. .

❝𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐬. 𝐍𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.❞

↳ Part 7 of Loveless. See Part 1 for story description.

↳ Female reader x Changbin, female reader x Hyunjin

↳ 5.8k

! Strong language, explicit sexual content, heavy angst and tension, arranged marriage au, soulmates au, oral sex, penetrative sex, first-time sex, first-time orgasm, size kink(ish), big ol’ dick, themes of virginity, themes of cheating, an effective one-night stand, mild confrontation, mild threat, adult themes throughout !

「Part 1」 「Contents List」 「© August 2022 by jl-micasea-fics」

“You won’t, baby. I promise.”

To put faith in Changbin’s whispered promise is a foolish thing to do, you know.

Faith in promises requires trust. Trust that you certainly don’t have in him, for he hasn’t earned it, and you’re sure that he might say the thing same of you.

You know he’s determined. Headstrong and capable, because what little you’ve learned of the Imperators implies that the weak of will aren’t welcome among them. Indeed, the way he carried himself when you first met only several days ago was that of a man that held integrity above all else, held loyalty dear to his heart.

Unfortunate though it may have been that you discovered his virtuous qualities through his rejection, the fact remains indisputable that he’s a man of principle.  

And in light of all that, you suppose there are worse men to which you could have given your first kiss. Worse men with which to have entrusted your innocence.

Legs still wrapped tightly around him, your top half still exposed, you wonder if you’d be allowing any of this to happen if you were of a sounder mind. Because you’re not, and you know it. Whether the easing sickness is to blame, or Changbin himself, you can’t be sure.

But as you’ve established ten times over in your head; it doesn’t matter anymore.

“Why don’t you take that bath?” he suggests softly. “We’ve still got some time before lights out, and you haven’t eaten yet.”

Your face must relay your complaint as you twist your nose up at the thought of being removed from Changbin’s arms, but still, you suppose he’s right. Now that the remnants of your sweat-inducing illness have more or less passed, you’re beginning to feel distinctly riper than normal.

Besides, freshening up might return a measure of rational thought to you. Eating might reinvigorate your strength.

You sort of hope it doesn’t.

Changbin sets you to the ground gently, thumbing stray strands of hair from your face and tucking them behind your ears. It feels strange, this kind of closeness. This kind of intimacy he swore only to reserve for Elena, yet is now being slathered on you like he loved you all along.

It’s almost enough to unnerve you.

“Changbin,” you retrieve your pyjama top from the floor and holding it against your chest. “Are we—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Don’t ask me if we’re doing the right thing.”

Keep reading

THE PUNCHLINE: Chapter 9

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"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" "Fucking PACIFYING YOU, just SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND!!!"

Chapter 9: Sex In The Driveway

📜7.2K words 🚨Themes of polyamory, conversation about sex work fantasy (use of the term "escort"), ragefucking/hate sex, physical altercation attempt (by mc), car sex, Christopher and his unlimited supply of "baby girl", slight praising, breast play, oral sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fully charged vibrators recommended per usual. 💭Special thanks to @nightlychans for the free muse (just crediting, please don't feel obligated to read) Reblogs & comments are always appreciated and please keep in mind they are the ultimate motivation fuel. 🔖Story taglist: @elizalabs3 ; @septicrebel ; @clearlyissleeping 📌Permanent taglist: @sai-kida134 ; @ughbehavior ; @bearseungmin ; @skywarriorkirby ; @sunnyville36 ; @hh0320 (@hwan-g) ; @svintsandghosts ; @jl-micasea-fics ; @skz317cb97 ; @abiaswreck ; @skyminniesworld

"Come ON, man, I don’t need this shit right now!"

You had been trying to open that door for about five minutes now, but the lock just would not budge. Your rage levels got to a point where you just had to kick the door, not because it was going to magically open, but to legitimately make it hurt.

"Who the fuck are you?"

You were so startled to death by the unexpected voice raising behind you that your knees gave way, but you were quick to recollect yourself.

"Beat it, purple dude. I can't with your ass right now."

"Do you at least wanna tell me why you’re trying to break into my apartment with the obviously wrong set of keys?"

"Huh?"

The man grabbed the keys from your hand and pointed to the door.

"Key to door number one does not go into door number two. Didn’t you learn shapes and patterns in kindergarten?"

Were you really trying to open the door that did not belong to your new apartment? Yes. Because why the fuck not, apparently.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK, SORRY. I thought… Fuck-"

Rather than calling the cops on you, the man burst into a loud cackle instead.

"I like you, crazy bitch," he leaned against the door, "You can address me as the contractual owner of door number two. Or Minho for short."

"Pleasure. I guess," you replied between your grunts as you were struggling to drag your ginormous luggage inside, "Uh- Could you give me a hand with this?"

"Sure. Would you like me to braid your hair, too?"

"Excuse you?"

"It translates to absolutely not. Learn simplified Minhoese if you wanna survive around here," he jeered, "I’ll catch you on the flip flop."

You stared at the door closed to your face in complete bewilderment.

What an absolute douchebag!

You didn’t own any furniture, or more like any stuff other than a couple of personal belongings and your clothes, and you liked it that way. It always allowed you to keep the door ajar if the need to immediately bail emerged for whatever reason. That was exactly why you always opted for furnished places. It didn’t need to be so damn fancy; just a decent place having the essentials was more than enough. You heard a knock on your newest door close to evening hours. The person on the other side annoyed the crap out of you on sight.

"What’s up douche rocket? Came to apologize?" you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Yeah, I don’t do that shit," Minho casually responded, "I ordered pizza. Come, let’s have dinner," then he proceeded to walk back to his apartment. The gesture simply appalled you.

"Why?"

Minho turned around with an aloof look, "Haven’t you been dealing with this moving in shit all day?"

"Yes?"

"Did you eat?"

"No."

"Then move your ass. I don’t like my pizza cold."

Oh, SHIT, a real-life tsundere. IN THE WILD!!!

"Thanks, bunny dude," you commented as you were walking behind him.

"Huh?"

"Your front teeth," you booped his upper lip with a smile, catching him completely off guard, "It’s adorable."

"Don’t be disgusting," Minho walked towards the kitchen island, albeit slightly flustered.

You went through an entire jumbo pizza and a couple of beers together talking about your past shenanigans; the previous cities you’d been in, the stuff that made you haul ass, the kind of jobs you took, your general intolerance of people’s bullshit… Minho was more on the listener side rather than talking about himself as he seemed genuinely intrigued and entertained by your weird-ass, or to be politically correct, unique stories. When you mentioned you needed to start looking for a job to sustain yourself, he nonchalantly suggested you come work at the bar he was bartending at.

"Depends, Ming Kong. Do you work at Hooters?"

"No, and are you gonna keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"The nickname thing."

"Yes," you responded and took a ginormous bite of your slice.

"What a bitch," he scoffed, "While you do have an ass fit to be Hooters material, I actually need someone to mix drinks with me."

"Bold of you to assume that I know the first thing about mixology."

"I don’t assume shit," he eyed your face, "First of all, you called it mixology and you’re way too much of a smartass to solely wait tables."

"Nope. Totally clueless."

"Oh, is that so?" Minho tilted his head with a grin, "Let’s play a game then, shall we?"  

"What kind of a game?" you raised your brows in suspicion.

"Simple," Minho threw the crust back into the box, "I’ll just keep giving you three choices and you’re gonna pick one. If you stutter or can’t give an immediate answer, you lose." Then continued with an emphatic voice.

"And when you lose, it's proof you're lying, and you’re dragging your ass to the bar with me."

"When I lose," you studied his expression intently, but eventually took on his challenge, "You’re on. Go."

"Black, gray, or white?"

"Black."

"Spaghetti, ravioli, or pizza?"

"Pizza."

"Vodka, rum, or tequila?"

"Vodka."

"B-52 includes Irish cream, triple sec, and?"

"Kahlua."

Minho broke into the most satisfied smile you’d ever seen in your goddamn life, smugly leaning back on the stool. You threw the slice on the box.

"DAMMIT!"

"Yeah, now you know the reason why I’m dubbed as the untameable 10th Dan™."

"Did you really just fucking trademark a nickname?" you asked with a mildly nauseated expression.

"I might as well have, bitch. I’ll pick you up before work tomorrow. Get the fuck out now, I’ll hit the sack."

An average person would be offended to the high heavens because of his attitude. Minho just did not give a fuck, and you found that weirdly charming about him.

"Fine, bunny dude, but if you wake me up before noon, I’m pressing charges for breaking and entering. I’ll catch you on the flip flop," you winked at him and left.

Weeks passed after your first day with Minho and you started working with him at the bar. Quick learner? Check. Sass? Check. Wit? Check. That was basically everything you needed to be proficient in his standards rather than experience outlined in a CV, possibly typed in Helvetica. The more you spent time together, the more you moved into his personal territory. You made yourself infinitely comfortable with him, and for some reason, he didn’t mind that. Come to think of it, it shouldn’t have been that unexpected maybe, considering Minho’s excessive fondness for stray cats.

It was another rowdy night at the bar. Minho made himself scarce from the bar area for a little breather from the incessant orders.

"Take cover here. I’ll go check on that table."

"You spend way too much time with that group," you stated with a cocked brow, "Do you know them?"

"Yeah, they’re our regulars. You should, too, if you want that tip box full."

It was always the same group of people occupying that specific booth. Five guys, coming in around nineish and not leaving until the last call at least four nights a week. Besides that pigment-ignorant fucker colossally unaware of any other color than black and evidently possessing irritation-inducing genes who kept disappearing with different people night after night.

"Look who it is! THE MAN, THE MYT-"

"Sit your ass down. I have something important to discuss."

The entire table broke into a unison "What?" at Minho’s words.

"You don't discuss things with us, Min. You just inform us of shit, and that is if you’re feeling generous," Chris commented with sheer panic, "Oh god, is this gonna involve posting bail again?"

"Nothing like that, headass," Minho stole a glance from the bar, "It's uh- It's about her."

"The barmaid queen?" Jisung confirmed the target of Minho's gaze, "Since when are we informing each other about who we wanna fuck?"

"It's NOT li- Jesus fucking christ," Minho ruffled his hair out of frustration. The table turned to Jisung, and Felix voiced everyone's common question:

"Do you understand anything from this, Ji?"

Jisung squinted his eyes and intently looked at Minho's face. His lips slightly parted upon the delightful surprise.

"He wants her to become a part of us."

"No fucking way! Really?" Hyunjin widened his eyes. Minho's response was a little too shy compared to his usual demeanor.

"I mean… Kinda, yeah." 

Palpable excitement started seeping through the booth with everyone talking over each other.

"Shit just got interesting," Chris stretched his arms to his sides on the seat, "First time anybody ever put something like this on the table. Not to mention you." 

"We might need some convincing. Cite your sources," Changbin demanded. Minho heaved a deep sigh and began his opening statement.

"You already know we're neighbors, right?"

"Might have been referred to as the bitch nextdoor in the passing, yeah," Jisung gulped his drink.

"We spend a lot of time together outside of work, too. We got pretty close."

"You got close with someone? Besides us?" Felix asked in shock.

"If you knew how many screws she had loose, you'd do too, asshat. And you're gonna."

At that moment, your voice raised from the bar area.

"Kindly fuck right off, sir. We reserve the right to not serve colossal dickheads here."

The entire table started cackling but for some reason, Chris had a fond smile on his face. Jisung took notice of that and responded to Minho with a shit-eating grin.

"Bold of you to assume some of us aren't already crushing, but continue."

Minho took a sip from Hyunjin's glass, "I don’t know. We talk about random shit for hours on end and I don't even realize it’s way past midnight. She even takes care of my cats if I'm not around. Like, unprovoked."

This was definitely a first. The group was witnessing Minho being borderline sentimental over somebody, something that wasn't a descendant of the feline family for that matter, and they watched the whole thing unfold in awe like they just confirmed the existence of Narnia.

"She just… she brings out something in me, and I can't shake this feeling that… that… you know."

"That she might be the one for us?"

"WHAT?" Minho snapped at Jisung, "That's- Fuck, no. Gross."

"That's a yes, gentlemen."

Changbin's clapback caused another round of teasing laughter, but Minho was relentless in his attempt to defend his ice-cold honor.

"She would fit right in is a less disgusting description," he retorted, "In conclusion, I want her around all the time, so everybody fucking behave."

"How do you even know she’d be compatible with all of us?" Changbin made a fair point, "It’s a little crowded here in case you didn’t notice."

Minho looked at him with an expression that said Try me, bitch, and started flipping through his rolodex of convincing arguments.

"Jisung, she’s way too into standup comedy. Felix, she listens to ASMR in lieu of porn on a regular basis. She’s even trying to get me into it but she’s getting on my goddamn nerves instead. Hyunjin, that ASMR heavily includes tongue fluttering triggers and we all know about your oral fixation. Changbin, she gets off to it every fucking night because I keep hearing buzzing sounds from her apartment, ergo, a massive potential for a through-the-roof sex drive. And Chris, she has a pussy."

"Why do I always get the sharp end? Just why?"

Hyunjin crunched on a couple of pretzels in front of him, "Why don’t you just straight up ask her if she’d be interested?" Minho rolled his eyes so hard he practically went blind for a second.

"And say what, 'Hey, you down for alternating between me and my dysfunctional entourage? We’ll show you a good time.' Be cool, man, goddamn."

"Would you like me to squeeze you into this drink?"

Your commentary got the booth turn to your direction again to watch another set of a dissing match.

"By all means, hot stuff."

You pulled out a heavy-looking instrument laying among a bowl of walnuts and slammed it on the bar counter.

"Or would you like me to demonstrate why they call me The Nutcracker around here instead?"

The group was relishing your snark every time you couldn’t hold it in, a clear mark that Minho’s personality was smearing on yours. Chris blurted out a little too emphatically while wiping the tears from his eyes.

"Man, I really like her."

The entire table turned to him upon the unnecessary declaration.

"What do you mean? You like her like her?" Jisung asked with creased brows whereas Changbin howled with laughter.

"Get a fucking grip, Christripper. She’s never gonna say yes to you."

"We like this bar."

"Don’t kill the bar, dude."

"Why the fuck?" Chris protested and forced a sigh out of Minho.

"For starters, she ain’t one of your regular bimbos and has a goddamn fuckboy firewall on. She deals with the likes of you on a daily basis here, Exhibit A," he gestured to the bar and continued, "You can’t hit that unless she's intrigued, and like hell I'm gonna let you pull a Christopher. I’ll fucking obliterate your ass if she leaves."

"So what? Aren't you guys neighbors? You'll still see her," Jisung thought he was making a point but Minho wasn’t having it.

"I've grown accustomed to certain luxuries like seeing that ass for twelve hours a day, and I'm not about to mess up my routine just because Crispy here can't find a glory hole."

"Hm… Intrigued, you say," Chris squinted his eyes, "Anything goes?"

"We seriously like this bar, dude."

"Please do not kill the bar."

Jisung slammed his hand on the table, "Which means, it’s my time to shine HAHA!"

"Who says I just wanna fuck and bounce? I really do like her."

Felix loudly scoffed, "Bitch please, everybody and their mother fucking knows you’re incapable of sustaining a relationship that lasts past breakfast hours."

"I don’t do breakfasts," Chris replied with a dead serious tone, "It’s a very intimate activity."

Unfortunately, Chris wasn't even joking, which was exactly why the entire table yelled in unison. 

"We know."

"It’s just a phone number. The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Everything, my guy," you widened your eyes at the third frat material of the night, "Take a hike."

Needless to say, the booth cheered for the umpteenth time at the goal. Chris was smiling at you while biting his lips.

"She’s just… So interesting, you know?"

"Yeah, we know. We really like this bar."

"Don’t fucking kill the bar, dude."

"Yeah, go ahead and fucking pursue her," Changbin put his glass down, "We’d love to watch Min crush you between those thighs Christripper."

Felix let out an annoyed sigh, "Why are we even discussing this? I’m the most approachable out of all of you. I’ll ease her into it."

"Uh, hello? When I’m fucking here?" Hyunjin argued.

"You really think your suave motherfucker shenanigans will work on her?"

"Well-"

Changbin just attempted to provide his argument but the table shushed him almost reflexively in unison.

"IMMEDIATELY NO!"

"You do realize we’re trying not to spook her, right?" Jisung opposed, "If anything, you will not open your goddamn mouth until we’re sure she’s comfortable around us."

"What the fuck, man?" Changbin stretched his hands to the sides, "I will have you know I’m a fucking gentleman, and more so than all of you combined. You already know I’d charm her socks off; why the fuck would I risk that by whipping out an alter ego right from day one?"

"Either I’m wasted, or he has a point," Felix agreed. Chris exhaled in frustration.

"Do I need to fucking remind you of how much game I already have? Sung, I might need your help on this, though."

"Fuuuuuck no. We’re rivals from this point on."

"It’s for the greater good of all of us, man."

"All of us?" Jisung cackled, "She’s gonna fucking drag your ass to hell and back. You're ready to endure that for the greater good?"

"Oh, you didn't know? I have a thing for that," Chris winked and glanced at the bar, "Just look at that fucking savage princess, my god."

"Fucking simp," Hyunjin landed a smack on Chris’ head.

"Oh, she’s gonna love that. More so since I won’t be faking it at all this time."

Changbin looked at him with sheer doubt, "Dude, you don’t even know her."

"Maybe. But I feel like I do," Chris smiled looking at the bar again, "You’ll see. I’ll get the yes."

Changbin sighed in defeat, "If you say so. Learn to stop fucking everything that moves first, maybe. You sound way too confident for your own good."

"It’s because I am", Chris smirked into his glass, "I always get the yes."

After listening to the battle of the wits around him, Minho facepalmed himself.

"You're gonna fuck this up so bad, I swear to god. Just let me handle it," he declared to the table, "We're gonna put on a little skit until we get our feet in that door. Y'all better give me that Oscar-worthy performance if you don't want your asses handed to you."

Hyunjin was astonished at how quickly Minho was about to put the gears in motion, "What the fuck? You already have a game plan?" 

"When the fuck do I not? You best check yourself, playboy," Minho stole a look from the bar to check your whereabouts and continued, "I’m literally her guy nextdoor, so I'll be in the friendzone until further notice. You two will be the massively incompetent wingmen," he gestured to Hyunjin and Felix.

"HEY!"

"Argue with the wall. Jisung and Changbin will be coaching you. She needs to believe you're not after her. Make sure she notices you keep fucking it up, though. Chris…" Minho paused briefly and quickly gave up on coming up with a disguise for him, "Well, she's already seen your shenanigans around here so you can be yourself."

"BRO!"

"Focus, man!" Minho pointed his fingers at his eyes, "Sung, I need you to use the Jedi mind trick thing somewhere appropriate. We kinda started a side thing here where we professionally hustle people. She does tarot readings in the back room."

"Back room, huh?" Jisung erupted into a smug grin.

"Cool it before I have to castrate you," Minho instantly countered, "Hang around by the bar. You're bound to see someone requesting her. That's when you'll ask for a reading yourself. That's our intrigue card," he eyed Jisung from head to toe and commented with a queasy face, "And get a fucking cut and color while you’re at it. I recommend dark blue."

"Can't you at least give us some more prominent roles in this?" Hyunjin objected, "We're barely supporting characters here."

"Fine, I'll be crushing on you. Does that jerk off your ego?" Minho shut him up, "Felix, dial down the husky charms to a minimum. I need you on your best sunshine behavior."

"You want her to think I'm some schmuck? What the fuck man?"

"Shh!!!" he silenced the unnecessarily high decibel, "And yes I do. She's eventually gonna cave."

"And you’re this sure because?" Changbin asked. Minho answered with a confident smile.

"Because we're the fucking charmers of this town."

"Why not invite her to our po-" Jisung attempted a question but Minho interrupted him.

"No. I want her to feel safe around us first. This is fucking important."

Chris examined Minho for quite some time and asked him with raised brows, "You're sure you're doing this for all of us? You seem a little too whipped for your untameable reputation."

Minho cleared his throat and got up to get back to his station.

"I'm not gonna confirm nor deny this information. Do not fuck this up."

Chris was about to collapse an entire building into mere dust out of sheer frustration, so he gathered the council in Hyunjin’s coffee shop at closing hours to discuss the matter at hand and hopefully find a solution.

"This is becoming a fucking problem now."

"Some context would be nice," Jisung reached out for his coffee.

"I’m about to lose my fucking mind. Thank you," Chris grabbed the mug from Hyunjin, "It's like somebody dipped her in Chris repellent. Why the fuck can’t I get through the door? Is one of you doing something to fuck me over?"

"Told ya. Fuckboy firewall," Minho slurped on his americano, "What happened?"

"She came onto me in the middle of the night on Hyunjin's birthday, and it was great. God, it was so great," Chris briefly closed his eyes holding his head between his hands, "But when I woke up in the morning she was nowhere to be found."

"Maybe she just doesn't do that waking up together stuff," Minho asked the rest of the table, "Did she sleep over with any of you?"

The unison ‘Yes’ that came from the four men basically punched Chris in the stomach.

"See? None of you are exactly husband material, but she doesn’t seem to have a problem with the rest of you? Why the fuck is she avoiding me? Why am I not enough for her?"

"For your information, I highly doubt that’s a matter of being enough," Jisung responded, "I have reason to believe she’s having a tough time admitting some things to herself."

"Like what?"

Jisung placed his mug on the table again, "Let’s just say that for some reason she seems to have developed a habit of making you suffer. And quite honestly, you’re fucking enabling her."

"Not to mention you deserve it," Minho retorted.

"Thanks so much for the cryptic insight," Chris deadpanned.

"Just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m gonna abuse her trust in me," Jisung commented with a soft voice. Chris furrowed his brows upon these words.

"What do you mean? You know something?"

"It's called common sense," Jisung shrugged, "Practice it some time."

Changbin was analyzing Chris’ face like he was trying to solve an equation, "What’s with the obsession? You wanna walk me through it?"

"What obsession?"

"The wanting what you can’t have thing."

"It’s not a matter of wanting what I can’t have."

"You sure?"

Chris heaved a deep sigh, "In your crass words, I already got it, remember? Twice. And she fucking loved it."

Changbin snickered at Chris, "Sure. You're just this mad not because it pisses you off you can't hit that whenever you want, but because you’ve just fallen for her, right?" Then he burst into full-on laughter, "Yeah, good one."

Changbin waited for a snarky comment in return but all that followed was silence, not to mention Chris’ flustered face and dark red ears. His eyes widened upon realization.

"No fucking way! You have?"

"He really has," Jisung followed with a faint smile, "You fell in love with her, didn’t you?"

Chris harshly grabbed the water bottle in front of him and gulped half the content in one go like he was trying to calm himself down. He dragged his hand over his face and groaned in defeat.

"I’m so trapped in her web I can’t move. You gotta help me out with this."

Although Minho recognized how serious Chris was, the snark was intended to lighten the mood this time, "You realize none of us will be willing to let you have her by yourself, right? And I top that chart, I mean."

"You know it’s not that, Min," Chris furrowed his brows again, "I just want her to let me love her, too. That’s all I’m asking."

"Settle something for us, baby. Roleplaying, yay or nay?"

You poured Jisung’s usual Long Island Iced Tea and responded enthusiastically while serving his drink, "Duh, fucking yay!"

"See?" Chris yelled to him, "Game, set, and match."

"Oh, you’re on the yay side?" you contorted your face, "Then I’ll go with nay."

Your satisfied grin elicited loud oohing from the gang and relentless Chris clowning followed suit afterwards.

"Ha ha, very funny," Chris deadpanned, "I don’t care, she said yes first."

"Yeah, but she hates your guts, so we win," Changbin raised his glass to you and you nodded in response.

"Like none of you are into that shit," Chris protested.

"Yeah, we just like seeing you suffer Crispy."

It was true, and for some reason, you were the head cheerleader of all the Chris-bashing activities. Felix noticed the gratuitous amount of satisfaction on your lips and mischievously smiled himself.

"Actually, this," he pointed his finger at the space between you and Chris, "is like two kids that keep bothering each other, don’t you think? When in fact they looove each other."

You slammed the washcloth in your hand on the bar top.

"Yo Freckles, you wanna die?"

They roared with laughter and Changbin slapped Chris’ back, "Pull her hair while you’re at it, why don’t you?"

"I want to if she ever lets me," Chris looked at you almost with a pout.

And you… No matter how involuntarily… With a complete lack of willpower…

Smiled at him.

A thought kept riddling you lately to the extent that you were losing sleep over it. You obviously had feelings for Jisung and it was way past the amazing sex at this point. It was how he made you combust with the warm and fuzzies whenever you saw him. It was how he made you feel truly appreciated. It was how comforting it was to be around him. It was how he made you wanna be there for him, love him, cherish him, open your heart to him and be completely vulnerable. Because you trusted him. Maybe even a little too much.

But could it be slightly, just a little, at all possible that you… had feelings for more than one person?

Tsch, yeah right.

"Well, in all seriousness, depends on what kind of roleplay," you shooed the redundant thoughts away, "What genre of fantasy are we talking about?"

All the men sitting in front of you plus Minho replied unanimously.

"Escort."

"You’re one of those?" you quipped, "One in three guys, I swear."

"Try six out of six, beautiful," Hyunjin teased.

This was by no means chastising. It was just an extension of a phenomenon you kept observing whenever you were around these people. It was how open they were whenever the subject was their sexuality, either in practice or in a conversation, making you believe that other forms of communication just could not bring people closer in the way that sexuality did and some form of intimacy came out of it. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel much much closer to them compared to when you first met them. Granted, seeing them naked played a part in it, but if that was the case, you had seen a lot of people naked before, and you weren’t necessarily this close to any of them. That would require the will to keep in touch first.

"What is it about the escort fantasy guys like so much? Is it the aspect of being a customer? Like, ‘I paid for it so you're gonna do anything I want’ type of shit?"

"How coarse do you think we are?" Chris replied semi-seriously and added, "It plays a role but not as much as you think."

"Then what?"

"Personally, I really like how paradoxical it is," he continued, "While the offered service is one of the most intimate things between two people, more often than not you wouldn't be allowed to be intimate with your clients - it's against the rules. It's that forbidden aspect of it that gets me going."

You squinted your eyes, "You're legit telling me… The idea that riles you up is being intimate, not the unspeakable acts you'd ask them to do in exchange for money."

