But Also Yay To No Babies Lmao - Tumblr Posts

not even gonna lie, i expected yeosang to leave her. i had that inkling but my pregnancy thing was not accurate. but also low key shitty man made his way to be well known and left her to fix her own life 🙃 wack. lmaoo.

『atarashī 』 ; 09—𝐹𝐼𝒩𝒜𝐿

❝ the other side of love ❞ | mlist  ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [6,3k wc] ch cws: smut, the truth, angst, the bad guy doesn't lose i fear.

It's not often that the Akademiya halls find themselves graced by your presence.

Every vibrate of your phone, every receiving of an email or incoming phone call has your stomach in knots even days after you divulging your deepest, ugliest secret to your best friend. Seonghwa swears that he won't tell Yeosang—won't be the one to go behind your back and tell your husband the information that he is deserving of knowing—because it's yours, but it doesn't make the impending stress of it all feel any less suffocating as it hangs on your shoulders.

Nights with Yeosang back home have been quieter; more space created between the two of you since that night approximately a week ago. Home less, or locked away behind closed doors more than he might have usually been. The distance between the two of you feels so much larger than it ever has been. Before, as a result of his career. Now?

As a result of you, most likely.

Hurrying down the halls and towards your destination, you have plans for the early afternoon of today that this particular coming together of colleagues has the potential to impede. Yunho always has picked the worst possible times to ask you to come grab a snack with him, but today especially is doing you no such favors.

You stop in front of the door that brightly hangs his name atop a shiny bronze plaque, knock twice, and are quickly answered to shortly thereafter by the man himself cracking open the door, glancing to see you, and then just as fast ushering you inside and shutting the door behind you once more.

"Long time no see, we don't often meet here," you say, playful. 

Yunho doesn't answer though—unlike him, usually just as silly in his banter with you. Instead, he brings himself back around to sit behind his desk, pulls a folder up in his hand and brings your attention to it.

"We should talk."

Equal parts of you know exactly what that is, and the other desperately hoping to pretend that you don't—that you're wrong. Nervousness strikes through you, tingles at your fingers tips as you slowly sit yourself down in one of the large, plush chairs that stand in front of his desk, as if you're a student yourself being reprimanded for one thing or another.

But you don't have it in you to break the ice of this topic. Instead, you wait in silence as Yunho stares you down, something judging but equally compassionate in his gaze towards you; like he knows what you have gotten yourself into, and like you never stood a chance to begin with.

He inhales, long and heavy. "I'm sure you can guess what this is," he says, slowly opening the yellow file and carding through some of the pages. "That student we discussed not too long ago, Kim Hongjoong. It was a bit more difficult than anticipated locating the rest of his sealed files—suspected that he had a pretty close relationship with someone on the admin board back at one of his other schools if he was able to get something of this degree locked behind these kinds of walls."

Something of this degree.

Yunho reaches over to his side, takes his reading glasses between fingers and put them on his face just before looking back up towards you again.

"Wasn't quite expecting this, however."

Silence falls between the two of you then. A part of you—probably the strongest part—doesn't even want to know what it is that your friend has unearthed.

"What has he told you about his stint in Hong Kong?"

You reel at the question, but for two reasons. You ignore the main part of it, the most obvious part, for the thing that underlines it. "Nothing really, why would he tell me anything?"

Yunho glances up at you again, briefly, eyebrow raised.

You continue on. "He just said that it didn't really work out for him, he burnt out and flunked out. Not really anything worth telling I guess."

"Has he ever asked you for anything that may pertain to your status in regards to the Akademiya, Aurelia, or the people that you may know by familial and social association?"

Chest tightening and throat dry, you feel a particular clamminess to your hands that doesn't often find you. Heart beating strong and fast behind your ribcage, but you have no other choice than to attempt to steady yourself—swallow all of these feelings down, quell the tremble in your breath and soon to be your voice.

"No."

It's then that Yunho spins the folder to face you, pushes it across the desk for your reading and sits back against his chair.

