office, eager to see what awaited you inside. The familiar scent of disinfectant and sterile surroundings filled the air as you entered the room. Memories flooded your mind as you carefully sifted through the contents of the box, each item holding a special significance and a story to tell. The sound of voices and bustling activity around you faded into the background as you lost yourself in the nostalgia of the past.

As the nurse placed a machine on your finger, she meticulously inspected the device. Her focused gaze never wavered as she checked the readings displayed on the screen. With precision and care, she ensured that the equipment was functioning properly and accurately monitoring your vital signs.

The beeping sound of the machine echoed in the room, a constant reminder of its importance in monitoring your health. With a gentle touch, the nurse made small adjustments to the machine, ensuring that it was securely in place. Her expertise and attention to detail were evident in her every move, providing you with a sense of reassurance and comfort.

One of the other nurses reached for a teddy bear, causing a wave of anxiety to wash over you. The sight of the soft plush toy being picked up triggered a sense of unease, as if something ominous was about to happen.

As the nurses secured clips on either side of your head, you found yourself being transported to a familiar arcade. It was the same place where Sunghoon had taken you on your very first date. The memories flooded back as you closed your eyes, reliving the excitement and joy of that special day.

The sound of arcade games and the scent of popcorn filled your senses, bringing a sense of comfort and nostalgia. Despite the medical procedure happening around you, you couldn't help but smile at the cherished memory of that unforgettable day with the person you loved.

“Hoon! Check this out!!”

You excitedly drag Sunghoon over to a crane filled with teddy bears, jumping with anticipation as he focuses determinedly on winning the claw machine. The bright lights of the arcade flash around you as you cheer him on, urging him to grab the perfect prize. Sunghoon's eyes are fixed on the moving claw, his concentration unwavering as he strategizes his next move.

With each attempt, the tension builds, your heart racing with excitement as you watch the claw descend towards the cuddly toys. And then, finally, with a triumphant grin, Sunghoon emerges victorious, clutching a fluffy teddy bear in his grasp.

With the teddy bear held tightly in your hands, you wasted no time in wrapping your arms around Sunghoon's neck and hugging him with all your might. The softness of the bear pressed against your chest as you buried your face into Sunghoon's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. The warmth of his body radiated through you, filling you with a sense of comfort and security.

In that moment, all worries and fears melted away as you held onto him, cherishing the closeness and connection you shared. The embrace was a silent declaration of your love and affection for him.

As you were on the brink of kissing him, the world around you started to blur and vanish. You found yourself standing in an empty void, feeling lost and bewildered. The once-familiar sights and sounds disappeared, leaving you alone with your thoughts and emotions.

But then you started to fade into a bedroom, you noticed it was Sunghoon's old bedroom.

You saw him lying down, his back turned towards you. He seemed upset, and then it hit you - you had checked his phone without his permission. The guilt washed over you as you realized the reason for his distress.

As you opened the door, you were instantly transported outside into a winter wonderland covered in a blanket of snow. The cold air nipped at your cheeks as you gazed around in awe at the glistening landscape. Sunghoon stood beside you, a mischievous grin on his face as he gestured for you to join him in making snow angels. Without hesitation, you dropped to the ground, flapping your arms and legs to create the perfect angel shapes. Laughter filled the air as you both frolicked in the snow.

As Sunghoon suddenly vanished, a wave of emotions washed over you. Feeling lost and alone, you instinctively turned to your side, seeking comfort as you arrived under the familiar warmth of your blanket with Sunghoon.

As you held Sunghoon's hand, the sound of both your laughter filled the air as you indulged in gossiping about the people you both despised. The warmth of his touch brought a sense of comfort and unity between you two, despite the negative topic of conversation before you felt yourself swinging away from him.

As you found yourself back in the nurse's room, a flood of emotions washed over you. Tears welled up in your eyes and began to spill down your cheeks, a mixture of sadness and relief.

The nurse then reached for a frame, inside of which was a photo capturing a tender moment between you and Sunghoon. It was taken during your birthday celebration, the two of you locked in a loving embrace, sharing a heartfelt kiss. The image radiated warmth and happiness, encapsulating a beautiful memory that would be cherished forever.

As you gazed at the picture, nostalgia washed over you, reminding you of the special bond you shared with Sunghoon. The nurse smiled knowingly, understanding the significance of the photo and the emotions it evoked within you.

“Don’t worry dear, this will be quick.”

As you nod at the nurse, you suddenly find yourself transported to you and Sunghoon's old living room. Sunghoon stands before you, holding a cake, his warm smile lighting up the room. You feel a surge of love and longing as you move towards him, ready to kiss him.

But before you can reach him, he begins to fade away, evaporating into thin air. The moment is gone, leaving you with a bittersweet ache in your heart as you realize that the Sunghoon will be in your memories is just that - a fleeting, intangible ghost of the past.

As you took a deep breath, the sound of the machine beeping filled the room. Slowly, consciousness returned to you and your eyes fluttered open.

Tears immediately began to flow uncontrollably down your cheeks, a mix of relief and fear washing over you. The beeping continued, a constant reminder of the fragility of life. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the storm of emotions raging inside of you. The room felt cold and sterile, the harsh fluorescent lights making everything seem surreal.

As the nurse attempted to snatch away your final memory, you instinctively clung to it with all your might, refusing to let go.

You pleaded desperately with the nurse, begging her to spare you from losing the precious recollection. The memory held a significant place in your heart, and the thought of it being ripped away caused a surge of panic within you. Despite the nurse's persistence, you resisted, determined to protect the memory at all costs.

You held onto the necklace with a tight grip, feeling the weight of its presence in your hand. The memories associated with it flooded your mind, each one replaying in vivid detail.

The day marked your fifth anniversary with Sunghoon, and he surprised you with a beautiful necklace. The moment he presented it to you, your heart swelled with happiness.

The nurse reached out for the necklace, but you met her gaze with pleading eyes, silently begging her to let you keep that one memory close to your heart. Your eyes reflected the pain of losing everything else, but the necklace held a special significance that you couldn't bear to part with.

The nurse, with a guilty expression on her face, persisted in retrieving the necklace as you cried uncontrollably, pleading desperately. Despite your tearful protests, she remained focused on her task, determined to complete it despite your distress. Your sobs echoed through the room, a heartbreaking sound that seemed to fall on deaf ears as she continued her actions.

Your pleas grew louder, more desperate, as you tried in vain to stop her from taking what belonged to you. The nurse's actions seemed callous, and indifferent to your pain, leaving you feeling helpless and betrayed in your moment of need.

“P-please.. Please..” screaming louder.

“N-NO!” you sobbing and screaming while your tears stream down your eyes continually.

As the feeling of hopelessness began to wash over you, tears streamed down your face uncontrollably. The image of Sunghoon consumed your thoughts, causing your heart to ache with longing. You couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of despair that weighed heavily on your chest. Each sob that escaped your lips felt like a cry for help, a plea for the pain to dissipate.

Despite your best efforts to distract yourself, his face kept appearing in your mind, driving you to the brink of despair. The tears continued to fall, a constant reminder of the emptiness that now consumed you.

Nct x Mila will be the death of me

𝕾𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗦, 𝓗𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 ❳ 𑁍 𓄹 𝙴𝙽

概括 › 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒 ﹕─┈ A friendly clip of MiLA and NCT DREAM go viral for not-so platonic reasons — and the ENHYPEN boys are not-so thrilled about it.

﹟ 𝘄𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝘀 ፡ ፡ dating rumours, jealousy/possessiveness, not proofread, make out sessions between [ ˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗ ] borders (you can skip if you feel uncomfortable)

✩ 𝗻𝗼𝗍𝖾𝗌 ᵕ̈ ིྀ ! 💍nonnie inspired me with this and this ask so shout out to you 😘 dont know how i feel about this chapter but wanted to post it in case anyone does enjoy it… might take it down later for editing but we’ll see how it goes 🤧

part i. | part ii.

MILA WAS NO STRANGER TO SCANDALS. She had been centre of a few since debut. There was the scandal about her supposedly bullying her members, the one about her apparently copying Kiara, and that one time people accused her mother of rigging the results of I-Land so that she could debut… No matter how hard she tried to be the model idol, things didn’t always work out. No one in the industry was safe.

One of Mila’s greatest accomplishments had been that she had yet to be involved in a dating scandal with another idol — a feat in this generation of Kpop, where netizens would speculate about romantic relationships between idols for simply exchanging eye contact for more than five seconds. And while she had the few ships here and there, nothing reached to a height as it did with, say, Karina and Heeseung.

But of course, there was a first time for everything.

“I’m getting ready to head off now, Oppa,” Mila called out. Pulling her satchel over body and picking another bag full of food off from the table, she prepared to leave the Enhypen dorms.

