Star Lost

Star lost

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Genre: Comfort & hurt

Word Count: 7.7K

A/N: This was a request where you struggle with family issues/abuse and SKZ somewhat helps you with the fallout. Trigger warnings will be posted before each drabble. This one was tough to write about, but whoever requested this, I hope I did you justice with this <3

_ _ _

Chan:

TW: Low self-esteem, self-hatred, and mentions of a verbally abusive family.

Chan studied you with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. Ever since he came home, you were in your own little world. He caught you avoiding his eyes and staring off into space. Your puffy bottom lip was swollen from where you kept chewing on it. 

Even now eating dinner, you were off. He took another bite of his food before he finally called your name. You didn’t hear him and didn’t respond until you felt the warmth of his hand waving back and forth in front of your face. 

“Hmm?” You responded with no energy. You shoveled another mouthful of instant ramen into your mouth. You chewed and swallowed still in a clouded daydream. 

“What’s going on with you? Are you alright?” Chan leaned across the wooden table closer to you. 

“I’m fine, just tired.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“If it was nothing, you’d be talking to me like usual. I have barely heard ten words from you since I got home. What’s wrong?” 

Your eyes wandered down to your instant ramen. The quick and simple meal provided comfort. The sodium filled broth warmed you from the inside and the cheap noodles were filling. 

“There was a customer at work today that got under my skin, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll get over it soon. Don’t worry about it too much.” 

A frown filled Chan’s face at the news. He put down his chopsticks. “What did they say?” 

“I don’t really want to s-” 

“Tell me.” 

Your body slumped as you sighed. Your fingers paled around the wooden chopsticks as you clutched them tighter. “It was just a handful of words. You know, like dumb and stupid and whatever. It’s alright though, really. I mean, I know already s-” 

“What?” A look of bewilderment sat on his face. “What do you mean you know already?”

“I’m stupid and dumb,” you shrugged, “not the brightest crayon in the box.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

You stiffened at his words. The sudden edge of anger caused anxiety to brew. You stuttered over your words trying to explain how your parents told you multiple times while growing up. Once you leaked that information, his face began to go red. 

“It’s alright,” you tried to ease his nerves again. “It doesn’t bother me that much. It was said so much, I understand. Not everyone can be smart. Like I said, I’ll get over it.” 

Chan shoved his bowl to the side and stretched further across the table. His outstretched hands cupped your cheeks. Soft hands held your face and his kind eyes met yours. 

“I never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. You are not stupid and you are not dumb. You know who is stupid and dumb? Your parents for making you think that. You are bright and you are smart.” 

“But I’m really no-” 

His finger pressed against your lips to shut you up. “No, you are not. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m going to prove it to you. From now on, you’re not allowed to say anything mean to yourself.” 

“Nope!” He squished your cheeks a little more. “No more self-hatred. It’s going to take a lot, but from now on, we’re unlearning it. No objections, you’re not allowed.” 

“I think you’re getting in over your head.” 

“Nuh-uh.” He squished your cheeks a little more and laughed at your unamused look. “Look how cute you are.” He cooed and pressed on your cheeks more. “Ohhh, you’re so smart and cute.” He moved closer and with a dramatic “mwah!” He plopped a wet kiss to the direct center of your forehead.  

A blush smeared on your cheeks, you jerked back and swatted his hands away. He giggled and sat back down in his chair. “You’re so cute.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

“Say it.” 

“Huh?” You glanced up confused. 

“Say you’re cute.” 

“I’m cute.” 

“Yeah, you are.” 

Your cheeks heated up at his words. You picked up more noodles and playfully rolled your eyes. A grin revealed both dimples on Chan’s face. No matter how unamused you looked, he knew his words meant everything to you deep down. 

_ _ _

Lee Know:

TW: Brief mentions of angry family, walking on eggshells, and fear.

When surrounded by predators, a turtle tends to burrow into its shell. Curling up and cocooning in the hardened exterior kept it protected. No birds to peck at the leathered flesh. No stray animals can clamp onto exposed limbs and bite them off. 

 Growing up, you learned the same thing. When people were angry in your family, you learned to retreat. Silently, you made your way back to your bedroom because that was easier than having exposed flesh. Your family members, much like birds, would rip you apart when angry because you were an easy target. 

When Lee Know came home from work with clenched fists, furrowed eyebrows, and a displeased frown, you retreated. You had seen him angry before and you knew he’d never purposefully take out his anger on you, but there was always a potential. You disappeared into your shared bedroom and preoccupied yourself with your phone while hoping he’d calm down. 

When he showed up a few minutes later, you kept the conversation to a minimum and left the room. Anxiety caused your heart to pound and your hands to shake a little. You were tense and filled with dread. Every step you took, you didn’t know if you’d step on a landmine. 

Holding your breath, you snuck into the bathroom. When you shut and locked the door, you let out the breath you were holding. A bit of relief trickled through your body. The locked door created a safety barrier between the two of you. 

Lee Know was aware you went into the bathroom after you left the bedroom. He plopped down on the queen sized bed grumbling beneath his breath about something that happened at work. He waited for you to come out because he wanted to preoccupy himself by talking to you more. 

However, you never came out. Not after ten minutes, not after twenty-five, and by the time a half hour passed, Lee Know shoved himself off the bed. He had been scrolling through his phone when he realized how silent it was. 

Getting up, he glanced around your shared place, but you were missing. He stepped up to the wooden bathroom door and knocked on it. He called your name and inside, you froze. You had been playing on your phone on the floor hoping the anger would subside. 

“Yes?” You finally got your voice to work. Your eyes squeezed shut waiting for a response. The fear inside you began to grow again. 

“Are you okay?” Lee Know asked. He pressed an ear up against the door, so he could hear your response clearly. “You’ve been in there for a while.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you? People usually don’t take this long in the bathroom. Do you have food poisoning? Do you need me to go get you some medicine for it?” 

Your eyes shut and you let out a sigh. The worried edge to his voice made you feel pathetic. You shoved yourself off the floor, walked over to the door, and you tugged it open. He looked you up and down making sure you were alright before he gently grabbed your wrists. 

“I’m sorry for making you worried,” you mumbled. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” His eyes scanned your face trying to read you. 

“You were mad,” you admitted. 

His eyebrow raised, “what?” 

“You were mad. I didn’t want you to get mad at me, so I was hoping you’d cool off. You’re not mad anymore, are you?” The fear you felt was making you ramble. “I can leave the apartment for a while if you want me to.” 

“Why would I be upset with you?” He blinked a few times. “I was mad, but not at you. You acted like I was going to hurt you or something.” 

Your eyes went to the ground. Shame filled you for even assuming he might do something like that. You apologized again and let your eyes slip shut. 

“You do know that I’m not going to hurt you, right? I’m not going to yell at you. I might get a little snappy accidentally when I’m mad, but I’ll never hurt you.” He tugged you closer and wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized for the third time. “When my family was mad, things got messy. I just,” you shrugged, “I expected it, I guess.” 

He shook his head. “You don’t have to live in fear when you’re with me. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I’ll make an effort to try not to come home angry, alright?” 

“Thank you.” 

“And if I am angry and it worries you, let me know and I’ll go on a walk or something.” 

“Why were you angry in the first place?” 

He scoffed, “you’ll never believe what happened today.” His arms went up as he began gesturing and rambling about the incident that started this mess to begin with. 

While he rambled, you felt your heartbeat slowing back down. The adrenaline pumped up from earlier began to ease itself. You sucked in a deep breath of air and finally let yourself relax.

_ _ _

Changbin:

TW: Self-doubt, gaslighting, and verbally abusive family.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” A grin sat on Changbin’s face. The bright afternoon sunshine reflected off his sun-kissed skin. It reflected off his glittering eyes and made him look even more mesmerizing. 

You nodded and took another bite of the sandwich in your hands. Changbin had taken you to a park by the Han River. You didn’t say it out loud, but you seemed to be struggling with something over the past few days. 

So far, you let him do most of the conversating. When he spoke, you didn’t meet his eyes. You kept staring at the water behind him or the picnic table or the bright green grass. Quite frankly, you were in your own head instead of snapping into reality. 

Changbin’s mouth kept moving as he explained something, but you zoned out. Your eyes focused on the gentle waves lapping at the side of the river bank. Birds flocked overhead and people maneuvered around in the background. The two of you were on opposite sides of a picnic table. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Changbin’s loud voice snapped you back into focus. 

“Huh?” 

He frowned and studied you for a moment. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been like this now for three days. It’s like you’re somewhere else when I try to speak to you. Are you alright?” 

“Sorry, I guess I’m just stressed. What were you saying?” You took a bite of your sandwich and focused your eyes on him. You chewed and waited for him to speak. 

“What has you so lost?” 

You swallowed as he spoke the words. The sandwich lodged itself in your throat. You shifted and gulped trying to get the dry bread to go down. When it didn’t move, you drank a few sips of water to help. “Do you ever doubt yourself?” 

Confusion flashed across his face. “Do I doubt myself? Sometimes, yeah, but why are you asking?” 

“Do you doubt the things that happened to you in the past?” 

“I don’t think I understand what you mean.” 

“Bad things?” 

“Bad things?” He echoed. His eyebrows pinched together and the corners of his mouth drooped lower. “Did something happen?” 

Your eyes went over to the river. You didn’t want to tell him exactly what happened, but you had already spoken up this much. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to get it off your chest. 

“I have these memories of things that happened to me when I was a kid. I remember violent fights with family members. There are conversations that I can recall clearly, but my family members keep telling me I’m making it up for attention.” 

“It makes me wonder if it really happened or if it was a dream,” you continued. Your fingers moved to the sides of your temples and you began to rub small soothing circles against your forehead. “Maybe they’re right.” 

“Did this happen a lot? The fights? Did they ever hurt you?” 

“I think so, yeah. They say I’m dramatic. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” 

“Do you have more than one memory of this occurring?” 

You nodded. 

“And what do you gain by making all of this up? If it was all just a dream, do you think you dreamt those fights occurring multiple times? A lot of people have bad dreams, but they’re not always so vivid. Most dreams and nightmares have a variety to them.” 

You stayed quiet while he went on. 

“When you bring the topic to your family members, do they get angry?” 

You nodded your head. 

“Scoffing and yelling?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Telling you they’d never do that?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“And calling you dramatic?” 

“Yes.” 

Changbin sucked in a deep breath. He put his sandwich down and reached out. His hand found yours and he interlocked his fingers with yours. “You know, it almost sounds like they’re getting extremely defensive and shifting the blame.” 

“But what if I really did just dream it?” Your eyes met his. “What if I really am being dramatic and it never happened? What if I’m distorting dreams with reality?” 

“What if you’re not? If you came to me and told me that you had a very vivid dream where I hurt you, I wouldn’t start getting upset and yelling at you. My first reaction would be to comfort you. Clearly, you’d be shaken up and I can’t imagine wanting to escalate your distress.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. 

“I can’t tell you what the right thing to do is, but it sounds like you’re a victim of gaslighting. Even terrible nightmares fade away, but you have all these memories stuck with you in such color. Perhaps, they’re not just nightmares after all.” 

You finally nodded your head. His thumb stroked the back of your hand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to provide you much help in these scenarios. I’m not a professional, but I can always listen and give you my personal advice.” 

“What’s your personal advice in this scenario?” 

“You haven’t really been around much for the past few days. I assume something happened the other day with your family and now you’re down in the dumps. You don’t have to cut them off, but why don’t you try distancing yourself and seeing if that helps? Just take some time for yourself to breathe properly.” 

His response was an obvious one, but it hit you hard. Hearing the words come out of someone else’s mouth and making you realize that it was okay to distance yourself, it calmed you down. The thought of not texting your family and dealing with the constant harassment and stress from them sounded blissful. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Now eat your sandwich because the birds are starting to show up. We can’t let them steal our food.” Changbin shoved the last few bites of his sandwich into his mouth. His cheeks poked out as he chewed. 

You took another bite of your sandwich and, for the first time in three days, you felt a little bit of peace. 

_ _ _

Hyunjin:

TW: Sexual intimacy, self-harm scars, self-hatred, and mentions of sexual assault by a family member.

Physical intimacy between two people was supposed to be enjoyable. It was supposed to be thrilling and exciting. However, the more Hyunjin’s hands wandered, the more your brain began to panic. 

When he reached for the waistband of your pants, you quickly pulled back and jerked his arm away. He paused for a moment while his brain proceeded with what happened. You stayed quiet and anxiety crept in. The negative thoughts were beginning to whisper to you again. 

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asked. 

The two of you were in your bedroom. You had been dating for quite a few months now. You knew Hyunjin wanted to further your relationship and be sexually intimate. You thought you wanted it too, so you agreed, but you hadn’t been expecting your brain to spiral completely. 

“Yes. No.” You paused again. “I-I don’t know.” 

“We don’t have to do it. It’s not a big deal.” He pulled away from you and moved back to his own side of the bed. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to do it, I do. I just-” you hesitated. You wanted to spill out the truth, but you didn’t want to overwhelm him and upset him either. The influx of confused feelings was pooling into frustration. Tears began to prick your eyes. 

“Are you crying?” 

“No,” you blinked rapidly. 

“Are we going too fast? We don’t have to do this. The last thing I ever want to do is peer pressure you. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” 

“No, I-” 

“You can tell me what the issue is.” He moved a little closer and lowered his voice. “I’m not going to be upset. Just talk to me, so I can understand what’s going on.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Explaining your feelings isn’t going to hurt me.” 

“I want to continue with you, but I’m ashamed and embarrassed and terrified.” Tears began to stream down your cheeks. “I’m so afraid and I know you’re not trying to hurt me. I know normal couples do these things, but this is all happening so fast and I-” 

“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s start at the beginning and take a deep breath. Do you think you can do that for me?” 