"Damn straight. Although I prefer the term ineffable acts," Chris knowingly smiled, "and how much they would fucking love it."

They would love the ineffable acts, huh? 

Because why wouldn’t they when the person you were playing with was already someone who continuously enjoyed what they experienced with you? You knew that, but you would rather do shots of bleach than admit that out loud.

"That’s bullshit. There's no way that is true."

"It is and I'll prove it to you," Chris put down his glass for you to refresh it, "One date. That’s all I’m asking."

"A what?"

"Why not?" Chris shrugged, "I already know Changbin took you out to dinner and Hyunjin even went down that private cooking route. What’s the harm in going on one with me?"

You were about to break into an entire monologue to talk yourself out of the urge to say yes, but Chris derailed your thoughts by placing his hand on yours.

"Please?"

You held his gaze for a while. His beautiful brown eyes looked way too candid and you absolutely hated how it made you feel.

"You’re serious."

"Yes, I am."

The entire clan basically started cheering very loud ‘DO IT!’s, pressing you to accept his proposal. The more you didn’t answer, the more anxious Chris was getting for fear of another rejection.

"What's it gonna take? Just tell me already."

Before you could answer him, Jisung intervened, "It’s fair game, baby. He’s the only one you relentlessly avoid paying attention to and god knows he’s paid his dues."

It was true. You reveling in making Chris suffer in whatever form was only because it satisfied something twisted inside you, but it was just the pleasure of putting him in his place, not because of some sadistic desire to damage him emotionally. That would be just straight-up cruel.

"Why not consider it an opportunity to diss me all night?" Chris smiled.

Now, that I can do.

"Fine," you replied curtly trying your best not to smile back. Chris’ dimples, on the other hand, grew even deeper.

When the clock struck closing hours, the guys all got up to leave for their poker night, but Chris stayed behind.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"You're not going with them?" you asked while getting your bag.

"I got a deadline coming up, so I gotta head home to work. Come on."

No wonder he had limited himself to only two drinks throughout the entire night.

Well, this is new, you thought to yourself as you got settled in your seat. You didn’t say a word during that entire ride and just watched him drive with stolen glances. You were used to being annoyed at Chris, not to noticing how sexy he looked behind a steering wheel, veins on his hand popping due to his firm grip, eyes intently on the road with slightly furrowed brows. It was warm inside. His car smelled really nice although not as nice as his own scent, and the melodies coming from his speakers were as soft and sultry as his lips were.

What?

"Well, good night then," Chris pulled you back to earth as he stopped in your driveway. You immediately went back to snark mode to camouflage your actual thoughts.

"Yeah, not happening since your face is the last thing I saw tonight."

Chris immediately killed off the engine and locked the doors to prevent you from leaving.

"Fucking CHRIST, Y/N, just WHAT IS IT? Why do you hate me this much? What did I ever do to you?!"

"I just CAN’T fucking stand your stupid face if that’s what you wanna know!"

"BUT WHY?"

Why? Did he really ask WHY?

"You," you nudged him on the shoulder.

"...think you’re fucking all that," you pressed harder.

"...when in fact", you shoved him harder.

"...you ain’t shit. That whole confidence thing you got going on? It's fucking baseless."

"Our nights together beg to differ," Chris scoffed, "You fucking dissolved under my touch."

You were almost caught off guard, "That doesn’t mean anything. I was both drunk and high. Nobody would be able to think with their brain."

"Oh yeah?" Chris fully turned to face you, one hand still on the steering wheel, "You seem to be forgetting about a particular bookstore incident. You were very much sober when I made you cum so fucking hard on my fingers in broad daylight - not to mention in fucking PUBLIC!"

Oh, you got some goddamn nerve. 

His words… His words got a fucking RISE out of you.

"Alright that’s it, you jackass, somebody needs to teach you a fucking lesson," you immediately grabbed the seat belt to unlatch it.

"HA, you don’t mean you, I hope?"

You literally swung your fist towards him in an attempt to land a punch, but the proximity was so close that Chris instantly blocked it by grabbing your wrist.

"You think you’re so irresistible. Well, news flash, you arrogant prick, I will resist you with everything I got. You’re nothing more than a fucking philanderer, a fucking WOMANIZER, you’ll just fuck EVERYTHING THAT MOVES."

"What the fuck, Y/N, are you fucking insane?"

"What if I am, huh? Congrats, you’ve DONE IT! You’ve finally driven me fucking CRAZY!"

You unleashed yourself onto him to tackle him in that tiny space and straddled him as if you could actually put him in a sleeper hold so he would just shut up. Just shut the fuck up. 

Needless to say, it was way too easy for Chris to break himself free of your attempts to assault him. With one swift move, he grabbed your neck to pull you in a heated kiss. You stopped it in utter rage.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Fucking PACIFYING YOU, just SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SECOND!!!"

He pulled you back in his arms again and he was kissing you with such passion that it deactivated all your reasoning instantly, disabling your motor functions to inflict pain.

"Ah, Chris."

"Baby girl."

"Ah, I fucking hate you."

"Hate me all you want, just let me fucking touch you."

When his hand slid inside your shirt to caress your back with his warm touch, all you could do was moan. And moan. And moan. Loudly. He fucking groaned at the contact.

"Oh, jesus fucking CHRIST, YES- I've missed this so much."

You hated to admit it, but so did you. Your hands inadvertently found their way to his chest again to scratch it, mark it as deeply as you could.

"Behave. Behave, baby girl."

Chris sort of beat you to it and latched himself to your neck, lightly grazing it with his teeth. Then he whispered in your ear with a way too delighted smile.

"Just say you're fucking jealous, baby girl. It ain't that hard."

"Shut up."

"Say you don't want me touching anybody else but you."

"I said shut the fuck up!"

"Say you fucking want me to be your simp."

You hooked the crook of your elbow against his nape with a harsh move and roughly pressed his head against your chest like you wanted to legitimately choke him. Chris humored you for the briefest of moments, letting you relish that delusion that you could actually overpower him, but popped that bubble with the needle that was ripping open the buttons of your shirt instead. He didn’t waste any time freeing your breasts and began fervently sucking on them, punctuating the swirls of his tongue with a gentle bite on your nipples.

"FUCK!"

"Oh, you like that, don’t you baby girl?"

He groped both your tits with a firm grip, pressing them together, and kept hardening your nipples with the loud and wet movements of his tongue.

"I wanna fucking cum on these. Oh, I would cum so hard." 

"Not even gonna take you two minutes to blow anyway."

"Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?" he hysterically smiled, "You fucking love watching me lose myself over you."

He roughly pulled your face towards his again, hands never losing contact with your skin, lips already swollen over extremely needy kisses, panting into your mouth.

"Fucking grope me."

Chris landed a slap on your thighs from under you and squeezed them deliciously.

"That ass just begs to be spanked."

"Oh, bite me, you prick."

"If you insist, fucking gladly."

He literally moved on to sink his teeth on your shoulder and that was the most exquisite kind of pain you could ever feel. Your hiss morphed into a moan before it could even leave your lips.

"Ah, FUCK! You're going all alpha wolf on me now?"

"You want me to? I'm not even scratching the surface."

You reciprocated the move by trapping his plush lips between yours, biting on them like you really wanted a piece of him. Chris was getting way too riled up over how you were losing it and unbuttoned your pants, almost ripping them in the process.

"Touch me. Right there."

"Here, baby girl?"

That wasn’t an actual question because he knew the exact spot. He fucking heard it from you pressed against a door as you were instructing Jisung while Chris was touching himself to your moans.

"Oh, right there, right there, right there, CHRIS FUCK!"

"That’s my girl. There you go."

You yelling his name like that was doing something to his brain. His mind was completely infested with the urge of ramming himself into you. He hastily rid you of your pants and dropped his to his ankles, guiding his rock-hard length into your sopping wet entrance.

"FUCKING- YES!"

Those arms were just so fucking strong that he wasn't struggling one bit to lift you up and down on his cock. Like you were a fucking leaf. The pleasure spreading throughout your body was so fucking exorbitant that your loud moans echoing in his car were instantaneously transforming into screams of his name. You grabbed his shirt and pulled it to yourself.

"Fucking take it off. Take it off!"

When he flashed that magnificent chest for you again…

Oh… my fucking… god…

There was no fucking way you weren’t going to drag your nails on them.

"Oh, fuck yeah, baby girl. Scratch me. More!"

All of a sudden, Chris pulled the lever right next to his seat, leaning it all the way back, and abruptly flipped you under him. So fucking easily.

"Say you want me to wreck you."

"Like hell I w-"

Chris attacked your lips with pure fire again, taking all your breath away. Literally.

"Say it, baby girl."

"No."

He maniacally smiled, eyes filled with nothing but hunger, warning you of the looming impact.

"But I'm gonna, anyway."

He pushed your legs back and dove into your pussy like he was starved to death.

"SHIT!"

Indescribable. The sensation Chris was inducing in you was simply indescribable. It felt very close to pouring gallons of gasoline over an already uncontrollable wildfire. He kept sucking on your clit firmly enough to apply enough pressure, but it was that damn teasing of his tongue that was making you go absolutely feral.

"Say it, baby girl."

"FUCK, please don't stop!"

He allowed himself to sate his own burning desire to fucking dissolve you under his tongue, getting you to flow a river for him, coating his mouth with your sweet juices. You were like a spring that was never enough to quench his thirst. Chris could do that for hours if teasing you wasn’t more entertaining.

"Say I'm driving you crazy."

"You- You’re-"

"Say it, baby girl."

"You’re dr- You’re driving-"

"Do it for me."

"You’re driving me fucking CRAZY!!! Oh, fuck, FUCK!"

You grabbed him by his hair to get him up. If he didn’t pass through you right that second, you were going to legitimately lose your mind.

"Get up. Get the fuck up! Fuck me into this seat, you son of a bitch, DO IT!"

Chris grinned like an absolutely deranged lunatic and climbed on top of you, throwing your legs over his shoulders to angle for your sweetest spot. That stretch he caused while letting out that animalistic grunt was everything.

"Oh, CHRIS!"

Your voice… It was more than enough. It was the sexiest fucking thing in this universe. He could listen to it like a song over and over again and blow on cue. He was sure of it.

"Say it again."

"Say w-"

"My name, baby girl. Again."

You held onto his gorgeous arms again, sinking your fingers in them, and let yourself get lost in him.

"Oh, Chris."

You felt him twitch inside you and he let out a deep exhale.

"Fuck- Again."

"Chris, please."

"Ah, again, baby girl."

"Christopher."

This time he twitched so hard that you felt it deep within you.

"Ah, baby-"

"Christopher."

"Ah, baby, yes."

"Christopher."

"Oh, fucking-"

"Christopher."

"Fuck, again."

"Christopher."

"Again!"

"Christopher!"

"AGAIN!"

"CHRISTOPHER!". 

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK, give it to me. Give it to me, baby girl, just like that."

Chris fucking snapped. He was going more unhinged with every thrust, resolute to crash both of you into an iron gate at full force. He slithered his thumb on your clit to intensify your pleasure.

"You know you love this, right? You fucking love this."

"Fucking kiss me!"

Who was he to say no to tasting your lips at every opportunity? He could live the rest of his life attached to them for all he cared.

"Cum for me," you whispered into his mouth. He deliriously smiled again.

"Fuck no."

"Fucking blow for me."

"You first, baby girl."

Chris picked up the pace, disarming you completely under him.

"Where do you wanna cum? Tell me."

"No, please, no, y- you…"

He was simply ruthless, determined to not let you have your way whatsoever.

"You wanna flood my cock? You wanna cream on my face? Tell me, I'll do it."

You were trying. You were really trying to form a coherent sentence but all that came out of your mouth was your moans mixed with guttural sounds his thrusts were forcing out of you.

"You. Your- J-just you."

"Let go for me, baby girl. Hit me with all you got. You know you love this."

Then he bent over your face again and whispered looking dead into your eyes.

"You love me."

"FUCK, CHRIS, I L-"

Chris immediately covered your mouth with his lips and choked your moan that could have easily turned into something very inexplicable. Nevertheless, your brutal spasms along with what he most certainly knew was going to spill from your lips pushed him over the edge with you. Frantically.

"Oh, yes. Yes, I'm coming! I'm fucking coming, oh SHIT!"

His warm seed squirting inside you, spreading around your walls like that felt so weirdly soothing, wrapping you in a blanket of pure bliss. You felt yourself getting out of your body for a second. After he came down, Chris finally broke the silence minus both of your attempts to catch your breaths.

"So, I uh- I’ll come pick you up at 8 tomorrow?" he asked while panting, your foreheads still pressed together. Your hands reached for his curls and caressed them softly.

"Actually, I have something else in mind. Why don’t you meet me at the restaurant?"

My name is Y/N and I’m pretty sure I’m about to make the biggest mistake yet.

«TO BE CONTINUED»

❝𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦.❞

↳ Part 8/10 of Loveless. See Part 1 for story description.

↳ Female reader x Changbin, female reader x Hyunjin

↳ 6.2k

! Strong language, explicit sexual content, heavy angst and tension, arranged marriage au, soulmates au, themes of cheating, mild threat, confrontation, descriptions of medical paraphernalia, pseudo-science, themes of virginity, pining, yearning, regret and poor decisions, no breaks this chapter, adult themes throughout !

「Part 1」 「Contents List」 「© August 2022 by jl-micasea-fics」

She did it.

She actually fucking did it.

Changbin shouldn’t be surprised. She loves Hyunjin, after all.

She’s loved Hyunjin since before Changbin even knew her, so really, it shouldn’t be any kind of twisted revelation that she took the opportunity to be with him when it was handed to her on a silver plate.

Hell, Changbin supposes he would have done the same thing.

If he were locked in a room with Elena and promised a single night of undisturbed privacy, he’d be more than eager to indulge without a second thought, losing himself in the girl he loves until morning.

But that’s just the thing.

He didn’t.

When he was finally faced with the girl he always believed was his one and only, he found himself unable to go through with it.

He wonders what it all means.

It wasn’t the fear of being caught that stopped him. No, Changbin doesn’t feel fear the same way others do; occupational hazard. It wasn’t fear of underperforming or anything so trivial as that; Changbin knows he’s a giver in all senses of the word. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t ready; it was all he was supposed to have ever wanted. To somehow make his mark on her that she might be reminded of him in the most fleeting or mundane of moments after they parted.

So yes. In theory, there was nothing stopping him.

Yet in practice?

Something did.

Something he doesn’t really understand himself.

Keep reading

INSOMNIA 불면증 CHAPTER #2

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: While you’re caught in the dilemma of either continuing your unusual agreement with your roommate or just cutting it off because of your unrequited feelings for him, another person of your friend group approaches you with a similar offer. Too bad you can’t stand him, right? But will you still be able to resist when his fingers slowly start trailing your curves and the filthiest words leave his lips?

💫 GENRE: angst, smut

🗝 WORD COUNT: 10.8k

🧸 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, minho x afab reader, nonidol!au, university!au, fwb, friends2lovers, reader is queer, roommate!chan, frenemy!minho, childhoodfriend!tzuyu (twice), roommate!lisa (blackpink), roommate!felix, miyeon ((g)i-dle), members of ateez, original characters; minho our favourite tsundere, seonghwa is annoying in this one I’m sorry, the reader is annoying as well but in a different way

🍃 WARNING: chan has insomnia, reader has depression, mention of SA in the past (not explicit and none of the idols of course!!), lots of insecurities about society’s expectations regarding romance and sex, dad joke about new year I’m so sorry I couldn’t resist, alcohol consumption, mention of acrophobia and aquaphobia, mention of food, description of anxiety attack, cigarette smoking (reader smokes once and it’s mentioned that reader’s friends do it as well at parties)

✨ SMUT WARNING: dom!minho, sub!reader, fingering, name calling (doll, darling, good girl, pretty), discussion of safe word

💌 AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you all for being so patient 😭 I’ve went through a long writer’s block, almost wanted to do it all over again until a sparkle of motivation hit me and voilà that’s what we’ve got now. Enjoy!! 💚 also feedback (comments & reblogs) are highly appreciated!!

spotify playlist ☁️

☽ SERIES MASTERLIST ☽

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Also minors do not interact, this post contains mature themes. By clicking on “read more” you consent to nsfw content.

“Is it alright with you if I open the window for a few minutes? The air in here is stuffy,” Tzuyu asks, as she already makes her way up towards the other side of your childhood room. 

Agreeing with her statement, you nod as you watch her reach for the handle. The fresh yet freezing air immediately fills the room. You feel your brain waking up a bit, only realising now how tired you’ve gotten. Since Christmas Eve has been some days ago, the temperatures have dropped to their lowest. Still, you haven’t given up on the possibility of some snowy days, even after the holidays.

Agreeing with her statement, you nod as you watch her reach for the handle. The fresh yet freezing air immediately fills the room. You feel your brain waking up a bit, only realising now how tired you’ve gotten. Since Christmas Eve has been some days ago, the temperatures have dropped to their lowest. Still, you haven’t given up on the possibility of some snowy days, even after the holidays.

Agreeing with her statement, you nod as you watch her reach for the handle. The fresh yet freezing air immediately fills the room. You feel your brain waking up a bit, only realising now how tired you’ve gotten. Since Christmas Eve has been some days ago, the temperatures have dropped to their lowest. Still, you haven’t given up on the possibility of some snowy days, even after the holidays.

Agreeing with her statement, you nod as you watch her reach for the handle. The fresh yet freezing air immediately fills the room. You feel your brain waking up a bit, only realising now how tired you’ve gotten. Since Christmas Eve has been some days ago, the temperatures have dropped to their lowest. Still, you haven’t given up on the possibility of some snowy days, even after the holidays.

Snow has always relaxed your mind, so it’s exactly what you would need right now, trying to get your mind off of as much stress as possible. And for as long as your desirable weather hasn’t arrived yet, spending time with your childhood friend does a good job as well.

You’ve missed it. You’ve really missed it – spontaneously meeting up with Tzuyu, talking about life and all the little disasters you both have to go through until 3 AM in the morning with either a hot chocolate or mulled wine in one hand and your phone in the other, showing your best friend pictures to keep her update on your not so busy life. 

The only thing that’s really changed is time, if you’re honest. Tzuyu and you still look the same, still think the same, still act the same around each other as if it hasn’t been years since you’ve graduated and gone separate ways to fulfill your dreams. Whereas you’ve moved to a city far away, Tzuyu has stayed in your hometown, taking a degree in music at university here, while working in your favourite restaurant. The one at the corner between two narrow alleys in an older part of town where they sell the best pasta and pizza dishes, as you both still claim until this day.

From time to time you get a bit anxious, if she’s mad at you for leaving her here. Unfortunately it’s always been one of your bad coping mechanisms to just bugger off and abandon your home when things get heavy, wanting to start new somewhere else. That’s what you did two years ago. Leaving everything behind to escape your troubles, which has worked mediocrely well. The troubles always seem to find you again, once you’re in your childhood town.

“Should we go to the club later? I’ve heard there’s a 90s party today.” Tzuyu’s words wake you up from your daydreams, as you hope she doesn’t notice how your mind drifted off. “I don’t know. There’s probably going to be many people from our year.” 

“Drinks are on me! It’s a great opportunity to get wasted and to get your mind off of this person you’re constantly thinking about.” She giggles and takes a few sips from her hot chocolate. You haven’t told your best friend about Chan yet. She actually does know him already, they have even met and get along quite well. 

“I’ve told you– there is no one,” you lie, hiding your face filled with suspicion by drinking your beverage. Your gaze escapes hers, but Tzuyu tilts her head in a way she’s able to look into your eyes. “Stop lying to me. I’m hurt.” She brings her hand on her chest, laying it right where her heart is. The fake-hurt plastered all over her face makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head in annoyance.

“You’ve gotta buy a lot of alcohol for that. Probably gonna be broke by the end of the night if it’s really your biggest wish to find out who he is.” That’s everything she needs to hear. When the corners of her mouth raise, creating a smirk, you realise she’s got you right where she wants you. “Ha! So there is someone!”

You’re doing everything within your might to escape her glances, but she doesn’t give you even a tiny bit of peace. Poking your side, Tzuyu patiently waits for you to admit a bit more. 

“Come on, Y/N, you’ve gotta tell me a bit more now.”

Your best friend stands up, still impatiently waiting, heading towards the bag she’s brought with her. Pulling out an above average size wine bottle, she toddles back to her seat next to you. After opening it, the liquid meets the glasses you’ve prepared beforehand. 

“Give me the wine first–“ you demand, shooting a strict glare at her. “On my way, what do you think I’m doing here?” Tzuyu hands you the beverage and grabs the other glass for herself.

Not caring anymore about how tonight will end, since you’ve already decided to attend this shitty party at the local club, you gulp down the whole glass at once. The cold liquid meets your throat and with every little drop running towards your stomach, you feel your body heating up – quite opposite to the weather outside.

When you place the now empty object back onto the table, you notice Tzuyu’s big eyes flickering between the item and your face.

“Now I’m concerned, bestie,” she whispers, before taking a sip from her own drink. Wasting no time, she fills your glass to the brim again, waiting for your answer.

“You’ve gotta promise not to laugh at me. Because you know him.”

Her eyes threaten to fall out by now, face getting even closer to you in excitement.

“I promise. Come on, spill it already.”

You take another deep breath, closing your eyes before you speak.

“But it’s embarrassing. He’s my roommate.”

Tzuyu’s palms immediately find her mouth, preventing any squealing sound to escape her lips.

“It’s Chan.”

She wiggles her eyebrows in a half-seductive, half-joking way.

“Good choice. So are you both official already? When’s the wedding? Should I make an appointment at a bridal shop?”

When you don’t answer, your best friend immediately senses there’s something wrong.

“Y/N, it’s unrequited, isn’t it?”

You simply nod, glancing down onto the floor as your fingers start twirling the carpet underneath your feet.

“Is there a chance he likes you as well?”

There is no harm in her words, still, you’re nearly at the verge of tears again.

“N-No,” you speak with broken words, “we’re kinda in a friends with benefits situation and he would have made a move if he wanted too. It’s been too long.”

“I see. Is there a possibility to talk about it with him?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Not really. It seems rather hopeless to me. Also, I'm not even sure if I am ready for anything serious. He’s way too important to me as a friend, you know?”

Tzuyu gives you a warm smile, the patting on your upper arm making you look up at her.

“It’ll work out when the time is right. Trust me, okay?”

☽

It’s been some time since you’ve felt this alive. Swinging your hips to the rhythm, you get lost in the sound of the music, the noise of the bass synchronising with the beat of your heart. The tunes of your favourite songs crawl up into your ears, making it so easy to forget your little and bigger troubles.

Tzuyu takes both your hands, joining you with her dance moves similar to your own. It’s good to be back. It’s good to be together with her again, your childhood best friend you still call your other half up until this day. Her face is filled with joy, a wide smile from ear to ear, telling she’s having as much fun as you are.

“We should get some drinks. They’re on me,” Tzuyu suggests, already guiding you towards the bar through the crowd of sweaty people accidentally bumping into each other.

“Of course, just like you’ve promised.” You add a wink to your sentence. She’s not able to see your expression and neither are you to witness her scoffing jokingly.

Once you’ve made it to the bartender, Tzuyu orders for the both of you, while you suddenly feel a stranger’s hand on your shoulder.

“It’s really you!” The voice screams through the loud room, getting a bit closer and you soon realise who it is.

“Yunho! Nice to see you, it has been ages.” You allow him to hug you – you swear he’s even taller compared to the last time you’ve met. “It really is. How are you? How’s it going?”

That’s when Tzuyu gets the beverages and turns around, instantly greeting your old friend as well. “We can sit down a bit, if you want. I’m here with Wooyoung. He should be over there.” Yunho points to the couch a bit far away from the bar, letting you know you’d have to make your way through the crowd again.

“Great idea!” Tzuyu decides for the both of you, already dragging you along with her as you both follow the tall boy. 

☽

“No no no no– it wasn’t like that. I didn’t exactly know he was our biology teacher's daughter, okay?”

Wooyoung lets his face fall into the palms of his hands. The embarrassment can be felt in the whole club.

“And two years younger than you–“ Yunho’s words cause his younger friend to let out a high pitched squeal, almost similar to a mouse being caught by a cat.

“So you’ve got a thing for the innocent daughter of your enemy teacher?” Tzuyu asks in between giggles.

“Dude– it’s been what? Three years? And you’re still calling me out on that?”

“Well then she’s finally over 18 now, right? Should give it another try– maybe she can teach you some anatomy.” The ongoing back and fourth of Wooyoung’s and Tzuyu’s bickering has always entertained you.

Still, there’s this odd feeling in your chest from earlier since you’ve had that talk about Chan with your best friend. Possibly, it’s just all the booze talking but you’re getting a bit emotional now – especially whilst talking about your love lives.

“What about Y/N? How’s the dating game going for you?” Wooyoung adds a smirk to his question, getting a scolding look from his older friend. 

“There isn’t really anything going on,” you mutter but your friends still catch your words. “No special one?” He asks again.

Gulping down the rest of your drink, you’re trying your best to avoid the unreadable glimpses. Yes, there is something going on. A lot, exactly. But not what you want, what your heart desires. The lack of intimation on a romantic level is eating you alive.

Also, the fact you haven’t really heard a lot from Chan the past couple of days makes it a lot harder. Sure, he’s currently visiting his family just like you, but he could have sent a message, right?

Except for this one greeting a few days ago on Christmas Eve. Which was obviously a message he just copy pasted and sent to all of his contacts. He’s been behaving weird lately and of course he’s not the only one to blame.

But the more you think about it, the less this feels like him acting truthfully to you. The more you think about it, the less you believe he wants this agreement to continue. The more you think about it, the more you believe he might have met someone. 

And the more you think about this part again, the more you believe it’s something serious.

“HELLO?! EARTH TO Y/N!” Tzuyu screams at you, both considering your short session of zoning out and the bass echoing through the room.

“Sorry, what was the question?” You clear your throat in an attempt to get rid of the weird atmosphere. 

“What’s their name?” Wooyoung asks, a mischievous smile decorating his face. “Who?” You reply.

“The person you’re in love with, stupid.”

“There’s no person–“

“Y/N, you don’t have to lie to your friends, it’s obvious.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Yunho says now, trying to change the topic.

“No, Yunho, it's alright,” you start, shifting a bit in your seat. The alcohol does wonders to your confidence, you’ve always been a person who tends to overshare when given the right amount of liquor and a fitting atmosphere.