"The reason he was removed from the school in Hong Kong was because he was discovered to be engaging in an affair with at least one person on the admin board. I say one because only one admitted to it, but with how tightly sealed his record is in relation to it, my guess is that he ended on good enough terms with someone who was able to lock all of his nasty little secrets away."

You don't really want to see it, and it takes you a good, long while before you're able to collect yourself enough to lean forward and take the papers into your hands. 

Yunho continues. "So, I made some calls to that school over the past few weeks to see if I could find out anything else. Of course, it's relatively  confidential information in regards to past students so no one really wanted to say much, but I did get a hold of someone who mentioned that one time his computer was confiscated for something wholly unrelated to all of this, his search history was full of names and people. Industry people, mostly women. Women who could probably help him get ahead if he played his cards just right." He shrugs after that. "That's heresy, but it's not exactly difficult to put the very obvious pieces together, if you ask me."

You're different. This is different. What you have, what exists between the two of you, is not at all like whatever this is—whatever this was, has been in the past. 

Quickly and with a soft but firm sound, you shut the file. Push it back towards Yunho and away from you, as if its proximity capable of poisoning a truth that you seem so sure of. Yunho's eyes fall upon you instead of the item in question, which you don't like. You don't want to hear this, don't want to be seen in relation to this. Yes, you asked to know, asked to find out, but that was then.

And this is now. None of that matters. None of that carries any relevance to your relationship with Hongjoong now. You catch yourself considering how jealous a woman she must have been to get him expelled for their goings on, but quickly squash that just as fast as it rears its ugly head in your mind.

"Thank you."

Standing, you quickly whirl yourself around and head back towards the door that you've only recently just entered. Yunho allows it, allows you to go without much of a fight, and with a hand on the doorknob you nearly make it free of the prison that his office feels like before he grants you his final words.

"I saw you."

You still, frozen in place as terror creeps up through your bones. No strength to turn and face him, but you can hear him lightly shuffle in his seat as he reaches towards the file across the way.

"A couple of weeks ago, at a cafe down the street—" You know precisely when and where he means, the recent memory of you and Hongjoong giggling in a booth together in public, for anyone to see. "With him. You two appeared...close."

There's nothing to say in response to it. What could you possibly say?

"He's certainly smart, I'll give him that much. You're not technically employed by the Akademiya yet you have everything and probably even more to offer him than someone from the Akademiya would."

"It's not like that," you bite back, cutting. Displeased by the implication of his words.

"It, and what is it, exactly? Your affair?"

The two of you silence, and you crack the door open to leave.

"You need to call this off."

"Or else?"

"It's not a threat," Yunho says, sympathizes in a way that you can hear laden in his tone.

Then don't punish me for it.

You don't wait to find out if there's more, back down the hall and in the direction from which you came prior.

After all, someone is expecting you.

Repeated banging on the wooden door in front of you, seven, eight, nine—it opens relatively calmly halfway through your attempt at the tenth—calm, considering the urgency in which you pound upon it.

Fist stilling in mid-air, you look upon the man standing in front of you; someone that you have grown so fond of in such a short amount of time, a whirlwind romance that has caused you to lose sight of yourself, your morality, the vision that you've always had towards your husband, your marriage, and especially yourself.

Hongjoong leans on the door, cocks his head to the side somewhat expectantly, none surprised by your being there of course but even beyond that, seemingly unbothered by the stress that wears blatantly upon your form.

"You're late," he says, playful in delivery. His hair is messy atop his head, strewn about like he has only just decided to roll out of bed now that you've arrived, and likely anticipating only ending right back there. 

You push your way inside with no fight from him, Hongjoong closes the door behind you and you drop your bag in the middle of the floor—pacing a little, back and forth along barely waxed wood flooring that hasn't seen much tender love and care since the man in question has moved in. He watches you as you do, doesn't bother saying anything and likely under the assumption that you very much have something to say to him instead, should he simply wait for it. Not wrong, but how do you go about it? How are you to say it?

"I—" you start, then stop just as quickly.

Hongjoong turns his head slightly, inquisitive. "You?"