You nodded and sucked in a deep breath. He leaned forward and gently wiped your tears with his thumbs. “Now why are you ashamed of yourself? What’s there to be ashamed of?” 

You sniffled, “to start with, there’s self-harm scars beneath my clothes.” 

His face fell a little, but he quickly put on a neutral expression. “Why should you be ashamed of that? It’s proof that you fought a battle and won. That’s nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. I’m not disgusted or freaked out. A lot of people have scars from different things. Just because yours were self-inflicted, that doesn’t bother me.” 

“I don’t want you to think I’m gross.” 

“You’re not gross. How could you think you’re gross? I’ve spent the last twenty minutes kissing you. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever gotten to lay my eyes upon. Does the idea of being naked scare you? We can turn off the light.” 

You shook your head and shut your eyes. “I need to tell you something.” 

“What is it?” 

“I was sexually assaulted when I was younger by a family member.” 

That was the missing puzzle piece that created the whole picture. Hyunjin stared at you for a moment in shock before he pulled you into his arms. More tears blurred your vision as he wrapped his arms around you. “I had no idea.” 

“I don’t want you to be disgusted with me. I don’t want you to see myself like how I see me. I feel worthless and I-” A sob came out of your mouth. 

Hyunjin rubbed your back and quietly soothed you. After your sobbing quieted down, he apologized. “If I would have known sooner, I wouldn’t have been so intimate tonight. We can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

“Y-you’re not mad?” 

“God, no. Of course, I’m not mad!” He pulled away and gently cupped your cheeks. His thumb pads wiped away more of your tears. “I think you’re incredibly brave for being so strong dealing with all of this. I didn’t know anything about what you’ve told me tonight. You might be the strongest person I know.” 

“You don’t think I’m disgusting?” 

He shook his head. “I’d never think that about you, darling. The only thing I ask of you is to tell me. If I do something to you that’s triggering something, just tell me and I’ll stop. I don’t want to hurt you.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. 

You finally nodded. 

“Can I just hold you for a while?” 

You nodded again. 

He pulled you further into his arms and laid down with you. His arms wrapped around your torso. He tucked your head into his chest. A hand moved up and began playing with your hair. The future wasn’t going to be easy when it came to intimacy, but, with clear communication and someone who loved you for you, it was manageable.  

_ _ _

Han:

TW: Depression, suicidal thoughts, family violence, self-hatred, and self-isolation.

Your consciousness wandered through past memories like a ghost. Through the fog, past the present, back into childhood. It was easy to slip back in the cracks of time and replay memories. 

You got lost in your own head. The words family members spat years ago remained lodged deep inside of you. One negative thought sent you spiraling. Your glass heart was cracked and yet it still managed to beat. 

It’d be so easy to just stop it all. Stop the thoughts. Stop the pain. Stop the misery and the madness. Stop the sadness and the bitterness. It hurts to go outside and catch glimpses of the others. 

Mothers who smiled at their kids. Fathers who hold hands and crack playful jokes. Fathers with daughters sitting up high on their shoulders at parades. Mothers pushing sons and letting them go a little higher up on the swings. 

It was hard living without the stability of a family. It was hard living in general. Things people flourished with, you struggled. Parents were supposed to raise you and help you become a better person, but all yours ever did was tear you down. 

They spat names and threw things. Nightmares were filled with the familiar sounds of screaming and glass shattering. Cupboards slamming and heavy footsteps. Threats and belittling. Every sin and every flaw laid out for everyone to see; pointed out, mocked, and sneered at. 

You were an empty vessel at this point. Capable of giving love and never receiving it. People’s words didn’t matter to you. Their compliments and praises were lies. You couldn’t accept them after you were spoonfed self-hatred instead of self-love. You were forced to swallow your family’s loathing and resentment. 

Instead of strong calcium bones, yours were hollow. At some point, the marrow had been watered down. Your neck and spine curved down to face the ground instead of looking up and standing with your head held tall. 

Was this some sort of punishment for a past life? Abandoned by every god and goddess out there, prayers went unanswered, and hope dwindled away. It grew fainter and fainter until it was snuffed out entirely. 

“Rough day?” Han’s voice cut through your thoughts. 

You sat up from your bed to face him. There he was again. That was the only reason you kept going. He stared at you with glistening eyes. He munched on something and it caused one of his cheeks to poke out. 

There was a loud gulp as he swallowed. His adam's apple bobbed before it settled again. “So I was thinking we could play chubby bunny and a few other games. I could really use a break after we watched that last anime that ripped my heart out. What do you think?” 

You stood up and nodded. He watched you for a moment wondering if you were okay. When he came home from running errands, he couldn’t find you until he glanced in your shared bedroom. He found you blankly staring at a wall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. 

You shook your head. It was hard to open up to people and explain what you were feeling. It was easier to deal with these emotions by yourself. No matter how hard he tried to get you to open up, you refused. 

“If you insist,” he finally let it go. “Just so you’re aware, I’m going to beat you at chubby bunny.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Have you seen these cheeks!” He filled his cheek pockets full of air and puffed them out. You couldn’t help, but laugh at how ridiculous he looked. There really was a reason why everyone compared him to a quokka. “You’re not going to beat me.” 

“Game on,” you challenged him. You followed him out to the kitchen where a glass bowl of marshmallows sat. You picked up a large one and shoved it into the back corner of your mouth. “Chubby bunny.” Han followed in suit. 

Your fickle feelings about the past would have to be put on hold. Despite the past, you were never the type to turn down a competition. Especially, when it involved watching Han make a fool out of himself.

_ _ _

Felix:

TW: Implications of starvation, manipulative parenting, and financial abuse.

Felix sat on your bed patiently waiting for you to get out of the shower when his stomach rumbled. You were expecting to see him on Friday, but he showed up two days early. Running low on motivation and struggling to finish the week strong, he figured he’d surprise you. 

The only issue was that your showers took nearly a half hour. You loved standing beneath the near boiling water and letting your skin turn bright red. You rejoiced in the warmth and basked in it. The warm water made you feel squeaky clean. Plus, it felt nice for your muscles. 

After waiting nearly fifteen minutes, you were still inside the shower singing off-key. Felix stood up and disappeared into your kitchen to find a snack. You usually had your cupboards and fridge stocked. You didn’t mind when he helped himself. 

He pulled open your fridge expecting to find food, but the only thing greeting him was a half gallon of milk, condiments, and two small cups of yogurt. He turned to your snack cupboard. Throwing open the wooden doors, he found two packs of ramen and a half consumed bag of granola. 

He frowned and headed back over to your bedroom. You were humming to yourself and putting on a pair of fuzzy socks. The sudden footsteps caused your head to snap up. You met Felix with wide eyes and then relief flooded through you. 

“You just scared the shit out of me. I thought you weren’t coming over until Friday. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” A small laugh fell from your lips and you pulled up your second sock. 

“I wanted to surprise you. I thought we could hangout for a while. You said you weren’t doing anything earlier and I missed you. Where did all your food go?” 

“What?” 

“Your fridge and cupboard are nearly empty.” He plopped down on the bed beside you. “You usually keep your stuff stacked up. Did you buy less last time?” 

“Something like that, I suppose.” 

“Wanna go grocery shopping together?” 

“Not really.” 

“So when are you going to go grocery shopping?” 

You shrugged and pulled your damp towel off your head. You left Felix on your bed and disappeared back into the bathroom to put it back. Felix watched you go with a bit of worry. He knew you had money and you had a well-paying job. 

“Tomorrow?” He guessed. 

“Probably not until Monday,” you finally admitted. 

“Monday?” His face frowned. “But that’s like five days away. You’ll be starving by that time. You get paid on Friday.” 

“I do,” you came back out, “but groceries can wait. They’re not that important.” 

“Are you hearing yourself?” Felix frowned. “You’re going to let yourself starve? No way, I’ll buy you some stuff.” He stood up off the bed, “and I-” 

“No!” 

He paused at your outburst.

“It’s a complicated situation. I won’t know how much money I have until Monday. My account is hooked up to my parents’ account and I-” 

“What?” 

“My bank account is shared with my parents. I mean I have my own account, but ours are joint accounts. They need money for stuff and,” you shrugged, “you know how it is.” 

“I don’t think I do,” Felix shook his head. “So let me get this straight, you are an adult, you live on your own, and yet your parents have a joint bank account with you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Your parents who also have two well-paying jobs? Who has their cars and houses paid off? From what you’ve said, no debt whatsoever.” 

“Everyone has shared bank accounts with their parents,” you chuckled. “Why are you acting like it’s such a big deal? It’s really not.” 

“Is that what they told you?” 

“Yeah.” 

He let out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. “Alright, I need you to go find your identification documents and a few other things.” 

“What? Why? What for?” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Because parents aren’t supposed to control their children’s finances. You’re currently almost starving and you think this is normal. We’re going to my bank and we’re opening up your own account, so this doesn’t happen again.” 

“I don’t think my parents are going to be happy about that,” you mumbled. 

He walked over towards you and gently grabbed your hands in his. His thumbs stroked the sides of your thumbs. “Your parents don’t need your money. It sounds like they’re taking advantage of you and you don’t realize it. Just trust me on this, you work really hard at your job. That money that they’re stealing from you, it should be yours.” 

“But they need it.” 

“To do what with?” 

“They have bills.” 

“And don’t you think they can pay for them by themselves? There’s two of them and only one of you. You deserve a lot better. Don’t you want to have that money to put away for a house or a new car or something?” 

“I guess that does sound nice,” you finally admitted. “I haven’t been able to put away a bunch because they take the majority of my paycheck.” 

“Let’s go then. I’ll help you open your own bank account. After that, we can go get you some groceries. I’ll help you reach out to your boss and make sure they change your banking information, so your money goes to your new account and not to the one with your parents.” 

“Thank you.” A smile filled your face. “I genuinely thought it was normal.” 

“It’s usually not. Especially, when you have parents who make a good salary. Come on! You’re going to love my bank! They give out complimentary lollipops.” He grinned and pulled you toward the door, so you could grab your shoes. 

_ _ _

Seungmin:

TW: Self-hatred, domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse, drunk driving death, substance and alcohol abuse, and generational trauma.

“Were you born dumb or was it something you learned throughout the years?” Seungmin taunted you. 

Usually, you don't mind them. You always clap back with something or throw something in your vicinity towards him. His taunts are harmless and his bark is much worse than his bite. 

However, after a conversation on the phone with your mom where she cursed you out, you were struggling. Your mom always treated you decently. Your father did most of the name-calling growing up. After a drunk driving accident, your mother couldn’t cope. 

Your mother’s soft and gentle nature was overpowered by your father’s narcissism and dominant personality. Your mom learned to bow her head and break herself down to fill your father up. Even when it came to watching her kids suffer the same fate she did, she stayed silent. 

She let her husband belittle and break the kids down. Her comfort was only given after he left the room. If he found her comforting you, there’d be hell to pay for everyone. That was why what your mom was going through made it so much worse. 

Your father was dead and your mother was a mess. Left destroyed in the wake of everything. Hurt people hurt people and that cycle seemed to continue even after the abuser was six feet under. At least, it did when it came to your family. 

Your mother began using alcohol to cope and then alcohol turned to drugs. She went from a victim to domestic abuse to a victim of substances. Your heart ached for her and you tried to help her. You and your siblings were older now. 

They cut her off, but you were determined to help your mom. You tried to text and call her. You were terrified that you’d lose her to whatever she took. She was alone and there was nobody there for her. 

When you called her earlier, she was strung out on some unknown drug. Her words slurred, she spoke things that didn’t make sense, and it concerned you. To make it even worse, she said she wasn’t at home, so you had no idea where she was. 

You tried to get her to tell you what she saw. You tried to get her to call the emergency services, so they could trace the call. Your mom needed desperate help, but she refused. When you brought up her using drugs to fill the void your father left behind, your mother lost it. 

For the first time in your life, it wasn't your father spewing names at you, it was your mother. You never minded Seungmin’s taunts and teases, but with the mixture of fear for your mother, hurt, and anger cast at your father; your emotions blended together into frustration. 

You were upset because your father hurt your mother and your siblings. You were mad at your mom for not leaving him and yet you realized she was a victim. She was a victim, but she was an adult with kids. You were mad because your father made her entirely codependent on her. 

You were sad because you just wanted parents who loved you. You were tortured because your mother was hurting and your siblings refused to deal with it. You felt so alone and defeated and hopeless. You weren’t even sure your mother would make it to daybreak. 

So when Seungmin slung that sentence, something inside of you shattered. Your eyes watered, your bottom lip trembled, and your teeth bit into the velvety flesh of your inner cheek. He realized instantly that his words affected you far more than they were meant to. 

An apology fell from his lips, but you couldn’t hear it over the sobs that broke through the lump in your throat. Your chest shook and your eyes blurred with tears. He rushed over and pulled you into his chest desperate to fix his mistake. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His fingers brushed your cheeks frantically. “I didn’t mean it, I never meant it. Shhh, please stop sobbing.” He wiped your tears on his pants before he went back in and began brushing away more tears. “You know I can’t handle seeing you cry, it’ll make me cry.” 

That just made you sob harder. That was your fatal flaw after growing up the way you did. You cared about everyone and their feelings a little too much. You had been groomed to bend down to people and please them just to keep the peace. 

You stayed silent like your mom, but you were angry like your father. There was so much grief buried deep inside of you and you didn’t know what to do with it. The branches twisted and curled above your head. The trunk of your body was rotting from the inside out. 

You didn’t know how long you sobbed until you finally caught your breath and explained everything to Seungmin. He listened to your problems with you curled up against his chest. You spoke with a shaky and shrill voice. You pulled the plug and let the decomposition from the last twenty plus years pour out of you. 