“You’ll tell me I’m stupid though because he’s my friends with benefits.” Your confession makes them sigh out in pity, it’s at that moment you remember Wooyoung has experienced something similar – with a disastrous outcome.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart” – this nickname usually only leaves his lips when he really means it, indicating you’ve fucked up big times – “but I can tell you it’s a dead end. I bet he has been behaving differently lately, hasn’t he?”

It’s as if Wooyoung is able to read your mind, his new demeanour – no sign of even an ounce of bratiness left in his appearance – telling you he’s actually being serious now, done playing games to sugarcoat problems.

“Y/N, it seems like you’ve just moved apartments,” Wooyound continues, getting a bit closer to you as a comforting gesture, “since there’s a lot to unpack here.”

His joking words cause a smile to appear on your face, as he’s pulling you into a hug. 

You know you can trust your friends and they’re patiently waiting for you to start with the story.

☽

Saying you’re wasted would be an understatement. The combination of getting together with your three closest friends from your childhood and the cheap alcohol at the local club of your hometown has never been a good idea.

That’s why you’re standing in front of said venue now, struggling to light the cigarette that’s placed between your fingers.

Once you’ve successfully managed that overwhelming task, you take a deep drag from it, the nicotine filled smoke instantly being spread into your lungs. 

Obviously, this doesn’t help you with sobering up again and you soon find yourself scrolling through the contacts in your phones, dialling the number you’re looking for once you’ve found it.

“Hey, Y/N, how’s it going?”

Chan’s voice rings through the speaker.

“I’ve thought about us, Channie,” you start, swaying around as the floor under your feet seems to move on its own. Your drunk personality is glad about the fact your level of intoxication gets unnoticed by Chan. 

“You did?” He asks shyly, patiently waiting for a response.

“Hm, I did,” you say, taking another puff on your cigarette.

“I think it’s better if we end this thing between us, Channie.”

The blonde doesn’t know what’s making him more furious – the fact you’re cutting him off over the phone or the audacity you have to still call him by this nickname that always makes his stupid heart flutter.

“I– Are you sure about that?”

You hum under your breath.

“Yeah, definitely. It’s for the better.”

For a while he doesn’t say anything and you ask him if he’s still there.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here,” he says, waiting a few more seconds before he continues.

“If that’s what you want, that’s okay. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve then.”

Before you’re able to reply, he’s already hung up.

☽

If avoiding your (no longer) friend with benefits was an Olympic game, you would definitely stand on the victory podium now, waiting to get your medal covered in gold.

It’s been only a few hours since you came back to your shared apartment, both happy and uneasy to leave your hometown. The familiar comfort surely has helped you to escape your problems, mainly the situation with Chan. Still, you look forward to tonight’s New Year’s Eve party, already excited to see all your friends again.

Felix and Lisa had already been back at the place, when you entered the apartment. Since all three of you are still busy preparing drinks and food, you almost don’t notice Chan joining you in the kitchen. 

“I’ve bought some more drinks from the store,” he says as a way of greeting when he enters the room, placing the items on the round table. 

“There’s no time left, the first guests will arrive in less than ten minutes,” Lisa rushes, almost screaming her words out to no one in particular. The stress is already getting to her head again, making a great job in spreading the tensed atmosphere through the whole room.

“We’ve got this, don’t worry,” Felix reassures her, as he steps behind her and massages her shoulders so she feels at least a bit more comfortable. It does do wonders, you soon observe her facial expression relaxing.

A few moments later, the first guests arrive and in the blink of an eye, everyone has got their drinks as you gather all together on the big sofas and around the table. Vicky and Miyeon join you on some pillows on the floor, already joking around and appreciating you being back again.

A sudden ringing of the door bell awakens you from your daydreaming session, as you hastily blink a few times.

“Hongjoong, Seonghwa,” Lisa greets them, her loud voice echoing through the apartment. “Always on time.”

Her sarcastic comment makes you chuckle a bit, until you come to the realisation Seonghwa will probably continue his usual ‘hitting-on-Y/N-until- she-gets-annoyed’ ritual this evening. So you’re already standing up to get as far away from the front door as possible.

Until Hongjoong spots you and it would be unfair of you to avoid him since it’s not his fault his best friend doesn’t know how to behave.

“Y/N, long time no see,” he greets you and you waste no time pulling him into a warm hug. “How’s it going?” The common small talk continues, as you make sure to get him a starter drink for the night while refilling your own glass.

You’re so deeply occupied in him speaking of his time at home over the holidays, you nearly don’t notice an unfamiliar face is making its way towards you. The girl has long light brown hair, her choice of outfit rather simple, still you would be a liar if you didn’t admit she’s beautiful.

Getting your hopes up high, the idea of her being Seonghwa’s girlfriend starts bubbling up in your head. If that’s the case, tonight’s gonna be very chill since he probably won’t hit on you.

“Hey, I’m Macy,” she introduces herself, approaching you in the meantime. “Y/N, nice to meet you. You’re one of Seonghwa’s friends?”

The girl nods, a shy smile decorating her face. “Yes. Thanks for the invitation!” You return the generosity by handing her a drink and soon after she’s already on her way again to greet the other people.

“She seems nice,” you tell Hongjoong, who’s still standing beside you. 

“Oh, yeah. She’s a friend of mine as well. Oh– I introduced her to Chan a few weeks ago and– don’t tell him you’ve got this from me,” he gets a bit closer to you so he’s able to whisper into your ear, “but they’ve been on a date and she’s got a huge crush on him.”

A wink and a smirk follow his statement and you just awkwardly chuckle at his words. There’s really no time to respond to anything since Hongjoong gets taken away by Vicky. She’s wanted to talk to him for a while now.

They went on a date?

Hongjoong’s word don’t stop echoing through your head, no matter what you do or try to think about instead.

He went on a date with her?

You’re a fool after all. Wooyoung has been right after all and you’re glad now, he’s warned you.

Get over him.

The counter with all the snacks looks less busy at the moment, so you decide to go there, hoping to get some time to yourself. Ironic, considering you’re in the middle of a party.

Unfortunately for you, no other than Chan has had the same idea. Almost contemporaneously you meet him there, as you’re both now standing in front of the huge collection of food and drinks.

Unsure how to act, he gives you an uptight smile, reaching for some of the crisps in front of him.

“So– Macy,” you start speaking. Always an expert at making the most awkward conversations in the whole room. You curse yourself for that.

Still, you can’t help yourself. If your own feelings for Chan aren’t killing you, the growing curiosity will do it instead.

“We went on a date last week. When you were at home. The day after your call.”

Regret instantly starts rushing through your veins. The possibility you could have turned all of this around was within reach, but you’ve been at the wrong station when that train was leaving.

No, actually, you weren’t at the wrong station. Instead you were manipulating the train not to depart at all by throwing your emotional-avoidance-garbage onto the tracks.

“I mean. It was a casual thing after all, wasn’t it?”

That’s the only thing you can come up with now, Y/N?

“Right.”

Chan’s agreement leaves a bitter aftertaste but when Miyeon calls you from the other side of the room, making you snap your head in her direction, the blonde has already left when you turn back around.

☽

Ten.

The countdown finally starts, summoning the new year. At this point of the night, you’re all back together around the table in the living room, glasses of the cheapest champagne the store had to offer in everyone’s hands.

Nine, eight, seven.

Vicky’s telling a joke to Felix, his mouth instantly falling agape and you’re a bit sad you’ve missed what she said. She’s always making you laugh without any effort.

Six, five, four.

Seonghwa is looking your way again, as if he’s hoping to celebrate the first seconds of the new year with you. But luckily you don’t notice.

Three.

The air in the room is disastrous and for a moment you contemplate opening the window. You’re sure, the scent of all your idiotic friends smoking inside the kitchen will be glued to the furniture for a few days.

Two.

The amount of bubbles in your beverage is already decreasing, telling you this is in fact a fucking cheap champagne, but there’s no going back now anyway.

One.

Fireworks outside start shooting high up to the stars, melting into one with them when they meet their destination.

Happy New Year.

Everyone is already cheering around in the kitchen, embracing each other as the clinking sound of the glasses echoes through the small room.

Vicky is the first one to pull you into a hug and soon everyone is speaking at the same time, noises and noises flooding into your ears.

It’s a moment of happiness, a moment of feeling welcomed. 

But then you see the last thing you’ve ever needed to see.

Her lips on his.

Macy’s lips on Chan’s.

That stupid girls’ lips on your best friend you’re secretly in love with.

Stupid Macy’s lips on Channie’s.

Your Channie.

With the way his back is only visible for you, you can’t figure out if he’s returning her actions. But the lack of resistance tells you enough.

And when a few of your friends start cheering when they notice them both kissing, you can’t fight it anymore. The tears are practically waiting on your lash lines for their kickoff, ready to start running down your cheeks.

“Oh, I’m from now on the biggest Chacy shipper– these two would make the absolute perfect couple.” Hongjoong’s words cause a stinging ache in your heart, a thousand tiny needles pricking into your stomach.

Happy new fucking year.

In the blink of an eye, you’ve made your way out of the centre of the party, heading to the bathroom to get inside. Instantly sinking down to the floor, the tears finally burst free, sprinting down your face one after another.

Your breath hitches, then you inhale deeply, just for the air to get stuck on its way down to your lungs. The anxiety has found its home in your body, by now threatening to rule over it.

The last remaining piece of control has successfully abandoned you, the hateful thoughts fully dominating your mind. Just like a vicious spiral, as you’re mentally at the same position like your mental state – on the floor.

Knock knock.

The noise startles you, your whole body visibly shrugging for a second when your ears recognise the sound.

There’s only one person who could be outside of the bathroom now, trying to talk to you.

“Chan leave me the fuck alone. I don’t wanna see you right now.” The bathroom continues to be filled with your sobs, the muffled noises echoing through it.

“Are you okay?” A familiar voice asks, who turns out to clearly not be your roommate.

Slowly approaching the door, you open it and look straight into Minho’s eyes – the person you’ve last expected to be here if you’re honest.

“Jesus Christ. You look like fucking shit,” he blurts out, not even trying to mince his words, as he speaks as direct as he always does.

“Thank you, I wouldn’t have noticed without your kind help,” you sarcastically reply, rolling your eyes in disbelief after squeezing them shut.

“Be thankful I’m even looking after you.” Wow. Now he’s gaslighting you? No wonder you’ve never liked this dude. The way how highly he’s thinking of himself lets shivers run down your spine.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” you say, before you pass him, making sure to push him with your shoulder once you get closer. Just a simple sign of disapproval, nothing more.

And if your ears weren’t ringing from all the crying and noisy music, you would have noticed the tiny chuckle leaving Minho’s lips and a mumbled ‘unbelievable’ after it.

Walking through the corridor, you enter the kitchen again while the suffocating scent of alcohol and cigarettes lingers in the air. Making your way through the crowds of people, you suddenly notice Seonghwa staring at you again, even suggestively waving in your direction.

That’s all you need in order to escape his glances yet another time, since you’re definitely not in the mood for any of his overtures right now.

But let’s be honest. You never are when it comes to this guy.

The only difference that separates him from Minho is Seonghwa’s intrusive behaviour when it comes to flirting with you.

Sure, you’re always up to a little not so innocent conversation, as long as it stays that way and neither of the parties disrespect the others’ boundaries. He doesn’t necessarily do anything creepy or over the top, but the way he has with words – or rather doesn’t have – makes goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Not the good kind of way.

In conclusion, Minho is nothing like that. Sure, he can be annoying too and ask seductive questions, but neither of the few conversations the both of you had ended in total cringe. To be more precise, you’d be lying if you haven’t caught yourself daydreaming about the things he says occasionally when the timing is fitting.

So if you’re thinking about it, Minho would be a way better choice to get back at–

Wait, what?

No, no, no, no, no. We’re not doing that, Y/N, you tell yourself, trying to get at least one logical thought inside your brain again. Your mind visibly got way too foggy from all the crying.

Definitely the crying and not the thoughts of Minho’s hands roaming all over your body and telling you–

Stop. Now.

Think about something else–

Ah. Yes. Alcohol.

You make your way up to the kitchen counter, already grabbing a clean glass from the upper cabinet, when someone is intercepting you.

“You fancy a drink?”

The evil smirk is decorating Minho’s face again, his body closer than normal caused by the lack of space in the kitchen.

“What do you want now, Minho?”

“Oh, you know, the usual things. Make you a drink, if you insist of course, talk a bit, flirt a bit, you underneath me, screaming my name while you struggle not to cum yet.”

You’re glad about the fact you haven’t started drinking yet, his words would have definitely caused you to spill out whatever beverage.

And Minho enjoys it. He enjoys the way you can’t hide your shyness about what he wishes to do to you. You’d blame it on the alcohol, but the fact you haven’t had a drink for some time rejects this thesis.

As if he’s able to read your mind and not only control it with his sinful words, Minho grabs the glass and fills a good amount of rum into it. You’re trying to concentrate on how the liquid splashes into the object, holding onto any logical thought able to cross your brain.

He then fills the remaining space with diet coke after putting in some ice cubes. Since he’s still busy drinking the rest of his beer, Minho doesn’t need anything else at this moment. Of course, except for your attention.

“Cheers. To a great year.”

He says, before bringing his glass to yours, the clinking sound echoing through the room. Minho makes sure to keep his eyes fixated on yours and the other way around.

“To a great year,” you say before taking a sip from the poisonous liquid, already sensing he's been very generous with the amount of alcohol he’s added.

Not even half an hour into said new year, the already awakening twists within the plot you call your love life let you question every decision you’ve made with Chan before. Sure, a few flirtatious gestures from a guy of your friend group you actually barely know won’t subside your feelings for your roommate. But there’s no harm in a little distraction, right?

Also, the way his shirt is clinging onto Minho’s firm chest makes you want to see more. 

Your fingers land on his forearm now, innocently caressing his soft skin, your gaze attached to them. 

“Trying to get my attention now, doll?”

Continuing your acting, your eyes find his own now. Minho doesn’t hesitate either, quickly leaning forward until his lips almost touch your earlobe and for a second you think he might start kissing you.

You don’t even care where his lips touch your skin, neck, cheeks, lips, chest– everything would be fine and you would allow him.

But it’s not the right time for that yet, at least that’s what Minho decides, when he quietly starts whispering, the words slipping out of his mouth so easily.

“Stop playing innocent, I know exactly what’s going on in this pretty but distracted little head of yours.”

Your heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe even more. You’re still blaming it on the alcohol, the heat and thunderous desire he creates between the both of you, every syllable falling from his mouth shoots sparkles through your veins.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you reply, looking at him with big doll-like eyes just to fit right into how he views you.

In the corner of your eyes, you witness your roommate again, suspiciously close to his new lover. One of his hands on her hips, the other one holding a drink. In your mind, you're praying for him to notice you but he just doesn’t seem to even catch a glimpse into your direction.

Nothing at all.

It’s as if you don’t exist and his eyes only crave to have that girl in their vision.

“I know you’re trying to make Chan jealous, but I can play right into your fantasy if you want me to, doll,” Minho tells you with a wink. His sudden confession makes your head snap back and you’re slightly embarrassed now he has noticed it.

“How do you–“ you start, not quite believing he must have really witnessed the tension between your roommate and you. Was it really that obvious? You’re starting to fall into a spiral of second-guessing yourself here.

“Even a blind person would see, darling. Neither of you do a good job in hiding it. So, I’ll stand by my offer. Unless you want to continue pathetically thinking about him, then I’m out. If you’re with me, your whole attention belongs to me, alright?”

The way he just casually uses in all these nicknames, throwing even the last remaining pieces of innocence out the window, leaves you breathless.

You’re in a constant flickering between hoping your roommate may decide to look at you, even if it’s just for a second, or this incredibly hot frenemy of yours to turn the filthiest of your fantasies into reality.

And Minho hasn’t even done anything yet. He hasn’t kissed you. He hasn’t touched you.

He’s already got you right where he wants you just by his words.

And you’re desperate. You’re desperate for touch, hoping to get over Chan by getting under Minho.

But you’re also desperate to feel something real instead of this ongoing back and forth of not admitting any feelings that are painfully obvious right there to each other. You’re not sure yet if Minho can give your heart everything it desires – if you’re honest you doubt he can give you anything involving any emotion except for lust but you’ve stopped caring.

That’s why you can’t help but nod, your eyes fixated on Minho’s own which are filled with pure hunger and evil.

“Consent, doll. I need you to tell me with words that you’re okay with being ruined by me.”

There’s no doubt respect has always been the one thing that has turned you on the most. It’s clear that the anticipation is surely killing you by now and you want the picture of his piercing gaze tattooed on your brain, so you will be able to see it again in front of your inner eyes whenever you like.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.”

Minho lets out a small chuckle, tilting his head to the side while his fingers brush your collarbones again before they catch a strand of your hair to play with.

“Needy, are we?”

Lee Minho, you will be the death of me, you think to yourself. 

By now you’re convinced there’s nothing but full desire flowing through your veins and you’re unable to believe how much of an impact he has on you when nothing has even started yet.

That’s even a new level of eagerness for you, if you’re honest.

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

You take his hand to guide him through the crowds of people, as Minho obediently follows suit. Because of the fact you’re walking in front of him, you’re not able to witness the mischievous smirk that’s plastered all over his face.

Before stepping out of the kitchen, you steal a last glance into Chan’s and the girl’s direction but they’re both so occupied in their conversation, he doesn’t notice you leaving to your bedroom with his friend.

To be fair, a tiny part of you wishes for him to see you. After all, Minho officiates as tonight’s rebound. It’s even what he’s offered. So what’s the point of revenge sex, if you can’t get back at the person who’s caused all your anger?

But there’s no time to rethink the decision once you enter your bedroom and he shuts the door behind you. Minho catches you between it and his body, pinning you against the wooden material. He keeps his dark eyes glued onto your face, causing your cheeks to heat up.

Just like a hunter aiming for their target.

Minho is the predator.

And you’re his long awaited prey.

That’s the last somewhat logical thought that crosses your mind, but it’s swept away in the blink of an eye when his lips capture yours for the first time. 

He doesn’t bother starting at a slow pace, instead goes all in from the beginning. He’s waited long enough and now he’s finally gathered up that necessary courage to push through, have you all to himself.

Chan’s loss, if he doesn’t know how to take care of her, Minho thinks to himself, while his lips are dancing with your own, his tongue slipping inside to explore your mouth.

As if you’re under a spell, you allow him to do what he wants. You don’t even bother his hands finding their way onto your hips, roughly gripping the soft flesh through your jeans.

Quicker than you’re able to realise, he’s already gotten rid of the belt attached to your trousers. His hand wanders inside, slowly pushing the soaked fabric of your panties aside and you feel Minho chuckle against your mouth.

Precum being smeared over your already wet folds, two of his fingers instantly find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Look at you, practically dripping, just for me, pretty.”

Lips now busy on your neck, he creates a purple pattern of his own personal signature on your skin. His fingers expertly slide into your heat, effortlessly stretching out your walls, as his thumb keeps drawing circles on your clit.

It’s unbelievable how his touches affect you, as you feel yourself getting lost in the unbearable pleasure.

“Just like that, such a good girl, getting ready for all the things I’ve got planned with you,” he whispers in your ear, once he’s let go of your neck for a second. You simply whimper at his words, satisfaction taking over your whole body and brain.

Without realising it – who would’ve told him – Minho does the one thing, that’s causing everything to take the wrong turn, when he captures your lips with his, kissing you again. Even though some minutes ago, his kisses were all you could think about, now that you’re so intimate it causes uninvited thoughts to appear again.

It’s just kissing, you tell yourself, still it evokes the pictures from back in the kitchen again.

But every time you close your eyes, you see Chan in front of you. It’s pointless to try pushing these thoughts aside, they’re only getting worse by now once they evolve into something worse – not Chan kissing you, but kissing Macy instead.

It’s like you’ve been for breakfast at the heartbreak hotel and the waitress was miserable just like your food. The waitress being Chan here, the food clearly an allegory for his new flame since he’s served their fresh love like a three course meal right in front of all the guests.

The ingredients he’s put into have definitely caused a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, almost to a degree that makes you want to get a test done for possible allergies considering the harsh reactions your body shows. The repetition of the picture inside your head, his lips on hers, makes your stomach turn. 

Panic starts running through your veins, once you realise you can’t push those thoughts aside, particularly with Minho’s digits inside you.

That’s why you don’t hesitate to grab his wrist, guiding his hand out of your jeans. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, clearly at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?”

His question is quiet, still the sound finds its way into your ears, making you nod as a non-verbal reply. Tears are stinging on your lower lash line and Minho is fast to notice, placing his hands on his hips in disbelief.

“Clearly you’re not. Have I done something wrong? Do you need anything?”

It’s not even connected to experiencing discomfort, still, your brain sometimes manages to give the familiar strong reactions of silence and the frozen state when being intimate with a person and the sudden urge to stop crashes in. There isn’t anything Minho did that was uncomfortable, the sole reason for you zoning out again is that you can’t get a different face out of your head.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” He asks another time, softly grabbing your face now to make you look at him.

“Maybe we can sit down for a second?” You quietly pose the question. “Of course.”

He is leading you towards your bed, carefully helping you to sit down as if you’re made of glass and he’s afraid to break you into a thousand tiny pieces, just like your shattered heart.

Once you feel your thoughts being back to reality again, you take a deep breath before you speak.

“I think this was a bad idea. I can’t stop thinking about him, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you ever apologise for that, okay?” He tells you, his voice coming off stricter than he would have liked. Scaring you off is the last thing he wants now or would ever want, so he adds another few words, “I mean like in general. No matter what’s the reason, okay?”

He’s not doing it on purpose, pushing all the buttons that make you feel a bit more secure around him. But the idea that you could possibly talk to him about your traumatic experience from a few years ago once the situation is given, creates a green plus above your heads, the friendship bar of your relationship level increasing.

So you nod, giving him a thankful smile.

“You want some advice, pretty?”

“I’m not sure if you’re the right person for that, if I’m honest.”

He chuckles about the remark, a sign for you he agrees with your statement, even though he knows it’s not positive in the slightest.

“Yeah, no judgement about that. You know, I really meant what I said back in the bathroom.”

“Me looking like shit? Go fuck yourself then, Lee Minho.”

The brown haired rolls his eyes in annoyance, lips parting before he lets out a loud scoff.

“No, stupid. I mean, that I’m looking after you. I may seem intriguing but you can always talk to me about everything. We might be more similar than you think.”

Yeah, sure.

“How would you know? This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

Fair point.

“Give me one chance tonight and I’ll prove to you, we’ll get along. If you’re not convinced I’ll leave you alone after it.”

Do you really have a choice here? The only two other options would be to either stay here alone and continue crying until you fall asleep from exhaustion or to get back into the crowd, probably experiencing another attack of tears streaming down your face once you see Chan and her.

“Alright.”

Right decision. Or at least so it seems.

“I’m gonna get some more drinks, if you want me too,” he says but his sentence sounds more like a question mark is attached at the end of it.

“Oh– no need for me to be honest. Unless you want some.” He shakes his head and turns his body around, so he’s facing you.

“So… what do you like to do?” He awkwardly begins, cringing at his own words.

“You know, that’s the worst thing you can ask a person. Whenever someone starts a conversation with this question, I forget my whole personality. My mind instantly goes blank.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. Maybe you should start then.” 

“So, there’s nothing I hate more than small talk. Are you in for deep talks instead, Lee Minho?”

“Thank God. I can stop pretending now. I hate nothing more than small talk as well. I was gonna ask you if you like weather next.”

His confession causes a soft smile to erupt on your face, the weird tension slowly fading away. It’s at this moment you see a non-visible light bulb above his head, indicating he’s got an idea.

“What would you do if you won the lottery?”

“Depends on the amount of money.”

“A lot of money.”

You take a deep breath before answering, still contemplating how to put your thoughts into words. 

“Probably panic because I don’t know how to deal with financial situations in general. Maybe get this family sushi plate from the tiny Japanese restaurant downtown near the river and eat the whole meal by myself.”

“That sounds fucking sad.”

You scoff at his response, by now not even trying to hide your reaction. 

“I’ve told you– I am not acting responsible when it comes to money so it’s better for the sake of humanity to not give me too much in the first place. Even though I think most people would go insane with such an amount. So I’d probably give some of it to my mum and step dad and donate the rest of it for education or something.”

Minho nods at your response, shuffling around a bit on the bed. 

“Alright. That makes sense. You’re next asking a question.”

What’s something you’ve always wanted to know about Minho? Minho, the tsundere character of the Netflix show you call your friend group. Is there a possibility he’s just acting like that? He probably is, considering the fact he’s admitted to listen to and care for you.

Unless this was just part of his plan to help your jeans find their way to the carpet of your bedroom. 

But there must be at least something even Minho is afraid of, right?

“Let me think,” you try to gather your thoughts, “do you have any phobias?”

“I’m afraid of heights.” He pauses in order to think. ”And water.”

He’s quick to admit, leaving you a bit speechless since you haven’t expected him to blurt out a response that fast.

And Minho senses it. He senses it by the way you’re looking at him, not even realising your mouth is slightly agape.

“Surprised a guy like me is afraid of stuff?”

“A guy like you?”

What is that supposed to mean? Well, you do know what he means, still you’d like to hear his personal explanation. You’re dying to find out how he sees himself since Minho barely shares any private stuff.

“You know, always looking as if everyone annoys him, unreadable emotions. Sometimes being called mean because people don’t realise they’re crossing a line.”

Minho is in fact way more vulnerable than he seems and you wonder again if it’s the alcohol he’s had over the evening or just the fact he feels so comfortable around you for no explainable reason that’s making him confess all these thoughts.

“Do you think of yourself that way, too?” You ask him.

“It’s my turn first with another question, doll. A little more patience, please.”

You roll your eyes, knowing he’s just avoiding responding to your curiosity. Still, you decide to obey the rules since it’s the only chance to find out more about him.

“What’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever gotten?”

His question surprises you a bit, since you haven’t expected him to come up with something like that.

“Hm, let me think,” you start, trying to save some time, “ah– I’ve got something! My childhood best friend, her name is Tzuyu. We’re both still very close and tell each other everything. She’s been through a hard time some months ago and very frustrated, didn’t know what to do.”

Minho nods at your monologue, telling you he’s attentively listening and showing his actual interest in your story.