But instead of words outright, you rush to close the distance between the two of you. Arms coming up to wrap around his neck, pulling him against you and lips fast and hard finding one another. You can feel the shock laden in his body, though there's no reluctance to be found in the action as he is just as quick to follow through to meet you as he always is—always has been—because he is just as enamored by you as you are for him. Just as obsessed, just as everything. Hongjoong wants you, no, needs you just as urgently as you do him.

And so, you part from his mouth, though only enough to speak against it, still so close that any attempt to look at him renders you crosseyed.

"I'm going to leave my husband," you say with finality. "I want to be with you."

You can feel the switch flip beneath your grasp, the tension in his body at the words as he gently pulls away—creates more space between you where you stand in the middle of his living room.

Hands on your shoulders and quite literally holding you at arms length, Hongjoong inhales with something of a hiss, eyebrows pressing together in thought, in unsureness, certainly not in pleasure.

You feel a little bit as though you're dying at the sight of him like this.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," he answers, hesitancy deeply embedded in his tone with no room for miscommunication in as much. "I—we never started this thinking that you were going to leave him, that this was going to become something permanent, right? It was just something fun, something for you to do when you're bored and your husband isn't around."

That's not what you've said. That's not what you've implied. The realization of so many things comes crashing down on you like the weight of the ocean, and similarly, you starkly feel the press atop of your chest. Like you're drowning. Suffocating. All of the oxygen having been sucked out of the room in an instant. Just that easy.

"Hey," he says then, reaches out a hand towards yours, pulls you close again so that the other one can lightly press fingertips into the flesh of your neck, your ear. "Don't think about all of that stuff, you came over here for a reason, right?"

Hongjoong's head dips down, warm lips ghosting across your jawline, settling at your neck just below. Your heart still threatens to beat straight out of your chest, fall through and settle on the floor between both of your feet. He doesn't seem to be all too bothered by that fact though.

And with how weak you are rendered by him, even in times like this, suppose neither are you.

Rolling your hips, you sigh out into the open air of his bedroom. Hongjoong's hands sitting tightly settled onto your hip, one on your waist as you grind against him. One tried and true method of forgetting everything else around you that you wish not to acknowledge nor think about—turns out it works even in the case of him, too.

Gazing up at you from below, Hongjoong watches you intently as you work him. Bottom lip pulled up between his teeth and eyes never for a second leaving you, your body, anything about you. Always you, never anything else but you—and still, Yunho's words from earlier set so heavily on your mind in a way that you hadn't quite anticipated them to; the idea that all of this has been so carefully, perfectly orchestrated by Hongjoong, the idea that much of this is a facade.

How much of it has even been real, and since when has it started? Since the first day you met him? Since that evening at the jazz lounge?

Or maybe even before all of that.

How early on in the hunt does a mouse know that it is prey? Perhaps depending on the aptitude of the predator—it never does. Not until it's far, far too late.

Hongjoong pushes his hips up, pulls down down with a perfectly timed grace. Like he knows you're deeply muddled in your thoughts and he's trying to break you out of the trance. It works temporarily, whining and meeting his efforts halfway once you remember where it is that you are, and what it is that you're doing.

"You're in your head," he says, an obvious statement. Hongjoong takes the opportunity to sit up and roll you over so that you lie beneath him instead. Pushes himself back inside with a slow, calculated drive. You wonder if it's part of his plan to always fuck you like this when he feels as though you're getting away from him a bit. Slower, gentler; the deception of love.

You think about the woman back at his school in Hong Kong. The women. 

He kisses you, teeth lightly nipping into your lip in just the way that you like—and even still, even now—it brings about the same response. A desire for him, an unbridled want. He's so good at this, whatever this even is, in totality.

"Joong," you whisper against his mouth, he hums in acknowledgment of it. "Do you want to be with me?"

The question is purposeful, and you mean the words that make the sentence up, but even more than that it is a test; a test to see the way that he responds physically. Hongjoong kisses at the corner of your mouth, withdraws only to slowly press his hips forward again—tip to full length. Makes sure that you feel everything, all of him.

It tells you everything.

"The only thing I want is for the both of us to get exactly what it is that we want from the other." A surprisingly honest and thorough reply, all things considered. You can't help but guess that he is catching on to your understanding of things now.