When you finished, Seungmin brushed a few more tears away from your eyes. “Let’s start at the very beginning. I’m sorry I called you a name, I didn’t think it’d hurt you. I really didn’t mean it. I think you’re smart and one of the bravest people out there.” 

“Let’s go try to find your mom,” he continued. “We can start at her house and work our way around town. I’ll even get my friends involved if we can’t find her, alright? Once we find her, we can go from there.” 

“You don’t have to help me.” 

“I don’t have to, but I can’t stand seeing you like this. I want to help you. Let’s go find your mom and then maybe you can talk to your siblings. We’ll take it one step at a time. Baby steps are a good way to get to your final destination. They’re better than standing still and not doing anything.” 

You shifted in his arms and hugged him tightly. He wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you tighter towards him. He kissed the top of your head. “I suppose I should say something sappy now like I love you or something.” 

“That feels wrong coming out of your mouth.” 

“Does I hate you work? Am I allowed to use that like usual?” He pulled away a little, so he could see your reaction. 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, I hate you.” He stood up and reached out for your hand. “Let’s go find your mom and get her the help she needs.” 

_ _ _

Jeongin:

TW: Jealousy, self-hatred, abortion mention, verbal abuse, and neglect.

Families came in all shapes and sizes. High school sweethearts that had never lost their love for each other over the years. A group of friends who survived high school together. A group of strangers who met one night at a college frat party. 

People who grew up and reunited with another person from their past years later when they were older and went from reunited to dating to marriage and then kids. People who identified with the same gender, people who identified as the opposite gender, people who decided gender wasn’t right for them at all. There were no boundaries when it came to who could be part of your family; stranger, friend, lover, something not yet known. 

You watched the family in front of you with twines of envy wrapping around your heart. Jeongin was with the rest of Stray Kids filming a new SKZ Code video. The video wasn’t anything too spectacular. There were a bunch of mini-games that the staff members set up. 

The guys could win so many points for whatever place they were in. Whoever had the most points at the end was considered the winner and got a prize. You watched Felix and Jeongin lunge forward and step into a small platform in the middle of two bigger inflatable pools filled with shaving cream. 

Two neon green and blue pool noodles had been duct taped together. Changbin walked behind them and stood behind the pools in front of the camera. “On your mark, get set!” 

Felix and Jeongin raised their pool noodles. “You’re going down!” Felix taunted. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Jeongin grinned. 

Changbin blew the whistle around his neck. Felix reached forward and swatted Jeongin. A soft thwack filled the air as his pool noodle bounced off the top of his head. The goal was to knock the other into the shaving cream filled pool as fast as they could. Jeongin wobbled on his bare feet before he jabbed the foam into Felix’s face. In the background, the rest of the guys cheered on their favorites. 

Behind the cameras, the filming production members seemed amused. One held a stop-watch and timed them. You watched them for a while before you got up behind the camera and silently disappeared out the door. 

The neglect and abuse you suffered at the hands of your parents left you damaged. You craved that kind of bond with other people. Desperately, you wanted to be able to fall back on a group of people who loved you too. 

Jeongin talked about all his adventures with the rest of his band all the time. It was normal for him to talk about the latest funniest thing Changbin did or the time Hyunjin and Seungmin got in a fight while bickering over who loved him more. 

You couldn’t help, but feel jealous. You were happy that Jeongin got to experience so much love, but there was a rotten piece of you that thought it wasn’t fair. You wanted to experience that too. Why couldn’t people love you the way that they loved him? 

You sat yourself down in one of the empty dance practice rooms and laid on your back on the floor. The guys would be here when they were finished filming content. They left all their bags here. 

Your head spun with thoughts about the past. Your parents were never meant to have children. In fact, you often wished they would have aborted you. Why have a child if you’d never be able to properly care about it? 

Now it was years later and you were left damaged with a cracked stain-glass heart. The treatment from your parents left you bitter and full of resentment. Their teeths gnashed like wild dogs and they hurled insults your way. You’d never forgive them from the mental or physical bruises they left. 

Tears began to fill your eyes at the soured memories. You could still hear your mother’s disgruntled voice. Your father’s disgust that he never bothered to hide towards you. You were mangled inside. That inner child never got to experience love and now you were angry and sad. Nobody seemed to understand that. 

Pushing out the past, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift to sleep. You didn’t dream of anything anymore. Your dreams had faded a long time ago. At least the pitch darkness was better than nightmares. 

When your eyes reopened, you were being shaken. Your bleary eyes looked up to find Jeongin staring down at you. His shirt was different from earlier. His hair was damp like he had just washed it. “Have you been crying?” He asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“Your eyes are bloodshot.” He sat down beside you. “What’s wrong?” The usual smile disappeared from his face and was replaced with a look of concern. 

You shook your head, “it’s nothing.” 

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

“But it’s really nothing.” 

“Then tell me. Why’d you leave the shoot early? Did something happen to your family? You were watching us and after Felix fell in the shaving cream, I looked over to find you gone.” 

“It’s not like that,” you whispered. “I got a little jealous, so I left.” You sat up and your eyes went to the floor. Shame made you hang your head. 

“Jealous of what?” 

“I’m jealous of your relationship with the guys. You make up your own little tribe. You guys have a really nice family going and…you know.” 

Jeongin was well aware that you had struggled in the past with your family. He let out a soft sigh and tugged you into a hug. “You know, they could be your family if you want them to be. They really do like you a lot.” 

“Do they even know we’re dating yet?” 

“They have their suspicions. They really like you and I’m glad they do. If they didn’t like you, I’d have to beat them with a pool noodle again.” 

“They’re just looking out for you.” 

“Should we prank them?” He grinned. “Should we go out there and I can propose to you? Do you think they’d lose their minds?” 

“I think you’d start a riot and then they’d hate me.” 

“Oh, come on!” He stood up and grabbed your arms. “Let’s go prank them and then we can all go out for dinner. Maybe if we’re lucky, I can propose in the restaurant and we can get a free dessert.” He pulled you to your feet. 

“That sounds like fun until I remember you’re a k-pop idol and your fanbase would lose its mind. Dispatch would have a field day and I doubt your manager would appreciate the controversy.” 

“Then let’s go prank the guys and play more mini games. We finished filming and this is a great way for all of us to get closer. They have to get to know you because I plan on marrying you one day.” 

“Woah, what?” Your eyes widened in shock. “You want to huh? Me?” 

“Sorry for spoiling the surprise, but yeah. Someday in the future I want to put a ring on your finger.  I really do want us to be our own little family of just us.” 

“And your seven older brothers who will murder me if I hurt you.” 

“Oh, you think that’s what’ll happen? They’re smitten with you. I got threatened by Changbin the other day.” He rolled his eyes. “He promised to beat me up if I hurt you.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“You’d be shocked at the effects you have on people. They care about both of us, but somehow they seem to like you a little more. It’s somewhat offensive considering I’ve been here longer.” He poked a finger into your side. “But I’ll allow it because you’re cute.” 

A wave of warmth passed over you. “They really care that much?” A timid smile began to appear on your face. 

“Of course, they care about you. Anyone I care about, they automatically care about because that’s how family works. I mean, unless I start caring about an asshole and then they nearly jump me.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You do not want to see Channie Hyung when he’s mad. He nearly ripped my throat out with his teeth.” 

“Giving some truth to those alpha memes allegations then.” 

“I’m sure Felix and I can talk him into howling at the moon. One of the other guys can secretly film it and post it to our TikTok page. He’d never live that down.” 

“Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with Seungmin too much.” 

“That’s what happens when you’re a family; you rub off on each other.” 

“Does that mean you’ll all start howling at the moon too?” You teased him. 

Jeongin couldn’t stop the playful smile from appearing on his face. His deep dimples stood out as he reached over and lightly swatted your hand. “Oh, shut up! That’s not what I meant!” His cheeks and the sides of his ears went red. “Let’s just go prank the guys.” 

Before you could taunt him again, he dragged you back to the place where the guys had been filming. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @s3ungmins

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helloooo i saw u were accepting drabble requests and i just want to request a little side story based on this tweet i found for han + whispers of nature. that's all thank youuu <3

My god this is just so sweet... thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy the outcome :)

(Find the original work, Bloom, here!)

Stray Kids drabble game: send me a Stray Kids member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and  I’ll write a drabble for you!

~

Title: Tiny Steps (I’ll Hold Your Hand)

Pairing: Jisung x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Triggers: implied death

(Inclusivity note: reader has green eyes in this fic as a plot point explained in the original scenario!)

~

"You’re back.”

Jisung doesn’t startle at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice. It hasn’t changed much since he was last here maybe a hundred years ago. A little deeper, maybe, though that could just be because it’s morning and the water nymph hasn't quite woken up just yet.

He turns around to face Hyunjin. Just like his voice hasn’t changed, his looks haven’t either - still the long flowing hair, the handsome face. Hyunjin’s skin has tanned a little, but that’s all Jisung can see is different. The love for the mute willow has not left his eyes, the willow whose branches still extend of the cool pond, shading it from the rising sun.

A tinge of bitterness coats Jisung’s tongue. It isn’t fair that he fell in love with a mortal, while Hyunjin will have his lover for as long as the forest stays under the protection of a guardian. And Changbin, they all know, will be around for a long time. 

But it also isn’t fair that Jisung took Hyunjin’s first love away for nothing other than a prank of spite. So he swallows the bitterness away and nods, trying to smile. “Yeah.”

Hyunjin’s expression doesn’t register pity, only understanding. “Hurt too much?”

How could it not, when all Jisung ever sees in the expanse of the Earth Mother are your eyes, emerald in the grass, verdant in the trees? Everywhere he looks he hears your laugh, sees your smile, feels the phantom warmth of your skin brushing against his hand. If he were to come back here when the grief was still fresh, the forest where you met and made memories and fell in love, Jisung would have broken down. 

Now, though, the grief is a dull throb and even if it hurts, Jisung can find it in himself to return to your final resting place, where you asked him to bury you once your mortal life came to an end. He extended it as long as he could - you lived a century longer, at least, than your peers - but in the end, Death came for your soul, and Jisung laid you to rest. 

He’s already visited your grave, dug into the old faerie ring where he promised you protection for the rest of your days. The grass is overgrown, the flowers and mushrooms wild with color. It would have made you smile, Jisung thinks, to see the ring grown as the Earth Mother had wanted before it was turned into his prison for centuries. 

Remembering the grave makes the pain ring fresh and Jisung winces. “Yeah.”

If Hyunjin is bothered by Jisung’s monosyllabic answers, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he only jerks his head deeper into the forest, a little way past his pond. “The creek is still there, if you haven’t seen it yet.”

You loved the creek when you were alive. It hadn’t formed a consciousness then, the waters slow to manifest a nymph, but you liked to watch the clear water run over the rocks, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Jisung, in turn, liked to kiss you then as the sun gleamed over your body, painting a portrait of you that couldn’t possibly be equalled by even the greatest artists in the land. 

“Anyone there?” Jisung asks. 

“Not yet.” Hyunjin shrugs. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

With that, Jisung walks past the pond, placing a greeting hand on the trunk of the still-sleeping willow at Hyunjin’s side. He feels the nymph’s eyes follow him across the grass until he’s out of sight. 

The sound of running water grows louder the closer he gets until Jisung stands at the edge of the creek. Here, he can almost hear your laugh in the splash of water around the rocks, feel your warmth in the sunshine that beams around his figure. It’s a beautiful day and a beautiful sight, and Jisung’s heart aches with the wish that you were here to see it. 

But there is no lovely figure standing next to him whose lips he can kiss, no sparkling eyes that will meet his when he holds out a hand to help you cross. There is no lady who will take the step onto the first rock, carefully balancing on the uneven surface before leaping to the next rock, letting Jisung take your space on the first. There is no laugh that will intertwine with his, little squeals at splashes of water that sound like music in his ears.

Jisung stares at the churning water, foam rising around the rocks. From here, he can map out the exact path you two would take to cross the little creek. The smaller rocks have changed, smoothed and eroded or replaced altogether, but the larger ones, the rocks you used as stepping stones, are still there, wet and shiny in the sunlight. 

He takes a step to the very edge of the creek. A bit of water splashes onto his feet and he jerks reflexively in surprise, a sound rising from his throat that you would have laughed at, definitely, before kissing his pout away. Jisung can almost feel it, the soft pressure of your mouth against his, your laugh still hanging on your lips.

More water splashes his legs as he steps forward onto the first rock. It doesn’t wobble, stays strong as he carefully places his foot where you would have, clutching tightly onto his hand as you found your balance. There is no one here to hold his hand now, but Jisung manages to balance anyway, wobbling slightly on the water-slick surface for a moment before he can stand. 

Another step to the next rock, a short leap from the first. It’s almost as though your hand tugs him forward in the practiced stride. He barely wobbles on the slippery surface as he prepares for the third. 

Jisung hops over the path of rocks, pausing at moments to watch the water, to feel it splash over the tops of his feet as it churns its cheerful way downstream. Merry, just like you, clear green eyes sparkling even on rainy days, and as Jisung reaches the last stone, an unconscious smile lifts the corners of his lips. 

You’re here, still here. Physically, your body lies beneath the overgrown flowers of his former faerie ring, but the color of your eyes lies in the grass and the leaves, the sound of your laugh in the chirping birds and rushing water. No matter where Jisung goes, he will feel your warmth in the air, your presence by his side, because nothing, not even Death, could break the bond you made so long ago between the trees of this very forest. 

The smile is no longer unconscious as Jisung closes his eyes, letting his lips curve as wide as they wish. Sunlight spills on his body from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes and he can feel the warmth of your hand, brushing against his, as you tug him forward to the other side. 