“But since I was very busy at that time, she was unsure if she should reach out to me, you know? Even though I’ve always told her I’m there for her – no matter what. Instead, Tzuyu confessed when she was at her lowest, she just asked herself ‘what would Y/N do’ and acted upon that. So, that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten. That I’m good at giving advice. It meant a lot to me and still does.”

The boy in front of you warmly smiles at your words, the stars in your eyes while telling your story are making him feel some type of way he doesn’t want to deal with right now.

He’s driving off with his thoughts soon, almost to the point of zoning out but you’re fast to realise, as you hastily clap your hands.

“You know the question, Lee Minho.” You take your chance now, a mischievous smirk plastered all over your face.

“How do I think about myself? I’m quite confident, that’s not up for consideration. However, I do have a hard time showing people how I really feel, you know?”

Oh, yes, you definitely know how that feels.

“I’d like to work a bit more on that, if I’m honest. Let’s see what the new year offers. I’m tired of running out of given chances just because people think I’m mean. I do make a lot of jokes and teasing whenever I feel insecure, so that’s what I will start working on.”

“I like your jokes. You’re funny. It’s the other people’s problem if they don’t get your humour.”

Minho smiles at your compliment.

“It’s my turn again,” he abruptly says once his emotions are getting to his head again and he realises he can’t deal with them.

“What’s your next question, Lee Minho?” You tease him by calling him by his full name again.

“What’s a situation you would like to forget, if there was the possibility?”

Your breath instantly hitches, chest tightening as an idea immediately pops up in your head. 

He’s not doing it on purpose, pushing all the buttons that make you feel a bit less secure around him, around anybody. But then the idea from earlier comes back to your mind again. Maybe now is a good time to tell him. You’re on the right track to become friends, so what’s stopping you?

“You really wanna know? I don’t want to kill the mood,” you warn him and his shoulders quickly fall down.

“You could never ruin anything. I was the one asking, whatever it is, I’m okay. Of course, as long as you want to share it.”

You hesitantly nod. 

“I’ve had some bad experiences back in high school, traumatic to be specific, that still haunt me until this day.” 

Minho’s gaze is fixated on your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. “Do you want to elaborate on that?”

“My boyfriend back then has crossed some lines while being intimate. You know, pressuring me into stuff I wasn’t sure about and once clearly overhearing me telling him to stop.”

He instantly closes his eyes, as he feels his heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Y/N– I’m so sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine how that felt– how you must feel up until today.”

Your whole body softens once his words leave his lips, the comfort growing again.

“I’m alright. Really, don’t worry. I’ve been to therapy because of that and we’ve talked a lot about those incidents. Just from time to time I get little flashbacks, but when I’m safe with the other person, there’s nothing to stress about.”

Minho considers getting a bit closer to you after he’s nodded at your explanation. When there’s no sign of hesitation, he moves nearer.

“I know the chances are close to zero but I’d still like to agree on a word, just in case. Doesn’t even have to be for possible or not so possible sexual encounters. I just want you to feel comfortable around me all the time.”

“Thanks for being considerate. Well– Chan and I had always used the word ‘red’ but at this point I’m afraid it’ll make me think of him.”

“Yeah we wouldn’t want that, darling, would we?”

You don’t mind him slightly flirting with you. Actually, you’re feeling quite comfortable around him. Probably as comfortable as you’ve never felt before around someone you haven’t talked with up until such an occasion. 

“How about Soonie?”

“Excuse me?” You ask, not quite catching what he’s said.

“It’s my cat’s name. Well, one of them. Doongie or Dori would be fine as well.”

You slightly nod at his idea, finding it rather cute if you’re completely honest.

Minho has cats? Three of them? You’ve always expected him to be a cat person but never thought about three of those little fur balls running around in his apartment.

Somehow, this new information makes him a bit more likeable. But only a little bit. You would never admit he’s quite pleasant to be around.

Nevertheless, it helps you feel safe around him. You’re sure he’s a person to trust.

“Okay. That’s a good choice.”

Minho softly caresses your lower back, warmly smiling at you. 

“If you ever wanna talk about the topic again, don’t hesitate to reach out to me, okay? I can’t feel what you must have felt but I can be there for you and listen.”

You thankfully nod at him and a few minutes of comforting silence pass by, neither of you do anything except for Minho still stroking your back.

Suddenly, he grabs his phone out of his jeans pocket, unlocking the device to open an app. “The last bus in the direction of my apartment leaves in like fifteen minutes. I could still catch that one.”

You shuffle around a bit on the bed, the mattress moving under your weight. It’s a bit abrupt, his actions, though you understand he must be tired. It’s been a long night after all and even though he’s got a day off tomorrow, starting the new year on a low level, you’re sure he’d like the comfort of his own bed more.

Also, it would be weird asking him to stay just for sleeping, wouldn’t it?

“Unless you want me to stay,” he unexpectedly whispers and his voice is so quiet, you can barely hear him. Minho is sure, he’s murmured his words because of his still ongoing insecurity, not wanting to cross any lines of yours.

“Yes, of course. You can always stay here.” Your sentence comes off a bit too eager for your liking, hoping he doesn’t take it the wrong way. After all the good and deep talks the both of you have shared over the past few hours, you feel way more comfortable getting to know him first. You’re sure this could be the beginning of a meaningful friendship.

If anyone had told you this last year some hours ago, there’s no chance you would have believed them. It’s like the world has done a one hundred and eighty degrees turn, the sun is now the moon, the sky functions as the ocean and you’re thankful to live in this upside down universe. 

“Thank you. If you give me some blankets, I can sleep on the floor,” Minho says and you sheeply chuckle at his response. He’s so… respectful? You’re sure he’s considering every tiny detail so his sentences don’t come off as any type of weird.

“Stop with the joking now, there’s enough space on the bed.”

A warm smile erupts on his face, cheeks blushing like the colour of strawberries and he simply nods and mumbles a quiet ‘thank you’, before he gets up to head to the bathroom.

When you’re both ready to go to bed, your new friend is still a bit hesitant but once he spots the second blanket on your bed, a weight finally falls off his shoulders. It would have been weird for him to be even closer to you, even though he would like it.

“Good night, Minho.”

He clears his throat before answering.

“Good night, Y/N.”

But your eyes shoot open again, once you remember something. “You know, whatever you’re dreaming will come true.”

“Why is that?” Minho asks, unsure what you’re referring to.

“There’s a superstition that sleeping in a bed for the first time will cause whatever dream to turn into reality,” you explain right before you doze off into sleep.

Minho wishes to dream about you that night.

☽

The sunbeams are making their way to your closed eyes, waking you up with a pulsating headache. Mixing up different types of alcohol has never been a good idea, you’ve learnt this from your teenage years. Still, you tend to repeat those mistakes up until this day from time to time.

“Shit,” you groan under your breath, getting a bit startled when you hear a chuckle.

“Got a headache?” Minho asks you, already awake and sitting right beside you. You simply nod, only to realise even such a small movement makes your whole body spin around.

“It’s usually like that, it should be gone once I’ve had a glass of water and some food,” you tell him, so he doesn’t worry about it. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine. Not long enough, but I could get a little rest. Thanks for letting me stay here,” he replies.

“Sure, no need to thank me for that.”

You both smile at each other for a few seconds, until Minho speaks again, “Do you need anything?”

Shaking your head, you position yourself on your forearms, lower back still laying on the mattress. “It’s fine, don’t worry about me, really. I’m gonna go to the kitchen and get some water.”

“Alright, fine. If that’s the case– I really should get going.” Minho’s voice is still filled with sleepiness, the tousled hair doing no good job in hiding his tiredness but the warm smile decorating his face somehow helps a bit. 

“Do you need any towels? You wanna go to the bathroom?”

“Are you telling me I smell bad, Y/L/N?” He asks, adding a questioning look by raising one of his eyebrows.

“No, Lee Minho, I am not. I’m just trying to be friendly by offering to make you feel welcome in my apartment.”

He chuckles at your response, finding it a bit cute you’re yet again not understanding his playful nature, still putting too much weight in his words. It’s entertaining for him, though. That’s why he catches up on it.

“So sorry, I’m not used to you being so kind, not scratching out my eyes for once.”

When he pulls up the corner of his mouth, you finally realise he’s just joking with you. Grabbing the pillow that’s still laying beside you, you aim it into his direction and with little to no effort it lands directly in his face.

“You still need to practice on your defensive skills, you know,” you tease him now. He doesn’t reply to that, instead simply grabbing his stuff to head towards the bathroom.

In the meantime, you're busy with changing your clothes as well, even though it doesn’t really matter – the transition from your pajamas into another comfy outfit consisting of sweatpants and a big shirt is rather useless. Still, it helps you to feel as if you’re somewhat getting ready for the day which will consist of nothing more than staying at home.

With no further consideration, you make your way to the kitchen, both Felix’s and Lisa’s doors still fully closed, indicating they must be sleeping. Reaching your destination, you halt in place for a second once you spot your other roommate. The blonde curls are hiding his face again, telling you he must have gotten up a few minutes ago as well.

Chan doesn’t notice you, way too occupied in making himself some breakfast and the blaring sound of the kettle causing him to miss that you’re stepping into the room. For some moments you contemplate leaving the kitchen again, not wanting to deal with his presence. But you’re not the one to decide that, your dry throat is already begging for water, thirsty from all the alcohol you’ve had the night before.

And when Chan turns around, spotting you standing not far from the doorframe, there’s no choice left anyway. Another half a minute passes by until either of you moves again, you’re really just standing there, staring at each other.

“Good morning,” Chan makes the first move before he gets back to cooking his meal. “Good morning.”

Trying to play it cool, you stride towards the sink, grabbing a clean glass from the upper counter. Focusing on the current task, you observe the water filling the item you’re holding.

“Can I get one, too?” Minho asks, entering the kitchen as well. He looks a little less tired now, his tamed hair and a washed face helping him with that. “Sure,” you mumble as you follow his request.

Chan’s piercing gaze from beside you is practically shooting through your head and you’re now just realising what he must be thinking.

You went to your bedroom with his friend.

You let his friend stay the night there.

But who is he to judge? He kissed that girl right in front of all the guests, after you had told him it wasn’t anything serious.

How dare he?

How dare he not read your mind, right?

“Morning, Chan,” Minho greets your roommate, not missing any chance to tease the elder, as he walks towards you, innocently patting your shoulder as a sign of thankfulness when he grabs the water. The smirk appearing on Minho’s face doesn't go unnoticed either, still, your roommate doesn’t pay any visible attention to it.

“You’re gonna go to the gym today?” The brown haired tries to start another conversation. “Don’t know,” is all the other boy says, eyes fixated on the sizzling pan in front of him.

That’s when Minho gives up, rolling his eyes in front of you as a sign of annoyance. There’s no reason for him to be mad at his younger friend and Chan knows that, still he’s having a hard time hiding his jealousy and not really doing a great job at it either.

Just the idea of you laying under him, screaming his name instead of Chan’s lets shiver run down his spine, the sudden urge to scream at everyone grows with each second.

He’s already getting afraid of seeing Minho touch you again, just like he did with the little shoulder pat some minutes ago. All the possibilities are running through his mind now, the panic of witnessing him kiss you on your cheek, on your forehead or on your mouth growing each second.

But once Minho says goodbye to you, only sheeply waving in your direction since neither of you like hugs that much, Chan feels quite relieved. At least he’s not doomed to see any physical interactions between the both of you, the imagination of what has happened last night is enough to haunt him for the next few days.

A few minutes pass by, you’ve managed to grab yourself some cereal, currently filling the bowl with the remaining milk this household has got. The atmosphere is tense and for a second you contemplate leaving the kitchen and eating in peace in your bedroom instead, but this would make everything worse and simply awkward.

You can’t escape Chan anymore, after all you both are still living together.

Maybe I should move apartments, your mind is babbling to itself. 

Maybe I should flee the country and change my identity.

I’ve always wanted to do research on penguins and Antarctica isn’t that cold in January, right?

“You okay?” Chan’s words break into your thought process.

“I’m fine, just the usual headache, don’t worry.”

It’s clear, he’s talking about you zoning out again, he’s witnessed it many times before. So it’s not unusual for your roommate to make sure you’re fine, in case there are unpleasant thoughts torturing you.

Of course, there are. You don’t even know what to focus on, since every thought brings you back to Chan and the whole thing with Macy and the general situation you are in.

It’s been too much. Too much stuff going on over the past few weeks, the New Year’s Eve with their kisses being the cherry on top of the iceberg, since there’s still so much to unpack. On one hand, there are the obvious troubles tormenting your everyday life but on the other hand, the worst part are all the unspoken words.

But you’re convinced you’ve lost the chance now. Actually, you’ve lost it twice. The first time being the kiss between Chan and the new girl, the second time being when you went to your room with Minho.

“So, Macy is still asleep?” You decide to ask him now, there’s no point in hiding anymore.

“Oh, she didn’t stay overnight. Actually, nothing has really happened between the both of us yet, except for the kiss last night.”

Chan’s not sure why he’s telling you all that, possibly as a way of getting back at you for leading Minho to your room last night. Still, the blonde refrains from asking you what’s going on between you and him. He’s not ready for that – emotionally.

The silence fills the room again, you both continue with your breakfast, unsure what to say to the other one.

“Oh, I didn’t have a proper chance to tell you but I wish you a happy new year,” Chan carries on with a somewhat conversation.

“Happy new year, Chan.”

How’s that famous sentence again? New year, new me?

Well, rather new year, new Chan.

There’s no way your heart will survive calling him Channie anymore.

🖇 TAGLIST: @heelover5 @chimmycupcake @avyskai @angellixie @svintsandghosts @lachinitaaaaa @drrramaaaqweeen @septicrebel @chrissybang @hugs4chan @brit97 @choxcosmos

© j-0ne25 2022 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

SAY MY NAME (18+!)

Ateez - Say My Name

🖤 When your friends joke about Felix probably being the submissive one in your relationship, your boyfriend does everything to prove the opposite…

CONTENT INFO: felix x afab reader, established relationship, smut, a bit of fluff; she/her pronouns used for reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNING: dom!felix, sub!reader; fingering, spit play, breast play, piv, unprotected sex (pls don’t be stupid), choking, spanking, praise, degrading, sir kink, name calling (angel, princess, brat, slut, good girl), aftercare

The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Also minors do not interact, this post contains mature themes. By clicking on “read more” you consent to nsfw content.

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‘He’s probably letting her do all the work.’

‘I could never imagine him being any kind of dominant.’

‘It just doesn’t fit his agenda. Felix is way too sweet to act like that.”

Those were only a few sentences your other friends had thrown at your boyfriend back at the party, causing him to cage you between him and the front door of your shared apartment now.

You’re still in shock, since everything has happened so fast. In the blink of an eye, Felix grabbed you by your wrist and left the venue with you, his plan of convincing you neither of those assumptions are true already bubbling up inside his head.

And a few moments later you find yourself here, so close to him, his lips attached to your neck, leaving rough bites and kisses. The touches allow you to shut off all logical thoughts that remain in your brain.

He surprises you, when he brings one of his hands around your throat, his finger responsible for the applied pressure on the sides. Not holding back anymore, you let him know how good he’s making you feel, when his name in the form of a moan escapes your lips. 

This isn’t exactly new to either of you, the fact that your friends’ sentences aren’t any equal to reality is the reason Felix has become this furious in the first place. It’d be an understatement to say the bickering bugged him. Usually, the both of you like to switch positions and roles, never wanting to let anything get boring.

But tonight it’s all about your boyfriend demonstrating to you he’s the one in charge and his mission seems to be successful, when you let out another muffled noise. 

“Bedroom. Now. Take your clothes off.”

His eyes scan your face for any hints, when he notices how startled his words have left you. He clearly can’t quite believe how much of an impact they have on you, but your expression shows exactly this – and it’s a memory he wants to record in the back of his mind.

“Do I have to repeat myself, angel?” Felix asks. You finally come back to your senses, when his hands start trailing down your curve, just to leave speechless yet again. That’s why you simply shake your head no, showing him you’ve understood your task.

“Then what are you waiting for, huh?”

Usually, it’s not that easy for him to get you into submitting, but the riled up tension that’s been lingering between the both of you since those ridiculous comments back at your friend’s place, make you follow his instructions.

You’ve always known it’s both a curse and blessing to get Felix like this, provoking him in a teasing way so he has no other choice than prove you wrong. He’d be a liar himself if he states he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s the best strategy for him to take control but still be praised and called a good boy by you after.

By now, you’ve successfully followed his command. Your remaining clothes are all spread on the floor but that’s the last thing you care about now, when Felix is approaching you and the usual cute kitten face turns into the one of a lion, a tiger.

Your boyfriend makes you take a few steps back in anticipation until your thighs hit the bed frame, instantly causing you to fall down onto the mattress. Ready to be crumbled underneath Felix, your back hits the soft cushion whilst your boyfriend starts towering over you. Luckily, he’s made sure to get rid of his own clothes beforehand as well, not wanting to waste any time.

There’s no doubt he takes notice of your eagerness which he likes to mistake as helplessness from time to time – which isn’t entirely wrong.

Before one of you is able to let out any thoughts in the form of words, his lips are attached to your neck again, making their way down to your collarbones. The bed shifts under both your weight when his movements become more passionate and his tongue lands on the sensitive bud of one of your breasts, the other one being teased by one of his fingers.

Your walls are quivering against emptiness but as if Felix is able to read your mind, he brings one of his hands between your upper thighs, slowly moving upwards until they meet your heat. When his fingers graze your wetness, you struggle to catch your breath for a second.

“Already so wet just from my words, princess?”

Unable to fully understand how much his little actions and the addition of his words cause, you let your head fall back.

“Eyes on me, angel. Come here,” he orders and you’re fast to realise he wants you to look at him. Fixing your posture, you stabilise yourself on your forearms, as your gaze connects with his – dark lustful eyes burning with so much desire.

“You need a lot of instructions today. I’m used to you being more obedient.” He brings his digits up to your face. “Open, angel. Otherwise I’ll have to change some rules here.”

Eager for what else he might do, you decide at the last second the role of a brat fits tonight’s atmosphere a bit more.

Instead of obeying his demand, you do open your mouth but stick out your tongue, slightly chuckling at him, once the look on his face changes.

“You wanna play this way, slut?” He changes the course now. Whilst his hand catches your face between his index finger and thumb, squeezing your cheeks together, the utmost desire for him starts flowing through your veins.

Still not replying, you continue staring at him, acting all innocent to make him as furious as possible. Your plan seems to work, when he tilts your head he’s still holding to the side, ready to whisper into your ear.

“Turn around now. Face on the mattress. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Following his order, you let out a noticeable scoff indicating you’re not defeated yet. Positioning yourself on your forearms again, you make sure to get your ass up as high as possible, just to earn a rough slap from your boyfriend.

“You’re gonna regret this, angel,” he says, aligning his hardened cock right at your entrance. But instead of doing what you’re waiting for so patiently, one of his hands finds your neck, making sure to hold you in place.

“Lix– stop teasing,” you cry out. His palm collides with your sensitive skin once more, while he makes sure to leave visible memories for the next day. 

“That’s not how you’re supposed to address me, brat.”

Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, his fingers land between your legs again, juices by now practically dripping down your thighs. Painfully slowly, he starts teasing your bundle of nerves, whilst your heartbeat echoes in your ears.

“Sir– please,” you mumble, barely noticeable.

“Please, what?” Felix chuckles behind you, his motions never stopping.

“Please– teach your girl some manners, I’ve deserved it.”

That’s everything he needs to hear for now.

In the blink of an eye, his fingers leave your body again so he’s able to wrap his hand around his length, the other one grabbing you by your hip. Creating a mixture of both your precum, he smears the liquid over your folds. Felix tightens the grip on your flesh one last time, nails digging into your skin.

You’re sure you almost faint, once he’s pushing his cock inside, filling you up heavenly. Once you’re adjusted to his size, his other hand finds your neck again, as he is thrusting into you.

Not bothering to start at a slow pace, he goes all in from the start, justifying it as a part of your punishment.

“Fuck– right there,” you cry out. His movements sharpen, as you let him rail you into oblivion. The last remaining piece of sanity leaves your mind, once he brushes that spot inside of you.

“S-So good– Lixie,” you moan, not even realizing the wrong name slips out of your mouth.

Your boyfriend instantly comes to a halt, stopping all his movements to reconsider your treatment.

“What was that?” He asks in the most strict tone you’ve ever witnessed in his voice.

“N-Nothing,” you stutter, already both afraid and excited about what he’ll do next.

“I’ve had enough,” he begins, whilst pulling out of you, “turn around again, brat.”

This time you immediately do what you’re told, not entirely seeing his actions for what they’re supposed to be – a punishment.

Laying on your back now, you spread your legs for him, by now obediently waiting for his next move. His eyes meet yours again, darkened to a degree as if Felix was a demon.

“Open,” he says and you quickly follow suit, as you part your lips. A string of saliva hits your tongue, before you close your mouth again.

“Good girl,” Felix says for the first time tonight.

As a reward, he brings his length right to your entrance again without a sign of hesitation this time. When he enters your walls, you instantly clench around his cock, as he wastes no time to pick up his pace from earlier.

With the way one of his hands squishes your cheeks together again, there’s no choice left for you but to keep your gaze fixated on him.

And when he brings his other hand to your lower stomach, fingers slowly traveling down to meet your clit, waves of pleasure are sent through your entire body. You can’t help yourself but slam your hand at the headboard in satisfaction, mind by now completely gone.

The only thought that’s running through your mind is him and how good he’s making you feel.

“S-So– fuck– good,” you blurt out and hear Felix chuckle in the distance, laughing about your helplessness since he’s achieved his goal for tonight.

“Just like that, such a good, obedient slut for me.”

You simply hum at his sentence, a smile plastered all over your face while you nod your head in agreement.

“You’d still let our friends believe what they’ve said back at the party, hm?”

Instantly shaking your head no, you let out another loud moan. “N-No– they’re so wrong– you’re so good at this– good at showing me where my place is and taking control.”

“Fuck–“ he cries out now at the praise, as his thrusts become sloppier, indicating he’s close. Moans fill the room, as you feel yourself approaching your high.

Even though the last logical thought has left your brain a long time ago, you still remember to say what Felix wants to, no, needs to hear.

“Who’s making you feel this good, angel? Say my name.” Your boyfriend asks again, desperately trying to keep his eyes fixated on yours. The satisfaction is threatening to let him lose his own mind as well.

“You– only you, Felix, please,” you scream, already sensing it won’t take any longer for you to reach that sweet relief you’re longing for.

“I love when you’re begging for me, princess. Go on, be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

Proving to him you’ve learnt from his instructions, you tip over the edge, stars filling your vision as the sensation travels through your entire body.

Your clenching walls trigger Felix to hit his orgasm as well, while white hot spurts of his seeds fill you up. 

When some seconds have passed and you’re both able to breathe at a somewhat normal rate again, he carefully pulls out of you, whilst the mixtures of your juices run down your thighs.

A few moments later, Felix makes sure to get you all cleaned up. “What about a warm bath, angel?” He asks, his demeanor has switched by one hundred and eighty degrees now.

You blissfully nod, as you let him pick you up and guide you to the bathroom. While the hot water fills the tub, bubbles floating on top of it, Felix sits you down first before he joins you.

Once you’re used to the temperature of the water, your boyfriend scoots a bit closer to you, bringing his finger with foam attached to it to your nose.

“You look cute like this,” he grins. You chuckle at his words, before kissing him on his nose.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you, too.”

TAGLIST: @heelover5 @chimmycupcake @avyskai @chrissybang @svintsandghosts

© j-0ne25 2022 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

beach boy / wildfire

part five of playing with fire | pt. one | pt. two | pt. three | pt. four | { masterlist }

—hyunjin x reader (f) this chapter is centered around the chan x reader (f) dynamic —word count: 24.k (ao3) i am so, so sorry —genre: non-idol au, organized crime au, romance, explicit smut with plot (minors dni), dj!chan au —warnings: multiple povs. two original characters are part of the story. established backstory elements. strong elements of arranged marriage & marriage of convenience. post-relationship depression. drug abuse. alcohol abuse. casual drinking & drug use. mentions of murder/graphic acts of violence. hurt/comfort. angst. smut. explicit sexual content (mentions of cum eating. consensual but unprotected & unsafe sex. rebound sex. use of the pet name 'baby girl' & the name 'slut' during sex. semi-public sex. light vaginal fingering & hand fucking (m&f). oral sex (f receiving). breath play/choking (f receiving). creampie)

"Because Hwang is a fool," Chan insists, resting the bottle of whiskey on his desk again. "He could have chosen you, but he didn't. And now you're here. And we're having this conversation. Right now. You and I."

♡ taglist: @cixhoneyhuns @koorumis @neosracha / a special tag & thank you to @svintsandghosts & @cb97percent for providing musical inspiration!

Today is the day.

You open your eyes after, according to your phone, a mere two hours and a half of sleep and push the blankets off your body. The cool air from your room makes you want to pull them back onto you, roll into a ball and go back to sleep.

But you can’t do that. 

You’ve been doing that for weeks. You’ve been skipping meals, sleep, family time… You’ve dropped out of college, which in itself has been devastating, and has earned you a lifetime’s worth of criticism from your parents. 

That criticism you know is valid and deserved, but also, is simply icing on the cake.  They just don’t understand. They can’t understand. 

Nothing is the same. Nothing is alright. Even when you did make it to your classes—which rarely happened unless Jisung physically dragged you there—you simply couldn’t focus on anything. Going to college only managed to bury you deeper into this pit of despair, adding ‘school’ to the list of things you had failed at in life. In the end, it was Jisung who had stopped dragging you to class, claiming it made you miserable. Hell, he was right. So, out of the dorms you had moved, and back into mom and dad’s house it was. 

You make yourself get out of bed, which is painful in too many ways to list all of them, and head towards your bathroom. There is condensation on the windows from the cold weather outside. With a quick glance, you notice that you had forgotten to take your plants back inside this fall, and now they have a light layer of ice on them.

It’s beautiful. The deep green, muted by the milky white film on them. It’s enchanting, it looks like it could be a painting. For a moment, this ice is making the plants look so different from what they usually look like, but you know it will not last long, as it is certain that your plants will die from the cold. This doesn’t bother much the person you are these days, however. They’re just plants. It’s just ice. 

The girl you’ve become doesn’t care about much anymore.