Slipping a hand down and between your bodies, he starts to rub careful circles against you as he fucks you—slightly harder, just a bit faster as if intentionally trying to take you to a place where you're teetering on the edge of release. 

And even with the knowledge that you seemingly have, it works. A man that knows you and your body so well, in ways that you've not previously thought possible. Hongjoong has wrapped you tightly around his finger in every possible way, and though you try to bite back the moan that sits strangled in your throat because it's just too easy for him, and perhaps he doesn't even deserve it in the same ways he once has, it's still not enough. Not entirely.

"I know what we both want," he says, airy but sultry as he continues his drives against you. "You, you want a distraction from your utterly boring life. Someone to pay attention to you, someone who makes you feel special, like you're the only one in the whole world."

Your orgasm sits just out of reach, but the words are true and in some ways confirm the suspicion that you've now found yourself contemplating: empty words. A man willing to do and say whatever it is that you want to hear, and you, so pathetic and wanting, thoughtlessly eating it up without a moment of concern. Hongjoong had you in the palm of his hand from the first time he called you his favorite. 

Where does that leave him?

When you come, Hongjoong follows shortly thereafter; holds you tightly against him and continues on with the ruse in telling you all of the ways in which you are so special, so perfect, everything to him. When the both of you finish riding the feeling out through each other’s bodies, he brings his face up from the crook of your neck and kisses you deeply and lovingly—just like he always has. As if the walls of the fantasy haven't already come crashing down around you.

"And what I want is to finally catch that big, big break."

Ah.

You lie there beneath him, staring up at the ceiling and through strands of brown hair that don't belong to you. Hongjoong kisses the side of your face, then your jaw once more before pulling himself up and removing himself from your body completely.

"So, this never meant anything to you."

Glancing down to the edge of the bed where he sits, sorting through previously removed clothes, Hongjoong looks back at you from over his shoulder and snorts out a laugh. "Mutually beneficial, has it not been?"

"You lied to get what you wanted from me."

Hongjoong pulls his shirt over his head, lackadaisical. "I gave you exactly what you wanted from me from the start. You wanted me to pay special attention to you, so I did. You wanted me to tell you pretty words that your husband doesn't, so I did. You wanted me to fuck you stupid numerous times a night, make it exciting, an enthralling secret that only the two of us know about...so I did."

You can't help but laugh. Less at him, and more so at yourself. He's not even wrong, and that's the ugliest part about it.

"And you wanted my industry contacts."

He glances back at you again, a beat of silence passing between you before he opts to answer. "I think I more than earned it."

"You're a piece of shit."

Still lying there, Hongjoong stands, pulls his pants up and walks around to the side of the bed—closer to you. Hands you your clothing that he has kindly gathered and extends them nicely.

"All the more reason to be thankful that you're not actually in love with me then."

You snatch them from his grasp, and he makes his way towards the table that holds his glass of water from earlier. Watches you as you dress yourself again, and then the both of your attention drops to your phone as it vibrates with the notification of an incoming call.

It's Seonghwa, and while you're none in the mood to be hearing from him about this, right now, all things considered, it gives you even more of a reason to get out of here—whatever it is that he is requesting from you. Your eyes catch Hongjoong's, and he simply shrugs. None of this matters to him anymore, anyway.

"Yeah."

"Where are you right now? You're not in your office."

You glance up at Hongjoong again who can most definitely hear the man on the other end of the line. He shrugs.

"Why? What's up?" Still can't say it, still can't admit to it even after divulging as much to the man asking.

Seonghwa doesn't reply right away, instead you can hear him engaging in some sort of discussion with another man that appears to be in his presence. Your pulse immediately strengthens, heart leaping into your throat at the thought of who it can be—until a rather distinct verbal tone serves as enough of an indication that it isn't your husband.

It's Yunho.

"Just...can you come down here? There's some stuff that we need to discuss and put to rest once and for all—"

You go to agree, lips parting to speak but before you're able to get anything out, Seonghwa cuts in to give additional instruction for how you are meant to arrive.

"And since I know you're with him... bring Hongjoong."