She was on her way to the SM Building for two reasons: the first was to have lunch with Aespa, and the second was to do with the bag of food she was carrying. The food in the bag that she was carrying was homemade Chinese cuisine she made for none other than her friends in NCT — Chenle and Renjun — who were part of the group’s China line, and whom she had asked to film a TikTok for ‘Sweet Venom’ together before she had lunch with the Aespa.

Mila got along well enough with the two of them at first. For a while, they weren’t really her friends as much as they were kind and gentle seniors. They looked out for her as elder artists and a shared kinship over their motherland; and she would greet them politely whenever they crossed paths at music shows or award ceremonies. Yet there wasn’t any sort of lasting bond between them.

It wasn’t until one day when Mila had offered to make some Chinese cuisine and drop it off for them — like she was doing today — and had unintentionally broken down the wall that was between them. All of a sudden, it was like she was pulled into their bubble and made one of their people. Like a baby bird taken under their wing.

“Are you sure you’re warm?” Jay asked.

Jay ran a hand through his tussled hair after giving Mila a gentle kiss on the forehead as a greeting. Since it was still early in the morning on a day off, the others were still asleep of groggy with sleep. And so, only Mila — who had to get ready and be presentable in time to leave — was fully awake.

Mila nodded. It tended to get chilly on the early hours of the morning, and Jay knew she was sensitive to colder weather. But Mila had opted to wear a warm turtleneck and a fluffy jacket over the top, so she didn’t need to worry. “Warm as a toastie.”

At that moment, Heeseung had stumbled out of his room, looking like he might topple over and fall asleep at any second now. He rubbed his eyes, pouting as he saw Mila standing in the kitchen with her bags, ready to go. “You’re leaving already?”

“Why did you get up? You should get some sleep,” Mila said.

“I wanted to see you off.” Heeseung wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. He leant back and placed a chaste kiss to her cheek, a light smacking sound resonating as he parted. Patting her head, he smiled at her. “Have a good day, okay?”

Mila nodded with an eye-crinkling smile. “I will.”

Mila turned to Jay and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Say good morning to the others for me,” she said, as Jay stroked the top of her head and hummed in agreement. “Sorry I couldn’t help with breakfast this morning.”

Jay smiled softly. “No, it’s okay. You just have a good time out today. Don’t worry about anything else.” Jay held both her cheeks in his hand and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, sending a wave of butterflies off in her stomach. “I love you, Angel.”

“I love you more,” Mila replied instantly. She then reached out and tugged Heeseung closer so that she was hugging both Jay and him. “Love you both so much.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Love you too, baby.”

With that, the two elder members bid farewell to the girl as she skipped out of the door, before waving one last time, and following her manager to the car. Jay closed the door behind her as she left, and then the two went right back to sleep, to make the most out of this seemingly quiet day. Little did they know at the time about the buzz that would find its way to their quaint little dorm.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

MILA HAD A STRANGE relationship with SM Entertainment. Briefly, she remembered an encounter she had when she was at a dance competition back home in China, at the younger age of twelve. At the time, she met a beautiful woman there, who approached Mila’s mother and handed her a card with an all-too familiar logo. She claimed to be a scout from SM Entertainment, and said that Mila had the makings of an idol.

At the time, Mila had turned them down because of a lack of interest. And it wasn’t until later that Mila would learn that her dream was, in fact, to be the idol that scout saw her being.

When Mila thought about it, it seemed SM was the first to recognise her potential. And it was strange to think about the possibility of her debuting under SM in another world — especially when she had made so many friends there.

“Renjun-gē, I’m at the company now.” Mila shut the door of her van as she hopped out, her cellphone held up to her ear in one hand as the other carried the bag of food she prepared. From the other side of the line, there was a bunch of voices overlapping each other, causing Mila to tilt her head. “Are the others with you?”

While she had originally asked only Renjun and Chenle to do a TikTok with her, surprisingly enough their company suggested having the whole group film together with her — and her alone. Mila was confused but didn’t question it, seeing as Be:Lift gave permission for it. She didn’t know why, but she started to have an inkling that publicity through interactions was one of the reasons. Similar to the way Heeseung and Sunghoon had done a TikTok with Karina and Winter not too long ago.

However, Mila had yet to be on a familiar basis with the other NCT Dream members. Since they were in different generations — despite being close in age — and were her seniors in the industry by many years, they didn’t really have many reasons to become friends. But from what Renjun often said about them and what she saw of them in their content, they seemed like a fun group of people to be with. And Mila was nothing if not eager to form new connections.

“Yeah, we’re all in the practice room,” Renjun replied. He then suddenly told Mila to wait for a few seconds and yelled, “All of you be quiet! I can’t hear!” in Korean, before switching back to Chinese as he apologised to Mila. “Sorry. They’re being rowdy again.”

At that exact moment, Mila could hear Chenle’s distinctive voice yelling in the speaker, “Hi, Mila!” only to be followed by loud screams that reminded Mila of a distressed dolphin. Mila laughed. “It’s okay,” she told him while laughing, “Me and my manager are going to enter now. See you soon.”

With that, Mila entered the SM Building, and made her way to the practice room floors. And that was how Mila and her manager ended up at one of the dance practice rooms, filled with a rowdy bunch of males who didn’t realise she was there until she was almost hit in the face by a stray shoe.

Mila instinctively ducked and covered her head as the shoe hit the ceiling with a ‘thwack,’ before falling to the floor in front of her. Looking startled and confused, she uncovered her head looked up to see Lee Haechan in front of her with both hands over his mouth and wide eyes.

“Oh, sorry,” he said awkwardly.

At that moment someone in the background had stumbled out from the closet, which was originally being held closed by a startled-looking Na Jaemin. Mark Lee’s head was darting around everywhere as he struggled to find his balance.

“Where did my shoe—!” Mark stopped mid-sentence when Jeno cleared his throat, and the older male froze like a mannequin when he made eye contact with a sheepish Mila. “…Go…?”

Park Jisung scratched the back of his neck and awkwardly turned to Chenle, who was holding his stomach from laughing at the events that unfolded. Renjun face palmed in the background. Mila smiled hesitantly, before offering a polite bow.

“Hello, sunbaenims.”

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

MILA WOULDN’T HAVE GUESSED from first impressions that NCT Dream were made up mostly of introverts. But somehow — as if abiding by the law of “opposites attract” — it had made things easier for Mila to get along with them, despite their initial awkwardness.

“Wah, this looks good!” Chenle said as finally looked inside the bag of dishes Mila prepared for them. (Once the Dream managers arrived at the practice room, a few minutes after Mila, they went straight into the professional business of today’s agenda, leaving little time for Mila and the Chinese boy to catch up. “Thanks a lot, Mila! You’re the best! The WayV hyungs will be so jealous.”

Mila shook her hands in denial and smiled as Chenle walked off to show off Mila’s gifts to Renjun. She smiled and turned to the three members standing with her: Jeno, Jaemin and Jisung.

Because there were so many people in the one TikTok, they would be doing several different groupings with Mila in a single take: starting with the maknae line (Chenle and Jisung), then Mila and the 00-line (Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun, and Haechan) and then her and Mark. There were bound to be some mistakes, so the TikTok didn’t end in just one attempt. But rather than feel annoyed, Mila quite enjoyed the chance she got to interact with the seniors.

“By the way, how old are you?” Jaemin asked suddenly. Mila hummed and lowered her drink bottle as she looked at the male, who reminded her somewhat of Sunghoon for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down. (Later she would realise it was because they were both handsome but very chaotic,l introverts, who seemed quiet at first, but were far from it.) “Is Jisung older than you?”

Mila nodded as she made eye contact with the youngest of the group. While it was true that he was older — and the same age as Enhypen’s 02z — Mila couldn’t help but see him in the same light as one might regard a baby chick. Something about him didn’t radiate the same air of maturity (or dare she say, sexiness?) that Jake, Jay and Sunghoon did.

“That’s right,” she replied, as if she herself had forgotten about that fact. “I’m a year younger. Born in 2003.”

“Wah.” Jisung had a shocked expression on his face, while his hyungs laughed at him. It was no secret that the once youngest idol to debut was awkward when meeting others younger than him. But this time in particular, he seemed even shyer than usual. “I can’t believe it…”

“Oh, so we’re all your oppas? You’re the youngest one here?” Jeno asked with a shocked expression. He had been maybe the easiest to get along with — not because the others were difficult, but simply for his smile, which reminded her of the warm eye-smile of Sunoo, and instantly made her feel comfortable. Mila smiled and nodded at his question. “What about in your group? Are you the maknae.”

“I’m the youngest girl, but there are three other members who are younger than me,” Mila explained. “Our maknae, Ni-Ki, was born in 2005. Our oldest, Heeseungie-oppa, is the same age as Chenle-oppa.”

“What about me?” As if on cue, Chenle walked into the frame. “Oh, by the way— I was just telling Renjun-hyung, and we think you’re the only ‘E’ type here.”