But you make your way to the bathroom attached to your bedroom. The mirror shows you a reflection of a sad, sad girl. A pathetic girl. Sickly pale skin, circles under the eyes, dull, flat hair… You used to be pretty. Or at least, you used to look like something other than this. You’ve lost some weight but it doesn’t suit you—you no longer look like a healthy, young woman. You don’t know what you look like exactly, but the only thing that comes to your mind is the light layer of ice on your plants, and how it lessened the greens of their leaves. 

But today is going to be the day.

You shower, appreciating the wonderful water pressure and temperature from your parents' house. You use your favorite body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. After that, you move on to the skincare which you’ve been neglecting lately, making sure to use all of your more luxurious items for that, too.

After you’ve applied your cotton sheet mask and secured it onto your face, you return to your room and enter your large closet. However, you ignore your own clothes to look at one of the other shelves instead. The one where you’ve been keeping all of the things you very well intend on getting rid of today.

Because today has to be the day you move on from Hyunjin.

That thought hurts you and, for one second, you hesitate. For weeks, months, you’ve been keeping these items—borrowed shirts or hoodies, gifts from him, things that remind you of him—but for what? 

Because you were hoping things wouldn’t remain like that. You were hoping you would get back with Hyunjin, somehow.  But hope, in this context, is meaningless. As in, one can hope to win the lottery. One can hope to be cured of a rare illness overnight. One can hope to survive a bullet to the head. One can hope their plants will not freeze and die outside in the winter. 

At first, for a while, you had been hoping to get back with him. Somehow. So even if Hyunjin’s soon-to-take-place wedding was to be called off, it would be a total lack of self-respect to go back to him, right? Right.

You don’t have to mean it, you tell yourself, grabbing a large garbage bag acquired last night and stuffing it with Hyunjin’s gifts and belongings. You just have to keep telling yourself it and someday you’ll actually believe it and you’ll mean it. The whole bagging operation takes less than five minutes, yet it still feels like a marathon. 

You drag the bag back to your bedroom and do one last check-up around the room to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Sure enough, you forgot a necklace he gave you about a week before the breakup. A simple but beautiful piece of jewelry—a delicate gold chain with an elegant pink diamond pendant. 

Into the bag it goes.

A knock on your door throws you off—as if you weren’t expecting someone to disturb this profoundly meaningful moment in your life. You secure the towel that you wrapped around your body after your shower. “Who is it?” you ask, still holding the bag.

“Just me.” Jisung—of course. Who else? 

You let go of the bag to unlock the door and let your friend get in. 

He lives here now, permanently, not in one of the buildings around the property. He has a room in the basement, with other people from the staff that’s closest to your father. It had been your dad’s own decision to set up a room for Jisung after the attack on him and the whole family. Both you and your friend are thankful for this arrangement. 

For some reason, you feel less lonely knowing that you can be hanging out with him literally whenever. That you can simply go down a couple of flights of stairs and have a pair of welcoming arms to hug you and play vengeful breakup songs. That you can just text him and he will come right up with a comedy movie to watch with you. And, he does enjoy living in your parents’ luxurious home. 

Jisung walks past you the same way he would have if you had been wearing jeans and a shirt—proximity and familiarity will do that to people. You both often joked about how laidback your relationship was. About that, Jisung usually says that when he was hired by your mother, your dad made threats so terrifying about catching feelings for you or acting inappropriately around you in any way that it must have brainwashed him, somehow. 

In any case, he doesn’t care about your current absence of clothing, nor does it offend him that a sheet mask is currently on your face. And you don’t care either. In fact, if he hadn’t obviously showered just recently and weren’t fully dressed, you would offer him a face mask, too. Another one of the perks he seems to enjoy at your parents’ house is the abundance of skincare products. 

He sits on the edge of your unmade bed and looks at the bag you left in the middle of the room with a serious expression on his face.

“So it’s done?” he asks, an eyebrow raised. “Really? Show me.”

You click your tongue and roll your eyes but you oblige him, opening the bag to let him have a peek. Jisung grabs the bag and rummages through it as if to make sure that you did well. As if he was going to grade your work afterward.

“It’s all there,” you assure him with a nod. “Just like we said.”

“Then I’ll be taking this.” Jisung does a quick job of tying the bag closed and gets up to lift it off the floor. As it was filled with mostly clothes or small objects, it’s quite light. “I’ll be taking care of this. Get dressed, breakfast is served and your mother insists that you eat some of it.” 

You watch your bodyguard, your friend, walk away with your heartbreak in a trash bag. 

Last night had been the last string for Jisung—he found you in the yard, out in the cold, on your way to getting yourself blackout drunk while crying your eyes out near the water fountain.

He let you cry for a while until he decided it was too cold outside and brought you to your room where he let you cry some more. Then he gave you a long pep talk. In the end, you both agreed that you had to get rid of the objects you were only keeping in case Hyunjin would ever change his mind. Because these things were preventing you from moving on, moving forward. 

Jisung is supposed to have them all burned, all the contents in the bag. He said so, and you believed him. It feels powerful to think that your love will literally go out in flames. 

You want to cry again this morning watching Jisung take away all these things that used to mean the world to you, only you have no tears left. Your soul is weary—if you still have one at all.

But today is the day you’re getting over Hyunjin. You just have to keep telling yourself that. Doesn’t matter if it’s not true. If you keep saying it, you’ll manifest it into existence somehow. That’s what Jisung said last night. He said so, and you believed him. 

So you get dressed—sweatpants and a comfortable shirt—and head towards the kitchen area. There’s a slight commotion in here, but you can’t find the exact source of it. Jisung is in the frame of the door between the kitchen and dining room, watching the scene.

Your father is sitting at the table, casually reading the news on his iPad. Your mother seems to be walking from the dining room to the living room to somewhere in the hallway, before returning to the kitchen. By the looks of it, she’s been at it for a while and, for some obscure reason, she’s carrying clothes with her, as well as other random items.

“Oh, there you are.” Your mother stops in her tracks and turns to you. “Have you seen my red swimsuit? The one with the straps at the back?”

You frown. Both your mother’s and Jisung’s gazes are turned to you. “No, haven’t seen it.” The frown deepens as your exhausted-hungover self slowly processes the question your mom asked. Your mind wanders back to the plants that you forgot on the patio, and how they are frozen. “A swimsuit? In February? We don’t have an indoor pool and you hate pools anyway?”

Your mother sighs, but she doesn’t seem too annoyed at you. She just leaves the pile of clothes she’s holding on the dining room table and enters the kitchen, so you follow her. With a silent nod, you tell Jisung to go eat his food. After literally taking a bullet for you, he has been granted permission to eat breakfast with you and your parents in the dining room and is often invited to join the family and closest associates for dinner, too. This is another thing that Jisung enjoys quite a lot in his new life as a resident of this estate—the homemade, chef-prepared food. 

However, he and you often have dinner with the staff downstairs, and it’s just as lovely, simply in a different way. 

The kitchen is empty except for Bo-reum, the professional chef hired by your family. She’s just finished gathering her things and bows to you and your mother, before leaving the room—not without insisting that you eat her delicious food for once, or else she will start taking it personally. 

“Your father and I are going on a trip,” your mother tells you, putting random items of food, still displayed on the counter, into a plate she grabbed for you. “By the way, this is your breakfast and you’re going to eat all of it. You’re too pale. You look like you’re sick.”

“A trip? Oh, no, wait, mom… no dakjuk please… I just don’t feel like having this right now…”

“A business trip,” your father corrects from the dining room. “And if your mother gives you dakjuk, you eat it.”

“It’s good for you,” Jisung adds, but you don’t know if he does it to lick your father’s boots some more or just to spite you. In any case, that will earn him one of your famous flicks on the forehead later, for good measure. He keeps earning himself these, for fuck’s sake…

You sigh. Since you’ve dropped out of school, your parents have been acting as if you’re fifteen all over again. As if you needed this… You understand their frustration because, sure, yes, you were so close to graduating… but it’s annoying and doesn’t help with the state of your mental health. At all. 

However, you’re quite excited at the idea of having the house all for yourself while they’re gone, so you decide to be nice.

“A business trip,” your mom echoes. She slides the meal in front of you as you sit at the kitchen island in the middle of the room. “Eat. We’ll be gone for about two weeks, give or take… right, honey?”

Another thing changed after your parents had been attacked in public—they seem to hate each other a lot less.

“Depends on how it goes,” your father explains, entering the kitchen. He’s bringing his empty plate with him and takes a few seconds to rinse it in the sink. “I hope it won’t take too long to convince this guy to accept the job, but… you never know.”

Ah, yes. Your father wanted to have new warehouses built on the land he just purchased. The land that was in the middle of the big conflict… The land that Kangjeon Sunghood had wanted for himself. 

Of course, your father didn’t want just anybody to build these warehouses for him. It had to be someone as crooked but as reliable as him, or else he couldn’t trust them. He had a few contacts in the construction industry all around the world, so you’re not surprised by this sudden announcement of a trip.

“Okay,” you choose to say with a shrug. At that moment, your father gets a phone call and you hear him pick up the phone before he locks himself in his office, effectively muffling the sound of his voice.

Your mother and you remain silent while you do your best chewing the food she gave you. Jisung went back downstairs, probably content to know you’re eating breakfast. You’ll join him after, and maybe indulge him in a walk outside or something. He’s been nice to you lately. He always is, but you appreciate his friendship even more. 

“Alright,” your mother says, taking the seat directly next to yours. She takes your chopsticks right out of your hand and sets them on your half-empty plate. “It’s just us, now. So, you tell me what the hell is going on.” 

You blink under your mother’s accusatory gaze, a sudden flush of warmth spreading on your face. Fuck, by the look she has, you could swear she knows everything. This is not the first time you get this feeling from her, and it’s very strange.

“What? I don’t—” you start, but she vehemently shakes her head from left to right, gently slapping your hand. 

“I was your age once, too,” she points out. “I can tell a broken heart when I see one. So, are you going to tell me about him or not?”

You gasp, almost choking on your air. So, she does know, somehow. You want to deny it but you know there’s no point. For your mother to ask you to open up like that… then there’s no doubt. She knows. You just have no idea how much of it she actually knows. 

“What do you want to know?” you ask, your voice suddenly small. You close your eyes—you don’t want to cry. Not anymore. Not right now. “I don’t even know what to say, mom…”

A heavy silence falls between you two. You hear your mother shift her weight on her seat, and suddenly she has an arm around your shoulders. This is the warmest gesture she’s had towards you in a long, long time… and you need it. You need this so badly that you lean over and lay your head on her shoulder. 

“Oh, my sweet girl…” your mother is whispering now. “The first love is always the best, and always the worst.” She pulls you away from her, but only to make you look into her eyes. “Listen, my precious daughter. I promise you that your father doesn’t know. Nobody knows. But I know who it is who broke your heart. I know it’s the Hwang boy.”

The shock from that revelation is almost enough to make you forget your sorrow—your eyes widen and you put a hand over your mouth, thoroughly stunned. Your cheeks are warmer than ever, but you can’t move, frozen in place.

“Mom—”

“Wanna know how I know?” She offers you a comforting smile. “I had my doubts when he drove you home, after that Kangjeon son of a bitch got to you. So I looked into it… and I saw you once, the two of you. He had his hoodie over his head, for disguise, and you a hat, but… I saw you and I recognized him. I didn’t tell anyone… I didn’t even want to tell you. But I am asking about it now because I’m worried about you.”

You want to tell your mother not to worry, but you can’t—you don’t even know how you’ll ever claw your way out of this pit of despair. 

“So? Do you want to talk about it? Did he… did he hurt you?” your mother asks, her smile disappearing. 

Did Hyunjin hurt you? Yes. In more ways than one. He hurt you when he fucked you hard, either in a hotel room or in his car. He hurt you and you liked it, every time, and asked for more. He hurt you when he closed his fist around your neck as he emptied himself inside you, your two bodies becoming one. He hurt you when he kissed you softly and called you beautiful. 

He hurt you when he chose his legacy over you.

But you can’t tell your mother any of that, and you know it’s not what she asked anyway.

“No, no it’s not that, mom…” you swallow, but your mouth is dry and you feel dizzy. “It’s really complicated. Like, it’s not, but it is.” 

“That’s how it usually goes,” your mom concedes with a sigh. “I understand. But you both are so young, you know? Can’t it be fixed?”

Fixed? 

“No, mom.” Your eyes drop and you stare at the countertop in front of you. The lines and waves in the marble. “It can’t be fixed. We were doomed from the beginning, weren’t we? He’s… he’s his father’s son. And I’m my father’s daughter.” 

Your mother sighs. She takes your hand in yours and makes you look at her.

“How about you come with us on the trip? It’s a bit last minute, but your father has enough contacts to get you a visa before we take off tonight… I think it might be good for you to just be somewhere else.”

You look away, at the large window behind your mother. You can see the yard—it’s not that large, but it has a water fountain and pretty trees, and a pool. It's the same yard as it ever was, but for some reason, it looks different to you these days.

Is today really the day you’re getting over Hyunjin? Will that day ever come? 

Your mother had mentioned she was taking a swimsuit with her… 

“Where’s the trip?” you ask, your gaze finding hers again. You see genuine concern in it—it hurts you to know how much your heartbreak might have affected others around you. “You need a swimsuit for it?”

“Ah, but our hosts live in the southern hemisphere, own a lot of land, and have a private beach,” your mother explains with a smile. “You want in? Jisung would be coming with you of course, and Seungmin is tagging along too. We’re going to Australia.” 

Australia? It might not work as in, you don’t think you could ever get over it. You know that you will love Hyunjin until the day you die. But maybe, just maybe, this can help ease the relentless anguish that’s taken over you. 

There was once a time when Hyunjin was yours and you were his. But this concept is foreign to you now. 

Sometimes, when it’s too quiet, you still hear him. His voice. Begging you not to walk away, to stay with him.

Sometimes, you wish it would stop, that you would no longer hear him.  Sometimes, you hope it will never stop. That you will always hear him.

The sky looks like Monet’s La Pie, huile sur toile, 1868-1869. It’s heavy with snow but without snowflakes crowding it. There’s a crisp breeze flowing over the city, however, that doesn’t matter to Hyunjin—it’s just that he can’t help but notice it.

The sky looks like Monet’s La Pie. Almost a grisaille painting, almost monochromatic, but not quite—a single drop of blue mixed in white paint, creating an imperfect white, creating a perfect snow day. There is no contrast in the sky, there is nothing to contrast with. 

Gray is all there is. A drop of blue in an ocean of white. 

“Hyunnie? Are you listening to me?” 

Hyunjin keeps his gaze on the large window in his office, ignoring the voice behind him. Ignoring the girl he will be marrying in just a few weeks. Ignoring the weight of the alexandrite and gold ring in his pocket. He is often in his office these days.

“Hyunnie, I—”

“I did hear you the first time, Min-jeong.” Truly, Hyunjin has tried to remain soft with the girl. He’s tried to be nice, but most of the time, his words sound like icicles—his voice sharp, cold, shattering. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t call me like that—not when it’s just the two of us.”

“But—”

“I know my father wants you putting up a show at events,” Hyunjin goes on, his eyes still looking at the grisaille painting that is the sky today. “But don’t call me Hyunnie or baby or anything like that when we’re here.” 

“And what am I supposed to call you, then?” she asks, her voice so full of disappointment he can’t even bring himself to spin the chair and look at her, so he stares at the imperfect white instead. “Just Hyunjin?”

“Not that either.” He remembers the way you would say his name. The way it sounded like a promise in your mouth. In his pocket, the ring that he never gave you is heavier than ever. “Don’t call me anything, Min-jeong. Please leave me alone.”

She sighs behind him but he doesn’t hear her footsteps, which means that she’s still in the door frame.

He doesn’t even hate her. His future bride. It would be so much easier if he just hated her, but he doesn’t at all—she’s a sweet girl, innocent in many ways but not so much in others. She’s not stupid—actually, she’s rather smart, even. Sometimes, when he’s high enough, he can bear to have a conversation with her and it’s quite pleasant. 

But, by god, she isn’t you. 

It’s that thought that makes Hyunjin face the other side of his office again, leaving the gray sky behind him. He looks over at her, Min-jeong, still leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing a long, pink skirt and a fuzzy sweater. She curled her hair today—she is a lovely woman, despite how he feels about her.

But, by god, she isn’t you. 

Hyunjin pulls open the drawer to his left, looking for an instant at the various small plastic containers in it. But really, he knows. When he starts thinking about you, there aren’t many things that will calm him down. 

Min-jeong watches him while he crushes some oxy, but Hyunjin ignores her accusatory stare and, instead, focuses on his task, and how the light blue of the pills looks on the dark color of his cherry wood desk. 

“Hyunjin—” she begins, closing in the distance between the door and the desk.

“Don’t call me like that,” Hyunjin warns, leaning over his desk to align his nose with the fine powder, excited and disgusted all at once to feel it enter him, abrasive and soothing and painful and euphoric. “Don’t fucking say my name, okay? How many times will I have to tell you?”

“Just because you’re miserable doesn’t mean you have to make me miserable, okay?” Min-jeong slams her hand on the desk, but Hyunjin doesn’t budge. It is her left hand, and all he sees is her engagement ring. “You should have known better than to fuck the daughter of your biggest rival, Hwang. It was your mistake. Own up to it.” 

Hyunjin leans closer to the powder, finally inhaling most of it. 

He doesn’t even like snorting shit, but it feels like a necessity these days.  The oxy burns his nostril and his eyes water, but it’s the only thing that will take the edge off. 

There is a light film of it left on the desk, and he uses his finger to gather it and press the remainder of the powder against his tongue. 

“Don’t talk about her,” he threatens, the fog descending onto his brain. “Especially not like that.”

“Or else what? You’re going to kill me?”

He considers it. Hyunjin contemplates the idea of killing Min-jeong and it’s not even the first time he seriously thinks about it. If he did so, one thing would be sure—he wouldn’t have to marry her. It doesn’t mean he could be with you again, but it would be a start. 

Of course, he’s not going to kill her. But he contemplates it, just for his personal satisfaction. He wouldn’t torture Min-jeong or anything, just a clean bullet to the head and quick disposal of her body. He would destroy the engagement ring she was wearing with her, and all of this would be behind him.

But today, there is a gray sky behind him. It would be white if it weren’t for the drop of blue that’s in it. The sky looks like an impressionist painting. The sky looks like Hyunjin wants to jump off the roof. The sky looks like he needs to mix the oxy with something else before he actually kills Min-jeong. 

“I won’t kill you unless you fucking make me,” Hyunjin sighs, opening the right drawer of his desk where he finds his cigarettes. “Will you please leave me alone, now? You do remember it’s not my choice to live with you, right? I’d like it if you respected my personal space. This is my office. You have your own bedroom, with a TV and a bathroom and everything you need. Please stay in your quarters. You’re driving me fucking crazy, woman.”

“You don’t have to choose to be such a bitch about it, Hwang.” Min-jeong’s hand retreats and Hyunjin notices that the ring on her finger left a mark on the cherry wood of his desk when she slapped it. Again, he contemplates murder. “I’ll have you know that you’re not my first choice either—I was going to give my virginity to someone a lot better than you.” 

Hyunjin feels his gut tighten—he doesn’t want to have this conversation. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want her here. He doesn’t want to hate her. He doesn’t want the sky to be gray. But it is winter, and it’s cold outside, and there is a white film of ice on the city.

He lights a cigarette and breathes in the smoke, his eyes closed, letting the poison take over him. Letting the poison soothe him. He doesn’t even remember when he picked up smoking again. It just happened.

“You shouldn’t smoke that in here,” Min-jeong points out, finally taking a few steps back. Hyunjin figures he should have a lit-up cigarette in his hand at all times if it means she’ll steer away from him. “Especially not when I’ll be pregnant.”

“You’ll never be pregnant because of me,” Hyunjin warns. “Never. Go fuck whoever you’d like. I don’t care. I’ll never touch you.”

Min-jeong looks ready to kill him, but she remains silent. She rarely lets her anger out. Hyunjin never witnessed her wrath, and yet, he’s deserved a thousand times to be the victim of it. He breathes in more of his cigarette, hating the taste of it, reveling in the taste of it. This is the only thing that can take the edge off these days. 

His life has been nothing but edges since you closed the door of his apartment behind you. 

Hyunjin has not seen you since.

The sky looks like a Monet painting. His phone rings but Hyunjin doesn’t answer. Finally, Min-jeong walks out of his office—she doesn’t close the door behind him, but that’s okay. At least she’s out of his immediate space. 

He doesn’t hate her. In another life, a life without you in it, he might have fallen in love with her. He might have acted soft to her. He might have wanted to corrupt her, he might have put some kind of effort into the engagement ring he bought for her. Instead, he had sent Minho to shop for it. If life had decided otherwise—

If you had decided otherwise—

If he had decided otherwise—

Fuck that.

Hyunjin’s phone rings again, but he crushes the tip of his cigarette on his cherry wood desk, leaving a burn mark, before picking up the call.

“Yang?”

“Boss,” Jeongin says sternly over the phone. “You’re home, right?”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin answers with a sigh. He’s home, and he was supposed to review some construction contracts for his father, but then he noticed the sky, and then Min-jeong came to bother him… and now, he’s kind of high. But he doesn’t care much. “Why? Something wrong?”

“No, boss. Everything okay. Just… I have someone here, downstairs. For you. To see you. But it’s not somebody who should be here. Should we take the elevator at the back?”

“Here? Who would come to see me he—” But Hyunjin’s sentence dies off somewhere in his throat. He knows Jeongin enough to realize that something isn’t quite right. 

Quickly, Hyunjin pushes himself out of his chair, securing his phone between his shoulder and his ear while he smoothes out his button-up shirt and his trousers. A quick stop in front of the mirror near the door of his office confirms that he has a small amount of light blue powder around his nose, so he wipes it away.

There aren’t many people who shouldn’t be here that Jeongin wouldn’t hesitate to bring upstairs to Hyunjin’s apartment. In fact, only one person comes to his mind, and the heavy flutter of his heart clashes with the oxy that Hyunjin just took. Maybe he should have more?

No, no. He doesn’t want to be too high when he sees you again. 

“Yeah, take the elevator at the back, be extra careful with this, Yang. Make sure you're not being seen by anyone.” Hyunjin quickly spews into his phone before hanging up and leaving the device on the first chair he encounters on his way to the bathroom. He needs to wash his teeth. He needs to wash his face. He can’t kiss you like that. 

It has to be you, right?  Who else would it be? He has missed you so much. The sparkle in your eyes when he takes your hand in his. The feeling of your lips against his…

Hyunjin is drying off his face when he hears the knock on the door.

“Who is it?” he hears Min-jeong ask from her bedroom, but he ignores her.

Outside, the winter sky is still white with a drop of blue in it, but Hyunjin thinks it’s a lot prettier than it was just five minutes ago. 

He finds Han Jisung on the other side of the door, with Jeongin. He’s changed a little since the last time Hyunjin saw him, but it’s hard to tell how exactly. The hair, maybe, and maybe that he’s just wearing laid-back clothes. Or, maybe, it’s because he isn’t smiling at all.

“Han,” Hyunjin says, trying to see behind the man. “Been a while.”

But Han doesn’t move, and Han doesn’t let him look behind either. Instead, he eyes Hyunjin from head to toes, several times, seeming more and more appalled the more he stares. 

“Hwang, you look like shit.” 

“Fuck you, Han. Where is she?” 

Han scoffs with a frown, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re even more insane than I thought you were if you think she’s actually here, man.” 

Hyunjin’s heart sinks in his chest, and he feels the weight of the ring in his pocket once more. He also hears Min-jeong’s footsteps behind him. Damn, that woman is always somewhere around, and it’s driving him crazy. His father made her move in here, claiming they needed to become acquainted. But Hyunjin doesn’t want to get to know her. 

He thought that it was you. He thought that it was you on the other side of this door. 

He’s high. The oxy is really hitting right now, and his legs are turning to jello. 

“You’re fucking pathetic,” Han Jisung adds as if Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in this city. As if he couldn’t shoot him on sight. As if he had any right to say this.

Except. Except that Hyunjin knows Jisung isn’t wrong.

“You said you came here in peace!” Jeongin shouts at Han, putting his hand on Jisung’s shoulder to pull him back. “You fucking lied to me, I thought you were my friend!” 

Hyunjin knows vaguely that both Jeongin and Minho have been keeping in touch with Jisung. Mostly, they go clubbing together on their nights off or have coffee sometimes. He also knows that Minho tried several times to contact you, either through Jisung or your own phone, and you never agreed to even speak to him. 

“I’m here in peace, but someone should tell him the truth!” Han blurts out. He’s still on the other side of the door, and Min-jeong is still behind Hyunjin. “Anyway, Hwang, I don’t have all day, I have a plane to catch.” 

“Why did you come here?” Hyunjin inquires quietly. He feels small and ridiculous. For having hoped that it was you coming to visit him. That you would ever want him back. Out of habit, he wipes the skin under his nostril with one quick swipe of his fingers—a motion that Han obviously notices. “Are you leaving the city… Is she coming with you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Han responds. Then, he pulls a large trash bag from the side of the door and hands it to Hyunjin who stares at it for a few seconds before grabbing it. “There, Hwang. All of your shit.” 

“What?” Hyunjin locks eyes with Jeongin, who’s turned pale. “Did you go through this?” Hyunjin asks his man, who, after all, was supposed to be his security guy for the day. 

“He said it was yours,” Jeongin explains. “The things that—that she wanted you to have back.” 

Hyunjin almost drops the bag. Behind him, Min-jeong lets out a sigh. To his left, he can see the sky. It’s still imperfectly white and perfectly gray. 

“I don’t want these,” Hyunjin says, handing the bag back to Han. “Take this away from me.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Hwang,” Han replies, his eyes full of disgust. “She didn’t send me here. She doesn’t know I’m here—she wouldn’t be happy to know I lied to her. I told her I would burn them. The things in this bag. But I thought that doing so would be a wasted opportunity of ruining your day. Shit, I was right. The show’s worth the effort.”

Hyunjin’s eyes itch, but he can’t help looking into the bag. Immediately, he sees the sweater of his that you liked so much. He sees the soft, green blanket he got you. The coffee mug. The other mug. The bottles of perfume, the makeup, the silk scarf—

Before he even realizes it, Hyunjin’s knees are on the floor and he’s frantically going through the contents in the bag, painfully reliving every memory of when he gave you each thing. The smile on your face when he gave you the cute puppy plushie after he won it for you at the amusement park. The surprise in your eyes when he handed you an actual physical CD with tracks he carefully picked for you on it. Your laugh when you saw the keychain on which he had a little iced tea bottle engraved, with a heart next to it. 