---

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 11

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n getting kicked out my house this week, got a new job, blah de blah. here's a chapter. oh, and a shameless self promotion, go read my skzflix fic leave? pretty please? it aint my finest work but i promise it's good?

previous | masterlist | next

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The door is already open when you arrive, inviting you inside. Like someone had known exactly when you'd gotten in the elevator, or sensed the moment you stepped foot in their hallway. Or this was just how they lived, the door open to invite each other in and out, though that didn't seem likely. You shut it behind you when you enter anyway, the creak and slam of the heavy door loud enough to alert the occupants of the apartment to your presence.

The sound of Changbin shouting over someone follows, drowning out the noise of the door. Everything is normal, then. 

The short hall by the front door is empty except for a pile of scattered shoes - you add yours to the line as you pass through, glimpsing a group of the boys sitting on a couch at the other end. It feels weird to stand there and see them at the other end, the way they've been for years before you came; your empty hands feel awkward, and your feet are too soft against their floorboards, and the closer you get, the more rowdy they become, their eyes so fixed to some game they're playing on the TV that they don't even notice you slipping into the room. You pause for a moment, listening to them howl as their game characters slip off the screen, and then continue on your way to the kitchen, your fingers twisting together restlessly before you.

Chan and Minho are there, sequestered away from the chaos erupting in the other room while they move between the benchtop and the stove, avoiding each other in a way that seems practised. The air is filled with the smell of food cooking, the steam rising from the bubbling pot on the stove warming the air in the small kitchen. Chan turns as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, smiles, and then points back towards the other boys.

"Out," he says, in a voice that brooks no argument; and you'd almost think that you'd broken some rule, except for the grin that eats at his face, amused at himself without even trying.

You stop in the doorway, hovering between the two groups. "I was just going to see if you needed any help," you say.

"Nope," he answers. "You're not allowed in here. Go and sit down."

You pull a face, one that must be funny if Minho glances away, a smile struggling to break through the blank face he's trying to pull. "I already physically kicked Felix out of here," Chan adds, a wooden spoon brandished in the air in warning. "I'll do it to you too."

Your hands come up, your feet backing out of the doorway, and yet, you can't help but laugh. You're feeling...relaxed, here, in a way you haven't since leaving Midnight those two months ago. Maybe it's because you'd spent those months grinding away at what seemed like an insurmountable hill of work, maybe because in the last week, the days that had passed since you'd walked home with Han and Chan, things had suddenly become easier within this group. The reason doesn't matter, you suppose, only that you know now that he's joking, and that it's something you can laugh at. That he's included you in the same joke he's used on Felix.

"Hey, hey, hey," a voice says behind you. "Watch where you're going. You have enough trouble walking forwards."

You turn on your heel, already rolling your eyes at the shit-eating grin on Seungmin's face. Funny, how easy it  to fall into cameraderie with him once you've broken the ice between you; only a day ago, it'd still felt like you weren't much more than acquaintances, until you'd made the decision to fall over on the way to their shared vocal lesson, the only thing Seungmin had ever reached out to offer to you.

Well, made the decision is a stretch. Falling over is too. You'd only stumbled over the sidewalk, and you certainly hadn't planned to make a fool of yourself. Maybe the story that Seungmin was selling was so convincing it was starting to affect your memory. He wasn't mean about it at least, for all that he was known to pretend to be mean when the opportunity arose; if anything, the last few hours of him spreading increasingly wild tales and the others relaying them back to you had been fun. Something different than the usual grind of your days, a joke that might stick around longer than the few minutes in which it's being laughed at.

In this moment, you stand up a little bit straighter and hope that your cheeks don't turn red. "I'm great at walking," you posture, and then struggle not to laugh at how preposturous you sound, your lips fighting against you as they curve into a smile. Something to work on, maybe, if you wanted to compete with his and Minho's deadpan humour. 

"Except for the part where you hit the concrete," Seungmin says, unaffected by the way your eyes crease and your mouth splits in two. "Then you're really bad at walking."

"I tripped," you insist, and you move forward as if to slide past him to get to the couch that the others sit on. He falls in beside you without hesitation rather than letting you pass by, a ghost at your side. "I wasn't even close to falling."

"Everyone says that you fell though," Seungmin insists. "You think everyone would lie?"

"I think you would lie when you told everyone else the story."

Grinning, Seungmin strides out in front of you, leading the way around the couch so that he can stand right in front of the TV. "Move up," he tells Felix, who sits at the end of the couch, neck craned to watch the game the others are playing around Seungmin. 

His eyes slide from Seungmin to you, trying your best to stay out of the way despite having been dragged into mischief. "Y/N," he says, shifting over and patting the seat next to him. "You wanna sit here?"

A smile spreads out across your face. "I do," you reply, and slide past Seungmin to fit yourself in the small space he manages to make beside him. "Thanks."

"You said you would save my seat," Seungmin says, pointing a finger at Felix, who waves him out of the way. He sits on the arm of the chair instead, balancing precariously as he pulls out his phone.

"They kicked you out of the kitchen as well?" Felix asks sympathetically, one eye on the TV and the other on you.

You nod. "I was just going to see if they needed help."

"Yeah," Felix sighs. "I'm not even bad at cooking."

"I'm banned from the knives," Seungmin puts in without looking up.

You glance at him, staring intently at his phone. "Why isn't that surprising?" you question.

"Because he's Seungmin," Felix puts in. "Same way I know he's lying about seeing you fall over."

Seungmin sighs. "I didn't fall," you say, before he can decide which lie to seed this time. "I tripped. I didn't fall."

"It's no fun if none of you believe me," Seungmin grouses.

The game on the TV finishes with a fanfare that fills the whole room, drowned out only by the racous cries of cheating from the boys playing it. The sound makes you wince, leaning away from them; Felix's hands come up to cover his ears, his cry for help also disappearing under the noise they make. You wouldn't be surprised if the neighbours were doing the same thing, or marching towards their door with pitchforks in hand. How do they even have neighbours, when they're capable of noise like that?

"They're going to get complaints again," Seungmin says, like he'd been reading your mind. 

"Hey, hey! Hey!" a voice calls over the noise, and you turn in unison to see Chan's head poking out of the door, the wooden spoon waving in his hand once again. "No yelling!"

"I'd say he looks like he's our dad, but he just kind of looks unhinged," Felix comments, only his eyes and the blonde hair that tufts up on top of his head peeking up over the back of the couch. The rest of him has slid down out of Chan's sight, like if he hides, he won't get caught up in whatever trouble the others are causing.

"He looks like my grandfather," Seungmin adds as the older boy disappears, making no effort to hide at all. "He was crazy too."

Felix grins, wild and wolfish. "He just keeps getting older."

"It's so sad he's going to die so soon," Seungmin agrees.

The noise dies down, the game switched back to a more neutral home screen as boys wander off this way and that. Felix shifts over, enough that you can give Seungmin a space on the couch - you think, for a moment, about making him go around to the other side, but Changbin is still sitting there, looking peacefully unbothered by whatever chaos Seungmin is surely capable of unleashing and it's much easier to just shift over and let him slump down in the corner than to set him off. It disturbs Changbin anyway, somehow; as Seungmin sits down, he sits up straight, leaning around Felix to look at you.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, drawing your attention over to him. "Where were you this morning? I didn't see you in the practise rooms."

"She left the room?" Felix questions, turning to stare at you like such a thing is unheard of.

"I was there for three hours," Changbin confirms, "and I didn't see her at all."

"I was tired," you say, trying to ignore the feeling of your cheeks turning red, "so I slept in. And I left the room twice today, actually. I went to a vocal lesson with him."

Seungmin nods as your thumb jabs towards him. "She won't be dancing tomorrow either. She fell over on the concrete."

You don't even think twice about reaching over to push him off the couch. It catches him so off-guard that he actually does fall, sliding right onto the carpet and staring up at you in disbelief. The other boys howl with laughter, loud enough that you glance back at the kitchen door to check if Chan is coming back.

"I'm glad you took the morning off," Felix says warmly, ignoring whatever Seungmin mutters under his breath as he drags himself up off the floor. "We've all been worried about you."

"So I've been told," you say. "I promise, I know what I'm doing."

"I trust you," Felix says, and there's a glint in his eye that says he's telling the truth. It warms you to your core, just as sitting here surrounded by these boys does, and the sound of Minho's voice calling for Seungmin from the kitchen. It's nice, to come into the middle of their group away from the stage or the dance floor and feel like you're just in the midst of friends, somewhere where you belong. It's nice to see how they live. You hadn't let yourself see this before, too tied down to practise and the dream they've achieved that you're still chasing.

"Seungmin-ah! Come and help!" Minho calls again, and then he can be seen at the door, waiting with an unnerving kind of patience. You're not sure if the smile on his face is supposed to be encouraging or threatening, and you don't really want to find out; mostly, you're just kind of glad that he's not calling for you.

Seungmin isn't bothered by it, dragging himself off the couch with a sigh that reverberates through the room. "Coming, old man," he calls across the room, and ignores the double take that Felix does beside you, his eyes growing wide. 

"Ai-e," Changbin says, the sound whistling through his teeth. "Is he crazy?"

"You want to go in the oven?" Minho questions as Seungmin crosses the room.

"You'd have to get me in it first," Seungmin says, and then yelps as Minho's arm wraps around his neck, dragging him into the kitchen in a headlock. 

"He's going to die," Felix says gleefully. 

"Winning the bet was not worth it," you agree, your eyes still on the empty doorway to the kitchen. No one emerges except Chan, holding a pot of whatever they've cooked for dinner and looking disturbingly peaceful despite the chaos he has just left behind.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification @starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace @amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002 @hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff @splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit @jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @slutfortits @duhgurl @cheshireshiya @worcesheshestershiresauce @defnotfertilizedtoesw @rensahazard @greyyeti

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look at this gem of a fic, banter is my favorite trope and this one hit all in the right spots. I'm in LOVEEE with their dyanamic and will make up false scenarios on this for the foreseeable future. I absolutely devoured 15k words without my mind deviating once. I love this site, no seriously how do authors put out this good content for free?? I want this as a book so bad

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— in which volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・midnight city by m83・eternity by bang chan・waiting for us by stray kids・value by ado・dreaming by smallpools

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your perfume reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“Ugh, I learned too much about you that day.”

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. It’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at your face at the same time.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good

See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his final paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP

JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kyeyoung Kim «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Jinyoung Park «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin

To Director of Athletics Park,

I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his final paper.

It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him.

Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says, Hwang?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.

“No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie, Hwang Hyunjin? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me right now?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he lies. “Graduation stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied to his email within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest. You’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up without putting down his Americano. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I relinquish my rights” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a child, don’t you?”

“Hello—who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.”

The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.

“You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He flicks the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.

“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure a Quizlet was made.”

“Three, actually,” you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.

“I tried! Someone distracted me.”

“Read it before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin’ blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.”

“Sounds about right.”

He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

“Your role model?”

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough for your lips to meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lose your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs that my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”

You think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE AS YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—WE PRESENT TO YOU: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a nightmarish affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. You’re wasting your potential among humans, they’d argue, when it should exist in the heavens. They are the only ones to deserve you. They’re right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still here?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an injured glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your perfume reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game

Christopher,

Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza.

It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki.

Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club.

I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all.

Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you can’t live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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sacrifice ↠ han jisung

◦ genre: goryeo au, fluff, angst

◦ pairings: reader x jisung

◦ word count: 9k

◦ description: the king of goryeo issues an imperial edict for his personal physician, but the problem is, you haven’t found the secret to longevity yet.

◦ warnings: mentions of death + alcohol

◦ a/n: the gif is funky because this is a goryeo era fic (so imagine the hair) but I tried with the coloring to give it that effect // based on a few eps of ashes of love on netflix & historical accuracy—idk her

i.

Manwoldae Palace is truly extravagant in the eyes of a commoner like you, for every hall contained plated gold shrines for the gods and royal blue tainted celadon roof tiles on the ceilings. There is a stone astronomy tower in the center of the courtyard where royal astrologists analyze the stars, evaluating the alignment of the planets to assure that the timing for anything and everything was reasoned with, backed by the Heavens above.

You are dressed in your finest robes made with the softest linen and most expensive dyes, and a silk veil conceals the bottom half of your face, setting you apart from the servants and maidens tending to the flowers and the trees in the imperial garden. 

The title of “physician” lies heavy on your shoulders when you make your way to the king’s living quarters, your footsteps quick against the brick floors as the hefty medicine crate rattles with your every step. Fifteen years of studying medicine and pharmacology under the noses of your tribal elders, your efforts have not prevailed, the elixir to longevity still as arbitrary as it was centuries ago. Now, the king has finally called for you, and you have absolutely nothing to present to him.

Keep reading

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jury's still out | one-shot

pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 12k | genre: rivals to hooking up ; smut with plot |  general warnings: workplace rivalry ; only one bed ; hate sex ; mild violence (slapping) | explicit sexual content, this work is for adult audiences ; explicit warnings under the cut | Author compiles major/relevant warnings only. Reader discretion is advised.

Every Monday was more of the same—you checked your schedule which contained way too many meetings, and then you looked at the assigned cases for the week. And every single Monday, Hwang Hyunjin was assigned the best, most interesting case. 

*Installment of The Red Lights Chronicles

explicit warnings: slapping (m receiving) ; kinda dom!hyunjin ; mild/moderate degradation ; rough unprotected sex ; no aftercare — every act taking place is consensual. 

“You’ve got to be FUCKING kidding me! Him again?” 

You slammed your fist on your desk, causing a few drops from your coffee to spill over your cup and land on a file. With yet another grunt, you hurried to grab a tissue and try to prevent too much bleeding through the sheets. The intern in the cubicle next to yours shot a worried glance at you, swirling his chair to face you. Jeongin arrived here just last week, and your manager stuck him with you because you had ‘enough time’ to ‘show him the ropes.’