“Right!” Mila said, before clicking her fingers. “I was just thinking about how I heard from someone before that almost all of you are ‘I’.” She then gasped. “Wait, this is an important question: Are you guys ‘F’ or ‘T’?”

“I’m a ‘T’,” Jisung replied. Mila made an “oh” expression and nodded slowly, causing the others to laugh. Meanwhile, Jisung blinked in confusion. The first thing he thought of was Eunchae’s viral ‘Anti-T’ meme, and wondered if Mila was the same. “Why? Do you not like ‘T’?”

Mila shook her head vigorously. “No!” she denied vehemently. “I really like ‘T’!”

“Oh, that’s me.” Mark suddenly joined in with a raised his hand. He and the members of Dream — Haechan, Renjun, and Mark — walked over to join the smaller group after returning from their bathroom break. “I’m a ‘T’, too,” he clarified.

Mila turned and said, with an utmost serious expression, “Then I like you.”

Mark froze and opened his mouth. But no words came out, and he stood there like a gaping fish, unable to respond to Mila’s words — which suspiciously sounded like a confession, though they were anything but. It wasn’t that he felt she meant it in that way, or that he necessarily wished for her to, but that it was so sudden he was taken off guard. He couldn’t help but be flustered.

The other Dreamies laughed from around him, and his face turned a bright shade of pink. Coughing into his fist, Mark turned around to hide his blush.

Mila, on the other hand, paid no attention to it. She instantly made her way over to her manager when the older woman called her over to look at the last take they did of the TikTok. Slowly the others made their way over, and they all watched the footage on Mila’s manager’s phone.

“Wait,” Mila said as she squinted, “Do I really look like that?”

“Like what?” Haechan asked. “Do you mean the shape of your hair? Or your facial expression.”

Mila burst out laughing. “No, what I mean is— why does my face look a little puffy?” Mila squished her cheeks as she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. “Or is it just me? Do I look like that?”

The boys loooed between the screen and Mila and shook their heads. Jaemin in particular — who was leaning down next to her — took a not-so discrete scan of her entire face, before smiling kindly at the girl. “No,” he reassured. “You look better in real life.”

Mila looked at him before laughing, half in shock and half because she didn’t know what a proper response was. For someone who received a lot of compliments, it was sure difficult to know how to respond to them. However, she was saved from the awkwardness as the others laughed along with her, creating a cheerful, friendly atmosphere.

Looking back, she might not have been as careless as she was if she knew what would happen later on. But she couldn’t have known that the entirety of their interactions together were caught on camera. Nor did she know they would be posted as Behind The Scenes shoots, for the rest of the world to see — and to speculate about.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

‘GOOD WORK TODAY.’

Mila smiled as she read the new message she received in her group chat with the NCT Dream members. Briefly, she considered the thought of introducing Kiara and the Dream members — and she smiled wickedly at the thought of giving the elder female’s boyfriend reason to be jealous. After all, Kiara was a big fan of Mark’s before she debuted…

Mila was cut off from her thoughts when she spotted Aespa heading towards her. After singing a quick ‘Thank you’ with an emoticon, Mila quickly shut off her phone and greeted the older girls with a smile and warm hugs. For the next few hours, Mila left her phone untouched and simple enjoyed the presence of the Aespa girls as they enjoyed their brunch and caught up on all the latest gossip.

Mila just didn’t realise she would be one of those topics.

“Oh—” NingNing paused mid-sip of her drink. She had pulled her phone out to bring up a TikTok to show Mila, only to be surprised by what she saw. NingNing turned to Mila with a surprised expression. “Mimi-yah, you and NCT Dream-sunbaenims are trending.”

Mila hummed calmly. She had expected this to happen after all. “I guess the TikTok got uploaded.”

Karina furrowed her eyebrows and leaned over, before her mouth parted in shock. “No, Mimi-yah… It’s not just the TikTok.”

Karina took the phone from NingNing, and held it up so Mila could see the screen. From either sides of her, Giselle and Winter leaned in closer to get a better look. Mila’s jaw dropped as she saw the one thing she didn’t expect to be uploaded — her interactions with the NCT Dream members. Specifically, the ones that were easy to twist and misunderstand.

“Then I like you, too.” Mila’s face in the clipped video on the TikTok NingNing found made her cringe at how easy it was to misinterpret out of context. That clip was then followed by the clip of Jaemina looking her up and down and telling her, “No. You look better in real life.”

Mila paled. It took a few seconds for adrenaline to kick in, and then all of a sudden, she was fumbling for her phone. The first thing she did was open her phone and check her group chat messages with the boys, and sighed heavily when she saw a bunch of spammed messages from them.

Mila was looking forward to this lunch for a long time. But as soon as Jay said ‘we need you,’ nothing else matter. She was halfway through reading the word ‘need’ before she was packing her bag and bidding farewell to Aespa, before sprinting her way to the lobby, where she had texted her manager to meet her.

The last thing Mila wanted was not to be there when her men needed her reassurance the most. She didn’t care if she had to drag her manager by the wrist like a scene in a Kdrama — all that mattered was getting back to them. (And preferably before Sunghoon got his hands on any of her plushies.)

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

MILA WASN’T SURPRISED TO see Heeseung standing there at the car park, waiting for her. If she knew him well enough, she would say that he used his matthyung card to make the others stay inside while he quickly got some alone time with her before they inevitably started to bicker about the trending tag.

He had his arms crossed over his chest as he stood tall, stance wide. Mila quickly bid farewell to her manager — who decided to let Mila and Heeseung go off to the dorms alone — and ran up to Heeseung before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Oppa,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean for it to happen…”

Looking up at Heeseung, Mila frowned as she looked into his eyes, trying to find something. It wasn’t usual for him to be this quiet around her, so she worried that the clips got to him more than she expected. Now that she thought about it, he was unusually quiet on the group chat as well…

“Are you okay?”

Heeseung didn’t say anything, simply caressing her cheek, and then letting his hand fall to her wrist. “Let’s go,” he said softly. And without another word, he gently pulled her along behind him as he made his way to the elevator. She could feel the tension in his shoulders as if it were her own. And while she wasn’t intimidated by him in any way (he was Heeseung, after all), she couldn’t help but feel a little helpless seeing him this quiet.

As the elevator door opened, Heeseung placed a hand on her lower back, before gently ushering her in. He didn’t say a word to her, only pursing his lips as he nonchalantly pressed the button to the floor to their rooms. It was silent, save for the sound of the mechanisms of the lift in operation.

Mila bit her lip nervously. “Oppa—”

[ ˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗ ]

Mila didn’t get a chance to finish before Heeseung had backed her up against the wall of the elevator, her lips colliding with hers. She gasped at the sudden contact, her fingers subconsciously reaching up to grasp his shoulders, while his arms came up to cage her in on both sides of her head. Yet, she didn’t feel trapped — only comforted by the closeness of his body to hers.

Yes, this was the Heeseung she came to know. The one who craved touch more than space; the one who would breathe in her kisses, even if it meant losing air. From the way his mouth fitted against hers — latching on like it was the bridge directly to her heart, mind and soul — to the way his hand reached up to cup her jaw, as if doing so meant holding the cusp of the world… All of it was so Heeseung, Mila didn’t know what to do without it.

He didn’t say a word, but she understood him anyway.

I love you, he said with his kisses. I’m yours, he admitted with a sigh. And you’re mine, screamed his touch.

She tugged on the strands of his hair, standing right up on her tip toes, and he hummed approvingly into her mouth, before pushing his body right up against hers. Her heart was erratic against his chest, and his grip was firm on her skin. Deep and passionate were his kisses, making her knees weak and her stomach flutter.

Then all too soon, it was over. He pulled away as if someone had been dragging him away by the collar. Hesitant. He sighed the moment his eyes met hers, before flickering down to her swollen lips. The flames in his dark orbs flickered out and he swiped a thumb against her bottom lip.

[ ˗ˏˋ ★ˎˊ˗ ]

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I just… After I saw all that… I really needed you.”

“And you have me,” Mila said with a smile, reaching up to cup Heeseung’s face, before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed, melting instantly under her affectionate actions. “You always will. I’m right here.”

Heeseung smiled gently before turning to kiss the inside of her hand, just as the elevator door dinged. “I wanted to be selfish and steal you away for a little bit… But we should talk properly with the others.”

Mila laughed. “We definitely should.”

With that, the two walked into the dorms, hand in hand, where the others awaited them impatiently in the living room, as if they had a million things to say.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

“I’M HOME.”

Mila laughed helplessly as she was met with the sight of Riki side-eyeing her from where he sat on the couch, his expression set in stone. She bit back a smile at the endearing sight of him and the rest of her boyfriends sulking in the middle of the dorms.