Hyunjin is high now, for sure, but he remembers everything.

He remembers your kiss, your touch, the way you were his and he, yours. 

In the bag, he also finds the necklace that he gave you just a few days before everything happened. He gave it to you at the hotel on the last night that he spent with you, while the both of you were still fucked out and at peace. You cried when he put it around your neck, but you didn’t say anything except thank you. You didn’t do anything except kiss him, deeply, your mouth full of the taste of sex, full of the taste of love.

“Boss—” Jeongin starts but he also stops there, for there is nothing else to be said. 

“Let him cry,” Han says in a low voice. “God knows she’s been crying over this for months, torturing herself over this for months. He can shed a few tears. I’ll see myself out, gentlemen, if you don’t mind. By the way, it’s a lovely fucking bride you have there, Hwang. Have fun in this life of yours. I’m sure your daddy is real proud of you for once.” 

Hyunjin wasn’t even aware of the few sparse tears on his cheeks before Han pointed them out, but his hands are still holding the necklace with the pink diamond, and he can’t wipe them off, no matter how ashamed he is—he feels frozen in place. He feels the blade of Jisung’s words piercing him somewhere in the chest.

If life had decided otherwise—

If you had decided otherwise—

If he had decided otherwise,  his memories with you wouldn’t be scattered around him now, pulled out from a black garbage bag. He needs oxy. He needs a cigarette. He needs a strong drink and he needs you. He needs you, your voice, your sweet pussy, your love. Your laugh. 

If he had decided otherwise, you could have a gold ring with a blue alexandrite gemstone on it on your finger. There would be more gold around your neck. Hell, Hyunjin wants to cover you in diamonds, in gold. If life had decided otherwise. 

Han Jisung walks away without a word, and Jeongin lets him. And Hyunjin lets him. He’s high but not high enough. It takes a few instants for Jeongin to go after Jisung but Hyunjin doesn’t care what they say to each other. Doesn’t care that his friend, his employee, is going after Han instead of comforting him.

He deserves it. The misery, the pain.

Behind him, Min-jeong sighs, but not an annoyed sigh. She makes her way to him, kneeling on the floor beside him, helping him pick up everything. He wants to tell her to leave him alone but, really, Hyunjin doesn’t want to be alone. Hyunjin doesn’t know what he wants to be. 

“That was a bitch move, you should make him pay,” Min-jeong tells him softly, folding a blanket before putting it back into the bag. “Like, what is this, high school? Can’t this girl have her own petty revenge? Instead of sending her friend? Besides, she needs to get over it, it’s been months—” 

“Don’t talk about her, please,” Hyunjin begs under his breath, closing his eyes, closing his hand around the necklace. 

The sky looks like Monet’s La Pie, huile sur toile, 1868-1869. Just a drop of blue in an ocean of white. Hyunjin is high but not high enough.

He doesn’t know how he can go on without you.

Everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire.  But he never finished painting that sunset for you. But the flame had gone out.

This was the price he had to pay for your safety, to make sure that his father would never hurt you, and there would never be too high a price. But Hyunjin simply doesn’t think he can keep going. He doesn’t think he will be able to get up from the floor right now, doesn’t think he will manage to do the work he has to do. There would never be a price too high for you, but he doesn’t think he will be able to exist for much longer—he will implode, he will become a black hole, he will be unmade by the crushing agony he feels every instant. 

Often, Hyunjin wonders if you still feel his love even if he can’t kiss it into you, fuck it into you. Often, Hyunjin wonders if you feel the love he still has for you. He wonders if you feel the guilt, the anguish, that he has for you. 

The fire had gone out. There is nothing left for the Hwang boy to play with.

So, Australia is really fucking hot. 

You feel like you’re going to die the moment you exit the airport after clearing customs with your family and security staff. The chauffeur informs you that it’s quite unusual for February to reach such high temperatures, and you want to believe him but you’re also beginning to regret tagging along on this trip. 

It’s not just the temperature, it’s how exceptionally bright the sun is. It’s just… right there, attacking you at any moment. You doubt the SPF you bought at the Incheon airport will suffice to protect you. 

The silver lining is that while you’re processing everything—the long flight, the warmth, the sun—thinking of Hyunjin hurts you a tiny little less. Somehow, putting thousands of miles between the two of you alleviates the pain. You’re not exactly happy, but… you also don’t feel a knot in your throat at all times, which is a big improvement over the past few weeks. 

The first stop is at a hotel where your family can rest after the flight before all of you travel to your final destination the next day. Your hosts own land near a beach, and they also own the beach—they have a few houses they either rent out or use when they have guests. Of course, they had the houses built themselves, as construction is their main source of revenue. Officially, at least. Apparently it’s quite the sight. Or so you have been told—you’re just not sure how much you care about any of it, really.

Your father always finds the most crooked friends. And the most convenient, too.

You share a room with Jisung and fall asleep first. This is the best sleep you get since you left Hyunjin for the last time, but when you wake up, you wonder when that will stop. When you’ll stop thinking things like that. ‘this is the first time I laugh since that day’ ‘this is the first time I eat a burger since that day’ ‘this is the first time I don’t want to bury myself under the earth since that day.’

You just want it to stop. 

First contact with your hosts happens the next day after a good rest, some movies with Jisung, and a little bit of shopping. You found a cute dress for dinner tonight, as you would like to make a good impression on your hosts—after all, if business is good for your father, then it’s good for you. Someday, his crooked empire will be yours, and you should remember that. 

(but, one day, Hyunjin will be in charge of his father’s business. he will be married and he will be Seoul's kingpin and he will become your enemy. he will be married. and your rival.) 

You ignore your deepest thoughts and force a smile on your face as you exit the car that just parked in front of a splendid seaside villa. Jisung walks beside you, looking everywhere around—you can’t blame him, you’re doing the same thing.

Considering you were suffering through winter in Seoul less than 48 hours ago, this is quite a change of scenery. The sun is still blazing and actively killing you every second, but you can hear and smell the sea from where you’re standing, although you can’t see it yet. 

There are beautiful trees surrounding the house, which has large windows and many patios and balconies. It’s so beautiful it gives you a pinch to the heart—you can’t imagine how relaxing it must be to live in a house like that, away from city centers, with a view of the ocean. 

(maybe Hyunjin will have his honeymoon in a place like this. maybe he will fall in love with his bride in a house like this. maybe he will fuck her and cum inside her and make her his in a house like this. maybe he will feel happy and free in a house like this.) 

Your guests welcome you warmly, as friends would. They are Korean expats and most of the conversations happen in Korean, although English is often used as well. You speak enough of it to keep track of everything, and especially enjoy speaking with the wife—while everyone is having cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, she insists on showing you her little garden at the back of the house and opens a bottle of champagne just for the two of you. Your mother joins—tempted by the champagne, you assume—but you enjoy the moment. You try to, at least. 

From the upper floor’s balcony, you can see the ocean. You’ve seen the ocean before but it never looked like this. The deep, pure blue of it makes you want to cry. There is a sense of peace that fills you when you look at it. The beach is inviting…

(this is the first time you do not want to actively stop existing since Hyunjin) 

“You should take your bodyguard and head down,” the wife tells you, then she turns to your mother. “My two youngest children are away—for school—but my eldest has graduated and is currently visiting, with friends… they’re occupying the house next to the one you guys will stay in!” 

“You should go,” your mother insists with a smile that implies a lot. It implies 'go ahead and make friends for once', or something like this. “Take Seungmin too.” 

But this would be the first time you make friends since Hyunjin left you. Since you left him. You’re not so sure anymore who gave up first.

“They’ll probably make some barbecue for dinner!” the wife adds as if this was in any way going to convince you. Well, it worked—while you’re not too hungry, you know Jisung was dying to try some of that famous Aussie barbecue. 

Besides, this might have just been a polite way to say ‘let the grown-ups do business over dinner.’ And for the present moment, you’d rather not think about how this business will, someday, be all yours to deal with. And who you will be competing against.

You head to the beach, walking in between Seungmin and Jisung, who are both arguing about what exactly they hope to find at this Australian barbecue gathering. It doesn’t take very long before you simply take off your sandals and walk barefoot on the beach.

God, this feels good. The sun has gone down for the most part, but the sand is still warm and the sky is still beautiful and the sea is there, right there. So blue, so deep. You’ve walked for about five minutes when you decide you just need to touch the sea, so you head over there and walk into the water until it goes past your ankles.

The waves caress your skin gently. The water is warm enough to be comfortable, and you close your eyes.  You want this to be the first time you’re happy since Hyunjin. You try, so hard.

“Careful there,” a voice calls from behind with a laugh. “There are sharks in these waters!” 

You turn around, the moment of almost happiness mostly ruined by that joke, but not actually ruined—it was said with such a pleasant tone that you can only chuckle at it. 

A guy is coming your way. He’s wearing black swimsuit trunks and a black t-shirt. He bows quickly, then flashes a warm and kind smile at the three of you before extending a hand to you first, which you shake. Then he turns to the other two.

“I was told you guys would join us for dinner,” he says. “I’m Chan! It’s really nice to meet you guys.” 

There’s a short pause during which Seungmin begins introducing himself, but then Jisung lets out a loud gasp, after having been frozen in place for a few seconds. He looks like he just saw a ghost.

“You’re Bang Chan!” Jisung has a hand on his mouth and seems in total shock. “Guys! That’s the DJ I told you about!”

For the past months, Jisung had been enjoying going out to nightclubs a bit more often, often enough to have his favorite DJs. You can’t quite remember this one specifically if Jisung told you about him. You’re certain he must have mentioned it at some point, but you only feel like a bad friend now—because you haven’t been present enough to remember about it. 

“Ah, yeah, that would be me.” Chan-the-DJ gives the three of you a formal but humorous bow. He sports a beautiful smile, and you notice his bright eyes, his dimples, his strong-looking arms under the rolled sleeves of his shirt. “I miss doing sets in Seoul, it’s been a few weeks already.”

“It was wild,” Jisung assures, following Chan who is now leading you further onto the beach, but slowly. Jisung introduces the three of you more formally, and Seungmin joins the conversation about Chan’s DJ occupation. 

It doesn’t take very long until the four of you end up at the little corner of the beach where he and his friends have been hanging out. It’s a bit more isolated than the other areas you’ve seen of this property so far, so much that you can’t even see the main house from here. 

But they’re comfortably installed for an evening of fun. There is a barbecue going on, and it smells frankly delicious. There are different kinds of chairs laying all around, and even a few cushioned sun loungers that are quite inviting. Music is playing in the background, not too loud but just enough to give the whole place a nice, relaxing atmosphere. 

Chan’s friends are Changbin and Felix. Changbin is busy behind the barbecue—it seems that he takes this task very seriously because he quickly gives his introductions and returns to his work, where he applies himself to grill the meat and some vegetables.

Felix, however, hangs around a bit more and finds out that he and Seungmin used to go to the same school in Seoul when they were younger and he was an exchange student. His smile is warm and true, and he has beautiful freckles speckled on his cheekbones. You decide you like Felix and would like to be his friend.

(this is the first time you think something like that since Hyunjin though)

“So, you’re the daughter,” Chan says, turning to you after Jisung also left you to go give poor Changbin a hand. “Heard quite a lot about you, you know that?”

You scoff, but one quick glance at Chan’s face tells you he’s serious. He has handsome traits but they’re quite unique, and you can’t look away from him. There’s something in his eyes that’s deeply caring, deeply intelligent, and it makes you feel like you’re stumbling—you don’t understand why, but it’s a strange sensation. Like he keeps you on your toes, and you can’t decide whether it’s a good thing or not. 

You remember that he is a stranger, though—so maybe it’s just a normal feeling to have, and you’re simply not used to it as you haven’t met anybody new in quite a while.

“Heard good things or bad things?” you ask with a smile. He seems like the kind of guy to make jokes often—or at least, to use humor as a way to make people feel more comfortable. “Because I can’t say the same about you. Well, except for when Jisung went out clubbing, apparently…” 

“Ah, don’t worry…” he shrugs. “Good things only. My mom spent the day telling me how their guests had a really beautiful daughter and I ought to be on my best behavior.”

At the word ‘beautiful’, you feel a flash of heat spread onto your face, but shut this down quickly telling yourself the word didn’t come from Chan, but from his mom. Besides, she gave you a little too much champagne earlier and your mind is fuzzy…

“Best behavior? Isn’t that boring?” you don’t know why it feels so easy to joke back and forth. It must be the sun and the champagne—bad things to mix together. 

Chan chuckles and cocks his head to look you in the eyes. He’s a stranger to you, but you feel at ease around him, even if you just met him. Something about his aura. And his strong arms. And his lovely smile. And his pretty eyes—

(this is the first time you notice a guy is handsome since Hyunjin)

“Can’t say I disagree with you.” Chan is still staring into your soul, so you look away, pretending to watch the other boys as they’re putting food onto plates. 

But you still see him, Chan, from the corner of your eye, and you’re pretty sure he’s looking somewhere below your neck. You suddenly feel very aware of the white-and-yellow sundress you’re wearing, its skirt lazily flowing in the breeze, the fabric hugging your breasts and your waist on your upper body. 

(this is the first time you feel something like that since Hyunjin. this is the first time you think ‘yeah, maybe’ since Hyunjin. it hurts you. it scares you)

Doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not, you just have to keep telling yourself the same things over and over until you believe them. 

Today has to be the day. 

The sun has gone completely down by the time the six of you have finished dinner. Since Changbin did most of the grilling and Felix most of the prep work on the food, Chan offers himself to clean up plates and leftovers. Jisung, still not over being in the presence of his favorite DJ, follows him into the house they’re occupying during their visit, hands full of dirty plates. 

You sit on a lounge chair, eyes closed, soothed by the champagne and the beer, the food, and the ocean. Changbin and Seungmin are having a conversation about finance, which you have very little interest in, and are too tired to care about anyway. 

“Mind if I sit?” 

You open your eyes only to find Felix standing next to the empty lounging chair next to yours. You motion towards it and watch him set some weed and rolling paper in front of himself as he sits down. 

“Mind if I smoke?” he adds with a smile for you. He has a nice smile. A genuine smile—something that’s quite rare these days. “I can go smoke somewhere else.”

“You can stay if you share,” you answer, laying your head back on the pillow. 

“Deal.” You hear him fumbling as he’s getting to work. In the house, Chan and Jisung are having a conversation about music while plates are clinking. 

You should feel at peace. You should feel ecstatic. You’re in Australia for the first time in your life, during a beautiful, sunny summer, and you’re meeting new people who are interesting and funny. 

So why does your chest feel so empty? 

You know why. You know why.  Because you are a foolish girl.

This is how it felt when Jisung came to you and told you that Hyunjin wanted to meet with you in his apartment—it felt like an earthquake went through your body. It felt like a typhoon had swiped you off your feet, it felt like you were falling upward and downward all at once. It felt like a storm, it felt like thunder rolling within you.

This is how it felt when you entered his apartment and he did not kiss you—like the ocean before a tsunami. Silent, calm. Giving a false impression of peace. It felt like you had known all along that a storm was brewing, that lighting was meant to strike you someday. This is how it felt when you looked into Hyunjin’s eyes and you saw darkness and shame—it felt like black paint spilling on a canvas, it felt like a forest fire spreading. 

You are a foolish girl. You had chosen to make him a priority in your life. You are a foolish girl, but you were smart enough not to let him make any promises to you. Promises are only doomed to be broken anyway. 

You jump when Felix hands you the joint, exhaling smoke with a light cough. You take it between your fingers, unbothered by the fact that your mother will smell the weed on you when you get back later. You’re an adult, after all, and you’ve already disappointed your parents quite badly—what’s a bit more disappointment? Maybe you don’t even have to head back, maybe you can sleep right here, on the beach.

You loved Hyunjin more than anything. You loved him more than you should have.

Today has to be the day.

The smoke burns your throat just right, and you inhale as much of it as you can. When you exhale, you do not pass the joint, and smoke some more of it. Felix doesn’t complain. He sits next to you, his gaze turned towards the sea. 

“It’s really pretty here,” you tell him after taking a couple of good hits and hand him back his joint. 

“It is.” You hear his sharp inhale, and you revel in the sensation his uniquely deep voice brings to you. This kind stranger with the freckles, the good weed he shares with you. He is not just warm—he is warmth itself. “I don’t know how long I could go without the sea, you know? Like… When you’re home, where do you go to feel good? To unwind, to ground yourself, to find yourself again?”

Tears sting your eyes, but you do not shy away from them. You were a foolish girl. You once gave your heart to a man who didn’t know what to do with it. In a way, you don’t even want to blame him for the damage. The fault was yours all along. 

Everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire. But your love had burned bright. But the rain had put the fire out. But the ocean, as calm as it had been, had swallowed the flames.

“I don’t know,” you admit to Felix, watching his lips lock around the joint. He has nice lips. This is the first time you think about someone’s lips since Hyunjin. “I’m not sure how that’s supposed to feel, anyway. To have found myself. So if it happened, I wouldn't notice.” 

“Oh, no, you would notice. For me, it’s when I look at the waves and nothing else. It reminds me of who I am and who I can be.”

So you look at the waves, wondering who you could be. From the very beginning, you knew this was going to be a bad idea. You knew you shouldn’t even have allowed Hyunjin to speak to you. But he had never felt like a stranger to you, and it had felt right. 

You were waiting for it to feel wrong, but that didn’t seem to want to happen. Even now, with your heart in pieces. It doesn't feel wrong, and you hate that it doesn't.

Mindful of the Hwang boy, you had been told most of your life. Do not speak to the Hwang boy, your mother had told you. He is dangerous.

But you had known. You had known the whole time that you were in for life with Hyunjin. He may have chosen other priorities over you, but you would always love him. He would always be Hyunjin. Your first love. 

You were waiting for the day you would get over him, but that didn’t seem to want to happen either. 

The night is calm, quiet. You look at the waves the way Felix does, trying to see if it will appease you at all, but it doesn’t, not really. The weed has definitely kicked in, though, and you decide to get up to walk a little. Chan and Jisung have joined the group again and are currently continuing the music discussion with the rest of the group—you can hear Seungmin making valid points from where you are. 

In the breeze of the night, the skirt of your dress brushes against your skin and it feels nice. The sand feels nice beneath your bare feet, caressing your skin, reminding you that you are alive. Reminding you that you are more than pain, more than a void where so much love came to die. 

It is quiet. In your head, you hear him, Hyunjin, begging you to stay. In your head, you hear the roaring of his car’s engine. In your head, you imagine him on the day he summoned you to his apartment, saying let’s go, let’s run away and be together. In your head, you hear the way his voice cracked as if it had been his heart splitting into pieces. Please, please. He rarely ever said please, but that day, he had said it to you and his voice had been stained with pain, and you had not recovered from it yet.

You realize you left your earbuds in your bag, which is still up the beach, a long walk from here. Music helps. Music helps drown the voices.

You close your eyes, listening to the waves instead. 

“See any sharks?” It’s Chan. He’s walking towards you, not really smiling, but rather giving you an appraising look. He’s holding a half-smoked joint, which he offers to you, but you decline. You’ve had enough. 

“No sharks,” you reply, welcoming the sound of his voice as it drowns the sound of Hyunjin’s in your head.

Cursing the sound of his voice as it interrupts the sound of Hyunjin’s in your head. 

Chan chuckles, running his fingers in his dark, wavy hair while he smokes a little. You stare back at him before looking behind as the rest of the group makes their way toward the house.

“Felix offered to make brownies,” Chan explains. “For Valentine’s Day.”

“For—” You pick up your phone from the pocket of your dress, checking the time. With the lack of sleep, you hadn’t even realized. But it is past midnight, and it is Valentine’s day. “Oh…” 

More tears prick your eyes so you look away. Chan carefully crushes his joint on a big rock nearby and you feel him lay a respectful hand on your shoulder.

“Listen, um—I don’t want to make this awkward, but I heard what happened, I—I’m really sorry. You haven’t seemed really okay all night, so… if you need anything, you can come to me, yeah?” 

“We don’t know each other,” you point out, swallowing a sob, crossing your arms over your chest, your hands flat on your sides—almost as if you are hugging yourself. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“Ah, I’m just like that. But I don’t think it matters if we know each other or not. I—huh—I don’t really like Valentine’s Day either.” 

You nod, choosing not to inquire any further. Chan’s hand retreats from your shoulder and it feels colder there all of a sudden. You find yourself missing his voice, only because while he spoke, the voices in your mind were muffled.

“Chan?” you say, still staring out at the sea, “You’re a DJ. Do you have music?”

“What?” He sounds confused, so you turn to face him. “Music?”

“I forgot my earbuds,” is all you offer as an explanation, but Chan nods and motions towards the house.

It did not take long for that house to become so… lively. In the kitchen, Felix is already surrounded by various pots and pans, whisking something while having a conversation with Jisung who’s in the living room, playing a video game with Seungmin. Changbin is somewhere in between, holding a beer, leaning on the counter, apparently selecting an appropriate playlist for the occasion.

None of them pay much attention to you or Chan, so you just follow him upstairs. He takes you to a large room—it doesn’t have a light on, but it doesn’t need to. There’s a little light coming in from outdoors, and the screen of a computer provides a little additional lighting. You feel the ocean breeze coming in from the large window, which is wide open. 

You… you actually like it here. You feel calmer. Despite the sorrow apparently inhabiting each corner of your mind, you feel a certain peace that you cannot explain. 

“This is my office, where I work when I’m visiting here,” Chan explains, but you had already guessed by the computer and the equipment in and around the desk. He motions towards a cozy-looking couch and you sit with your legs folded underneath you, watching as he sits on the chair in front of the computer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan offers and you see him open a few folders on the computer after turning the speakers on. 

“You said you knew about it already,” you reply as a song begins to play. You don’t recognize it, but it’s a catchy EDM track, with good pacing. It doesn’t play too loud, but it doesn’t need to—you already feel a lot calmer than you did earlier when you were alone by the ocean. “How do you even know about this? About—” 

You realize that in the months following your breakup with him, you have not spoken Hyunjin’s name out loud even once. Not to your knowledge at least—since Jisung claims that you often have nightmares and talk in your sleep. 

You take a deep breath, turning your head to the right, staring at the night sky through the window.

“How do you even know about Hyunjin?” you make yourself say, and you don’t know how it feels just yet. To have let his name haunt your mouth instead of your mind. “Nobody knew about us.”

Chan scoffs and spins the chair to face you, so you make the effort to look at him, too. You still taste Hyunjin’s name in your mouth, sweet, bitter, addictive—it was a mistake to speak it out loud because you want to hear it again, you want your tongue to dance as you say it. 

“First off, your mother knows about it and she told my mother, who told me, but I already knew,” Chan comments, pulling a drawer open and extracting a bottle of liquor from it—the amber liquid inside is quite inviting. “Also, you guys weren’t as secretive as you think you were. Come on—the Hwang heir and you?” 

But you recall all of the steps you took to keep your relationship with Hyunjin absolutely unexposed. You barely saw him outdoors, and never for long. You only saw him in hotel rooms, which he booked under fake names. Sometimes, you both would sneak out of town and drive his car in the countryside. Just a few hours, the two of you. He would fuck you in the car after, and it was good. 

The music helps. The ocean breeze helps, too. But, god, you miss him so terribly. You remember so much but not enough, you remember that he liked to look into your eyes as he came inside of you, remember that he liked to go get iced tea for you after sex. The way he would wrap you in his arms in the bed, just holding you as the two of you watched a movie together. Simple moments. Meaningful moments. 

But this is why Hyunjin had not chosen you. These moments, he could have them with any other girl—probably had them already. They had meant a lot to you, and you know they had meant something to him, too—but not the same thing. You have thought about it a lot. Maybe Hyunjin has commitment issues. Maybe it’s because he lost his mother at a young age, or because of the way he was brought up.

But the conclusion had been this: Hyunjin didn’t love you the same way you loved him. And one might have thought otherwise—after all, he went to great lengths to seek revenge for your honor after the Kangjeon issue. He got you a lot of beautiful gifts, he told you that he loved you. He told you a lot of things. But those were just words. And he had killed Kangjeon for what, in the end? If he wasn’t going to choose you?

“We told no one,” you go on, unfolding your legs under you to sit a bit more comfortably on the couch. You really like the song that’s playing, but you can’t read the title of it from where you are. 

However, you watch carefully as Chan unscrews the bottle of liquor and takes a long gulp from it. He slides it on the desk so that it makes it closer to you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s whiskey. You lean over to grab the bottle and don’t fail to notice that Chan looks directly at your cleavage when you do so. But you pretend not to see, and drink some whiskey. It’s sweet, bitter. Addictive. 

“Everyone knows,” Chan insists, leaning into his chair. He almost looks carefree, and it makes you feel even more comfortable. “He’s a psycho, everybody knows that, too.” Chan’s body is still relaxed, but his facial expression shows that he’s serious. You choose to drink some more whiskey before handing him the bottle again. 

There’s your chance to taste his name on your lips again. “Hyunjin isn’t a psycho,” you reply. 

Chan cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow at you. The song currently playing ends but is quickly followed by another. This one is another beat, more R&B in style, but with good instrumentals. “If Hwang isn’t a psycho, then he’s a fucking fool,” he concludes with a shrug before drinking some more whiskey. 

You frown, resting your elbows on your thighs. “Why would you say that?” Part of you wishes the conversation wasn’t about Hyunjin. Part of you relishes the fact that the conversation is about Hyunjin. 

“Because he is a fool,” Chan insists, resting the bottle of whiskey on his desk again. “He could have chosen you, but he didn’t. And now you’re here. And we’re having this conversation. Right now. You and I.”

Chan’s words hit you like a punch to the face. You take a deep breath, letting it all exhale into a sigh. You sit in silence for a while, the both of you, just listening to the music. The implications behind this are quite clear, only, your brain refuses to process any of them. Instead, you stare at him quietly. 

“You like it? The track?” he asks you, not waiting for a response to his earlier statement—statement or subtle attempt at flirting. You realize you had been moving your head to the beat of the song. 