When the call cuts, Hongjoong puts his glass down and turns on his heel towards the front door—swipes his keys and wallet from the table and begins shoving his feet into chunky black boots.

"Where are you going?" you ask, assuming the worst of him. Assuming an escape.

He looks over to you and down the short hallway.

"Tying up loose ends." He stands, pulling a light jacket down and beginning to shrug it on. "Shall we, then?"

Down the long, carpeted Aurelia halls, students mind themselves along with a handful of staff from the Akademiya meant to oversee the tasks that they are meant to be accomplishing. It feels so disjointed to you, entering the premises like this; less as the groundskeeper of such a place, and more as someone lining up for slaughter at the hands of your best friend and colleague who await your arrival within the confines of your office.

As you make your way, you occasionally and briefly take a glimpse towards the man walking beside you. Hongjoong walks just next to you; hands shoved in pockets and idly gnawing at the inside of his cheek in a way that might suggest a kind of discomfort at what may be waiting for him inside, but to someone who knows him better—to you—you know it to be nothing of the sort. A comical level of blasé, of indifference. Unbothered by the circumstances that have brought him here as a whole.

Because really, why should he? The checkmate has been served, he has already won his hand.

The door is cracked open and waiting for you when the two of you reach it, Seonghwa standing just beside it and peering over once he hears your approach. He pulls it open enough so that you and Hongjoong can slip through, and although your eyes are centered wholly on him, his are instead focused on the man of the hour—the catalyst for your downfall, the method of your treachery.

Inside, Yunho is standing beside your desk with that all too familiar file in hand. Still, Hongjoong is unmoved by it, by the sight of it, despite surely knowing what it is.

Seonghwa locks the four of you inside, and now it feels like a prison. Judging eyes all honing in on you and your grave misdoings. Only one way for this to get any worse, and you're thankful to Seonghwa for that, at least.

"Right then," Yunho starts, clearing his throat and opening the file once more. "I think it's probably best for everyone if we cut straight to the chase."

Yunho is your peer, a colleague of the Akademiya, but in this moment of the time he feels much like an authority figure over you. It's projection, you understand that much; feeling small in the mounting evidence of everything that you've done and everyone that knows about it.

"There are bits of your records that are missing from your file," he says then, questioning. Looking up from it to eye Hongjoong as he stands firmly between you and Seonghwa who appears to be guarding the door. You wonder if he is anticipating a kind of escape from your affair partner. You know him uninterested in doing anything of the sort, perfectly pleased with the outcome of things and no fear of facing the aftermath of them. "Care to elaborate on why that is?"

"Is it necessary?" Hongjoong asks, offering nothing else beyond it.

Yunho sighs, pulls his glasses off from his face and closes the paperwork in hand. "I can hazard a guess. I made a few more calls today to some of the people who handled your expulsion—"

Hongjoong grins, like he's enjoying the verbal chess that he gets to partake in as a result of this. "So, then you know."

"The 'talented college burn-out who can't seem to make it happen for himself' story is certainly a good one, I see it's gotten you far in your endeavors. Getting your permanent record sealed to this degree, getting what you need from other people, avoiding said expulsion altogether."

That makes you reel. With confusion painting your features, you look towards Yunho first—his eyes still glued to the man in question—then to Hongjoong, who takes a moment to meet you at the very least.

"What does that mean?" you ask.

"You weren't really expelled at all, were you?" Yunho says, hardly a question as he cocks his head to the side knowingly. "Rather, you were going to be, but just like you always do, you found a way to leverage that out of the hands of the person intending to cast it down on you."

Silence passes through the room, Yunho cuts through it to speak again. "You always go through life manipulating women to get what you want out of them, or are your efforts best kept in relation to school, and your career?"

Hongjoong laughs at that. "You call it manipulation, I call it equal and fair exchange. Everyone gets what they want, don't they?"

Seonghwa steps forward suddenly, angry in a way that can be seen in every inch of his body. 

"You've ruined a marriage, probably ruined lives."

"I've not told her husband, and presumably neither have you. I have no interest in ruining her marriage, or anyone else's. She got what she wanted from me, and I was happy to give it. As many times as she wanted, as often as she wanted. We were all just playing our respective roles."