“Did you have fun?” he asked deeply, his voice reverberating through the silent air of the living room. Unsurprisingly, there was a colourful range of reactions to the clips — but they all had the same undertone of envious green. “You and your friends were cute.”

Mila smiled and took off her shoes. Without a word, she walked over and sat beside the younger before hugging his arm, pulling his hand onto her lap. “You’re cuter.”

Riki huffed and turned away, but the way he laced his fingers through Mila’s was enough to tell her that she succeeded in lowering his guard. From beside Riki, Jake faced Mila with his enticing lips pulled into a frown. “Why are you only complimenting him? I’m a ‘T’, too.”

Mila smiled. She knew where he was going with the last statement, but letting him bait her anyway, to enable his sulking. If not to get it out of his system, then so she could spoil him later. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“‘I really like ‘T’!” Sunoo imitated Mila’s voice, reciting her words from earlier. He then gasped dramatically and said, in the same high-pitched voice, “‘Oh, you’re ‘T’, too? Then I like you.’” Sunoo scoffed. “Seriously, why don’t you just confess your love to them while you’re at it.”

While he knew Mila’s words were taken out of context, he still felt slightly offended that she only mentioned liking ‘T’ types, when he himself was an ‘F’. So he thought he would give her minor grievance out of pettiness — though not in a way that would cause her to feel guilty.

Mila burst out laughing. She reached over and pulled Sunoo’s hand into her lap while he pouted, turning his head away in a similarly haughty manner to Riki. Mila smiled. “You know what I meant by that.”

“Still, there’s the, ‘You look better in real life,’” Jay said, a sneer on his face to show how strongly he felt while watching that particular scene. Sitting in his chair with his legs spread and his chin rested on his fist, he looked at Mila with an unreadable expression. “I don’t like the way he looked at you, Angel.”

“You were so pretty today, too,” Sunghoon added, his eyes trialing over her form head to toe. “And they got to compliment you and see you all dolled up before I did…”

Mila bit her lip. “Even if he looked at me in any way that wasn’t friendly, I wouldn’t care. I don’t really mind what others think about how I look,” she said. Then, with a slight blush, she added, “I mean— I’ve gotten used to be calling ‘pretty’… But I only get flustered when it’s from one of you.”

“Really?” Sunghoon was standing with his arms crossed against the wall, his biceps bulging against the material of his shirt in a way that momentarily stole Mila’s focus. He smirked slightly at the sight of her distracted gaze, before raising an eyebrow tauntingly. She pursed her lip as he regarded her with his intense gaze. “What else, Princess?”

Jungwon scoffed. “Can you not do foreplay in the middle of the living room? We’re right here, you know.”

“Whatever.” Jay threw his hands up in the air, before leaning back in his chair as if he were unbothered by everything around him. (He wasn’t.) “It’s not like you wanted for this to happen. All I know is that I’m not going anywhere near TikTok for the next month.“ Jay paused and then held up his arms towards Mila. “Come here. I want to hold my girl.”

Mila smiled. Riki and Sunoo, who were still giving her the silent treatment, let out little laughs of their own, their shoulders shaking as they tried their best not to break character. After giving last squeeze to both their hands, she kissed the both of them on the cheeks. Then Mila stood to walk over to Jay so she could comfort him — only to be pulled down into Jake’s lap as she passed by.

“There,” Jake said. “That’s much better.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, ignoring the glare from Jay. Jake then nuzzled his nose into Mila’s neck, humming contently as he inhaled the scent of her perfume. “Bet they didn’t get to hold you like this, huh?”

Mila shook her head vigorously. “Of course not.” She turned around and faced Jake with sincere eyes. “I don’t want to be held by anyone but you.”

Jake chuckled. “That’s right…” He closed his eyes as he placed a chaste kiss on her neck. When he spoke again, his voice came out muffled, as if he were drunk on her scent. “That’s our girl.”

Jungwon sighed from beside Jake. The young leader gave Jake an unimpressed glare. And though he whined, the same male relented and released his hold. Jungwon immediately pounced on the chance and pulled Mila towards him, nuzzling her the same way Jake did.

“It was so annoying,” he said. “People kept calling you guys cute together and everything… I wanted to hit them through the screen.” He frowned as he rested his chin on her shoulder, eyes lidded as they were trained on her lips. “You’re ours.”

Mila cooed as she cupped the younger’s cheek, pressing soft kisses to his dimple.

“That’s right,” she said. “I know it sucks, I get how it feels. But know that I’m not interested in anything anyone else has to say. You’re the only ones I want and ever will want. That hasn’t changed.”

She smiled as she looked around the room.

“The NCT Dream-sunbaenims will be good friends, but that’s all they are or will ever be. I’m younger than their maknae, who they treat as a baby — they probably see me as their younger sister, if anything. They’re far from falling in love with me. And as for me… Well, you know I love you.” She then recited one of her favourite quotes: “‘And if I loved you any less, I might be able to talk about it more.’”

There was a sweet pause on the sitting room, as the tension faded way. Heeseung smiled as he took a seat next to Jay, after having observed everything from the entry. It seemed Mila could take care of everything fine. Then again, that was to be expected.

“I’m really sorry that you had to see this go trending for that reason…” Mila frowned. “I didn’t know they would post those clips, considering how easy it would be for shippers to take it out of context.”

“No, don’t apologise,” Heeseung said softly. “We know it’s not your fault, and I still don’t know why the company let that be posted… But we love your smile, and how you make others smile too. Don’t lose that for anyone. Not even if you think it’s to protect our feelings.”

“If you’re ever scared about what we might think,” Jay added, “Then don’t be. Even if we get jealous, we just wanted you to be happy.”

“Hyung’s right,” Riki said with a smile, breaking his vow of silence against her. “I think it would be sadder if we saw you go viral for looking sad. I’d rather see you smiling, even if it’s not with us.”

Mila blinked, her chest feeling warm. She as just grateful that the boys didn’t blame her — but that they also didn’t expect her to change the way she interacted with other people for the sake of the public’s opinions. She giggled.

“Same goes for you,” she said. “Let me spoil you when you need it. Right now, just let me know what you need. This is about you and how you feel.”

“Well I still haven’t gotten to hold you,” Jay said, looking at Jungwon, who pretended not to hear him as he held onto Mila in a possessive grip, too busy placing chaste kisses on her neck to talk.

“And I still haven’t gotten my kiss.” Sunghoon pouted at Mila, and then suddenly turned to Jay. “Your plushie is going to be the first to go.”

Heeseung tried (in vain) to calm them down. “Okay, let’s leave the plushies out of this.”

Sunoo turned to Heeseung with suspicious eye. “By the way, Hyung, what did you talk about before you got back with Byeol? It was really unfair that you got to her first — I think we should cut down your cuddle time with her to make things even.”

“I dibs the extra hours!” Riki said, raising his hand.

“Why would you get them?” Jake asked incredulously. “No way in hell, man.”

Mila laughed. As she watched the the boys bicker, she started to plot mischievously about how to turn around the situation in their favour. She knew the company wouldn’t take any action against them, either, as long as there was a positive response from fans. So a little more ship moments wouldn’t hurt, right? What was a little teasing for fans?

(Just a few days later, NCT Dream and Mila’s interactions were blown out of the trending list by Mila and the boys’ most recent, incredibly cute, incredibly suspicious ship moments.)

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played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made"

pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader

warnings: angst <3; VERY LONG

wrote this listening to roses <3

Rafe Cameron held grudges better than anyone and his ex was about to witness exactly that. 

Fucking Jessica Green liked to think of herself as the queen of their university, the epitome of beauty and popularity. Some real high school bullshit he only fed because he liked her. And then, she went and dumped him for none other than Tyler West, the star player of his rival basketball team. Technically, she cheated on him, sneaking around with that piece of shit behind his back. 

The humiliation was killing him. 

Rafe wasn't one to take such things lying down; he wanted revenge, and he wanted it badly. He wanted to ruin her life. It wasn’t just enough to ruin her reputation—he wanted to hit her where it hurt the most. And what would hurt more than being replaced? Not just by any girl, but by someone who was everything she wasn’t. It was a genius idea, really. To prove that some loser could easily take her place, with a little help of course.

And that’s when he noticed you.

Kelce pointed you out actually, when they were six beers in and too fucking drunk to think clearly. But it was still a good choice.

You were the complete opposite of his ex, blending into the crowds like it was your superpower. He watched you for an entire hour at the party. You didn’t utter a single word the entire time you were there, only nursing your drink and listening to the other girls on the cheerleading squad speak.

Hell, he didn’t even know you were a cheerleader until that night. 

Were you always there? How had he never noticed you before? It was hard to remember when all he focused on up until then was Jessica. 

You were practically invisible in comparison to her, always on the sidelines, blending into the background. 

You were perfect.