“Yeah, what is it?” you inquire, glad to have an escape from whatever was supposed to come next. A little disappointed it did not go any further. Still—you catch him peeking at your legs when you move them.

“It’s mine.” Chan, for the first time, seems hesitant, even a bit shy, and there’s something endearing in his sudden change of demeanor. “The other one before, too.” 

You get up from the couch and cross the room to take a closer look at the computer in front of him. You see them, the files, the tracks, all of Chan’s work. You lean next to him to select another track from the EDM list—after all, you’ve heard Jisung gush over and over about his DJ sets, so you’d like to hear some more of that.

“That one is good, but try that one over there, 00-32A,” Chan advises you when the pointer stops on one file. You move it further down and click on the song he chose. 

He is so close to you. Physically. You can hear his soft breathing despite the music, can feel the warmth from his skin radiate onto yours. Hyunjin could have chosen you, but he didn’t, and now you are here. In this office. With this boy who has music in his heart and the beach in his eyes, who has whiskey on his breath, who doesn’t seem to know how to stop checking you out.

You sit on top of the L-shaped desk to listen to the track more in a more comfortable position, and to put a few inches of distance between you and Chan. 

It’s good. No, hell, it’s great. You don’t know much about music production, but you know when a beat is a good one, when it’s meant to be heard. You can only imagine the feeling of freedom that must fill anyone on the dance floor when this beat drops… 

“Your drops are exceptionally good,” you tell Chan, and he looks at you. He reaches his hand towards you, his eyes locked into yours, and your breathing stops—you thought he was going to touch your leg but instead, he goes for the whiskey and brings the bottle to his lips. 

You ignore the pang of disappointment that is currently being birthed somewhere within you. 

“Thanks,” he says evasively after swallowing the liquor, making a face as he drank quite a lot of it in one go. “My dad still wishes I would take over his business one day instead of doing music and DJ work... Maybe you should tell him about my exceptional drops. Maybe that’ll change his mind.” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, but Chan laughs with you. Maybe it’s the weed, but it takes a few moments until the laughter stops for good. By the end of it, Chan’s forearm is resting on your knee and he is handing you the bottle of whiskey. 

It feels good.That he’s touching you. He’s barely touching you but it does feel good, and you feel a tingling sensation between your legs. Hell—talk about touch-starved. You’ve been so broken-hearted that you haven’t even managed to get yourself off in… in so long that you can’t remember when the last time was, exactly. 

This is the first time since Hyunjin that you want to fuck someone, and you’re really not sure if you like this feeling or not. 

Is today actually the day? 

Chan lets the music keep playing without selecting a particular track, and deep down you hope it’s because he doesn’t want to move away from you. His chair is right in front of you, and the proximity of him to your legs—with his forearm resting on your thighs—makes you shiver. You could blame it on the ocean breeze, but you don’t, because you’re no longer a foolish little girl. The foolish girl fell in love and she fell hard, but that girl is long gone. 

The girl you are today licks her lips and stares into Chan’s eyes, who stares back after his eyes lingered on her mouth a little too long for it to be normal. But you do not look away. 

Chan’s fingers move a little on your thigh, brushing on the exposed skin just beneath the skirt of your dress. You feel sparks all over you and a tingling sensation in your core. You have not felt this in a while, and it unsettles you.

“You probably get the same bullshit from your parents,” he points out, his voice lower. You can hear the boys downstairs, bickering, laughing. There’s the music, too—and your pounding heartbeat. “Must be even worse, too, you being an only child.”

You shrug, trying to keep a straight face as Chan’s touches become a little more… present. “Guess it’s all I’ve heard my whole life, and I never really questioned it… That I would take my dad’s place someday.” 

This, right now though, makes you question it. What if you had simply given your parents a big fat ‘fuck off’ and had just left? Where would you be right now, who would you be? 

Who would you be with?

“I don’t know what… I don’t know what else I could do,” you admit, slightly embarrassed. You had never put too much thought into it—you simply couldn’t consider any other option.

“Music makes me happy,” Chan says with a shrug. “What makes you happy?” 

Now, here’s the thing.

What comes to your mind when Chan asks you this is a boy with piercing eyes and plump lips and fire in place of his soul. You know it’s not at all what Chan meant when he asked you the question and yet, this is all your brain manages to come up with. You eye the speaker to your right, wondering if you ought to turn the volume up a little. To drown out everything else. 

Maybe you just don’t know what makes you happy. Your mother made you take ballet classes when you were little and you didn’t like it. You were never particularly good at sports—you were not bad either, just very average. You had good grades before you dropped out. But you didn’t have anything that made you special. 

You tell this to Chan whose fingers are still tracing lazy circles just above your knee. He sighs. The warmth of his breath, it feels like, spreads from your knees all the way to your core and you try your best to suppress the sound of the sharp inhale of oxygen that you take. 

“You just haven’t found your thing,” Chan concludes, pushing himself out of his chair. He stands in front of you and decides to drink some more whiskey, and you watch as his mouth locks around the bottle, as he swallows the liquor. It glistens on his lips. You wonder how they taste. His lips. Sweet, bitter, addictive? “You just gotta find your thing. When’s the last time you felt truly happy? Like… Pure elation?”

When Hyunjin ate his cum out of you and spit it in your mouth? When he gave you a necklace so pretty that it made you cry? When he surprised you with iced tea? When he told you he loved you for the first time, when he said it for the hundredth time? When he brought you flowers on a few occasions? When, some nights, he stopped the car in the middle of a deserted road and let you sit behind the wheel? And then you felt it become alive when you pressed the pedal to make it speed up, to make the engine roar.

You had let Hyunjin take all of the space within you, within your soul. And now that he was gone, you had nothing—you were nothing. Or so it felt like.

“Driving a fast car,” you choose to tell Chan just so he doesn’t take you for a complete idiot. You like to think that the foolish girl who fell in love with Hwang Hyunjin is dead. Maybe she isn’t quite dead yet, but you’re trying to kill her tonight. 

Chan’s gaze leaves your mouth to look into your eyes. “Fast cars, huh?” He chuckles, but suddenly, his face is much closer to yours than it was just a second ago. You can smell the whiskey in his mouth, can see the hunger in his eyes. “To be honest, I normally don’t really like the girls my mom sets me up with. But I do like you a lot.” 

That sentence takes a few seconds for you to process, during which you drink a considerable amount of whiskey before putting the bottle back on the desk. Chan isn’t smiling anymore, and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. He likes you. His mother set you up—

“Ah, don’t worry, it was a last-minute thing anyway,” he reveals to you, cocking his head to the side just a little, a slight frown appearing between his brows. “She just said that our guests’ daughter would be on the trip. That you were single. And very pretty. She didn’t lie, apparently.” 

You swallow painfully and make an attempt at wetting your lips by running your tongue on them without any real success, but this is when Chan kisses you. 

His lips are warm and he is kissing you firmly but delicately. But he is kissing you, and you freeze, still letting him take control of your mouth. He is kissing you, and you like it.

Today is the day. 

You bring your arms around Chan’s neck, this stranger, this boy who tastes like whiskey and smells like the ocean, pulling him closer. He is a stranger to you, and this feels wrong. And this feels right.

This is the first time you kiss someone since—

But Chan doesn’t let you think about the boy you fell in love with—he deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his, his tongue discovering your mouth swiftly and efficiently. You moan when his hands make it back onto your thighs and he trails them to your waist, pressing himself against you. Instinctively, your legs close a little on either side of him, and it’s his turn to groan into your mouth. 

You kiss him back. You tug on his shirt to pull him even closer, opening your mouth for him, devouring his in return. You know you’re a little drunk. And a little high. You know you’re kissing a stranger and you know you will regret it—but you don’t stop. Your skin tingles where Chan is touching you, grabbing you firmly by the waist. Blood rushes to your face and to your core when he bites your lower lip. In return, you slide your hands underneath his shirt and lay them flat on his abdomen, feeling his warm skin, his muscles beneath your palms. 

And then he pulls away, breaking the kiss unexpectedly. You look around, almost expecting to see someone in the door frame—but nothing has changed in the room except for the fact that your face is flushed, that Chan’s cheeks are darker than they were, and that you can still feel the imprint of his hands on your waist where he was holding you a second ago.

“I can’t do this.” He takes a step back, and another, and you feel the breeze from the window again, making you shiver. Making you miss his body against yours. 

“What?” You blink, trying to catch your breath. Trying to understand how the situation went from a hundred to zero in less than a second. 

“I can’t do this,” Chan just says again, and your eyes follow his hand as he apparently adjusts the crotch area of his shorts. “Sorry,” he adds and begins walking away. 

You were once a foolish girl, but it got you nowhere. So you climb down from the desk and follow Chan before he can leave the room. “Wait,” you say, trying to make your voice sound as steady as possible. Trying to pretend like you’re not a little wet from a short makeout session with him. “Chan, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

This is what the foolish girl should have asked the boy she fell in love with, the boy who had never been a stranger to her. She should have asked him this early in their relationship instead of letting things go awry. Instead of not ever being quite right for him. Maybe, then, he would have wanted her enough. Maybe, then, she wouldn’t be here tonight. 

“No, no, I promise—sorry—I—” Chan’s face is flushed again, and he sighs, leaning against the wall right next to the door he just opened. You watch him take a deep breath, trying to soothe your own fluttering heart. “It’s not your fault, it’s—”

“Please, don’t go It’s not you, it’s me over this, Chan,” you reply dryly but in a low voice. “If you don’t want to fuck me, fine. But you didn’t have to be such a tease about it.”

He sighs again, staring at your lips before staring into your eyes for good. “It’s not that. I do want to fuck you. But you know what happened to the last guy who laid a finger on you? And shit, we're talking about a metaphorical finger here, because he had his men kidnap you and he didn't even touch you himself.” 

Chan bites his lip for a second but he goes on. “This guy? They found him with his trachea all fucked up. They found him with a damaged thyroid. They found him with all the blood vessels in his neck torn, same with the cartilage. Choked so hard, just seconds short of death by strangulation. But they found him with a bullet in his head, the bullet that fucking killed him. I’m really sorry for leading you on but—I just can’t, okay? Sorry.”

Talk about a cold shower. In the end, Chan offers you a chaste squeeze of your arm and you let him walk away. The music is still playing in the room, and it is still excellent. The smell of baked brownies is slowly creeping its way upstairs, and you can hear the lively conversations taking place in the kitchen and living room. 

But all you can think of is Hyunjin. And the way he made you feel his love. 

So—you don’t hate Australia after all.

Days come and go. You spend a lot of time at the beach with Jisung and sometimes, your mother. Felix often joins you as well—he likes to go on walks or ride bicycles along the coast. In just a few days, you’ve really got yourself a nice tan and a glowing sun-kissed look. You even manage to smile and laugh. Despite the sting in your chest. 

You don’t see much of Chan over the course of the week. Which is fine. The day after he kissed you, you realized he was right to be scared, and you hold no grudges. You’ve tried talking with him, but he’s been very good at avoiding you, largely helped by the fact that he was having a set in a famous nightclub in town two days ago—and, apparently, he has another one tonight. 

“Chan asked me to find out if you’d like to be there, too,” Jisung tells you that afternoon, about Chan's set. He, of course, was going—no way in hell would he miss a set from his favorite DJ. “He said he’d like you to be there.” 

Jisung is your best friend, but you haven’t mustered up the courage to tell him about Chan. About the kiss and what happened after. About the way it felt when you tasted the whiskey on this stranger’s lips. About the way it felt when Chan reminded you that, apparently, Hyunjin has branded you forever. But then, maybe it wouldn’t make any difference. To tell him about it. He always gets upset when Hyunjin is mentioned anyway, and you’re actually surprised he never attempted to murder him. Or maybe he did, and he just never told you.

“I’ll go,” you tell Jisung. Maybe just to try and have a conversation with Chan. Maybe just to listen to more of his music and see him in his element. Maybe just to go out clubbing and try to find out who it is you are, exactly. The way Felix knows who he is when he stares at the ocean. You can't quite remember who you were before Hyunjin. Before you saw him, alone, in that bar, the night that everything changed.

In any case, Jisung is delighted. 

You picked an outfit and did your hair and makeup after a long shower. The whole process took you most of the afternoon, as you didn’t neglect any part of your strict skin and body care regimen. The whole thing is also quite fun to Jisung who spent a lot of his day with you, using fancy body scrubs on his arms with a hydrating face mask on. As he seemed to be particularly fond of your glowing skin serum, you gave him a whole bottle of it. 

Your parents insisted that it was their hired chauffeur who drove you and Jisung to the club—Seungmin wasn’t particularly interested in tagging along, but you know it’s just because he’s glad to finally have some respite from a very excited Jisung. You enjoy the relatively calm drive there. The nightlife in Melbourne seems quite fun, and you just watch from your window as you are making your way to the nightclub where Chan’s set will take place. 

The club is nice but it’s just that—a nightclub. You are guests of Chan so you are given VIP access to a private lounge room with a lot of alcohol in it. It’s located on the second floor and the view from it is quite cool—you see the dance floor and the stage perfectly, as well as the beautiful and colorful neons that provided the only lighting in the club, and served as decoration as well. But really, it’s the unlimited amount of booze that pleases you the most. And, just for that, you know it was worth accepting the invitation, no matter how awkward you feel towards Chan. 

The set starts soon after you’ve finished your second drink. By then, you feel a little more at ease, and chat with Jisung a little, but he’s really focused on watching what is happening downstairs through the large window in your VIP room. You look away from your phone to stare at the crowd, too, and the way their bodies are moving to the rhythm of Chan’s beats.

You look at him too, because seeing the crowd just reminds you of Hyunjin and that first night at the club with him. Chan is very intense in the way he moves and the way he interacts with his crowd, and you find yourself staring for longer than you should have. 

It’s one of Chan’s signature Excellent Drops that pulls you out of your little trance—Chan’s shirt is sleeveless, and that in itself is enough to distract you for a while—and you turn to Jisung. He looks happy to be here, but you know he would be happier over there.

“Go downstairs, Ji. Dance your heart out,” you tell him with a smile, pushing him out of his seat. 

“I’m not supposed to leave you,” he reminds you. Up here, in this room, the music isn’t as loud as it is downstairs, and you hear him well. “I’m still your bodyguard even if we’re in Australia, remember?” He offers a smile at you, and you appreciate it. That he doesn’t want to make you feel guilty about it. “Unless you want to dance…?” 

But you don’t, not tonight—you had mentioned this to him earlier in the car. 

“Go dance, I’ll be fine,” you insist, squeezing his shoulder before pushing him away. 

He does seem to hesitate, but then a particularly good track begins to play—you recognize it from having heard it in Chan’s office, recommended by him, and Jisung gives in, but not before handing you the butterfly knife he’s been carrying around since the beginning of the trip. 

So he leaves. You look through the window to see downstairs better, trying to locate Jisung, but it’s too dark down there and there are too many people anyway. 

The screen of your phone has nothing interesting for you. Considering your life, you can only have ghost accounts for social media and can’t use them, so there isn’t much to see there. Still, you take a minute to check Chan’s public Instagram account, where Jisung was so proud to show you there was a picture that had him on it. On his favorite DJ’s Instagram account. You smile, remembering Jisung’s fanboying. 

The picture isn’t hard to find. It’s a picture that was taken on the very day you met him, Felix, and Changbin. Chan took a selfie with the whole group—but knowing you can’t show your face online, he made sure to angle his phone just right to keep your identity, and Jisung’s, private. Still, it’s a selfie of Chan with the whole group behind him while you were sitting around and chatting, having drinks, and learning to know each other. It was a good moment. The caption just said, “always fun to meet new people in places that feel like home.”

You press the screen to like the picture—even from your ghost account, you just want to give it some love. You really should have tried to speak to Chan sooner. He’s a good guy. And he made a very valid point, after the kiss… You should have tried to be friends with him. You hope you’ll be around to have a conversation with him after his set—

“Hello, I hope it’s okay if I join you.” 

You jump when you hear the voice and turn on your seat to look at the man who just entered the room that was supposed to have a door that can only be opened by the keycards that have been given to you, Chan, Felix, Changbin and Ji. 

But there is a stranger in your VIP lounge. He’s holding a keycard in one hand. In the other, he has a glass bottle containing a bright yellow liquid that reminds you of a yellow that Hyunjin painted once, for his half-finished sunset. No one is supposed to be here. 

You push yourself out of your seat, fumbling in the pockets of your dress to grab the knife Jisung gave you a few moments ago, and the man simply closes the door behind him and carefully observes you as you retrieve the weapon and open it to show the blade—you’ve been trained to use a limited amount of weapons, however, butterfly knives happen to be one of them. 

“Woah, what a welcome,” the man tells you with a chuckle, taking a few steps towards you, but staying at a safe distance. “Where I come from, we just say hello—but I must say, there are not many things in life as splendid and alluring as a beautiful woman holding a weapon she could easily kill you with.” 

He takes another step and you hold the handle of the knife tighter into your hand, hard enough to hurt your palm and turn your knuckles white. You could scream but even if you did—you wouldn’t be heard. Not with the music, not with the crowd. 

“I won’t hurt you, darling—don’t worry. I’m not like my brother. I just wanted to talk, and my friend Chan offered to set up a little private nook for us to chat. I even brought drinks.” 

You swallow your saliva painfully, refusing to drop your weapon even if the stranger’s body language shows no threat. He sits at the small table on the left, away from the window, away from eyes that might be watching from downstairs. You recognize that it’s a smart move on his part—there is no doubt that Jisung is constantly glancing back to check if you’re alright. He might even be worried at this very moment from not seeing you watching the show. 

“Your brother?” you ask, your voice smaller than you wanted it to be, but you pretend it’s alright. “Do I know you?”

“I’m afraid I do not have the pleasure of knowing you personally.” The man shifts his weight on his chair. He’s wearing a dark suit and his hair is styled in a trendy undercut. “I’ve heard of you quite a lot, though. You caused a hell of a commotion, pretty girl.”

You don’t like his nonchalant manners and the way he just casually grabs two shot glasses from a shelf and pours one for you, and one for him, of the yellow liquid. 

“Who are you?” you ask, not letting go of the knife. Your arm is starting to feel sore, but you won’t lower it until he’s gone. Or dead. “Tell me, or I’ll kill you.”

“I’d love to see you try.” The man laughs, mouth open and head fallen back, apparently mocking you. You grunt and take a few steps toward him. The purple lighting makes the sharp blade of the butterfly knife glimmer. “I get it now. I think I get it—why the Hwang boy went fucking nuts over you. You seem like you’re a lot of fun. I mean that, really.” 

It just happens—you lower the knife, just a little. The guy notices that but he doesn’t move except to drink his shot, immediately pouring himself another afterward. 

“Why don’t you have a drink with me?” he offers, sporting a genuine smile. “Really, I just need to have a short word with you.”

“How do you know Hyunjin?” You’re not going to sit with this stranger, and you’re not going to drink whatever it is he is drinking. “Who are you?”

“Pardon my manners, miss. I did not mean to offend.” The man gives you an appraising look before setting his piercing gaze on yours. “I know Hwang Hyunjin because he is the man who killed my half-brother.” 

Your strengths seemingly abandon you and your arm falls back to the side of your body. Your heart sinks into your chest, and you try to breathe but it doesn’t seem that any oxygen is making it to your lungs. The man is gracious about it though—he keeps his neutral facial expression and waits patiently for you to recover from this reveal, simply indulging in yet another shot of the yellow liquid.

“Daito,” you manage, frozen by fear. By shock. But he heard you despite the music, you know he did. “Kangjeon Daito.” Your parents had told you about him in the aftermath of Hyunjin’s revenge on Kangjeon Sunghoon. 

Sunghoon, his childhood friend. That Hyunjin had murdered. And now, Daito, Sunghoon's brother was in this room, with her, tonight.

“Please, darling, I hate to see you like that,” Daito insists, pushing the chair across from him away from the table using his foot, effectively inviting you to take a seat. “I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. Your bodyguard is downstairs, dancing, and drinking.” 

You think about it and decide to stay over here for the time being, but you keep the blade down. 

“I never asked Hyunjin to kill him,” you choose to say, just to make things clear. You make a point of not mentioning to Daito that you were fucking relieved that Hyunjin killed his brother, though. But you really were. “Why are you here?”

“I have an offer,” Daito reveals, pulling the sleeves of his shirt up a little, revealing intricate and beautiful tattoos. He catches you staring at them, and a smirk paints itself on his face. “Come closer, darling. I’ll show them to you. Every tattoo of mine has a meaning.” 

This is when you remember this saying that was once said to you in a dire situation—the enemy of my enemy is my friend. You never wanted Hyunjin to be your enemy. He had never been a stranger to you, and you had thought that meant something. 

But he had decided otherwise. And now you are here, having this conversation with his other enemy. 

“What kind of offer?” you ask. In the end, you take the seat across the table, keeping the blade in your hand, just in case. “What’s that?” you add, motioning towards the bottle he brought with him. 

“That’s homemade limoncello, have you ever had that? Made from lemons grown on the Amalfi Coast by business partners of mine, in Italy… They also make this delicious liquor from it. Go on, have a try while it’s still cold.”

To hell with it. Hyunjin hasn’t chosen you, and some days, it made it hard to live. Some other days, it made it easy. More often, it was a peculiar mix of both.

You grab the glass and drink it, letting the liquid swirl in your mouth to take in the taste. It fills your whole soul with the sunshine those lemons grew under—this might just be the best fucking thing you ever had. The bright and sweet flavor with just a hint of tartness is perfectly balanced. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, not bothering with manners, or patience, and grab the bottle to pour yourself another shot. At least, you pour Daito one, too, under his observant gaze. “You should talk to me now. It won’t be long before my bodyguard comes back. He worries about me a lot.”

“He shouldn’t,” Daito responds with a shrug but a playful smile. “You seem like you’re perfectly able to handle yourself. Which is why I’m here to make my offer to you directly instead of going to your parents, as most would have done. As most have done in the past.”

You appreciate that he goes straight back to the point. You watch him carefully after drinking more of the limoncello and licking it off your lips—you simply do not want to waste any of this. 

Daito leans back into his seat and waits a few seconds before making his offer. “Would you be interested in marrying me, by any chance?”

You were such a foolish girl. You were a foolish girl and it got you nowhere. It got you here, in Melbourne, in a nightclub, with citrus on your lips, with the enemy of your enemy sitting across from you, speaking words to you that the boy you fell in love with never even mentioned. 

“You seem unfazed,” Daito adds, frowning. “Were you expecting me? Did Chan tell you I would come to talk to you?”

“No,” you reply, realizing that you are, indeed, unfazed. You even let go of the butterfly knife finally, soothing your aching hand. This isn’t the first time you’re either set up with a boy or a boy wants your hand in marriage. But you never cared about these deals—they never had love written into them. 

They mean nothing. And you understand that. Being the daughter of your father, you understand that it will be impossible for you to live the fairytale kind of love you had wished for. 

“But why would you want to marry me? Your family is much more powerful than mine—aren’t you one of the most profitable heroin dealers in Tokyo? What would you gain from marrying me?” 

“The most profitable, darling.” Daito offers you a smile, a true one, this time, not a cocky smirk. 

He leans over the small table, his face much closer to yours than it had been. He is a handsome man, a few years older than you. You smell him and the limoncello. 

“I’ll be honest with you, because you are obviously a smart woman—I’ve been plotting my revenge against Hwang since the very day I was shown the pictures of my baby brother, lying dead, a hole in his head, his neck broken. Sunghoon may have had a different mother than me, but he was my blood, my brother. What I wanted to do at first, darling is killing you. Exactly in the same painful way Hwang killed Sunghoon. Choke the life out of you, watch you struggle for air and turn purple, and finish you off with a bullet in your pretty head. But I thought—nah. I thought that making you mine would piss him off way more. So here I am.”

You ignore the anguish brought by Daito’s words, ignore the fear, the disappointment. You knew his offer wasn’t going to be about love, but you certainly did not expect to be a mere pawn in his revenge. You ignore, too, the tears pricking your eyes. You ignore the way Hyunjin was yours, once, and you, his. 

“He doesn’t care about me anymore,” you respond, making big efforts to keep your voice calm and not sound like a sad little girl. “He chose his… His other life. You marrying me wouldn’t piss him off nearly as much as you think it would.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong, darling.” Daito’s smirk is back, but he pours himself a shot and one for you, too. “I know for a fact that it will fucking destroy him. But, you don’t have to give me an answer now. I’d rather you think about it.”

“Are you going to go to my parents with this?” you ask Daito. “If you do, they’ll say yes. There is too much for them to benefit from our union… What you have, in Tokyo, in Osaka… The business. If you go to them, we’ll have to get married.” 

Daito sighs and gets up from his chair after looking at the time on his watch. In the club, you hear Chan on the mic announcing his last track for the evening, but inviting people to keep partying after his set is done. Daito bends over just a little, just to look at your face from up close, and he pushes your hair behind your ear.

“We’ll have to get married the same way that Hwang boy has to get married to the Kim girl,” Daito says to you, his voice merely a whisper. “Which is not at all. You’re always in control of your narrative, darling. I won’t bring you into a loveless marriage by force. Do I think we could make a good pair? Yes. Do I want to see Hwang’s face when I put a ring on your finger? Fuck yes. Let him imagine the wedding night and honeymoon that follows. But you can always choose otherwise, dear. Remember that.” 

Daito winks at you and offers you one last smirk before turning away and exiting the room. Your eyes land on the bottle of limoncello, which he left on the table, and you don’t bother pouring any in a glass—you drink it straight from the bottle. 

Out of habit when you’re nervous, you pull out your phone. First, you notice a text from Jisung, accompanied by a picture—it’s him, Felix, and Changbin downstairs, at the bar, apparently having the time of their lives. Your friend is asking you ‘please come join us! it’ll be fun’, but you really, really don’t feel like it right now. So you encourage Jisung to keep having his fun but scroll further into the lists of text conversations. 

There was one rule to be respected with Hyunjin, at all times—to keep zero evidence of the other on your devices. To add to that, even aside from being with you, Hyunjin is the kind of guy that changes his phone number every month or so, for safety. And changes his actual phone, every other month, too, for additional safety—he has to be invisible. But you cheated that rule. He exists on your phone. He exists on your phone as the last text he ever sent you, a day before the breakup. 

Hyunjin: love you. can’t wait to see you. i’ll bring peach iced tea next time, i promise 

But the next time you had seen him after this, there had been no iced tea, no love. You remember the way the sky looked that day. The way Hyunjin looked at you that day. 