“Miss? Should I make another copy of those?” he asked, rising from his chair and motioning toward the file, which was in fact one of the files from a case you had just won. 

Jeongin was a nice boy, a good intern, but you just lacked the patience with interns, despite remembering being one not so long ago. You took a deep breath, making sure that none of the sheets had been ruined by coffee. “No, it’ll be fine. Thanks. Did you fill out the forms I asked you for today’s meeting?”

“Almost done, miss,” he said with a dip of the head, adjusting the thick black glasses over his nose. “Are you… alright?”

With a sigh, you turned to your screen again where you had been looking at the schedule for the week. Every Monday was more of the same—you checked your schedule which contained way too many meetings, and then you looked at the assigned cases for the week.

And every single Monday, Hwang Hyunjin was assigned the best, most interesting case. 

“Look at this shit, Jeongin. Tell me what’s wrong with this.” Maybe this would be the best way to prepare him for his life as a defense attorney—it would be best if he was fully informed about it. You had known this was a competitive line of work, but nobody had prepared to be faced with someone whose ego was as big as Hwang.

Jeongin leaned over the computer, reading the screen carefully. “Uh… Miss, I don’t know, I—”

“Look at the Kang/Seon case.” You even showed him the names, pointing your index at the screen. “Remember, we talked about this case yesterday?”

“Oh yeah, the conflict of interest case, right?” As though you were a literal teacher and him the student, Jeongin straightened up to describe the case that you had reviewed with him. “Mr. Kang was named executive director in Mr. Seon’s company, but that was deemed a conflict of interest due to Mr. Kang’s financial involvement in Seon’s old bank.”

You nodded. “That case can make a career, Yang. It can unmake it, too. But if Changbin assigned it to Hwang…”

With a sigh, you leaned back into your chair. Of course they would give that case to Hwang. The up-and-coming star, the handsome, conceited prick who went through law school on his parents’ money. God’s favorite. He always had it so easy. 

“Do you think it means Mr. Hwang will be up for the promotion you want, then?” Jeongin questioned, his eyes suddenly turning big and inquisitive. 

There was an ongoing rumor about a big promotion coming up among the junior associates, and it was the talk of the moment. Hell, some people were even betting on who would get it, and whether it came with a window office and a decent parking space. As in betting with money on it.

And, of course, like any other promotion, it would come with a significant raise in salary.

“If he wins,” you admitted reluctantly, “he’ll probably be promoted. Yes.” And this was not the first big case that Hyunjin was given in the past few months, which meant nothing good for you.

Your assigned intern clicked his tongue, shaking his head. You let silence fill the immediate area, but you could hear conversations in the distance and a lot of frantic typing on keyboards. You recognized the usual ambiance before the Monday morning meetings—everybody getting ready for it, reviewing their files, catching up on stuff with others if they had to.

“But what about you?” Jeongin questioned. “What case did they give you, miss? Is it a good one? What if it’s a case that could make your career, too?” 

You hadn’t even thought about it, too upset that you didn’t get the Kang/Seon case. You scrolled further on the page, looking for your name. 

“The fuck?” You read the line one, two, three times. “THE FUCK?”

The words Kang/Seon were also written next to your name. 

“But that’s great news!” Jeongin cheered, clapping his hands once as a sign of victory. “And two associates on the same case means it’s a lot more likely you will win the case!” 

You stared at your screen, speechless. Unbelievable. Absolutely fucking crazy, actually, that they’d have you work on a case with Hwang. Hwang was known for being just about the worst when it came to teamwork, preferring the lone-wolf kind of lifestyle. He was sort of famous for it, too. For winning cases on his own when they should have been handled by two attorneys. He took great pride in that, walking around with a self-satisfied grin on his pretty face when he came back from the courthouse.

Seeing that you had been assigned to that case should have been good news. It should have made you excited. Instead, you had to take a few deep breaths to calm down and not cry minutes before the meeting, or else your mascara would be ruined.

You being on this case with Hwang only meant one thing: he would shine because he was the favored one. And you would be invisible, no matter what.

Could it be revenge? Could it be that Changbin had heard about the job offer you got from another firm and that he simply wanted you gone? You hadn’t said a definitive no to the other firm because their offices were closer to your place. But you liked working here. Most of the time anyway. 

With a sigh, you grabbed your things, getting ready to make it to the conference room. “Let’s go to this meeting and get this over with.” 

“Just a note about the new paralegals—please let them do some of the work.” Your boss’ smile faltered slightly as he spoke. Changbin sat opposite from you at the large conference table, but was addressing everyone. “Let them do more research, something, anything. If management keeps thinking we don’t need them, they’ll cut my budget even more.” The declaration was received with a few faint chuckles around the table, but you could barely hear anything that was going on.

Click click. Click click. Click click. 

Click click. Click click.

Also sitting opposite of you but farther down the table was Hwang Hyunjin, always with that smug expression on his pretty face, fidgeting relentlessly with his retractable pen. Click click. Click click. Click click. He chuckled with the others at Changbin’s comment, his stupidly broad shoulders shaking with his frankly derisive laughter. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest and taking a few deep breaths. Click click. Click click. 

“Can you stop that?” The words blurted out of your mouth before you could stop them—not that you wanted to stop them anyway. “Can you stop?” 

Hyunjin raised a pair of amused eyes at you. He had the eyes of a doll, and perfect eyebrows, too. His nose was just as perfect, but everybody knew Hwang Hyunjin had the best pair of lips in the whole office. Including himself—he was very aware of the way he looked, and the effect he had on people.

He ran his fingers through his short, thick hair, and it fell back into place perfectly, as though he was freshly out of the hair salon. God’s favorite, truly. “Stop what?” he retorted, tilting his head to the side with a grin on his face. “I’m literally just sitting.”

You tsked him. “You know exactly. The pen. Please stop playing with it. We’re trying to work here.” 

Hyunjin smacked his pretty perfect lips together, observing you. Warmth spread all over your face—Changbin had stopped talking and all the attention was on you. Hyunjin had the kind of eyes that really studied people, too, and it always felt as though he could read them. You had once speculated that he could genuinely read minds, which had sent you into an immediate panic—you did not want him to know everything going through your head.

Hyunjin had another chuckle, more amused this time. His eyes, briefly, turned into crescents. “Well, I’m so very sorry ma’am for disturbing your peace. I shall cease this activity right this second. Ma’am.” With that sarcastic retort, he dramatically let go of the pen and placed it next to his unopened notebook. He always brought a notebook with him although he exclusively used his laptop to take notes, and you suspected the fancy leather-bound journal was just for show.

Ma’am?! You wanted nothing more than to insult him to his face and, for once, make him see that he was not the main character, despite him obviously feeling like he was. But the many pairs of eyes on you were more than enough to pacify you. You had been assigned a big case, and even though you were partnered up with that prick, you needed to be professional if you wanted any sort of positive outcome for yourself.

You cleared your throat, swallowing the fuck you that you so badly wanted to spit at Hyunjin. “Thank you so very much for your cooperation, sir. From the bottom of my heart. I profoundly enjoy being able to hear and focus on what my boss has to say, you see—just a stupid habit of mine. Sir.”

You sat straight in your chair, turning away from Hyunjin before you could even see what face he was making. Changbin seemed amused by the situation, concealing a laugh into a fist over his mouth. To his left, Felix, a senior associate, was also avoiding eye contact so as not to laugh openly. The interns show a little more restraint, but not by much. 

Changbin coughed, wiping a tear off the corner of his eye. “Okay, last order of business before someone ends up with a pen in their eye—the Kang/Seon case. Sir and Ma’am, I assume you know the basics of the case. What’s the angle here?” 

Thanks to Hyunjin’s annoyingly attractive nonchalance, you managed to speak before him.

“Well, it’s quite evident that there was a certain bias, so I think we should state that Mr. Kang took the job because of his involvement in the company, fully aware of the situation,” you replied. “To make it seem like he’s some sort of fanboy.”

Changbin took a few notes on his phone. “Interesting. Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin let out a snort.“Obviously, our best approach is to deny everything. It’s not like Kang doesn’t have several millions to invest—his financial involvement with Seon might appear significant to us, but in reality, it’s nothing for this guy. Who cares?” 

The audacity. Hyunjin stared at you from his chair, raising his eyebrows and shrugging with a stupid smile on his face. You chewed on your bottom lip, annoyed to no end. If looks could kill, you’d be staring at a dead body at this instant. It was as though you were in purgatory and Hyunjin had been sent to test you. He could not be more your exact opposite. 

“As we go into this case, you guys are gonna have to pretend like you consulted each other once in a while, okay?” Changbin commented, but he didn’t seem mad. A corner of his lips was curved into a half smile. “I actually like both of these angles, which doesn’t help anybody here. But since it’s our first case of the sort, I arranged for you two to meet with some of my friends from down south tomorrow. They’ve dealt with a lot of similar cases, and they agreed to lend a hand as a gesture of friendship for me. We met in law school, and they’re good people.” 

“Damn, I haven’t seen Chris and Ji in forever, I’m actually jealous!” Felix protested with a large smile on his bright face. “If I wasn’t so busy with the Nam case, I’d go along.” 

“Well, I need you on the Nam case,” Changbin pointed out. “Besides, I’m certain that these two can come to an agreement.” Your boss spoke directly to you and Hyunjin in alternance. “Don’t embarrass me. Hyunjin, don’t fucking play with your pens and shit. And you,” he added, turning to you, “work on your acting. It’d be great if you didn’t look like you’re about to commit murder during dinner, or worse—in front of the judge.” 

Oh, fantastic. You didn’t need psychic powers to know you were about to have an awful next couple of days. Maybe this really was a test, not necessarily from God, but from your boss. What if this was his way to verify your loyalty to the firm? By forcing you to work with your—and there really was no other way to put it—enemy? Maybe he thought that if you did stay after that, you were a solid attorney and human being, and worth investing in. 

Or maybe Changbin just really enjoyed watching you lose your temper. In which case he must have had a blast during the meeting.

“Wonderful,” Hyunjin said flatly, his large eyes on you. “I so cannot wait to work with you, ma’am.”

He had a death wish, didn’t he? He had to. Why else would he have such nerve? As though being pretty and tall gave him every right. 

“I’m so looking forward to this,” you replied with the exact same voice. “Sir.” 

Changbin gave the wooden table a gentle slap. “If you guys promise to behave, I’ll make sure you stay in a great hotel with a hot tub! Four stars and all!”

It literally did not matter the number of stars—you were going to hate this. Nothing that could possibly happen would make working with Hwang even a little bit more pleasant.

“Can you check again?” 

“I just checked three times, miss. I’m very sorry, but the only reservation I have in your name is for the one room.” The hotel receptionist gave you yet another contrite look. “Under the names Hwang Hyunjin and Y/LN Y/N.” 

You felt panic take over you, looking everywhere around you. The lobby of the hotel was impressive, as promised by Changbin. The whole hotel was furnished in a very modern style but with elegant ornate details. You knew one thing—you couldn’t afford to pay for a room here with your own money. Actually, you feared that if you did use your credit card here, your bank would assume that your card had been stolen and would block the transaction. You were still paying your student debt, after all, and avoided spending large sums of money.

Behind you, Hyunjin cleared his throat, approaching for the first time since you had attempted to check-in. He rolled his fancy suitcase along with him, leaning his arm over the lavish counter, looking as dapper as always despite being fresh off the train. “There’s been a mistake,” Hyunjin argued with poise and a seducing smile. “We’re not a couple. I believe the person who took the reservation must have misunderstood.”

The hotel employee stared at Hyunjin a little longer than she needed to. She glanced at her computer before looking up again. “I’m truly sorry, Mr. Hwang, but it seems the reservation was made online, and that the honeymoon suite has been specifically requested.”

Hyunjin closed his eyes, clicking his tongue and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “You’ve got to be shitting me…” he cursed under his breath. “Are there two beds in the room?”

The employee blinked a few times. “It is the honeymoon suite, Mr. Hwang.” 

You stared behind you, where a line of a few other clients was starting to form, and they didn’t look particularly patient. “Can’t you just get another room?” you asked Hyunjin in a low voice, leaning closer to him. 

He looked appalled. “Why me? My name came first on the reservation, I think I should keep it.”

“That’s so fucking childish!” You let out an irritated sigh. “You and your fancy-ass suits can definitely afford a room!”

Hyunjin shook his head. “If you think I’m so fancy, why shouldn’t I get the good room? Get one of the basic ones, it’s just one night, who gives a shit?” 

The receptionist interrupted you before you could even reply to him. “I’m very sorry, but we are fully booked for the night—there are two conventions currently going on in the city. If I may—the honeymoon suite had been booked as of a few days ago, as there was a last-minute cancellation. I can only assume that whoever made the reservation for you did not have any other choice. I’m truly sorry, but as of right now, I cannot offer you another room.” 

Fucking great. You grunted, shoving your hand into the pocket of your jacket to retrieve your phone, unsure of what you even wanted to do. Maybe you wanted to look for another hotel—if they even had anything available nearby. Maybe you wanted to call Changbin. But then you caught a glimpse of what time it actually was.

“Shit, Hwang. We gotta sort this out, we have to be at dinner in an hour.” Changbin had also made a reservation in a restaurant right by the hotel. Unless he had somehow messed this up as well. “What do we do? I wanted to shower and get ready…”

Hyunjin grunted softly and turned to the receptionist again. “Can we please get the keycards? But I’ll make sure to get to the bottom of this.” 

The receptionist seemed relieved when she handed you your keycards. You and Hyunjin took off, walking at a quick pace toward the nearest elevator. 