If he could take this overlooked, nerdy girl and turn her into the new queen of the university, it would be the ultimate blow to Jessica's ego. It would prove that she wasn’t as irreplaceable as she thought. 

“You really gonna do it?”

He didn’t take his eyes off you, “Oh yeah. ‘M doing it.”

“Nahh, there’s no way you’re pulling this off.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, a cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Kelce’s skepticism was exactly what he expected, and honestly, it made the challenge even sweeter.

 “You think so?” he said, his tone light but with an edge of determination. “Watch me.”

Kelce, always the instigator, leaned forward with a smirk. “Come on, Cameron. You really think you can turn that quiet little thing into the next Jessica? She’s cute, I guess, in that nerdy way, but she’s not queen material.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he kept his cool. “She’s got potential,” he said confidently. “Just needs someone to show her how to use it.”

Topper laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane. This isn’t some movie where the shy girl takes off her glasses and suddenly she’s hot. Jessica had something that can’t be taught.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe pointed out, “It’s all about confidence man. Jessica wasn’t born the way she is now. She learned how to act the part, and I can do the same with her.”

Like a school project, he thought to himself. That’s all you were. 

Kelce took a swig of his drink, clearly enjoying where the conversation was going. “Alright, I’ll bite. How much time are we talking here? Because she’s got a long way to go, my guy.”

Rafe tilted his head, considering. “Give me two months. By the end of it, she’ll be turning heads. Maybe even more.”

Topper snorted, setting his drink down with a thunk. “Two months? No way. I’ll bet you a grand you can’t pull it off.”

Kelce laughed, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’m in. A grand says you can’t turn her into the hottest girl in school.”

Rafe’s eyes glinted with determination. “You’re on,” he said, without hesitation. “In a month or two, you’ll be handing me that fucking cash, and she’ll be the one everyone’s talking about. Looking all pretty in my arms.”

Kelce raised his glass. “To Rafe and his miracle project. This is gonna be fun to watch.”

Topper shook his head again, still grinning as he clinked his glass against Kelce’s. “Here’s to you wasting a month of your life on a lost cause.”

He clinked his glass with theirs, the bet sealed. 

“You better start saving up.”

This plan was flawless. 

It was so good that even in his drunken haze, he could see how perfectly it would play out. The first step was simple: get close to you. Make you feel special, noticed, like you were someone who mattered. Rafe knew how to charm people; it was practically second nature. And with Jessica, it had been easy—too easy. She’d fallen for his looks, his confidence, his golden boy appeal. 

The next day, he started showing up at places he knew you’d be. The library, the campus coffee shop, even lingering around after cheerleading practice. At first, he didn’t approach you, just observed. 

He had to figure out how to crack the code, how to make you see him without scaring you off. It took a week before he made his first move.

You were sitting alone in the library, surrounded by textbooks and notes. He casually strolled up, pretending to be looking for a book on the same shelf. “Hey,” he said, glancing down at you with a disarming smile. “You’re in my econ class, right? Mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, a little startled, but nodded, shifting your books to make room for him. You probably couldn’t believe that someone like Rafe Cameron was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? To make you feel special, to pull you out of your shell and into his orbit.

He knew he still had to tread carefully. The wrong move could send you running, and he couldn’t afford that.

You kept your eyes down, focused on your notes. He noticed the way your hand shook slightly when you turned the page. Rafe leaned in a little closer, just enough to make his presence known without crowding you.

“You always this buried in work?” he asked casually, pulling out a notebook and flipping it open.

You glanced up, surprised he was still there. “I guess. I have a lot to catch up on.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I hear you. Econ’s been kicking my ass this semester. You doing okay in it?”

He could tell you were surprised. Probably didn't expect him to know you shared the same class. And he didn't, until last week.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s… fine. Just a lot of material.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been trying to wrap my head around these supply and demand curves for days. You think the professor’s trying to torture us?”

You smiled faintly, a small victory in his book. “Maybe. It’s kind of her thing.”

Rafe grinned, pleased that he got a reaction out of you. “You mind if I study with you? Might help to bounce some ideas off each other.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his request. “Um, sure. I mean, if you want.”

“Definitely,” he replied smoothly. “You seem like you actually know what’s going on, unlike me.”

He spent the next hour working alongside you, occasionally asking questions, but mostly just being there. He didn’t push, didn’t try too hard. He wanted you to get comfortable with him, to see him as someone you could rely on.

“I’m sorry about Jessica.”

The way you blurted the words out told him you hadn’t meant to say it. 

Rafe froze, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand. He could feel the familiar anger bubbling up, but he forced it down, keeping his expression calm. This was exactly what he didn’t want—Jessica’s name being brought up, especially by you.

But he couldn’t let you see that. 

He looked at you, feigning surprise with a bit of sadness, as if Jessica was just a painful memory he was trying to move past. “Oh,” he said softly, his voice controlled and measured. “You know about that?”

You nodded, eyes wide and apologetic, clearly regretting bringing it up. “Yeah… I mean, it’s all over campus, right? The girls were talking about it in the locker room. I just—I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry.”

Rafe forced a smile, as if he was grateful for your concern. He leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh as if he was relieved to talk about it, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. “It’s okay,” he said, his tone gentle. “I guess it’s just one of those things, y’know? We were together for a while, and it sucked when it ended.”

You looked down at your notes, fidgeting with the corner of a page. 

“She shouldn’t have done that to you.”

He let out a dry laugh, the bitterness threatening to seep through, but he quickly disguised it as a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, well, people do shitty things sometimes. Guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

He noticed the way you seemed to relax as if you were relieved that he wasn’t angry. He needed to shift the conversation away from Jessica, and back to you, where it should be. “But hey,” he said, his voice brightening as if he was genuinely trying to shake off the bad memories, “Everything happens for a reason right?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden attention. “Right."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re not like everyone else around here. You’re real, y’know? Genuine. I like that.”

Bullshit. But he could see the effect his words had on you. Easy.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, and you looked away, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “I’m just…here.”

Rafe shook his head, his smile softening, taking on a more sincere tone. “I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see that.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him with those wide eyes, as if you were trying to figure him out. Rafe held your gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the moment feel meaningful, even though he knew exactly what he was doing. He was reeling you in, one calculated move at a time.

Finally, you nodded, lips twitching, “Thanks, Rafe."

Oh, you were too perfect for this.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair as if the conversation had lightened his mood.

 “Anytime."

It was a perfect conversation, one that made you feel like he was letting you in on something personal, something real. And from the look on your face, it worked.

But inside, Rafe was fuming. Jessica had managed to worm her way into his head again, even indirectly. It was a reminder of why he was doing this in the first place. 

He plastered on another smile, picking up his pen and tapping it lightly against his notebook. “So,” he said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “You think you can help me with this econ stuff? Because I’m pretty sure I’m doomed without you.”

You laughed, the tension from earlier completely dissipating. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

As you both turned your attention back to your notes, Rafe felt a sense of satisfaction. He was winning that bet on way or another. 

Over the next few weeks, Rafe made sure to stick to his plan. Slowly but surely, he worked his way into your life. He was always around, ready with a casual compliment or a small gesture that made you feel noticed, special. He’d walk you to class, carry your books, and offer to study with you whenever he had the chance. He knew how to play the long game, and with every passing day, you were warming up to him more and more.

He made sure to steer clear of anything that might remind you of Jessica or his past. Instead, he focused on building up your confidence, subtly encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

He’d invite you to parties, introducing you to his friends, and before long, you were starting to come out of your shell. You even started to dress a little differently—nothing too drastic, but enough to catch people’s attention. The change was gradual, but it was happening, and Rafe could see it.

The first party he invited you to was at a swanky off-campus house, the kind of place you’d only ever heard about but never had the nerve to attend. He had that effect on you—made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you belonged in a world that had always seemed so out of reach. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Rafe said, his voice smooth as silk. You hesitated, biting your lip, feeling out of place just imagining yourself in his world.

“I don’t know… I’m not really into parties,” you admitted.

Rafe grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “I promise I won’t let anything bad happen. Just give it a try, for me?”

His gaze was so earnest, so convincing, that you found yourself nodding. “Okay. I guess I could give it a shot.”

The first party was initially awkward—loud music, people you didn’t know, and a social scene that felt worlds away from where you belonged. 

But Rafe stayed close. 

The moment you walked in, the loud music and flashing lights overwhelmed your senses. You clung a little closer to him, who noticed and shot you a reassuring smile, his hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd. He was different tonight—more confident, more assertive. 

“Relax,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re with me. Have some fun, sweets.”

You nodded, trying to loosen up, but the eyes on you—on both of you—were hard to ignore. People were noticing. Whispering. It was exactly what Rafe wanted.

He led you to where Kelce and Topper were already posted up, drinks in hand. The second they saw you, their eyebrows shot up, but they quickly masked their surprise with easy smiles. Rafe kept you close as he greeted them, his hand never leaving your back.