You have not tried talking to him since that day. He changes his phone number regularly. He should not exist on your device. But—

you: i know you won’t see this so that’s why i write it. i miss you. i still love you but i wish i didn’t. it would be easier if i didn’t. but i also hate you. i wish i didn't hate you. i really hope you’re happy. with her. with yourself. good luck, hyunjin. i’m sorry i was never enough for you. 

Chan enters the room as you press send on that text—a text that serves no purpose other than purging you of these words that have been haunting you, as you know this phone number no longer exists. 

He smiles at you softly, looking a little tired from his set, a towel around his neck, eyeing you silently.

Today is the day.

You knew that you were in for life. With Hyunjin, with this boy that was never a stranger to you. You knew that no matter the chaos, no matter the hardships, he would be it for you, you knew there would be nothing that could take this love away from you. But you also knew better than letting him make any sort of promise to you. You knew better than to let him give you false hope—it has been more than enough to permeate every fiber of your being with him, his presence, his love. The damage was done. It could not be undone. 

But today is the day you get over Hyunjin. As if Daito’s smirk and limoncello had been the reset button on something that you didn’t know could be reset.

As if you understood this now—you will live with the fading memories of Hyunjin within you forever. But you will live.

Chan entered the private lounge a little while after his set, after washing up quickly apparently and seeing Daito roam around the club. 

“Nice set,” you tell him as he dries his wavy hair with a gray towel. “People really went wild.”

“Makes me feel alive, to be honest.” Chan accepts the compliment humbly, with a shy smile, dipping his head a little. “It goes both ways, you know. I feed the crowd and they feed me… otherwise, it just doesn’t work.” 

You lean against the wall, not far from the window, where the party is still going strong despite the end of Chan’s set. You try to find the boys near the bar area, but can’t decide if this group of people apparently dancing the macarena to this intense EDM beat is them or not… 

“Right,” you concur with a nod, twisting your neck to stare at Chan as he grabs the limoncello bottle, and the glasses, and goes to sit on the couch in the corner of the room, away from the large window. Away from you. “Oh, feel free to help yourself to my delicious homemade limoncello from the Amalfi Coast, Channie boy.” 

You see him suppress a smile and look away as he licks the liquor off his lips. “I love this limoncello. This was my reward, by the way,” he reveals to you after drinking two consecutive shots in record time. “For giving Daito some time with you. Did he make the offer to you?”

“He did.” In the end, you’re pretty sure that it’s them dancing the macarena and making fools of themselves—but also gathering a crowd around them. So you walk away and join Chan on the couch, watching him pour you a shot. 

“And what did you say?”

“Didn’t say anything. He didn’t want an answer. Said I should think about it.”

“He wouldn’t be a bad husband to you, wouldn’t hurt you,” Chan assures, throwing the towel away on a chair as he’s done with it. “And if you refuse his offer, he won’t hold it against you either, no resentment.”

“But it’s kind of messed up, isn’t it?” you point out, ditching the glass to drink too much limoncello straight from the bottle once more. “That he just wants to use me?”

Chan chuckles at that and you can’t decide if you’re pissed off or if you think he's particularly hot when he laughs like this. But that might just be the liquor getting to your head, or the smell of his cologne. 

“You’d be using him just as much as he’d be using you,” he points out. “That’s marriage right there, baby girl.” 

Your breathing halts a little at the use of the pet name and yet, you feel a pleasant warmth spreading to your gut and at the back of your neck from it. It’s the way it sounded in his voice, too. Like it belonged there, in his mouth. In your ears.

“Don’t you want to hurt him the way he hurt you? Hwang?” Chan turns to you, his body facing you fully on the couch. 

Do you want to hurt him? The idea is… not unpleasant, but it doesn’t sit right with you. You shake your head.

“No. I just… I want to keep going, I’m just… I’m just scared to forget him, you know? I’m—I should want to forget him, but I'm terrified and—” 

You gather yourself before you actually start crying and avoid Chan’s eyes by drinking some more, but he takes the bottle from your hand to drink, too. And maybe to prevent you from blacking out from alcohol poisoning. 

“You will forget him, it’s part of it. But you’ll remember him in other ways. That’s also part of it.” 

You don’t really know why you feel compelled to pour your heart open to this stranger—or is he not a stranger anymore? You want to stop, you don’t want him to know the ways your heart has broken. 

But then Chan tells you about this girl. The girl he fell in love with. They loved each other very deeply, but it turned out that he loved her more than she loved him. And it had not worked out. Your heart aches for him—this is what happened to you and Hyunjin. His love and yours didn't match.

“Sometimes I forget how it felt to kiss her,” he tells you, his voice barely a whisper, so low that you have to lean towards him to hear him over the music, despite being upstairs, in this room. “You were the first girl I kissed since her. I lied to you. It’s not because I’m scared of your ex—I’m scared that if I kiss you again, touch you again, I’ll forget her for good. Her body, how it felt. Sometimes I do forget things. The way she kissed me. The next day, I remember her smile when she ate raspberry ice cream, her favorite.”

You feel honored by the confession and humbled, too. And a little sad. You did not expect to relate to Chan this way. It also gives you hope—that maybe, there is a future for you. Maybe. 

“You’re the first boy I kissed since him,” you admit, your cheeks flushing instantly, but you do not look away, this time, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hand in yours after putting the limoncello away. 

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” he says, his thumb tracing circles on the top of your hand. His skin is warm, it feels nice. “But I mean, also, I’m pretty sure he’d kill me if he found out I even dared lay my eyes on you…” 

“He won’t find out. He doesn’t have to find out.” You take a deep breath.

Today is the day you get over Hyunjin. Not in the way you thought you would. You didn’t think that getting over him would mean remembering him better, his kisses, the weight of his body on top of yours, his voice in your ears. His thumb tracing circles on your hand. You didn’t think it could be like that. 

“Will you kiss me again?” you ask Chan. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you closer to him, but he doesn’t kiss you just yet—his face hovers over yours, his citrus breath making you dizzy, his lips inviting. “Will you help me remember him, and I help you remember her?” 

A slight nod from Chan before his mouth finds yours. The scent of his cologne is so strong you can almost taste it—masculine, intriguing. His skin is still warm and damp from the quick shower he took after his set, and you let your hands run on any exposed part of it—his arms, his neck, the back of it. 

Chan’s hands are already making their way between your legs, finding the lace of your panties. You moan into his mouth, wasting no time closing your fists in his hair, pulling him even closer. It doesn’t need to be elaborate, he doesn’t love you nor do you love him. Maybe you could love him someday—not the way you loved Hyunjin, no. A different way, a little less prismatic, less… consuming. But still. Tonight isn’t about that. Tonight is about remembering and forgetting all at once.

“Is it me or are you a little wet, baby girl?” Chan whispers into your mouth before kissing it whole again, his mouth exploring you, teasing your lips. “Fuck, you’re smooth, too…” 

He’s pushed your panties to the side to let his fingers tickle your folds, rubbing them softly but intently. You’re definitely not not wet—and you feel pressure and arousal building quicker than it had last time, in his office. Maybe because you’re finally ready to accept the consequences of it. 

“Someone could come in,” you point out, glancing towards the door, your hands leaving Chan’s tousled hair to unzip his ripped jeans. 

“The guys are all busy trying to get girls downstairs, utilizing the fact that they know me to do so,” Chan replies, biting his lip when you manage to pull his pants and boxer briefs down just enough to free his hardening cock. Again—tonight is not about being elaborate. Tonight is just about being. “I told them to leave us alone.”

You whimper—Chan just grazed your entrance with his two fingers, and you can feel your juices coating his digits, making you spread your legs a little more, making you roll your hips to meet his hand harder. 

He whimpers too when you waste no time spitting into your palm to squeeze his cock—it’s smooth, with the tip flushed already. It doesn’t remind you of Hyunjin when you begin stroking him. It doesn’t remind you of Hyunjin either when you thumb his tip, squeezing harder, maybe too hard. 

But it does remind you of Hyunjin when Chan pushes himself on his knees, making you lie down, pulling your panties off you entirely, pushing the skirt of your dress until he can see your pussy, which he stares at with a frown, biting his lip. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, trying to get a grasp of his cock again, which is fully hard by now, but a little out of your reach. “We don’t—”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Chan cuts you off, diving into you, burying his face into your neck to kiss it, to lick it, to graze his teeth over your skin there.

This, yes. Yes, this makes you remember Hyunjin, and you cry out a loud moan—too loud for a public place anyway—your hands clutching at Chan’s shirt, trying to pull him even closer. You feel him, his cock, pressed against your mons. His mouth on your neck, but you want more, more, more. 

“Tell me what to do,” you moan into Chan’s ear, your hips rolling to rub yourself against his impressive length. Fuck, he feels so good against you like that—it feels like your whole body is coming alive. “So you remember her.”

“Kiss me softly. Really softly. Just kiss me. I miss when she kissed me.” 

So you do that. You kiss him, a slow kiss, your hands underneath his shirt, feeling the warmth from his skin, feeling the ocean and the storms within him. Chan’s hips are meeting yours, his cock rubbing against your soaked pussy, eliciting pleasures in ways you didn’t remember they could even exist. 

You kiss him as softly as you can, making each meeting of your mouth with his as meaningful as you can, grazing your tongue on his lips, on his teeth, letting him kiss you back when he needs to. 

You reach between your two bodies again, your hand finding his cock again, squeezing him, rubbing him. Chan fucks your hand, fucks it good. You look down, trying to catch a glimpse of it. Not to remember or forget, just to see him leak precum, to see what he looks like when he throbs with your hand around him. 

His weight on you, his mouth back in your neck. You close your eyes to remember the way Hyunjin made you feel his love. 

You squeeze his cock harder, making sure it’s nestled perfectly into your hand. He could cum right now, this soon—you feel it, and you want it. But he pulls away from you a little, his face leaving your neck, his weight retreating from you for good. 

He takes your wrist in his hand and you let go of his cock, finally getting a peek at the precum leaking out of it as he’s getting rid of his pants and underwear for good. He kisses it, your wrist, the hand that he just fucked a little, his cock standing hard and wet, waiting for you.  

This. The way Hyunjin sought his own taste on you, in you, always. You can tell that Chan senses something, senses that you like this, because he parts his lips open and licks your fingers slowly, his eyes into yours. The sensation of his smooth tongue on your skin makes your eyes roll at the back of your head a little. Fuck—he’s good. He licks you slowly, each finger, sucking on each of them, driving you crazy.

His free hand moves between your legs—you jump when he touches your sensitive pussy, but moan when he presses three fingers near your entrance, coating his fingers, teasing you. 

“So wet, baby girl,” Chan purrs, taking a sharp inhale of air. “Fuck, I bet your pussy tastes so good…” 

He moves on to your clit, grazing it lazily, watching you watch him with these eyes of him—focused, alert, carnal. You melt into the couch, your back falling deeper and deeper into the seats, unable to stop the moans from escaping your lips. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re a sweaty, panting mess—and all that Chan is doing is rubbing three fingers between your legs. But it’s the way he does it… It’s the limoncello, the music playing outside of this room, it’s the memory of Hyunjin fucking his love into you. It’s Chan’s cologne, his sweet voice filling your head with the ocean breeze and good beats. 

When he pulls his hand away, you sigh, missing the contact already—but a different contact makes you moan again. Chan positions his head between your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses on the way to your soaked folds, not waiting too long before parting you open with one expert motion of his hand, and kissing you there, too. You feel his lips tease your pussy, you watch him as he kisses and licks and tastes you.

“Please,” you beg, and you had promised yourself you would never beg a man, but this is different. Maybe this is meant to make you remember Hyunjin, too. 

Chan lays his tongue flat against you then moves his head to lap at you, to drink you whole. He moans and grunts as he swallows your taste. He twirls his tongue all over before he licks his way back up, pressing his mouth against your clit. You shudder, your eyelids fluttering. Yes, yes. Fuck, you can just feel how wet you are, and Chan is licking and sucking and teasing your clit. 

You almost cum when, unexpectedly, he pushes not one, but two fingers into your entrance. You gasp, crying out, moaning with your mouth open, bucking your hips to meet his face, his tongue, his fingers. Fuck. He massages your walls, stretching you just a little, curling and twirling his digits inside you as he attempts to find your most sensitive spots. And he does find them, groaning into your pussy as he feels you clench around his fingers—and you almost cum again feeling the vibrations of his voice against you.

You're on your way to heaven when he suddenly retreats for air, his mouth and chin dripping with spit and your juices. Fuck, that sight. That handsome face of his, his intense gaze, the way he licks his lips to taste you some more. “So good, baby girl, fuck—taste yourself, here.” 

And he climbs back to you, to your mouth, where you kiss him the way he had asked you to kiss him before. Slowly, softly, despite the urgency you feel to have him inside of you. 

His mouth tastes like fancy limoncello and like you—the two lace together just perfectly. 

“Please, I need you inside of me,” you beg. And you had promised yourself you would not beg a man ever again. But it’s the limoncello. It’s the taste of your pussy in Chan’s mouth, the memory of sharing lemon sorbet with Hyunjin while watching a sunset over Han River. “Please, please—Channie—”

But you can’t even finish your sentence, you can barely think anyway. Chan kisses you one last time before pulling away, and you watch him take his cock into his hand to guide it near your entrance. This is how you need him for you to remember Hyunjin. Raw, hard. 

Chan’s tip meets you, and then he buries himself inside of you with a feral moan, slumping over you once again to steal kisses from you, to pull your dress down to free your tits. He’s big. He’s big enough that you feel him stretch you as he pushes further into you, his cock hard, his cock so, so good with you around him like this. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, that’s good—” is all he manages, so you give him one of these sweet kisses he likes. He responds by cupping your breast into his free hand and twisting it a little, just enough to make you moan. To make you fuck him from underneath. His other hand is gripping your waist. “Shit, you’re tight but so wet, aren’t you?” 

But he’s stronger than you, and he fucks you from the top. The space is limited on the couch but it doesn’t matter—Chan slams into you one time, two times, three, four, and each time you feel your own juices gush from around his cock, you feel them coat him and you both, you feel pressure building within you.

He fucks you. Hard. Pounding into you unrelentingly, making your back arch, making you forget, making you remember.

Your tits bounce with each thrust, and you can’t stop staring at him, at his mouth—the way he bites his lip when he reaches a particularly deep point inside you, the way his eyelids flutter, too—this makes you remember Hyunjin. The way he couldn’t control himself with you. The way you were his lifeline, his escape, his home all at once. The way you were actually none of these things because he didn’t choose you, in the end. But he always made you feel his love, always fucked it into you. 

“Now tell me, tell me how he used to fuck you, baby girl,” Chan says, his mouth against yours, his cock buried deep inside you. Fuck, this is good. The music, the booze, his cologne. Everything. “Tell me exactly.” 

“I was his slut and I liked it,” you tell Chan in between moans, your nails sinking into his back, your hips rolling to fuck yourself onto his length while he seems to want to have a conversation with you. “Fuck me hard, Chan, please—when you cum, you don’t have to pull out, please, make me feel—” You can’t say it out loud. You can’t, but you won’t—but if Chan blows his load inside of you tonight, you might just remember Hyunjin perfectly, for a few seconds at least, and feel his love again.

Your request seems to please Chan—almost too much—he groans against you and pulls out of your dripping pussy, only to roll you on your hands and knees, shoving your head downwards. 

“His slut, huh?” you hear Chan say between his teeth, his tip back against your pussy again. He rubs it all over, teasing you, teasing himself at the same time, too. “You sure are a pretty little slut, baby girl—I’ll fill your cute little cunt.” 

And Chan sinks into you again, not letting you ease into it, not letting you adjust to his size from this position. You cry out into the couch, your face against the leather, Chan’s hands keeping you in place at the back of your neck and on your lower back, holding your wrist there. He fucks you relentlessly. Yes. Yes. Hyunjin. His soft hair, his lips on you, all over you.

The music, the crowd, the nightclub, the feeling of booze in your veins. Hyunjin. His fast car, the way he fucked you in it, the way he kissed you in it. Hyunjin, Hyunjin. 

You need more, you need to feel him. You reach out behind you to grab the hand that Chan keeps on your neck to bring it to the front of it, inviting him to choke you.

“What is it, love?” he grunts, rutting against you, fucking you harder than you thought he would, but reveling in the sensation, in the way his cock massages your walls, hits your deepest point. “Need me to hold you there, too?”

"Please."

Chan gives a cautious squeeze around your neck, and that’s it for you.  Your body goes limp and you clench around him, your voice filling the room. Yes, now you feel him. You feel Hyunjin, you remember the way he would watch you turn red under his touch, the way it made him cum when you couldn’t breathe. And then it made you cum when he filled you with his love. 

“Oh fuck, you are a slut—” Chan’s relentless fucking is becoming erratic, and you know he’s close. 

He chokes you harder. You clench harder, too—fuck. You close your eyes, basking in the memory of this love that you lost. 

Chan grips your waist harder, slamming you into him as hard as he slams into you. 

“Shit, I’m gonna—” 

“Don’t pull out, don’t—” But your voice is a breathless gasp. You need this. You need to feel it. 

Chan cums hard, his cock pulsing inside of you, painting your walls white, growling into the room as his pace slows down. His is hand still around your neck, still squeezing you. You feel dizzy and it hurts you and you love it. You help him ride his high, meeting his thrusts halfway, and he rewards you by choking you a little harder, eliciting a few raspy moans out of you. 

You are full of cum. So full of it, and Chan is fucking it deeper inside of you, cock still throbbing with aftershocks. 

The hand that was on your waist makes its way in between your legs, where Chan finds your clit, rubbing it with three fingers in circular motions, pressing hard against it. 

You try to moan and you can’t. You try to breathe, and you can’t. 

You were just a girl when you saw Hyunjin for the first time. Innocent, foolish. You were still foolish when you fell in love with him, and you might be foolish, still, for loving him to this day. Despite it all. 

This is how it felt when Hyunjin fucked you—like he was a fire and you a forest, like he was an ocean and you the shore. Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, even if that was just an illusion. Like he was conquering you, like you were the light and he was darkness, running and running to bask in your luminescence, but the light evaded him at the last second. So he fucked his darkness inside you. So he filled you with his love. 

You can’t breathe, but you cum hard around Chan’s cock, your voice turned into gasps and throaty, ugly noises. This is the first time you cum since Hyunjin. This is the first time you remember him for real, too, since that day. 

You gasp for air when Chan releases you as he fucks you slowly until your orgasm dies out. This will leave bruises. Fine by you—more to remember. More to forget. 

“Fuck—” Chan begins, out of breath, but he just groans when he painfully pulls out of your still sensitive pussy. Your throat feels sore and you like it. Your pussy feels sore, too, and you like that as well. 

You both collapse on the couch, Chan pulling you against him in the best approximation of spooning the limited space allows. You feel his cock, wet and softening, against the small of your back. You feel his cum inside of you, some of it dripping out slowly, some of it sticking in. This, too, helps you remember Hyunjin.

Chan kisses your shoulder. “You okay, baby girl?”

You nod, putting your hand over the one he has on your side as he gently caresses your breast. “Yes,” you start, swallowing tears, looking away, staring at the purple lighting on the ceiling instead. “You?”

“I’m all good, sweet thing.” He kisses your shoulder again. “Do you remember, now? I do. It feels good.”

“I do too.” You look at him then, let him see the tears in your eyes—it doesn’t matter, because he has them, too. Two broken hearts understanding each other. “Thank you, Channie.” 

This time, it’s your lips he kisses, and you indulge him in one of the slow, soft kisses he requested, for you’re pretty sure this is the last time you ever kiss him. “Thank you, baby girl.” 

You never want to forget this. 

Despite it all, you feel it in your heart, now.  Hyunjin is yours, and you are his—no matter what. 

Hyunjin jerks awake, almost falling off his bed. Instead, he finds himself sitting in it, one foot on the floor, his other leg curled up under him. He can’t remember the nightmare that woke him up this time—and soon realizes that it wasn’t a nightmare at all that did so, it was his phone. 

He cannot see what the sky looks like. It is dark in his bedroom, and the curtains are covering the windows. 

But he’s still kind of drunk and kind of high from when he passed out. As he tries to sit normally in his bed, he realizes that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, that he smells awful and feels even worse. 

He suppresses a bout of nausea as he grabs his phone to look at the screen. A private number is calling him—nothing new. Nothing to fear, as so few people have this phone number, which he changes constantly anyway, so he just picks up the call, hoping it will be worth it. Hoping, maybe, that it won't—so that he gets to jump into his car and go shoot the motherfucker that woke him up without valid reason.

“The fuck you want?” Hyunjin mumbles into his phone, rubbing his eyes, tentatively getting out of bed to make his way to the bathroom, just in case he does vomit. 

“Did I interrupt something, Hyunjaah?” 

The world collapses around Hyunjin. Sunghoon? 

Hyunjin might be high but he isn’t crazy either—he would recognize this voice anywhere. The voice that belongs to his childhood friend, the only person to ever call him like that, this stupid nickname that he gave him when they were just boys. Innocent, or almost innocent—Hyunjin doesn’t think either of them ever truly were that. Innocent. 

Sunghoon, who Hyunjin killed. 

At least, Hyunjin makes it to the toilet in time to throw up—he falls to the floor, his upper body jerking as the sour taste invades his mouth, his nose, prickles his eyes. But it’s just bile—he can’t even remember the last time he ate anyway. It’s just his body rejecting the last of the booze he drank to make himself fall asleep. This is the only way he can sleep anymore—mixing pills with booze and jerking off to porn a few times until he does pass out in his cum-stained clothes and bedsheets, a film of sweat covering his body. 

Hyunjin’s stomach churns a few more times and he heaves each time, but nothing else will come out for now, so he wipes his mouth as he lies down on the cool tile of his bathroom, thankful that Min-jeong is away visiting her parents for the weekend, thankful that he is alone in here—

Except for the phone, still on call with his dead best friend, just next to him. Hyunjin puts it against his ear again, only to hear a burst of laughter. 

“Man, people did say Sunghoonie and I always sounded the same on the phone, but I didn’t expect to have this much of an effect on you, Hwang,” the man tells him, and Hyunjin coughs on the bitter aftertaste of his own vomit. “Not that I’ll apologize—it was a good joke.” 

Hyunjin frowns, blinded by the lighting in the room, wondering if he should text Minho, on guard downstairs, to come check on him. To come check if he’s going insane, if he’s got alcohol poisoning. 

But then it clicks all in place.

“Daito?” The sudden realization hits Hyunjin like a ton of bricks and he sits up, leaning against the wall behind him. “Daito? How—”

“The how I got your number doesn’t matter, boy, it’s what I’m going to do with it that will. You see, I thought I’d touch base with you, see how you’ve been, since, you know. You’ve murdered my baby brother, broke up with your girl, got engaged to another… So much to talk about, Hwang, don’t you think?” 

Hyunjin is thirsty, but he can’t move—the simple act of sitting up was enough to make him want to throw up again. 

“Not that you asked, but I am doing okay, thank you,” Daito goes on before Hyunjin manages to come up with an answer. He knows he should hang up, he knows he shouldn’t be speaking to his worst enemy on the phone—but how exactly did Daito get this number? “I’m in Melbourne right now, partying a little… I met a girl, she’s quite nice. A little bit on the slutty side, but some people like them just this way, you know?” 

Something in Kangjeon Daito’s intonation just then makes Hyunjin’s heart skip a few beats. Or maybe that’s just the oxycodone from earlier. 

“What do you want, Daito?” Hyunjin asks painfully, wondering if he’s going to throw up again, have a heart attack, or just stop breathing, maybe. “Why are you telling me all of this?” From a tactical standpoint, telling Hyunjin that he was out of the country was a very bad move...

“I just wanted you to hear a little something, Hwang. I’m so fucking tempted to put you on face call, just to see your face when you do hear it.”

“Hear what? The fuck is this, man?” Hyunjin knows he deserves whatever blow Daito is about to deliver to him. He knew it the moment walked away from Sunghoon’s body. That there would be retaliation, consequences. But it was worth it because it was for you. The only thing that mattered in this ugly fucking life. You. There was not a price too high for you. 

“Just listen, boy. I recorded that shit from outside the door—wasn’t going to ruin their moment, really. But that shit was so hot it made me hard—fuck, I almost want to say I understand why you killed my brother over her… He was a psycho, we all knew that. And she’s… wow.” 

This—all of this—is enough to sober up Hyunjin almost immediately. He gasps, trying to calm his heart in his ribcage, pushing himself off the ground to stand. He needs to lean on the counter a little, but he manages to stay up—

And then he hears it. Music playing in the background, distant… 

And you. 

The world collapses around Hyunjin.

“Please, I need you inside of me, please, please—Channie—” Moans, whimpers. Brushing noises, grunts, too—a man. 

The man that is fucking you. The man that is making you moan in Hyunjin’s ear. The man that then, after a while of defiling you, after a concert moans, of wet fleshy sounds, the noises of his cock inside of your pussy, says: “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s good—shit, you’re tight but so wet, aren’t you?” 

Whatever recording Daito had been playing stops abruptly. Hyunjin expects him to say something, anything, but he just hangs up. 

He should have known. He should have known that you would move on, that you would let someone in again. He knew that a woman like you wouldn't stay alone for very long. But his world is collapsing. But his heart is breaking all over again. But rage is rising within him as he remembers the man's voice, the way he was talking to you while he fucked you.

Everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire.  But he never finished painting that sunset for you. But the flame had gone out.

Hyunjin stares at the screen of his phone just one second before calling Lee Minho. 

“Boss?” Minho’s voice sounds sleepy—no doubt that he just woke up to take the call. 

“Get everything ready. Jeongin too. Get a jet. We’re going to Australia and I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Everybody knows that the Hwang boy likes to play with fire— And the flame had been reignited, and the flame was burning brighter than ever, scorching, advancing like a wildfire, hungry. 

a/n: hello everyone! I simply wanted to say that 1, I am sorry this took so long to be up. There has been a lot going on for me, and I found it really hard to write this particular chapter. But I tried my best. I understand it's quite different and clashes with the rest of the series, but I hope you found little parts in it that you like.

As always, thank you for your love and support, and feedback. To people who reblog my works to add feedback onto it: a very special thank you to you. I read everything and do my best to respond to everyone. Thank you for reading my silly little fic. <3