“I’ll make sure to get to the bottom of this,” you said in a perfect imitation of Hyunjin just moments ago. “Is your middle name Karen or something, Hwang?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Hyunjin frantically pushed the elevator button, as if it would make it go any faster. “There’s no way Changbin actually booked the honeymoon suite for a business trip.”

“And yet he did.” The elevator made it to you with a ding. When the door slid open, you let people walk out of it, often shooting glances at your phone to look at the time. 

“I mean—yes, he booked it, but it was a prank. Against me. I’m willing to bet Minho is in on it.”

“The big boss? In on it?” You scoffed, walking into the elevator. “And you’re on a first-name basis with him?” 

Hyunjin shrugged. “We went for beers after I won the Jung vs. Kwon case a few months back. He’s pretty cool once you get to know him.”

You watched the numbers on the elevator screen as they went up. So Hyunjin was friendly with Mr. Lee himself. That wasn’t nothing—Mr. Lee had founded the firm along with Mr. Kim. 

God, so this was all a joke. The case, this partnership. It was a fucking joke—and you were a goddamn clown. There was no way Hwang wasn’t getting that promotion if he was an ass-kisser. Which, in hindsight, shouldn’t have surprised you nearly as much as it did.

“Minho is very meticulous, checks everything that goes on in the company. Obviously, Changbin would have needed to explain why he booked a honeymoon suite for this trip. They must have had a blast planning this. They like pranks.”

They like pranks, as though the three of them had shared a womb or something. “Ha. Ha. Ha. I’ve never seen anything that funny in my entire life.” You sighed, relieved to see the elevator had made it to your floor. “Whatever. Let’s just get ready for dinner. We should also talk about what we’re gonna tell these guys.”

You tried to keep up with him in the hallway, but Hyunjin’s long legs made him much more efficient at walking than you, and he was always several steps ahead.

“Talk? About what?”

Was he even for real? “About the fucking case, Hwang! What else?”

Hyunjin bit into his smile, pulling out his keycard from a pocket of his jeans and unlocking the door with it. “Why would we talk? Let’s present our angles to them. They’re the consultants. They’ll advise us. May the best attorney win.”

If you weren’t in such a hurry, you would actually open your mouth and reply with something witty. Instead, you simply followed him into the room and closed the door behind you.

The room was large and luxurious. The bedroom was separated from the rest of the room by a wall but it had no door, just an entrance to it. There was, however, a hot tub at the far end of the main room, right by the wide windows from which you could see the sunset. Everything was very clean, and very classy—exactly as promised by Changbin. Except that now that you were thinking about it, he had never explicitly promised two rooms… Prank or not, he would hear your thoughts on the matter as soon as this meeting was over. 

There was a couch on the opposite corner of the hot tub. Both you and Hyunjin were staring at it. “Maybe one of us could sleep on the couch,” you offered. Not that you would have been happy to spend a whole night in the same room as Hyunjin. 

“I guess it makes sense,” Hyunjin replied with a shrug. “We’ll have to write down our thoughts and cross-check our notes together after dinner anyway, it’ll be too late to find another hotel or something. Whatever, I don’t care.” If he did care, it didn’t show—the Hwang nonchalance was unmatched, as always.

You did a quick tour of the room—the bathroom was nice and spacious, with one of those really fancy showers that had all sorts of attachments and jets to them. When you returned, Hyunjin was on his way to the bedroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Hyunjin didn’t even look behind him. He rolled his suitcase into the bedroom and removed his jacket before stretching his shoulders and neck. “What do you mean? I’m getting ready, same as you.”

“But why are you over there? In the bedroom? Aren’t you going to sleep on the couch?” Had he never heard of the concept of chivalry?

This time, Hyunjin did turn his head to look at you. He was squinting. “Why should I get the couch?”

“Because in books or in movies, dudes always offer to take the couch and they let the girl sleep in the bed!”

Hyunjin burst into laughter. “Oh my god, what’s next? Do I also need to put my jacket on your shoulders? Do I need to carry an umbrella for you?”

What an insufferable asshole. “Fuck you, Hwang. You know what? I’ll sleep on the couch because I’m not a spoiled brat like you.” 

“That has got to be the dumbest fucking thing I ever heard. Honest.” 

“Then you must not have heard yourself speak very often.” 

“Oh my god, just shut up.” With that, you left him by the door frame of his bedroom and went to the couch to take a few things out of your suitcase.

At least, the couch was excessively comfortable, and you also found a couple of clean blankets in a closet. You managed to find the cocktail dress you intended to wear for dinner as well as your accessories and shoes. While you were getting everything ready, Hyunjin went towards the bathroom.

At the last second, he dramatically slapped his forehead and swirled to face you. “Shit! I forgot! I was going to wash up, but maybe it’s required by law that I let you get the first shower since you’re a girl. Tell me—law school was forever ago—should I also lie on the tile so that you can use me as a shower mat? Are dudes required to do that?”

You very seriously considered throwing him the shoe that you were holding. “You’d like that too fucking much, Hwang.” 

He disappeared into the bathroom with a heartfelt laugh. You chuckled as well—at least, sometimes, his banter could be funny, no matter how annoying he was.

The restaurant was nice—it was actually a fancy cocktail bar right by the boardwalk, and it had a nice view of the sea, too. You made it in time for dinner, and met with Changbin’s friends—Chris and Jisung. 

Chris had a warm, dimpled smile and kind eyes. He laughed easily and made you comfortable immediately. Jisung was a little more introverted, but just as kind, and eager to know everything about your current case. Still, you ordered some drinks and appetizers to get to know each other. “Let’s drink and eat a lot, it’s all on Changbin’s card!” Chris pointed out, which caused the rest of you to laugh a little too much, but you and Hyunjin especially. Chris wasn’t wrong—maybe this would be your way to get back at your boss somehow. 

You focused on the case two drinks in. It was a business meeting but it unfolded more like a friendly discussion. Chris and Jisung were both knowledgeable on cases such as yours and they actually recounted many of them to you and Hyunjin. You took as many notes as you could on your phone and noticed that Hyunjin did the same. A pleasant surprise—you had imagined he was the kind of guy to be chatty but to get very little work done. However, he asked good questions and was even polite.

Maybe the drinks were doing him some good. He was certainly loosening up a little, as though his usual self was only a facade, or something exaggerated. That didn’t necessarily surprise you—maybe he was a little bit of a hypocrite, acting all cool and pretentious at work, but being just a regular guy in his personal life. Maybe he felt like he needed to have a strong personality to match his good looks.

You immediately connected with Chris, perhaps because he was sitting closest to you and had ordered the same meal as you. Damn, I have no choice but to order the same thing now, or else I’ll be wanting to eat off your plate! 

You took a lot of notes while waiting for the food, drinking another gin and lemonade. Jisung and Hyunjin were talking about their respective schools—despite not studying at the same university, they had had a professor in common and he was known to be just about the worst. Their anecdotes were funny and made you grateful that you had gone to the school you did.

Eventually, though, Chris slid his chair a little closer to you to strike up a conversation while the other two were reminiscing. He told you about his most successful case in another conflict of interest situation, except this time it had been about somebody being given personal information they perhaps shouldn’t have due to their bias. It was in a medical context too, which made everything even more interesting since you had briefly considered going into medical law.

“I can’t believe you won that one,” you admitted, impressed. You leaned back into your chair, raising your glass at Chris respectfully and taking a sip from it. “Good work.”

Chris was a humble guy. He made a dismissive motion of his hand. “It was an interesting case, that’s all—I don’t want you to think I told you all about it to brag! Soon enough, it’ll be you guys retelling the story of your case and how you won it because you found just the perfect angle.”

Without saying a word, you and Hyunjin looked at each other over the table. Yeah, the perfect angle… 

Jisung, however, didn’t skip a beat. “So how do you guys intend on approaching this anyway? What’s the plan?” He took a bite from his lemon chicken, looking at you, then Hyunjin, then you again. 

You took a sip from your drink, then another. For the first time since you had met him, Hyunjin seemed to have nothing to say, despite both Chris and Jisung waiting eagerly for more details.

You cleared your throat. “We, huh, disagree on the best course of action,” you admitted, and maybe you would have worded that differently if you were sober, but you were not sober. “Hwang thinks there is no conflict of interest, that there’s not even a case to be had. I, on the contrary, believe we shouldn’t shy away from it. If Kang appreciated the business over at Seon’s, he did, and that is all—who knows what proof of that the opposition has? I just think it’s too risky to pretend there’s nothing there. I’d rather go for the it was all in good faith angle.”

It was Chris and Jisung’s turn to exchange a quiet glance, but not for long—both of them laughed softly, shaking their heads and drinking more to wash down the food as they laughed. 

Hyunjin frowned, and you saw the arrogant prick in him make a grand return. “What’s so funny about it?” 

Chris, seeing that Hyunjin was upset, dipped his head politely, but his smile was just as wide as it had been. “Oh, no, no, it’s not like that, sorry!” he apologized with a wink for you. “It’s just that you guys are just like us.”

“We disagree all the time,” Jisung confirmed with a stern nod. “It’s frustrating as hell at first, but that means Changbin was right to put you two together on the same case. He’ll probably do it more in the future, too. Disagreements like these lead to better results—you’re unlikely to miss details if you keep working like that. It’s good.”

“It’s very good,” Chris added. “Unless the parties are too proud—then that makes things complicated… but you guys seem good, yeah?” 

It took every single atom of your being not to scoff derisively at Chris’ comment. Instead, you made yourself breathe and drink some more. You noticed from the corner of your eye that Hyunjin was doing the same thing. 

“I think they just want to have our opinion on it,” Jisung pointed out, elbowing Chris playfully. 

Chris nodded slowly, his smile turning softer, almost endeared, as he stared at the both of you. When his gaze fell on you, it lingered on your face but quickly trailed down to your mouth and then below your neck. You tensed up—it was impossible not to notice that he was checking you out—and blushed violently, but tried to conceal it by hiding your face behind your glass as you drank more and more. Chris was an excessively charming guy, funny, handsome, very intelligent. He talked a lot but he was also a good listener. 

You couldn’t deny that it flattered you that he was checking you out. 

“You guys are about to be disappointed,” Chris admitted with a chuckle. “Because—and I’m certain of it—Jisung would probably agree with Hyunjin. And me, I would agree with our lovely lady here. So I’m afraid we are not of much help.” 

Lovely lady. The red on your face turned crimson, and now your glass was empty so there was no concealing it. Chris dragged his tongue on his bottom lip, eyeing you carefully. 

“But you would have to agree though,” Hyunjin insisted, leaning over the table almost as though he wanted to grab Chris’ whole attention. “Like, at some point, you’d have to decide on something, right?” 

“We would, but it would take several hours of discussion and case study,” Jisung explained. “We’d have endless debates on it, and, after some time—a week, two weeks, a month even—one of us would admit that the other is right and that we have the better chance to win this case with this or that angle. But no stone would have been left unturned in the process of getting there, ensuring the better outcome.”

“Those cases take time,” Chris said. “It’s still too early to come to an agreement, but we’ll keep in touch.” He turned to you, pulling a business card from the inner pocket of his thin blazer, along with a pen. On the underside of the card, he quickly scribbled another number. “That’s my personal phone. Feel free to call or text at any time,” he added, handing you the card. He put it in your hand, his fingers gently caressing yours, sending shivers down your spine. 

For a minute, you imagined flirting back, you imagined finishing up dinner and going to the bar section to have a nice, intimate time with Chris. You’d ask him about his personal life and him about yours. Both of you single and too busy with work to really cultivate any sort of relationship. He’d make a point to touch you, a brush of the arm, maybe going as far as pushing your hair behind your ear. He might kiss you even, and you’d kiss him back, and invite him back to your hotel room. Except that your hotel room was the honeymoon suite which you shared with Mr. Asshole. Maybe Chris would ask you to come to his place, but he had mentioned he lived on the other side of the city, and you had an early train tomorrow morning…

You sighed, swallowing your short-lived fantasy of a steamy, passionate one-night stand with the handsome attorney. Instead, you made yourself smile, sliding the card in your purse. It felt strange not to, so you handed him one of your business cards in exchange for his. “Thank you so much, Chris. And—you guys have helped more than you think. It’s reassuring to know that divergence of opinions can actually be helpful. I think I’ll go back to the hotel—we’re leaving early tomorrow and there’s a lot of work to be done.” 

Chris stared at your lips for a few seconds. “Sure thing. You call me if you need anything, yeah?” He offered you one of those bright warm smiles. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe we’ll work on a case together someday!”

You also said your goodbyes to Jisung who eagerly shook your hand, and then you walked away. Hyunjin could spend the entire night with them for all you cared, but all of a sudden, the realization that a fun night with Chris wouldn’t be possible had been too disappointing, and you didn’t want any of these guys to see it on you.

If she were here, your best friend would tell you that you had just self-sabotaged yourself, that there would have been nothing wrong with spending a little more time alone with Chris. She would remind you that you were a lonely, overworked woman and that you needed to get your shit together or else you would never find a partner. Not if you don’t let anyone in, she had told you some time ago. And maybe she was right—you did agree with her on that, but you didn’t want to think about this part of your life. Not now, not while you were just starting to work on your most important case so far in your short career as an attorney. 

The night was cooler than it had been earlier and you found yourself wishing that you had brought a jacket with you. Instead, you walked faster, hoping to catch the pedestrian signal before it turned off at the intersection—unfortunately, you didn’t make it in time and had to wait by the road leading you to your hotel. 

“Hey, hold up!” 

You let out a disgruntled sigh when you heard Hyunjin’s voice behind. Part of you had hoped that he would have stayed with the other guys for quite a while, leaving you some privacy. 