“Guys, this is her,” Rafe said, his tone casual but with a hint of pride. “Told you I’d get her to come out with us.”

Kelce looked you up and down, his smirk growing. “Well, well, Cameron. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Topper raised his drink in your direction, his smile more genuine. “Nice to meet you. Rafe’s been talking you up.”

You managed a small chuckle, feeling the weight of their attention on you. “Nice to meet you too.”

Rafe gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab a drink? I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief escape, and headed towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen. As soon as you were out of earshot, the easygoing demeanor Rafe had been maintaining with you slipped away, replaced by something more calculating as he turned back to his friends.

“So?” Kelce asked, “How’s the project going?”

Rafe shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Better than expected. She’s starting to come out of her shell. Still got a long way to go, but I’d say we’re on track.”

Topper leaned against the counter, his gaze following you as you picked out a drink. “She seems… nice. You sure you want to go through with this, man?”

Rafe shot him a look, his expression hardening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Topper shrugged. “Just saying. She doesn’t seem like the type who’s cut out for this crowd. Might be too sweet for what you’ve got planned.”

Kelce chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s sweet, alright. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? She’s not Jessica. And if he pulls this off, it’s gonna be legendary.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “Exactly. She’s perfect for this.”

He said it with confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—something he quickly buried as he watched you make your way back with a drink in hand.

When you returned to the group, his expression softened instantly. He slipped back into the charming, attentive guy he’d been playing for you all night.

“Got something good?” he asked, nodding towards your drink.

You giggled, holding up your cup. “Just punch. Thought I’d start slow.”

He snorted, nodding approvingly. “Smart move. Don’t let these guys talk you into anything too crazy.”

The night went on like that, Rafe playing the perfect gentleman, always by your side, making sure you were comfortable, that you were enjoying yourself. He introduced you to more people, his arm around your shoulders, subtly guiding you through the social maze with ease. And every time you excused yourself—whether to grab another drink or use the restroom—his demeanor shifted. The smile would slip, and he’d share knowing looks with his friends, a silent acknowledgment of the game they were playing.

But you didn’t see any of that. 

You saw the guy who made you feel like you were finally part of something bigger, like you belonged. And as the night went on, you found yourself relaxing more, laughing, talking, feeling the walls you’d built around yourself start to come down.

Rafe noticed, of course. That was the whole point. He’d spent weeks laying the groundwork, and tonight was just the beginning. He was getting what he wanted.

But as he watched you laugh at something Kelce said, genuinely enjoying yourself, he felt a pang of something unfamiliar. It was brief, fleeting, but it was there. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something else. He quickly pushed it aside, reminding himself why he was doing this.

He knew better than to get too comfortable. 

He knew his ex wouldn’t stay out of his business forever, and sure enough, she confronted him right before class the next day.

“Rafe, can we talk?”

He didn’t look at her right away, instead shoving his notebook into his bag as if she wasn’t even worth the effort. But he couldn’t resist; he turned to her, keeping his expression neutral. “What’s up?”

Jessica glanced around, making sure no one was listening, before stepping closer to him. Her voice was low, almost pleading. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, playing dumb. “What do you mean?”

She huffed in frustration, clearly not in the mood for games. “Don’t act like you don’t know. She’s a nice girl, I know she’s not your type.”

Rafe couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Jealous?

Jessica’s eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else there too—guilt. 

“No. You’re just going to use her to get back at me? That’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve that.”

He leaned in closer, his smirk turning cold. “You didn’t think about fairness when you were sneaking around with Tyler, did you? Why should I care about what she deserves?”

"Rafe."

"You only care about your precious reputation, so shut the fuck up."

Jessica flinched, “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

“Do you even realize what you did to me?” The memory of the last time he’d trusted her flashed before his eyes—the way she’d smiled at him. The same smile she had for someone else, “You don’t get to apologize now. You don’t get to tell me what’s fair.”

Jessica’s expression softened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying it for her."

"Right, because you care so much about other people, huh?"

"You're being difficult for no reason."

Rafe clenched his jaw, every word she said feeling like a knife twisting in his gut. He wanted to lash out, to tell her that she didn’t get to play the moral high ground after everything she’d done. But instead, he just stared at her, his eyes hard and cold.

“Stay out of it, Jess” he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. “And keep your fucking mouth shut.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as if she’d been expecting this. “Just think about it before you do something stupid."

Without another word, Jessica turned and walked away, leaving Rafe standing there, seething with anger. He watched her go, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Of course, she would act like she gave a shit about you the moment he’s attention shifted from her. She had no right to lecture him, no right to tell him what to do.

This was about revenge, about proving a point. You were just a means to an end, nothing more.

But you made it so fucking hard for him to keep his head in the game. 

Every time you smiled at him, every time you thanked him for something small, it chipped away at the cold resolve he had built up inside. He told himself it was just part of the plan, that getting close to you was necessary for the outcome he wanted. But the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that he was enjoying himself. 

He didn't even have to put in the effort to influence you. You began to speak up in class, even crack jokes with the other girls on the cheerleading squad. The transformation was happening right before his eyes, just like he’d planned. But instead of feeling satisfied, there was a knot of guilt forming in his stomach. You were changing, yes, but it wasn’t just on the outside. You were starting to trust him, to look at him like he was more than just some popular guy who was doing you a favor. You were starting to care, and that terrified him.

One night, after another party where you had danced a little closer, laughed a little louder, Rafe walked you back to your dorm. The campus was quiet, the stars above bright against the inky sky. You were buzzing with the energy of the night, still talking animatedly about how much fun you’d had. The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up—it caught him off guard.

“Thanks for inviting me, Rafe. I never thought I’d actually enjoy these things, but you make it… I don’t know, easier, I guess.”

Rafe smiled down at you, trying to ignore the way his heart twisted at your words. 

“I’m glad sweets. You deserve to have fun.”

You looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly. For everything. You didn’t have to be this nice to me.”

For a split second, he saw you. Not as a means to an end, but as someone he genuinely cared about.

His expression faltered for a moment before he quickly recovered. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

But it was a big deal, and you both knew it.

You had gone from barely existing on the social radar to being someone everyone noticed, someone everyone wanted to be around. And it was all because of him. Rafe had given you that, but he knew he was taking something from you too—your innocence, your trust.

He walked you to your door, his usual confidence wavering as you turned to face him. There was something different in your gaze tonight, something that made his breath catch in his throat.

“Rafe… I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” you began, your voice a little hesitant.

He forced himself to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “Yeah? What’s up?”

You looked down, fiddling with the hem of your top before meeting his eyes again. “Why did you start talking to me? I mean, really. Was it because you felt sorry for me? Or… or something else?”

Rafe’s mind raced, trying to find the right words, the ones that wouldn’t hurt you. He could lie, like he’d been doing all along, or he could tell you the truth, risk everything.

But before he could answer, you continued, your voice softer now. “Because… I’m glad you did. Whatever the reason was. I’ve never felt this… this good about myself. And it’s because of you.”

Rafe swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Fuck. He’d never expected this, never thought that you would be the one to make him feel something real, something that wasn’t just part of his stupid revenge plan. He’d thought he could control this, control you, but it was slipping through his fingers.

He stepped closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been amazing,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse. “I just… I just helped you see it.”

You grinned up at him, your eyes shining with gratitud. It was too much, too real, and Rafe could feel the walls he’d carefully constructed around his heart starting to crumble. You were looking at him like he was someone worth caring about, and for the first time, he felt like he was the one being played.

He couldn’t let you get any closer. If you did, he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan. But pushing you away now, after all the effort he’d put in, would raise too many questions. So, he did the only thing he could think of—he leaned down and kissed you.

It was gentle at first, testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were something fragile. Your lips were soft against his, and for a moment, Rafe let himself forget why he was doing this. He let himself enjoy the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you sighed softly into his mouth.

But then, just as quickly as it started, he pulled back. The look in your eyes nearly undid him. There was so much trust, so much hope, and it made him want to break something, anything, just to stop feeling the way he did.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the kiss had taken something out of him.

You nodded, still dazed, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

This was wrong. 

He knew it was wrong. But in that moment, with the way you were looking at him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He watched you go, waiting until you disappeared into your dorm before he let out a shaky breath.

What the fuck was he doing? He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself now. Not when he was so close to winning and yet, he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one who was losing.

Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Jessica’s words mocked him.

“I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I fell in love with Tyler. I’m not sorry about that.”

He had scoffed at her then, dismissed her excuses as pathetic attempts to justify her shitty behavior. But now, lying there alone, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was any different. He didn’t plan on feeling anything real for you. This was supposed to be a game, a way to hurt Jessica the way she hurt him. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.

How could he let this happen? How could he, of all people, start to care? He was supposed to be in control, supposed to be the one pulling the strings, not getting tangled in them.