"We're talking about people’s real lives," Seonghwa says again, another step towards the man in question that dredges up so much rage within him. You've not ever seen him this angry before, and a part of you sits only mildly concerned in relation to Hongjoong's physical well-being. Not that it would be entirely underserved, not that it might not even be somewhat cathartic, too. "You say whatever it is that you have to say, do whatever it is that you have to do to get what you want from the people around you and then have the audacity to call it something akin to equivalent exchange—but you have nothing to lose, now do you?"

Hongjoong shrugs. "We weigh our options everyday in making decisions for ourselves. If you don't take an umbrella out and it ends up raining, whose fault is that? The weather, or yours?" He turns and looks at you then. "If someone knowingly decides to engage in an affair—whose fault is that?"

"The person who took the vows."

This voice—a different voice—comes from the doorway, behind Seonghwa who has since inched further and away from that place. You know it before your eyes settle on the keeper of it, but it doesn't stop you from doing so in the most defeated manner. In some way, and much faster than you ever might have anticipated, it's calming in a sense—to see him standing there, listening, coming into all of this knowledge—because now you are free from the secret.

Now, everything is laid out on the table in front of everyone.

Seonghwa swiftly turns, sees Yeosang and then just as quickly looks to you. There's a sort of compassion in his eyes that you know you aren't deserving of, but is being given to you on account of him caring for you, him being your best friend for so, so many years before now. 

Hongjoong doesn't bother replying, his point long since having been made and a quiet understanding among all of you that regardless of how large or little his devious part being played in this has been—he will never admit fault for as much. To Hongjoong, your affair with him is as simple as a kind of bartering system between two people; he gave, and then you gave, and everyone was happy.

Hardly his fault that you are now displeased with the outcome of your own decision making, and for that, you can't even really blame him.

Yeosang steps past Seonghwa, makes his way straight towards you. Ignores your friend, ignores Yunho, and even more shockingly, ignores Hongjoong until he stands himself right in front of you: gaze pointed, judging, full of a kind of hate and resentment that isn't only now beginning its rise, but rather something that has long since been festering and now meeting its spark.

Breath trembling, you slowly reach out for your husband's hand. He allows you to take it into your grasp, though he offers you no reciprocation in the act. Staring. Far from thoughtless, but no words granted to you. 

Your resolve crumbles then, a sob choking out loudly into the open air of your office as the people surrounding you watch on. Falling to your knees, you keep hold of Yeosang tightly, the man still willing to give you little more than a disparaging watchfulness.

"How long?" he finally asks, voice firm and plain. You don't have the breath, the capability to answer him, but you're quick to realize that the question is not intended for you when the other half of your betrayal speaks up in your stead.

"Two months or so," Hongjoong replies, hands still lazily shoved into his pockets. "Haven't been keeping count."

"That where you were that night that you didn't come home? Up all night, worried sick, even had your friend lie for you."

"Seonghwa didn't know—" you choke out the best you can. It's the least you can do, not drag him down in your deception like this.

"Spend your days with another man then come home and spend your evenings in bed with me. Did you even love me enough—respect me enough—to use protection?"

You cry harder at that, Hongjoong sucks his teeth at the question before giving the reply that none of you want to hear. "Not once."

Yeosang shakes his hand free of your grip shortly after, takes his leave quietly and without another word. There are no other words spoken within the office where you lie with hands to your face and sobs ripping from your chest. You have no one to blame for this but yourself. 

Yunho leaves next, and Seonghwa just thereafter. He offers you a modicum of solace, at least; hand pressing into your shoulder to remind you that he's there, and maybe even that he still cares for you in some way, shape or form. In spite of your flaws. In spite of all of the ways that you have failed everyone that you love. Everyone who has loved you.

Hongjoong leaves last, and his presence above all is suffocatingly felt as he stands in front of you; calm, collected, wholly unconcerned by everything that has just taken place in front of him, and large in part, because of him. It's a last moment shared between the two of you when you finally gather yourself enough to look up at him from where you remain on your knees—through wet eyelashes and stinging red eyes—the two of you meet gazes once more. A reminder of something shared, because really, how could you ever forget?