When the pedestrian signal came on again, you didn’t wait—you simply began crossing the street. Hyunjin caught up with you easily. “Damn, you really are in a hurry,” he pointed out, walking beside you. You hugged your arms, seeking some warmth, keeping your gaze on the hotel ahead of you. “You okay there?”

You swallowed. “I’m fine.” Then, imagining it was obvious that something was troubling you, you decided to add, “It’s just a little cool, that’s all.” 

Hyunjin did not hesitate. “Ah, that’s right. You’re a girl, I’m a boy and there are laws about that sort of thing. Hold on.” Before you knew it, Hyunjin had removed his blazer and carefully placed it on your shoulders. It warmed you up immediately—the fabric was warm from him, who seemed to keep a high body temperature most of the time. It also smelled nice, and you realized you had never paid much attention to Hyunjin’s smell before. “There, ma’am. I am at your service. What else might I do for you?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, annoyed with his arrogant, sarcastic tone. You took the blazer off and handed it back to him. He held it over his shoulder with two fingers, exactly the way the male love interest would in a K-drama. You figured that Hyunjin must actually believe he was the main character in everyone’s life.

Hyunjin let one second pass, not more. “He really was shooting his shot, wasn’t he? Chris, I mean.” 

You shrugged as you made it to the sidewalk on the other side of the road. “Why do you care?”

It was Hyunjin’s turn to sigh. “Well, it wasn’t very professional of him to hit on you during a business meeting.”

You pressed your lips together, repressing a smile. “You’re just jealous because he agreed with my angle.”

“Jisung agreed with mine.” 

“But Chris is the senior.”

“Doesn’t mean shit to me,” Hyunjin retorted, now walking faster than you, as though he was racing you to the hotel. “Age is just a number.”

Despite his rapid walking, you caught up with Hyunjin in the hotel lobby as he stood by the elevators. Neither of you said a word as you waited. Your mind was fuzzy from the drinks, from the food, from the scent of Chris’ cologne lingering in your nose… no, that was Hyunjin’s. It was just the two of you in the elevator, and it was strong, smokey, and vaguely floral with sweet and amber undertones. It stuck to your skin, to your dress, all that from the two seconds it had been on your body. Breathing deeply didn’t help you at this moment, so you waited until you were back in the hallway to do so. It eased some of your tension, but it certainly didn’t make you any less tipsy than you were.

The room was just as you had left it. You quickly got out of your heels, relieving your feet, but were overcome with the need to wash up—would that scent follow you even after? Perhaps it wouldn’t, not if Hyunjin also washed up. 

You didn’t ask for permission and simply locked yourself in the bathroom. You tied your hair into a bun and got under the fancy shower, letting the warm water wash your worries away and, with them, Hyunjin’s scent. You felt a little better after despite being rather troubled still, and dried yourself before getting into more comfortable clothes—shorts and a tank top. Of course, you hadn’t planned on having to share the room with Hyunjin, but if he was indisposed by your outfit in any sort of way, he was welcome to look somewhere else. 

You found him sitting at the table with his laptop. He didn’t even glance at you but left for the bathroom when you sat with your own computer to clean up the notes you had taken over dinner. There were a lot of them and they were all messy, so it was best to do this right now before you forgot too much about your evening. 

You heard a text notification from your device while you were typing on your laptop but ignored it. Either it was Chris and that would disappoint you even further after your ruined night, or it was Changbin checking up on you to verify the potency of his prank, and despite him being your boss, you wouldn’t be able not to be rude. So you did not look at your notifications—to save yourself the trouble.

Hyunjin, much like you, had showered the evening away. He returned to the table in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I like to go to bed feeling clean,” he even told you, and you nodded in agreement while going over your notes. “Aren’t you cold though? There are robes in the bedroom if you’d like.”

You didn’t feel like hearing his relentless nagging. “I was only cold outside. I’m fine.” 

“We could fire up the hot tub,” he added. His tone was lighthearted and he was typing as he said it, so you knew he didn’t mean it and you just let it go. 

The next few minutes were quiet, only punctuated by the sounds of typing and the occasional sigh from either of you. You found that working alongside Hyunjin was not so awful when he didn’t talk. You also noticed his leather-bound notebook by his laptop—every page was filled with paragraphs of his tiny handwriting. It also contained several doodles, or rather, sketches. They weren’t bad at all. Flowers, a chair… you recognized the coffee machine on the second floor from the office. The back of a woman’s head and her shoulders… so he did use the notebook after all. Why only use it in private? You almost wanted to ask him, but figured it was none of your business anyway. All that you’d get would be a sarcastic, witty, and unpleasant response.

Sometimes, he would hum the melody of a song heard on the radio earlier at the restaurant, and his voice was pleasant, albeit a little distracting—you had just made a major breakthrough in your notetaking and were frantically typing before you could forget everything. 

Maybe Changbin had been right after all—well, not about the honeymoon suite—but about having them come here to meet Chris and Jisung. Maybe your and Hyunjin’s angles could be combined, maybe the true defense wasn’t so much in Kang’s motivations but in the actual wording of your debate and the logic behind it. It would require a lot more coaching of your witnesses to make sure they didn’t use the wrong words and tone during their testimony, but it could be done. 

“Hey, I—” you started, but as if on cue, Hyunjin was already pushing himself up and heading toward the mini fridge in the room. You watched as he opened it, stared at its contents for a few instants, and grabbed a handful of those miniature liquor bottles before returning to his laptop. “You gonna work drunk?”

He shrugged. “I’m already almost drunk.” He didn’t look too pleased, as though whatever he was looking at on his screen caused him some serious irritation. “It’s just a big case and I’m tired. And before you come for me, I know that liquor won’t help me be less tired or more focused, but it’s just what I want right now.” With this, he slid a couple of bottles toward you and opened one for himself. 

You twisted one Hennessy and drank a large gulp from it. It was crisp and cold and strangely refreshing. You took a second sip, savoring this one while you stared at Hyunjin at the other side of the table. He had never admitted to you that this case was difficult. In fact, he had never admitted that anything in his life ever caused him any kind of issues. You figured that his tipsy state must make him more inclined to say the truth.

“Want to look at my notes?” you suggested, and it was an honest offer.

He didn’t even look at you, slamming one empty whiskey on the table while scrolling on his laptop. “Don’t need to.”

You repressed a chuckle, although there was nothing humorous about the situation—after all, if Hyunjin struggled, it meant you would struggle at some point too. No matter how annoying he was, he was still assigned to the same case as you. “I think I found an angle, though.”

Hyunjin looked at you over his computer while he unscrewed another bottle. “What kinda angle?”

“Exactly the kinda angle that would be a compromise between your idea and mine.” 

You studied him while he tasted some spiced rum, his deep gaze, his traits so handsome that he didn’t look real. Perhaps this was why he had annoyed you from the very beginning. Literally, since you two had been hired on the same day. Because he looked too good to be real. Nobody should look like that, it was frustrating. No, infuriating. Those lips, too, and the way he wrapped them around the bottle to drink… 

God, I need to get my shit together. You straightened up into your chair, finishing your Hennessy in one last swig. “You think Changbin will pay for that?” you questioned with a frown. “I doubt that the hotel minibar was part of the deal…”

At this, though, Hyunjin did chuckle, almost choking on his bourbon. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He better fucking pay up, I’ll tell you this. I’d love to see Seo Changbin—or even Lee Minho—try and charge me for it.” He burst into full-on laughter, and although you could recognize that it was a bit of a nervous chortle, you laughed with him.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s not like they could fire you or anything. Since you’re like, besties with Minho.”

Hyunjin let his laugh die down and stared at you intently with just the hint of a squint. He drank bourbon and licked his lips dry. He scoffed for himself only.

“What’s so funny?” you inquired, keeping the empty bottle in your hand just in case you needed to throw it at him. And you would. You really would if he gave you a reason to.

“Nothing. I’m just trying to decide if you’re drunk or jealous.”

You grunted, wrapping your fingers a little more tightly around the bottle. If it weren’t for Hyunjin’s phone that rang, he would have gotten that empty Hennessy launched straight on that pretty face of his. 

It was a text message, which he read and put his phone back on the table with the screen down. For some reason that annoyed you to no end.

It might have been the Hennessy, it might have been the gin at the restaurant, or the fact that he looked annoyingly good and nonchalant, sprawled on his chair, with his long ass legs in these stupid fucking gray sweatpants—in any case, you couldn’t not say something. You didn’t even try to stay calm either. “Who the fuck is texting you at this hour of the night anyway? Is one of your several booty calls missing you or something?”

Hyunjin slammed the empty bourbon on the table just a centimeter next to the empty whiskey. He stood, and for a moment you thought he was just leaving for his bed, but instead he took a step toward you, resting his elbows on the table. He was close enough that you could smell the hotel’s fancy body wash on him and the liquor on his breath. “And that’s how I became a successful attorney? Because I have all this extra time to fuck as many girls as I want? You know what, I think you actually are jealous.” He leaned forward, a smirk painting itself on his full lips. “Do you think I have two, three girls on my cock every night, baby? Is that it? You want some of th—”

In your whole life, you had rarely experienced such whiplash as you did at that moment. You sprung to your feet, enraged. “BABY?” You let out a growl, pushing two fingers into his chest when he dared come any closer to you.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes with a click of his tongue. “Relax. Ma’am. The text was just Chris saying he’ll swing by tomorrow morning to talk about the case again… but he also asked why you ignored his text. I think the Aussie misses you already. You should call him, maybe he’s jerking off thinking about you as we speak.”

“You’re fucking classless, Hwang.” You nudged him away, but he barely moved. He just stared at you. And at your tits. “My eyes are up here, by the way.” You had to be drunk because there was no way you would be this bold if you weren’t. “I think you’re the jealous one here. Are you all pissy because he wants the same toy as you? Spoiled prick.” 

Hyunjin towered over you, his boozy breath caressing your face softly. “You call me a spoiled prick, but you’re the one acting all weird.”

“All weird? The fuck? You’re the weird one, talking about girls on your cock and shit. As if I cared about that? Or is that how you flirt with girls? You quite literally have the biggest ego I’ve ever fucking seen.”

This seemed to strike a chord. Hyunjin’s body language switched from annoyed to straight-up pissed off. He suddenly grabbed his crotch—really grabbed it, too—and spoke louder than you had ever heard him do. “Oh, you wanna see something big, baby?”

You slapped him. In the face. You weren’t able to control it—in fact, it felt as though you were witnessing something that you were not a part of, and yet you felt it, his skin underneath your hand. You had never seen him reach this level of cockiness before, and Hyunjin seemed to be able to bring out a very specific type of rage within you. Who did he think he was? 

And yet it shocked you just as much as it shocked him—you gasped loudly, retreating your hand immediately. Hyunjin frowned, reaching for his cheek where his skin was turning pink. He stared at you, dumbfounded, the silence in the room heavier than his gaze. You stared at him too. Back and forth, eyes dancing over the other. His lips. Your lips. Below your neck. His raw cheek. Below your neck again. His lips. Your lips. 

Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, his eyes unfocused, leaning rapidly closer to you. For a second, you thought he was about to retaliate, but something else entirely happened.

He put his large hands on your arms and pinned you to the wall to kiss you hard. It took your brain a second or two to process that—your back on the wall, the impact of it. The impact of his mouth on yours, devouring you, his lips warm and wet and eager. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His mouth tasted a lot like liquor and maybe a little like regret, but he was fucking yours with his tongue and it made you moan. 

He pulled away for a second and you could breathe again, your head falling back, exposing your neck to him. He buried his face there and you ran your fingers through his hair. It was silky, soft, it felt good to touch but not better than his mouth leaving scorching kisses all over your neck and exposed shoulders, nibbling at you, sucking your skin. That fucking mouth of his. Sassy, arrogant. Pretty. Leaving bite marks and hickeys all over you. 

Hyunjin grunted when you tried to pull him back up for more kisses. “Let me,” he protested, leaving a trail of spit on your throat. “I want Chris to see you like that tomorrow. Marked. Claimed.”

“You really are a prick,” you retorted, but you let go of his hair to slide your hands underneath Hyunjin’s shirt. His skin was hot to the touch. You pulled him closer, feeling him underneath your fingertips. His toned abdomen, his strong body. “I fucking hate you.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal,” Hyunjin said, still busy down your neck. He pushed you flush to the wall, leaving no space between your body and his, cupping your breasts in his big hands while his lips played with the skin on your throat. “I hate you just as much, but you look fuckable as hell. Just look at those tits.”

You bit your lip, repressing a whimper. Already, warmth was pooling at your core and you felt less and less strength in your legs. You held onto him, resting your forehead on his collarbone. Hyunjin pulled your tank top down, exposing you to him, allowing him to kiss you there too. He played with your nipples, swirling his tongue around them, lapping at them, sucking onto them, leaving them swollen and flushed. 

You found the waistband of his sweatpants and tugged at it, causing Hyunjin to moan while he squeezed your breasts, his hands too big for them almost, but agile nonetheless. In no time, you shoved your hand in his pants, cupping him—he was hard already, his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear. Your knees almost gave out as you palmed him, really taking in the feeling of him. His cock was big. Big enough to make your pussy throb. 

Hyunjin pressed his lips on yours again, groaning into your mouth while you were rubbing him over his boxers. Feeling him grinding onto your palm sent electricity throughout your entire body and it settled between your legs, becoming a distracting pressure. 

“You’re liking this huh? Baby?” Hyunjin smirked, rolling his hips, fucking himself onto your hand. “Can I call you baby? Or are you going to slap me again?”

You took his mouth, kissing him, squeezing his cock just a little too hard. Hyunjin bucked his hips, laying a hand flat on the wall behind you, his face flushed. For the first time ever, his hair was disheveled. It looked good on him, though. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t fucking like it,” you warned in between kisses. “Or I’ll just do it again and you’ll blow in my hand, right here, right now.” You weakly—and playfully—smacked his cheek. 