And yet, the memory of your pretty face, the sound of your laugh, the warmth in your eyes—these were the things that lingered in his mind, all the damn time. 

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow.

The anger and bitterness that had fueled him for weeks were still there, but they were being drowned out by something else—you.

Rafe’s resolve had been wavering for days, but he pushed the guilt aside as he drove to campus the next morning. He was picking you up before class, something that had become a bit of a routine. It was a small gesture, but one that made you smile every time, and Rafe had to admit, he looked forward to seeing that smile.

When he pulled up to your dorm, you were already waiting outside, your bag slung over your shoulder. You looked different from when he first met you—still shy, but with a confidence that hadn’t been there before. It was subtle, but Rafe noticed. 

He noticed everything about you these days.

“Hey,” you said as you slid into the passenger seat, giving him that small smile that always made his chest tighten a little. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Anytime,” he replied smoothly, shifting the car into gear. “Ready for another day of fun and learning?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a lightness in your expression that hadn’t been there a month ago. “If by fun, you mean trying not to fall asleep in econ, then yeah, totally ready.”

He chuckled, glancing over at you as he pulled onto the road. “I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy econ. You’re just trying to maintain your cool, indifferent persona.”

You laughed, the sound genuine and free, and Rafe felt that unfamiliar pang in his chest again. “Yeah, that’s me. The cool, indifferent econ nerd.”

“See? I knew it,” Rafe teased, but there was an edge of something else in his voice, something he couldn’t quite shake.

The drive to campus was easy, filled with light conversation and the comfortable silence that had developed between you two. When you arrived, he parked in his usual spot, but instead of getting out right away, you turned to him, your expression suddenly serious.

“Rafe, can I ask you something?”

He froze for a split second, his mind racing. Had you figured it out? Did you know about the bet? But he quickly forced a casual smile, nodding. “Sure sweets, what’s up?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lower lip, a habit he’d noticed you had when you were nervous. “Why did you kiss me?”

Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest. This was the moment he’d been dreading—the moment when you’d start questioning everything. He couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“Why not?” he said, his tone light, but there was a hint of sincerity that even he didn’t expect. “I like you. I like being around you.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his, trying to find the truth in his words. Rafe held your gaze, doing his best to keep his expression open and honest. After a moment, you nodded, as if you’d decided to believe him.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I didn’t want to assume, y’know? It’s just... new.”

“Good new, though, right?” Rafe asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, “Good new.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur, with classes, coffee breaks, and more of Rafe’s effortless charm. But that moment in the car stuck with him. You were starting to get closer, to trust him, and every time you did, the guilt fucked with his head a little more. 

Later that day, when the two of you met up for a late lunch, he noticed the way you had begun to attract attention from others. Some guys glanced your way, clearly noticing the changes in you, and a few girls even stopped to chat with you—a far cry from the shy girl he’d first approached in the library.

As you two sat down at a table outside the campus cafe, he saw the way your eyes lit up when you spotted someone approaching. It was Leila, a girl from your cheer squad. She waved and came over, sitting down.

“Hey, you two,” she greeted, her eyes flicking between you and Rafe. “Mind if I join?”

“Sure,” you said, scooting over to make room for her. He nodded, keeping his expression neutral, but there was something about the way Leila looked at you that put him on edge.

The conversation flowed easily, with her complimenting you on something you’d done at practice the other day, and you blushing at the praise. Rafe watched, a small smile on his face, but his mind was elsewhere. He could see how much you were changing, how you were starting to come into your own, and it was becoming harder and harder to justify what he was doing.

When Leila left after a few minutes, you turned to Rafe with a grin. “She’s nice. I didn’t think she even noticed me before.”

“She notices you now,” Rafe replied, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked at him, your smile fading slightly. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, nothing. Just... thinking.”

“About what?”

He leaned back in his chair. “About how you’re starting to steal everyone’s attention here. What am I gonna do when you’re the most popular one around here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I don’t think that’s gonna happen anytime soon.”

Rafe smiled back, but the guilt was back, stronger than ever. You were starting to trust him, to believe in the friendship he was offering, and it was killing him.

As the afternoon wore on, he found himself more and more distracted by his thoughts. He needed to talk to someone about it, someone who knew the score.

Later that evening, after dropping you off at your dorm, he called Kelce. The phone rang a few times before his friend picked up, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Yo, Cameron. What’s up?”

Rafe took a deep breath, leaning against the side of his car. “I need to talk, man. About the bet.”

Kelce laughed, clearly not picking up on the seriousness in Rafe’s voice. “What, you already feeling bad for her? Didn’t think you’d go soft so fast.”

Rafe frowned, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that. It’s just... I didn’t think it’d be like this. She’s... she’s actually really nice, Kelce. Like, genuinely nice.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Kelce responded, his tone more serious. “Dude, we all knew she was nice. That’s what makes this so good. You’re flipping the script. Just remember why you’re doing it.”

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh. “I know, but... She trusts me."

And I trust her, he wanted to add, but didn't.

Kelce was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice firm. 

“Look, Rafe, you’re in too deep to back out now. If you quit, she’ll still get hurt, and you’ll look like a fucking idiotl. You gotta see this through. Just... keep your eye on the prize, okay? It’s not about her, it’s about Jessica.”

Rafe nodded, even though Kelce couldn’t see him. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right. I just needed to clear my head.”

“Good,” Kelce said, his tone lightening. “Now go get some sleep or something. We’ve got a party this weekend, and I wanna see you back on your game.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks, man.”

By Friday, the campus was buzzing with weekend plans, and you were in a good mood, chatting excitedly about some party that night. You two were in the cafeteria, grabbing lunch, when it happened. You were waiting in line for food, and Rafe had stepped aside to check his phone. When he glanced up, he saw a guy approaching you—a guy he recognized from the football team. A sleazy bastard.

The guy leaned in, flashing you a charming smirk, clearly trying to flirt. He wanted to pummel his face to the wall. Rafe watched from a distance as the guy made you laugh, his hand casually resting on the counter next to yours. Too fucking close. The sight made something twist in his chest, something dark and possessive that he hadn’t expected. He'd never felt like this before. His grip tightened around his phone as he watched, his jaw clenching.

You seemed flattered but a little uncomfortable, your smile not quite reaching your eyes. Rafe could tell you weren’t used to this kind of attention, and it made him feel something primal, something that burned hotter than the guilt. He wanted to go over there, to tell that guy to back the fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, seething, trying to keep his cool.

Scaring you away was the last thing he wanted to do.

When the guy finally walked away, you looked relieved, but Rafe was already moving. He crossed the cafeteria in quick strides, his eyes locked on you, his heart pounding. You spotted him coming and smiled, but it fell when you saw the look on his face.

“Rafe, what’s—”

He didn’t let you finish. Before you could say another word, he was right in front of you, his hand cupping your face as he pulled you toward him. And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t like the kiss outsider your dorm. This was different. It was fierce, almost desperate as if he needed to prove something to himself, to you, and to everyone watching. His lips moved against yours with a raw intensity, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you closer. He didn’t care who was around, who was watching. 

All he cared about was you, right there, in his arms.

You froze for a second, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, but then you melted into him, your hands clutching at his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor. It was like all the tension, all the confusion, everything that had been building between you two, finally snapped.

Rafe deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming you in a way that left no room for doubt. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you let out a soft moan that only made him kiss you harder, his body pressing against yours like he couldn’t get enough.

People around you were definitely watching now, whispering, some even cheering, but Rafe didn’t care. He didn’t pull away until he was breathless, and even then, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw the way you were looking at him—dazed, flushed, your lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

“What... what was that?” you asked, your voice shaky, your eyes searching his for answers.

Rafe knew he should say something, explain himself, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he just shook his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Just couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You blinked up at him, still trying to process what had just happened, but there was no mistaking the way your body was responding to him. 

He finally stepped back, but kept his hand on your waist, grounding you as he looked around. Sure enough, the guy from earlier was watching.  Rafe caught his eye, giving him a look that said everything without words. She’s mine.

When he looked back at you, he saw the confusion in your eyes and something else—something that looked a lot like longing. He knew he’d just crossed a line, again, but in that moment, he didn’t care. All he cared about was the way you felt in his arms, the way you looked at him like he was the only guy in the world.

“C’mon,” Rafe said, his voice softer now. “We’ve got class.”

You nodded, still a little dazed, and let him guide you out of the cafeteria, his hand never leaving yours. He was in deeper than ever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you looked at him like that, not when his heart was pounding like this.

As you approached the building where your next class was, he stopped, turning to face you. He touched your cheek again, his thumb brushing against your skin, and you leaned into his touch.

“Rafe—”

“You’re my girl,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against yours again. “Okay?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as you looked up at him, your eyes wide and trusting. Rafe knew he was on the edge of something he couldn’t control, but as he leaned in for one more kiss, slow and tender this time, he realized he didn’t care.