His lips slowly thin into a line, neither a smile nor a frown, nothing more than an acknowledgement of your being there in front of him. A part of you still feels desperate to have him care for you, because the idea of it never having been real to begin with twists the knife that has long since been carved into you as a result of all of this. Please give me something, please show me that there is tenderness still.

Seconds pass that feel like a lifetime; memories of your time together with him flashing before your eyes like a film reel, someone else's life that you're watching, not your own. Smiles, kisses, touches, words; except it felt so real in the moment, how could it not have been real.

Hongjoong moves from place slightly, stills for another instant as he looks at you—as if thinking about what it is that he wants to do from here on out. You don't know what to expect from him now, because in such a short time you've come to find out that you have never really known him to begin with. A stranger to you, perhaps only now having just met for the first time today.

You watch him carefully, the way a single corner of his lip curves upwards in such a slight way that you think him attempting to fight it back, but unable to. Too pleased with himself, pleased with what he has done. 

Victorious in outcome.

When he takes his leave in silence, you're left with nothing else. Hongjoong never offers you any sympathy, nor consolation in the aftermath of a disaster that he had very much been a part of. 

Nor does he bother to thank you for everything graciously given to him.

"Can you bring me that box of files, please?"

With the change in weather and the months quickly passing by around the Aurelia Theater, new students come through the halls and make their way in and out of the empty rooms—picking and choosing their favorites, where they wish to spend the most of their time working on their crafts and busying their hands. A man is heart shouting down the way—something about how someone shouldn't be standing on one of the chairs—but you have enough to worry about on your plate, and thankfully, you have help with that.

Said box in hand, Seonghwa pulls around to the side of your desk, plops it on the floor in front of him and straightens himself back up into a standing position, along with feigning the pain of a strained muscle for dramatic effect.

You roll your eyes, seating yourself in your chair and attempting to sort through the immense amount of papers strewn about before you. "You know, you would think by now I'd get all of this shit settled before the new students and staff made their way in for the new semester."

"One would think that, yes. Far from your first rodeo."

"Thanks for coming to help out, by the way. I'll buy dinner tonight, we can go to that expensive place that you like that also sucks."

Seonghwa scoffs. "It doesn't suck, you just don't have a very refined palate. I accept your offer though."

Flicking corners of papers still in search of a particular contract, you rustle through numerous ones and in the flurry of it all, a pen flies from the edge of your desk and onto the floor just beside your feet. You stare at it lying there for far too long—too long for Seonghwa who you're sure wonders what sort of significance this particular item has to you—the sort of thing you can't divulge to him, the sort of thing that is no longer spoken about. Forgotten to the times. Cast out and never to be acknowledged again for as long as the both of you shall live.

You bend down and pick it up, open the desk drawer and shove it inside without a word. Looking up, your eyes meet Seonghwa's somewhat concerned ones, but you take comfort in knowing that he won't dare ask.

"What time should we go?" Changing the subject despite there not really even being one before.

You shrug. "I'm free after four, have to make the rounds with the new students and faculty, sign some more paperwork and then we can meet if you have somewhere to be."

On days like this everything almost feels normal. There are always subtle reminders of the upheaval of your life not long ago, but you're thankful for the forgiveness of your best friend—a man who has always had your back, and even when you're not even really deserving of it. 

It doesn't feel as empty as it would otherwise have to, as it probably should. The emptiness resides in your chest, where it feels as though your heart once sat; playing reckless games with people, and never anticipating having met your match.

Sometimes you see him on television, in magazines. You're welcome, you think to yourself as you pass. In those moments, the emptiness on your ring finger sits that much heavier than all of the others.

Equivalent exchange—you made him, and he destroyed you.

a/n: HOI! the end of another big and dramatic story from your neighborhood longfic-infidelity-drama-angst enjoyer! it was a wild ride and i hope yall had fun hehe. some of you guys suspected parts of the ending correctly, here is your retribution! you win [hand shakes] 💗 as always, ask box is open and i look forward to hearing from you :)

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