Hyunjin inhaled you, your hair, your neck. You smelled him too, pleased to realize that despite his shower, the scent of his cologne lingered faintly on his skin. “Fuck you. I’d bet you’re soaked right now.”

“And what do you want to bet, handsome?” 

You knew very well that he was right—you could feel yourself oozing into your shorts, you just wanted to see what he had in mind. 

Hyunjin thought about it for a few seconds while playing with your tits, making them bounce in his hands or flicking at your nipples gently. Each caress, each touch, made you dizzier than the last. You could feel the warmth emanating from your body, and you wondered if he could feel it, too. 

“If I touch your pussy right now and you’re wet, you let me cum inside you,” Hyunjin offered after considering his options. “Because then it just means I was right all along—you’re a fucking slut, no matter how hard you try to pass as a righteous bitch.” 

You let go of his cock but not without another strong squeeze, causing him to hiss almost painfully. “Do your thing, Hwang.” 

He snickered at you, wasting no time pushing your shorts to the side to feel you. His fingers found your soaked folds. He rubbed you, caressing you, coating his fingers with your slick. “Fucking hell…” he breathed. “No panties? You’re soaking into your shorts just like that? So I was right. You’re just a whore. You play hard to get but you leave the scent of your pussy everywhere you fucking go, don’t you?” 

Hard to get? “Fuck you, Hwang.” But he kissed you again, pulling you with him toward the bedroom. You took his t-shirt off him and he did the same with your shorts.

The back of his knees hit the mattress and you both collapsed onto the bed with you on top of him, not breaking the kiss once while you tried to tug his sweatpants off him. You’d show him. You’d show that prick how hard to get you were.

You finally got rid of his pants, freeing his erection. He had left the bedside lamps on, allowing you to see his beautiful, smooth cock, as pretty as the rest of him. It was heavy, too, and big. You wrapped your hand around it while you climbed onto Hyunjin proper, resting your knees on either side of him. 

“Told you it was big,” Hyunjin teased. “Can you even take it?” 

Your hand traveled down his shaft, his base, finding his tight, straining balls. You fondled them while Hyunjin caressed your bare thighs with his large hands, his thumbs always stopping closer and closer to your pussy. You tilted your head. “Maybe you should chill with the nagging. I’m literally holding you by the balls.” 

He shrugged. “Just raising concern for my colleague’s wellbeing.” He lifted his chin toward you. “Look at that pussy. So pretty and tight. I’ll fucking ravage you.”

Hyunjin used his knee to part your legs open, allowing him to see your glistening folds. He hissed, cupping you, rubbing your pussy with his palm, and pulling you in for another kiss. He was a good kisser. His mouth felt good so you relished just a little longer in the feeling of his languid kisses and his hand between your legs, teasing your clit and your hole. 

You lowered your body, properly straddling him now, both your hands on his perfectly defined abdomen, his cock resting against your throbbing pussy. Carefully, you took him in your hand again, loving the feeling of it there, too, and curious to see how it would feel inside you. You propped yourself up, wasting no time guiding Hyunjin’s cock toward your entrance.

He was handsome, especially in that moment, as you pushed his tip into you. You gasped and whimpered and moaned as you sank down onto his cock, adjusting to his size. “Oh fuck…” Hyunjin’s hands traveled all over your body—your waist, your thighs, your tits, still spilling out of your tank top. “Fuck—” 

He was bigger than your favorite dildo. Your breath hitching up, you kept sinking further down to take more and more of him, the stretch delightful. “Are you taking your time on purpose?” he sighed, sweat pearling on his forehead. “Fuck this, I’ll do it myself.” He slid his hands from your breasts to your hips, pushing you down, forcing you onto his cock. “Aaaahhh fuck, don’t clench so much—” 

You both came to a stop when he bottomed out. You bit into your lower lip, pleasure taking over you just from the way his cock filled you. You adjusted your weight on him, placing your hands on his torso to keep your balance, and slowly rolled your hips. 

It set you on fire. And him, too. You retreated a little, clenching involuntarily around his cock, and slammed onto him again, causing both of you to cry out. Again.

And again. You quickened up your pace, your movements made easier by how wet you were. Hyunjin grunted every time you rolled your hips, staring at the way his cock disappeared into you. “Fucking hell…” he managed, landing a gentle smack on your ass, not hard enough to sting. “You’re creaming me up real good.” 

You leaned down to kiss him, his throat, his pretty collarbones. What a fucking jerk. You filled the room with your moans as you fucked yourself onto him, using him the same way you would use an inanimate toy, taking as much of his cock as you could, your pace relentless. You bit him the same way he had done to you earlier, tugging at his hair to expose his throat for you. “See how I take it?” you panted, rutting on him as though you were in heat, seeking more and more of this. You had never been filled like this before—every second was pure bliss. “See how I take that big cock of yours, Hwang?” 

He looked unreal under you, your fist in his hair, hickeys all over his throat, his perfect body covered in sweat. He smirked at your remark and before you knew it, his hand found your face. He cupped it by your chin, pulling you closer until he was looking at you in the eyes. You were no longer in control. His slender fingers dug into your cheeks, but your brain did not register that sensation as painful. You clenched so hard around him that he growled. 

“You really take me like a cock-hungry slut.” He released your face only so that he could hold your waist and fuck you from below, pushing himself deeper and deeper. “Isn’t that what you are, huh? Don’t you love the way I stretch your tight cunt? I didn’t know you were so horny…” 

Hyunjin chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your body to roll you under him. You cried out when his large cock slipped out of your hole, humping into nothing. That cock was pure heroin. Addictive enough that you needed it. Again. 

But he wouldn’t hear you beg, no. You’d rather die than beg Hwang Hyunjin. 

“Look at you…” He was kneeling in between your legs, keeping them open for him. He reached for your pussy, caressing you very softly. “You’re all stretched, all puffy down there, baby… What a sight.” 

You rolled your hips to rub yourself against his hand, chasing your high. You could feel it—a pressure, a storm swirling deep within your core, your pussy throbbing for it. 

“Tut-tut, hold on. I said I was going to ravage you, but I want to play a little.” He grabbed one of the pillows and slid it underneath your lower back.

It took no time for the caresses on your cunt to start again, more insistent this time. He teased your hole with his skilled fingers, pushing two inside. The wet sound it made was lewd enough to make you clench hard on his digits. 

He laughed. “Cute.” He moved his fingers inside you, massaging your walls very precisely. He knew what he was doing—soon enough, he twisted his wrist and curled his fingers to hit that one spot. The pressure rose within you and you could feel your pulse in your cunt. “Now, listen—in a little while you’re gonna feel like you have to pee. Don’t panic. Just relax,” Hyunjin said, his voice low and calm, but all that you could do was lie there and stare at him, his hard, leaking cock, flushed dark. His panting chest, his hair sticking to his face. 

Hyunjin began finger-fucking you like a madman, pumping his fingers in and out of you, using his other hand to rub circles on your clit. Skin heating up, you held onto the sheets, to his arm, to yourself, but you were losing control. Every time Hyunjin pushed his fingers—now three—inside you, he hit the spot he needed to hit. Every. Single. Time. 

“HYUNJIN!” You felt it. The pressure, rising fast, too fast. 

Instead of pushing his fingers in and out of you now, Hyunjin pressed them on your g-spot, focusing there only, massaging you frantically. “Give it to me. Fucking give it to me, show me how much of a whore you are. Make a mess for me. I’ll give you my cock after. Come on, give it to me.” 

You tried to keep your eyes open but your eyelids fluttered too hard, and it felt as though your soul was ascending away from your body. The finger-fucking, the relentless rubbing on your clit, the lewd squelching sounds, Hyunjin’s smooth voice… 

You broke.

You felt it take over you. That storm, that heat. You arched into him and suddenly everything was very wet and the pressure was relieved immediately. You cried out, melting into the bed as you came, your walls fluttering, your mind blank. There was nothing except the waves of pleasure between your legs. Wet, warm. Hyunjin played with you until your breathing had returned almost to normal.

When you opened your eyes again, you found your thighs covered in your arousal. Hyunjin pulled his fingers out of your still-sensitive hole, bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. 

“Did I—” 

Hyunjin leaned over you to kiss you and you tasted yourself in his mouth. “You squirted like the pretty little slut you are, all over me, too,” he told you in between kisses. “Let’s see how you take my cock now that you’re fucked out.”

In just two seconds, you found yourself laying on your stomach, your ass propped up by the pillow on which your hips rested. Hyunjin pushed your legs open, rubbing his cock all over your soaked cunt. You whined into the mattress, using the last of your strength to look behind you. “Are you afraid to blow too fast or what? You know, some women consider premature ejaculation as a complim—” 

You couldn’t finish your sentence—with a grunt, Hyunjin pushed his hard cock inside you, slamming into you, bottoming out in one thrust. You let out a cry, quivering under him. “Take me. That’s it. God, you’re so fucking wet…” Buried into you, Hyunjin fondled your tits, fucking you slowly at first, almost like he was getting used to it. “Like this? This is good?” 

“Yes, yes, don’t stop. Don’t stop!” He was too slow. He was stretching your pussy and you loved it. “Fuck me, come on!” 

You felt Hyunjin’s sweaty chest pressing itself onto your back as he forced his cock deeper within you. “Do you remember our little bet earlier?” he asked, whispering into your ear. “I’ll fill you real good. I’ll fill you so much that the other dude—the Australian—he’s gonna smell my cum on you tomorrow morning.” 

It spilled from your lips before you could stop it. “Please,” you breathed, trapped in between the mattress and Hyunjin’s body. His weight on you was heavenly. “Just fuck me. Just fuck me, Hwang.” 

And he fucked you.

He pounded into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you. “That’s it, baby. You’re being such a good cocksleeve for me. Didn’t think you could take me like that. Suck on these for me, show me how you use that mouth.” He shoved a couple of his fingers into your mouth and you closed your lips around them. They tasted like sex, like your pussy. You moaned as you sucked off his digits, wishing he would let you do the same with his cock.

“Maybe once I get that office, you’ll have to come visit me there. Maybe I’ll make you kneel under my desk and I’ll fuck your throat just like I’m fucking you right now. Let those other guys smell my cock on your breath the rest of the day. You’d like that, huh?” He slammed into you again and again, frantically, desperately. “GOD, you are tight, don’t clench, don’t clench—” 

But you couldn’t help it. You could feel the pressure rising again, overstimulated from all of it, from Hyunjin pumping his cock so hard inside you that you were certain he would bruise you. From the sound of his voice tickling your ear, his hot breath on your skin, your sweaty bodies entangled together, the wet noises of your flesh colliding. 

Hyunjin fucked you into a sloppy, loud mess. You let out a series of staccato moans as he chased his high—he was so close that you could feel him twitch inside you—grabbing onto the sheets as though you could fall down the bed. “Oh god, that’s it—” he rasped, pulling his fingers from between your mouth to hold your waist, keeping you in place for him. “Take me, take me like that, take my cum—take all of it—” The rest of his sentence became inaudible as he lost himself in his bliss, burying his face into your hair.

His fucking became erratic, deeper, too, and you could feel yourself closer and closer to the edge. He was fucking you so hard that you were about to cum. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—don’t stop—” you panted, eyes rolling at the back of your head. You hated him for how easy it was for him to make you cum. Hated him for how fucking big his cock was, driving into you. You hated him for how good it felt, and how you loved the sensation of falling into a pit of lava, your entire body engulfed in wet heat. 

You clenched around him, and it was over for Hyunjin. He snapped, arching into you, moaning and whimpering, hips stuttering as he sprayed his thick cum into you, pulsing around your snug heat. He fucked himself onto you, fucking his cum deeper inside you in powerful thrusts. “There’s so much cum baby, can you feel it?” he panted. “Such a sweet cunt you have. Cum for me again. Milk me, come on.” 

But you were already cumming, dissolving into pleasure, into nothing, into the mattress. You came in a series of long, drawn-out moans, fluttering around his sensitive cock. He moaned with you, spilling the rest of his seed as you came, fucking you through your orgasm at a slow, languid pace, allowing you to really feel it. The waves of pleasure were strong, and they gently became ripples before they calmed down. 

Neither of you moved for what might have been an hour. It took a while before Hyunjin managed to prop himself onto his hands and remove himself off you—a large amount of cum dripped out when he pulled his softening cock out of your swollen pussy. He lay next to you, staring at the ceiling. 

“Bet you’ll still look fucked out tomorrow. I’m gonna text Chris and tell him to be here early,” Hyunjin said with a smile. 

The whole room smelled like sweat, like sex and you liked it in a deranged way. “You’re very competitive,” you pointed out, still wildly out of breath. “I wasn’t gonna sleep with him, you know?”

“I don’t care.” Hyunjin rolled on his side to look at you. His eyes, much like yours, were sleepy but content. His pretty cock was glistening, coated in cum—both yours and his. “You know what? Keep the bed. You made a mess in it anyway, squirting all over it like the pretty whore you are.” He giggled, struggling to keep his eyes open. And he stayed right there in the bed with you, taking most of the space on it. What a prick.

You managed to roll off the supporting pillow underneath you, feeling the damp sheets on your skin. If you could still walk, you’d at least try to clean up a little, but you were far from that.

“Fuck you.” 

“You just did that, baby.” He chuckled sleepily at his own joke, licking his lips. “Do we still hate each other by the way?” 

You giggled too, drifting off to sleep, sore, content, and full of cum. “Jury’s still out on that one, Hwang.”

a/n: just a little something for the Red Light Chronicles! I had fun writing about my cunty attorney. You guys take care!

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