“Rafe…” you began again, speaking against his lips. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you needed to understand about what you were, what you two were becoming. His thumb traced the curve of your jawline.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, his voice low, almost reverent. “I just… I need you to know that you mean something to me. This, us—"

“Okay.”

He was already in too deep.

And just like that, he got what he wanted. 

The next day, everything seemed to fall into place as if the universe has finally aligned for you. He asked you out, and just like that, you were together. The next two months were a dream—utter bliss. You weren’t just happy; you were radiant. You’d become the most popular girl in school, and with him by your side, it felt like you were living in some sort of fairy tale. 

Every smile he gave you, every touch, every whispered confession of how perfect you were sent you soaring higher. He couldn’t get enough of you—your sweetness, your kindness, your genuine heart. It was as if he was falling more and more in love with you every single day. And you, you had never felt this alive.

But deep down, in a place he didn’t dare acknowledge, there was a shadow, a sliver of guilt that he pushed aside every time he looked into your trusting eyes. He never officially ended the bet with Kelce and Topper. It was just a stupid game, something that seemed so insignificant compared to what he feels for you now. He told himself that he had forgotten about it, that it didn’t matter anymore. After all, what you two had is real, right? And you, completely oblivious to the sinister origins of your relationship, continued to believe in the fairy tale.

Until it ended. 

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

It’s after cheerleading practice, and you’re alone in the locker room, stuffing your things into your bag. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and body spray, the usual post-practice atmosphere, but there’s something different today—a tension you can’t quite place. 

As you’re zipping up your bag, you hear voices nearby, just around the corner. Leila and Jessica, their conversation low but unmistakable. You wouldn’t normally eavesdrop, but something about the tone of their voices makes you pause, your heart suddenly beating a little faster.

"You were right," Leila says, her voice edged with a cruel satisfaction. "About your gut feeling with Rafe and his new girl."

Oh.

Jessica sounds tired, almost defeated. "What do you mean?"

Leila sighs, a dark amusement in her tone. "Kelce spilled everything when we hooked up last week. He was too high to keep his mouth shut. Rafe’s been playing her this whole time, using her to mess with you. It was all a bet."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t move, can’t think. The room spins around you, the ground shifting beneath your feet.

No. No, this can’t be real.

Leila’s voice continues, completely unaware of the devastation she’s causing. "It's so fucked up. She has no idea. She’s out there thinking he’s her Prince Charming, and all along it was just some sick game."

Jessica doesn’t say anything, but you can’t bear to hear more. You feel like you’re suffocating, your chest tightening as panic floods your system. Before you know it, you’re running—out of the locker room, down the hall, anywhere to get away from those words, those horrible, soul-crushing words. Tears blur your vision as you stumble outside, gasping for air, for some kind of escape from the nightmare that’s suddenly become your reality.

The ache in your chest doesn’t fade as you bolt from the locker room, tears hot on your cheeks. You don’t know where you’re going, but you know you can’t stop moving. The hallways blur past you as you wipe at your eyes, struggling to catch your breath. Rage and heartbreak twist inside you like a knife, and before you know it, you find yourself standing outside the gym, where the sounds of basketball practice echo through the double doors.

You push through the doors without thinking, your heart pounding in your ears. The gym is full of movement—squeaking sneakers, the thud of the ball against the court, and the grunts of effort as the players practice their drills. But all of it fades into the background as soon as your eyes lock onto Rafe.

He’s in the middle of a play, dribbling the ball down the court with that intense focus you’ve always admired. For a moment, you hesitate, that familiar warmth of seeing him almost enough to make you stop. But then the memory of Leila’s words slams into you like a tidal wave, and the anger surges back, drowning out everything else.

You storm across the gym, your footsteps heavy on the polished floor. Some of the players notice you, their eyes widening in surprise, but you don’t care. You’re beyond caring. The only thing that matters is confronting him, making him face what he’s done.

"Cameron!" you shout, your voice sharp, cutting through the noise of the practice.

He turns at the sound of your voice, surprise flashing across his face. The ball slips from his hands, bouncing away as the other players stop, confusion rippling through the group. You always call him by his name. The coach starts to say something, but you barely hear him. All you can see is Rafe, standing there, looking at you with those eyes that you once thought held nothing but affection for you. 

Now, all you see is a liar.

“What’s wrong baby?” He jogs over to you, his brow furrowing.

You don’t answer immediately, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to hold yourself together. But it’s impossible. The dam breaks, and the words tumble out.

“Was I a bet?”

His expression changes from confusion to something closer to horror, his mouth opening as if to say something, but nothing comes out. The sound of your voice, trembling with disbelief and pain, seems to have stunned him into silence.

For a moment, you just stare at each other. You want him to deny it, to laugh and tell you it’s all some terrible misunderstanding. But deep down, you already know the truth. You saw it in his eyes the second he turned to face you, that flicker of guilt, that flash of something wildly desperate.

He reaches for you, his voice breaking. "Baby, wait, let me explain—”

“Was I a fucking bet?” you repeat, your voice louder this time, edged with a desperate, frantic energy that you can’t control. You take a step back as he tries to get closer, every muscle in your body screaming to get away from him, to escape the unbearable weight of the truth.

His eyes are pleading, searching yours for something, anything that might make this easier, but there’s nothing. No words, no excuses that can make this hurt any less.

“It started as a bet,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, but to you, it’s as loud as a gunshot. “But it’s not like that, I swear. I—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He flinches at your words, pain flashing across his face, but you can’t stop. It’s like all the anger, all the heartbreak, all the humiliation you’ve been choking down is pouring out of you in a torrent, and you don’t have the strength to hold it back. You can see the panic rising in him, the desperation as he realizes just how badly he’s messed up. He takes another step toward you, his hand reaching out, but you jerk away, 

“We’re done.”

“Please, just listen,” he pleads, his voice cracking.

“No.”

And with that, you leave. 

Rafe’s voice echoes behind you as you walk away, but you refuse to look back. The gym doors swing shut, muffling the sounds of the practice resuming, and you’re left in the eerily quiet hallway, your breath coming in ragged gasps. 

The locker room is cold and empty when you push open the door. The scent of body spray and sweat lingers in the air. You head straight to your locker again, hands trembling as you fumble with the lock, desperate to escape. But before you can get it open, the door swings wide behind you, and you know, without turning around, that he followed you.

“Go away,” you say, your voice barely holding steady.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice strained with desperation. “Not like this.”

You spin around, your eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t get to decide that. You used me! And for what? Some sick joke with your friends?”

He takes a step closer, his hands raised as if to placate you, but you back away, your heart pounding. “I know I messed up,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I know I should’ve told you the truth, but I—”

“But you didn’t,” you cut him off, your voice rising. “You let me believe that you cared about me, that everything was real, and all the while it was just a game to you. You and your friends laughed in my face the entire time, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t a game,” he insists, his voice cracking. “It wasn't supposed to be like this, okay? This wasn't the plan. I changed. Being with you... it was the only thing that felt real to me.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.” 

Rafe looks at you, his expression torn between guilt and desperation. 

“It wasn’t a joke. It started as a stupid bet, but I never expected to actually—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I care about you. That’s real.”

For a moment, you see the boy who had made you feel special, who had made you believe in something more. But it's not enough.

“I don’t even know who you are."

You want to believe him, to take solace in the idea that some part of what you had was real, but you can't. You shake your head again, a sob choking you as you turn away from him, your back pressing against the cold metal of the locker.

“It isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “It’s not supposed to feel like a knife in your chest.”

Rafe takes another step closer, “Please, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Just give me a chance to make this right.”

"You don’t get to have a chance. You don’t get to pretend this is some kind of love story. You lied to me. You used me.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and all you see is the boy who broke your heart. The boy who turned your world upside down with a single lie. You know that if you stay, if you let him talk, you might be tempted to forgive him. But you can’t. 

Not this time.

With a deep breath, you straighten up, wiping away the tears that have stained your cheeks. “I’m done.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice thick with desperation.

But you’ve made up your mind. 

“I mean it. We’re done. I need you to stay away from me.”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you as if he can’t believe what you’re saying.

But then he sees the resolve in your eyes, the finality in your tone, and he knows there’s no coming back from this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Without another word, you turn away from him, pushing past the locker room door and walking away. You hesitate for a split second. A small voice inside you screams to turn back, to give him one more chance, but then you imagine the laughter, the cruel satisfaction. 

The image of Rafe with his friends, laughing at your expense, sears itself into your mind. 

The door slams shut behind him, and he leans against it, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He doesn’t feel victorious. Instead, there’s a hollowness, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind that asks, “What now?” He clenches his fists, trying to silence it, but the emptiness remains.

This time, he doesn’t follow you.